Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631)

by Wolf, Jack

  Simmins’ perplext Expression lingered a little while longer; then as he began to comprehend that I was in earnest, his meagre Smile vanished, and the Colour drained slowly from his Face. He made a strange, incoherent Sound. I placed mine Hand quickly over his Mouth.

  “Do not cry out,” I said. “I require your Co-operation, Mr Simmins, and I do not want to have to gag you; but if you cry out we will be overheard, and interrupted.”

  Simmins, to my extream Surprize, was not quieted by this Admonition, but became a great Deal more agitated. He began to struggle hard against his Bonds and fight to free himself from mine improvised Gag. I presst down with mine Hands upon his Mouth and Shoulder to restrain him, and chided him, reminding him sorrowfully of his Failure to carry out mine Errand regarding Annie, and pointing out to him the Depth of my Disappointment in that Matter; which, I told him, his Sacrifice todaye would greatly mitigate. I sought, with an increasing Desperation in my Voice, to impress upon him my Conviction that the Paralysis would be of a limited Duration, and easily cured, for I had no Intention of cutting him or employing any Method in its Induction other than this simple Immobility, but he would not be calmed, and I found My Self forced to use much more aggressive Force upon his bound Arms than I desired.

  “Isaac,” I said, trying to reassure him. “Isaac, desist!”

  But Simmins did not desist; he struggled harder, and caught me hard about the Chin with an Elbow. And suddenly, as unexpectedly as I had understood his Purpose to me, I lost Patience. Damn you! I thought. You and Dr Hunter both! You shall co-operate, you damnable little Goblin; and if you sustain Injury to your Brain, so much the better; why should I waste my Time upon the nervine Net when it is that which lieth within the Cranium that signifies? Damn you! I will prove mine Hypothesis, I will make My Self a Giant of Natural Philosophy, I will have my Will! Suddenly I was hurting him, smothering him, pinning down his Elbow with mine own; tightly covering his Mouth, his Nose, with my left Hand; pressing with my Knee upon his Chest, crushing with mine other Hand his slender Wrists, feeling the Ligaments and the small Carpals shift and crunch beneath my Fingertips; watching his Eyes roll backward in his Head as he battled to draw breath; his Neck desperately twisting this way and that, his Skull wrenching violently to one Side as he sustained a rough Blow from mine own Elbow; and suddenly Simmins had fallen silent, and lay quite still, except for a subtile Quivering that ran like Electricity thro’out his whole Body; and I took away mine Hands from his Body and, automatically, put my Fingers soft against his Carotid Artery.

  “Isaac,” I whispered. “Isaac.”

  He did not respond.

  Have I broke his Neck? I thought.

  Suddenly overcome by Horrour at My Self, and at what I had done, I sate back upon mine Heels. Damnable Goblin? Damn Simmins? Wherefore damn Simmins? He was—or he had thought himself—my Friend.

  “Oh, Isaac,” I cried. “I did not intend to harm you thus!”

  I could not for the Life of me begin to understand wherefore Simmins had resisted. Why, why had he attempted to cry out, why had he begun to struggle, when all I had demanded of him was his peaceful Compliance? Had he not made me the Offer of Assistance? Moreover, was he not my Slave, who would do for me anything that I requested, without Question, without the merest momentary Consultation of his own Desires? Why should not I expect him to submit, and submit willingly, to Vivisection? There seemed no Logic to the Business, no Sense at all.

  Suddenly, Simmins drew in a ragged and half-hearted Breath, and this brought me back to My Self. His Pulse was fluttering beneath my Fingertip. His Eyes opened, but they held no Intelligence, and appeared as vacant as if I had trappt him in an Aire Pump. Panicking now as I had never before, I took his Hands in mine own and squeezed them; they felt as lifeless to my Touch as those of a Corpse. Yet Simmins was now breathing; neither dead, nor, I prayed—tho’ to what Concept or Manner of God I knew not—dying; but he lay quiet, still so quiet; and his Quietude was so terrifying wrong.

  “Fool!”

  I knew that I could not, for Humanity’s Sake, if not just for Simmins’, continue beyond this Point with mine Experiment, so with shivering Fingers I carefully untied the Bonds I had so tightly applied and gently brought Simmins’ Arms down to lie flat upon the Bed at both Sides of his Body. I ran mine Hands over the wiry Muscle of the Biceps and the Supinator longus, to what Purpose I do not know, unless it was to attempt restoration of the Feeling and Circulation I feared, now, had been genuinely lost; and the wild Notion struck me that mine whole unplanned and ill-designed Experiment had been as much vacant Phantasy as had been my misplaced Confidence in Dr Hunter, and that verily I had never wanted to injure Simmins in any Manner, temporary or other-wise. My great Worry, my terrifying Dread was that I had done him an unknown Injury that would prove incapacitating, and permanent.

  After some Minutes, during which my Terrour mounted to such an Intensity that I began to believe I must run to seek Assistance from some Physician other than My Self, Simmins turned his Head in my Direction, and flexed the Fingers of his left Hand, and then the Elbow quite independent of all my Kneading and Cajoling, and his brown Eyes came into steady Focus on mine own.

  “I am s-orry,” he said. “I p-anicked, Sir. I did not understand. I h-ope I did not—was I—did I—g-ive A-ssistance?”

  My Mouth droppt open, and my whole Body began to Quake. I could have kissed him, like a Woman, hard upon the Lips. The pure and beautifull Relief, flooding over and thro’ me at this marvellous Recovery: Simmins apparently unharmed, able to see, and speak coherently, and move his body Parts of his own Volition when I had feared all was lost, was so powerful a Wave it was some Seconds before I could speak. “You did,” I stammered. “You were—you assisted—most helpfully, Captain Simmins.”

  “Your W-ife,” Simmins said. “Mrs H-art. Does she kn-ow what Kind of M-onster you are?”

  “Yes,” I said. I collapsed beside him, unable yet fully to comprehend the Narrowness of my Squeak, my Limbs shaking far too much for me to stand, or even to sit erect. My slowing Heart felt as if it had never thumped so furious, never pumped so much Blood.

  “’Tis t-errifying,” Simmins said.

  “I love Mrs Hart, and she loves me. We married in full Cognizance of each other’s Interests, and Tastes.”

  Simmins made no Response to this. I imagined him to be digesting the Intelligence, and for some Minutes lay exhausted beside him, glad of his Silence. Then he spoke.

  “I cannot f-eel my right Arm,” he said. “That is the P-aralysis you were sp-eaking of, isn’t it? It will p-ass, will’t not?”

  Over the next six Houres I did everything that I could think to do in order to restore the Sensation to Captain Simmins’ Arm, but all for naught. I stroaked it with Silk, rubbed it with warm Fat; pinched, scratched, pricked, jabbed with the Point of my Lancet; applied Pressure, cold Water, extream Heat, and Theriac; repeatedly flexed and un-flexed the Arm, and let it lie still; but either mine Hypothesis regarding Pain was quite wrong, or the Damage I, in my careless, ruthless Violence, had inflicted upon Simmins’ vulnerable nervous Fibre was too serious to be swiftly restored by any acute Treatment. Perhaps I had rippt the brachial Nerve from its Anchor at the Base of the Cranium. Or perhaps in those Moments during which we had struggled, he without Aire, I verily had injured his Brain, tho’ I had committed no direct Assault upon it. Perhaps I had, by Accident, induced a small Stroake. I had no Method of knowing, none. Yet tho’ it appeared to me quite soon that my Treatments were ineffective, I persisted with them; for to have given up so quickly, to have admitted the horrible Enormity of the thing that I had done would have flung the shattered Remnants of my Courage into the deepest Pit, and I knew not how I would have got them back again; so I continued to administer mine attempted Agonies, and still Simmins felt nothing; until finally he placed his sensible Hand upon mine own, and bade me quietly and calmly to cease.

  I already had untied him; now it fell to me to dress him, as one might a Child or a Cr
ipple; and then I walked with him the small Distance to his Quarters, where finally, we parted.

  Simmins took two Steps thro’ the Gateway and then, pausing, turned back toward me. “I shall tell the S-urgeon that I was fi-ghting,” he said. “I w-as in-toxicated, and I got My S-elf into a Brawl. There may be s-omething he can do.”

  There was not; but I said nothing.

  “Do not w-orry, my d-ear H-art,” Simmins said. “All shall be well.” He got up on his tiptoes and bussed me, feather light, upon my hot Cheek; then he was gone.

  I would then have wept; but I could not. A strange Coldness had taken Possession of mine Heart, and verily I believe I felt nothing; neither Pity, nor Remorse, nor Loss, nor Grief. I knew that everything was over, everything. Mine Ambitions were as useless, as beyond Recovery as Simmins’ Arm. Dr Hunter had abandoned me and without his Assistance I could not make any Progress whatsoever upon mine Hypothesis. My Dream was broken. I did not permit My Self the merest Contemplation of Simmins’ Prognosis. The Truth was that I did not know, I could not know, or with any Confidence predict, how soon, or even if ever, he would regain the Sensation I had raped from him in my Carelessness.

  All at once, into mine Head came the Memory of that Moment when I had stood, with Nathaniel, at the Door to the Bull, and all the Light had vanished, and the whole World had appeared as if to shrink to the Size of a Pin-head. Perhaps ’twas not Memory, but Vision; for as I stood at the Gate I seemed to stand again at Nathaniel’s Side; and yet it must have been I, not he, who had the Look of a coiled Spring strained as if to snap; for Nathaniel turned to me, and putting the Palm of his left Hand softly upon my Cheek, said: “The only Way out is to smash the Clock.”

  I blinked. The Vision disappeared. The quarter-Gate Lanthorns blazed bright in the wet Darkness; around me the night Street drippt.

  I turned at once and fled ere I was robbed.

  CHAPTER THREE-AND-THIRTY

  “I am going home.”

  Thus Nathaniel had said. And it was exactly, precisely what I desired to do, now. I wanted to be back with my Katherine in mine own House, where everything would make Sense; but I knew that even were I to pack up all my things and bargain my way aboard the very next Mail, I should not arrive home in less than two Dayes time.

  I could not stand to return to my Room at the Red Lion, where the Horrour of my failed Experiment yet lingered in the Scent of Simmins’ Body. Instead, numbly, almost blindly, I hastened thro’ the dark London Streets toward Bow Street. I did not glance to my left or my right, but only in the one Direction: forward.

  I arrived at the Fieldings’ House all out of Breath and muddy from my Shoes to the Hem of my Greatcoat, and mounted the front Steps to hammer hard upon the Door. To my Surprize, it was opened almost at once. I pushed past Liza and made my Way to an hall Chair, into which I collapsed, mine Hands shaking as if with a Palsy.

  “Mr Hart!” exclaimed Liza. “Mrs Fielding! Oh, Madam, come quick!”

  “I am not injured,” I said at once, cutting off the Misunderstanding I perceived mustering, like Xerxes’ Army, beyond the Pass. “Nor have I been robbed, Liza. Do not sound any Alarum, there is no Necessity.”

  Drawing a long Breath, I permitted My Self slowly to relax into the Fieldings’ high backed Chair, becoming gradually conscious of its bracing Support against my Spine, my Weight descending thro’ its sturdy Legs into the solid Floor.

  Why have I come here? I thought. I can tell the Fieldings nothing of my Misadventure; there is nothing they could reply in any Case that might restore me to My Self, or the Feeling to my poor Isaac. Oh, what have I done? I have sacrificed him on the Altar of mine own Ambition, and for what?

  I had not been sitting long alone when Mary Fielding appeared out of the Kitchen, pulling off her Apron. She took me thro’ into the sitting Room where previously I had met with her Husband and her Brother-in-law; tonight, however, the Room was empty.

  “Where is your Husband, Mrs Fielding?” I asked, surprized.

  “He hath been called out on some Business, and Mr John with him,” Mary said.

  “Business to do with his Police Force?”

  “I suppose so,” Mrs Fielding answered. “He doth not tell me very much, as you may imagine. But I am certain if you want to see him, he will be back soon, for ’tis very late. Would you like something to drink, Mr Hart? If you don’t mind my saying so, you look as if you have met with a Ghost.”

  I did not refuse, and so Mary poured me a Glass of Wine, and patting me gently upon mine Hand, insisted that I sit on the Arm-chair nearest to the dying Fire, whilst she began energetically to stoke its Embers.

  Perhaps, I thought, I was waiting for the Brothers to return; but if I was, it was with a desperate Trepidation, for I knew not what I should say if either one of them were to challenge me.

  What will I do? I thought. I did not wish to abandon my little Simmins, as—I now perceived, with sinking Heart—I had abandoned my Katherine; but I knew I would be unable to endure one Minute longer in the Hound, nor even in London itself, for I would have to do both in the Knowledge that my continued Residence was futile. Reason, Duty, Shame and mine own sudden, desperate Need all told me that I must return to my Wife, and tend to her; indeed, that I ought never to have left her. I had not been a Brute, but in mine intellectual Arrogance and vain Ambition I had fairly impersonated one; and the Situation in which I now found My Self was the Consequence of that. I had wilfully ignored every Plea and Protestation she had made; and she had been right.

  “Mary,” I said, watching her. “I have reached a Decision. I shall be returning to Berkshire upon the Morrow.”

  Mary Fielding turned, the Poker in her Hand a black Crease against the blue flowered Linen of her Dress. “Oh, Mr Hart!” she exclaimed. “I am surprized. But I shall confess that I am very glad to hear it!”

  “What?” I said. “Wherefore?”

  Mary gave a little Laugh. “I speak merely as a Woman, Sir. I know how hard it must be upon Mrs Hart to be left alone at such a Time, and I can only think how happy she will be at your Return. For my Part I shall be sorry to see you go, but my Sorrow is a small thing compared to her Joy. That is all.”

  “You are too good, Mrs Fielding,” I said. “Indeed, you are too good.”

  Mrs Fielding coloured. “You confuse me with mine Husband, Mr Hart,” she said. “I am not good, altho’ I have tried to be. To be truly good requires Strength of Character, and I am weak, and ignorant, and make foolish Mistakes. I am an Embarrassment to Mr Fielding, and he should not have felt himself obliged to marry me.”

  “Whence comes all this!” I exclaimed, astonished.

  Mrs Fielding sighed unhappiily, and returned the Poker to its Box.

  “Mary,” I said, rising and crossing the Room to grasp Mrs Fielding squarely by the Shoulders. “You are truly one of the best Women I have ever met. Why, what other Housewife would have taken in a freakish Gypsy Brat, and nursed it a full daye out of naught but the Goodness of her Heart, when she had her own Children to consider, and Christmas, and an Husband whose waspish Temper doth him no Credit, tho’ he be the finest of Men in every other Wise. I will not allow you so to demean yourself.”

  Tho’ I had spoken kindly, Mrs Fielding’s Eyes opened as wide as if I had given her the harshest of Scoldings, and she drew back from me half a Pace before saying, in a careful and measured Tone: “Mr Hart, I do not know what you are talking about.”

  “Egad,” I said. “What meanst by that? Surely, you must remember the Babe?”

  “Sir, I do not remember ever taking in any Gypsy, at Christmas or at any other Time. I am certain Mr Fielding would have had much to say upon it if I had.”

  “What?” I exclaimed.

  “I have no such Recollection, Mr Hart,” Mary repeated, patiently, as if I had been a Child—or a Lunatick.

  “Madam,” I responded, when I had got back my Tongue. “Either your Memory holds with all the Permanence of Sand upon a Beach, or else you lie; for the Incident was extr
aordinary, and hard to forget. I recall it as vividly as I recall the Words you spoke five Minutes since. It amazes me if you do not.”

  “I do not, Mr Hart.”

  I studied her Face, a cold Panick stirring within my Gut. I could not ascertain from her Expression whether she was lying or verily had no Memory of my little Bat. Then I realised that I had upon me that Sketch which I always carried in my Waistcoat, and mine Hand flew to it. “Mrs Fielding,” I said. “Mary. Here is a Portrait of the Child, done by your own Hand upon the Night of her Stay. Dost not see? Dost not, now, remember?”

  Mary pulled away from me, quite violently, and crosst brusquely toward the sitting room Door. “Look at it,” I pleaded, catching her by the Hand and thrusting the Paper before her Eyes. “Mary, look.”

  “Oh, Mr Hart,” Mary cried. “Please, do not insist!”

  “I do insist,” I said. “Nor shall I desist until you have told me exactly what you see upon this Paper.”

  Mary tried once more to pull away and then, to my great Relief, turned and cast her Gaze once over the Drawing. “I see you, Sir,” she admitted, reluctantly. “Holding a Babe.”

  “The Babe, yes; the Gypsy Babe, the Bat.” Mine Hands shook upon the Paper. “Do not you perceive her Wings? They are quite clear.”

  “No, Sir,” Mary answered, levelly, and turned her Face away. “I do not see any Wings.”