I heard the door open. Another voice said, ‘You must be de Havilland’s deputy.’
I half rose to my feet; but the white-haired man in the doorway wagged his finger and gave me a twinkling benevolent smile. ‘Sit down, young man.’ He walked straight past his son, and took my hand in both of his. His skin was warm and dry. Now he was close I could see that he wasn’t as old as I’d thought, in spite of his bony face and white hair; but he had a kind of ethereal quality, not quite fragile but unworldly. It was hard to imagine this man at the head of the Darnay factory empire. ‘How enchanting,’ he said. ‘You are almost a boy. And already binding for de Havilland! I see so few useful young men.’
Lucian Darnay gestured towards the door. ‘Shall I …?’
‘No, no, stay.’ Darnay senior stared at me as though he were trying to make out my soul. ‘What a shame he couldn’t come himself – I understand Lord Latworthy poached him from under my very nose! Never mind, never mind, it is delightful to meet you instead.’
‘I’m sure he wished he could have come himself.’
‘Oh nonsense, nonsense,’ Mr Darnay said, but with an ease that softened the words. ‘Anyway, de Havilland has no doubt told you – sit down, Lucian! – of our poor Nell, and how she has suffered. No need’ – he raised a finger – ‘to speak of her ordeals in front of my son, he is too delicate’ – was I imagining that emphasis, or the clench of Lucian’s jaw? – ‘to hear of other people’s troubles. But I shall be glad when she is happy again.’
‘He told me you had a servant who needed …’
‘Quite, quite.’ He nodded, excusing me for my awkwardness. ‘I think a plain binding would be in order. She is a plain girl, you know, not terribly bright, although naturally we are all very fond of her. Did you speak?’
‘No,’ Lucian said. He poured himself a glass of brandy and drank half in one mouthful.
Something like sadness glinted in the older man’s eyes, but when he turned back to me his face was perfectly composed. ‘It shouldn’t take you very long. She’s young, after all, and the miseries of the young are swiftly taken away. For the binding, I leave the details to your discretion. If you send it back to me bound within a week, that will be perfectly adequate.’
‘Send it back? I thought – the vault—’
‘No, no. We have our own safekeeping here. And now I must leave you. I have business to attend to, and I’m afraid I shan’t see you again. This time, at least. I do hope our paths will cross again soon.’
He patted my shoulder, and swept out of the room.
‘Oh, but Mr de Havilland sent these—’ I gestured to the chest of books, but it was too late; the door had already closed.
Lucian watched him go. ‘Charming, isn’t he?’
‘I’m very glad to make his acquaintance.’ I realised that he hadn’t asked me my name.
‘Oh, of course, of course.’ He tilted his glass until the last drop ran down the bulb on to his tongue. ‘Why should you care what he’s like? As long as he pays you well. Or pays de Havilland …’
‘It’s kind of him,’ I said, ‘to care about a servant’s unhappiness. Not everyone would.’
He laughed, poured himself another brandy, and drank it in one go.
‘Like a doctor, aren’t you,’ he said, without a question mark. ‘You come here and drain a boil. A huge throbbing carbuncle, the size of someone’s whole life. Then you wash your hands and pretend you’ve never smelt anything but roses. And you walk away with heavier pockets, until the next time. So like a doctor. All for the benefit of mankind. Except that you’re really doing it because men like my father like the taste of the pus …’
‘That’s disgusting.’
‘Isn’t it?’
I looked away. A shadow moved across the glass of the curiosity cabinet, as if something inside had come to life: but it was only Darnay’s reflection, as he crossed the room to the fireplace and held out his free hand towards the fire. The cufflink had fallen out of his shirt, and where it flapped open I could see the veins on his wrist, the ridges of his tendons. The skin there was so pale it was yellowish, like ivory.
When he spoke again he sounded tired, as if I wasn’t worth the effort. ‘I’ll send for her now, then. Do you need anything else?’
‘No.’
After a moment he shrugged. ‘As you wish. Here?’
‘I suppose – yes.’ All I needed was a table and two chairs; maybe not even that. What had de Havilland told me, the day after Seredith died? You merely have to lay hands on the subject and listen. As long as you take paper and a pen and ink, and make sure you’re both sitting down, and that she’s consented, you can hardly go wrong. How could that be enough? A sense of unreality came over me, like when I used to dream I’d been chosen to be Midsummer King and I’d forgotten the steps of the dance. It was too late to explain to Mr Darnay that I was only an apprentice, and that I had no idea what to do. And the thought of how Lucian would look at me made sweat prickle on the back of my neck. I put my bag on the table, opened it, and took out a pile of paper, a pen, and a bottle of ink. I arranged them carefully on the table. Apart from that, the bag was empty. De Havilland’s bill, already written out, was in the inner pocket.
Lucian rang the bell. As he waited for the maid he said, ‘How long do you need?’
‘I don’t know exactly.’
‘I understand de Havilland generally pauses for tea at four o’clock.’
‘I – no. Thank you.’
‘Fine. I’ll get someone to bring your dinner when Nell comes out. Anything else you need, ring for Betty, all right?’
‘All right.’
For a moment he seemed about to add something else, but the maid came in and he turned away. ‘Please bring Nell here. And make sure they’re not disturbed until Mr – excuse me …?’
‘Farmer,’ I said. It made sense that his memories of visiting Seredith had gone, along with whatever else was in his book; but it still felt strange to have to tell him my name.
‘Mr Farmer,’ he echoed, with a faint, mocking emphasis, as if it amused him. ‘Until Mr Farmer rings for his dinner.’ Finally he looked at me again, and a spark of malice leapt behind his eyes. ‘Good luck, Mr Farmer. I hope you find it … enjoyable.’
I swung away, mastering the urge to hit him. Enjoyable. No wonder his father despised him. I was glad that he left the room, sliding out through the half-open door after the maid, or I might have betrayed myself. When he’d gone I sat down and ran my hands through my hair to wipe away the prickling sweat. The woody warmth of sherry lingered on the back of my tongue, tinged with bile. My heartbeat seemed to echo from every corner of the room, every surface reflecting a different timbre: glass, wood, marble, papered wall …
‘This is Nell, sir.’
I staggered to my feet, as if I’d been caught napping. The older maid bobbed and left, shutting the door with a tactful click that felt louder than a slam.
Nell. I hadn’t known what I was expecting, until I was surprised.
She was … colourless. As though she’d been erased, like a pencil drawing; she was thin, the bones at the base of her neck knobbly and prominent, her face as vacant as a statue. And young – younger than me, younger than Alta. I pointed to the chair opposite me – something in the gesture made me think uneasily of de Havilland – and she obeyed; but her movements were oddly lifeless, devoid of either ease or effort. She wasn’t there. I swallowed. Milly had been catatonic when she came to Seredith – but that had been a different, ferocious stillness, like the eye of a storm. This was just … negative.
‘My name’s Emmett. You’re – Nell? Is that right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You don’t have to call me sir.’
It wasn’t a question, and she didn’t answer. I might have guessed she wouldn’t, but it felt like a rebuff.
‘Do you know why I’m here?’
‘Yes, sir.’
I waited. Nothing. She should have been pretty, in a mousy sort of
way; she should have been shy, or coy, or infuriating, the way Alta was at her age. But she wasn’t anything. I pressed one fingernail into the pad of my thumb, and said, as gently as I could, ‘Can you tell me, then? Why am I here?’
‘You’re here to wipe my memory.’
‘Well.’ But she was right; it was as good a way to put it as any. ‘Yes. If you want me to. Your employer – Mr Darnay.’ I despised myself for how pompous I sounded. ‘Mr Darnay said you were very distressed. Is that right?’
She looked at me. In anyone else it would have been a challenge; but on her face it was like the stare of an animal. She held it until I had to look away.
My collar was itching unbearably. I ran my finger around the back of it, and then stopped, self-conscious. Make sure you’re both sitting down, and that she’s consented.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘all I need to know is that you want me to bind your memories. If you don’t want that …’
She bit her lip. It was a tiny movement, but it was the first sign of life.
My heart leapt. I leant towards her, trying not to sound eager. ‘It would be all right, you know,’ I said. ‘It would be good, really, if you felt that you could go on as you are. Much better in the long run. Maybe you feel that you can be brave, and live with what’s happened? Maybe you’re stronger than you realised at first, when you asked—’
‘I didn’t ask. Mr Darnay did.’
‘Oh. Well, yes, I suppose.’ I hated the sound of my own voice, wheedling, desperately trying to find a way out of my problem. I clenched my jaw and thought of Seredith. She’d want me to do my best, not for myself but for this grey child with her gaunt face and fixed stare. ‘All I mean,’ I said, trying to keep any feeling out of the words, ‘is that you can choose. No one can make you do anything you don’t want to do.’
‘Can’t they?’
I started to say, ‘Of course not,’ and then something in her face changed and I stopped. What was it, that flicker of expression? A narrowing of the eyes, as though I’d said something contemptible. She went on staring at me. The blankness seemed to come and go. For a few seconds I thought I saw hopelessness like a desert, featureless and impersonal, so vast that I couldn’t grasp the scale of it. Then I wasn’t sure. Maybe she was simple. Mr Darnay had said not terribly bright. I was being melodramatic; it was understandable, I was nervous, my stomach was churning.
She dropped her gaze. Her hands lay in her lap like gloves, the nails ragged down to the quick, dirt lying in lines across her knuckles. Her chest hardly moved when she breathed. ‘What do you want me to do?’
I sat back. The stiff edge of my collar dug into the back of my neck. There is the small matter of managing the memories – making sure you don’t go too deep … I tried to push away the fear. Seredith had thought I could do this; she’d said I was a binder born. ‘Suppose you just … tell me about it. In your own words.’
‘About what?’
‘Whatever you want – taken away.’
She raised her shoulders an inch. Her mouth opened but no sound came out, and after a long time I glanced at the bell-pull. I could call the other maid and leave a message, slip out of the front door before the Darnays even had time to hear it … I stood up. Nell’s eyes followed me, a second too late. It occurred to me – faintly, in the back of my brain – that perhaps she was drunk; but no, I’d have smelt it, or heard it in her speech … ‘Look, Nell,’ I said, curling my toes in the tight shoes until they ached, ‘I haven’t been … I can’t bind you, all right? I got sent here – well, by mistake. I’m an apprentice, and I haven’t ever … I’ll explain to Mr Darnay that it’s not your fault, it’s nothing to do with you. Mr de Havilland can come in a few days’ time, I expect. But I can’t do it now. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said – I didn’t mean to give you the impression – I thought maybe I could …’ I stopped and added, more quietly, ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’
She closed her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said, and her voice sounded very far away.
‘I apologise.’ It came out as stiff as my collar.
She didn’t move. Something on her cheeks glinted, and I realised that she was crying – immovably, impersonally, like a statue in the rain. I turned away, and found myself in front of the display cabinet. An intricate Chinese box sat next to something small and shrivelled, like a prune. I leant closer and saw that it was a tiny head, with shells sewn into the eye-sockets. I turned back to Nell.
‘Let’s just sit here for a while. Then I’ll ring the bell and explain to Mr Darnay.’ I couldn’t ring the bell yet; it would look like I hadn’t even tried.
‘Sit here?’
‘To – to rest, I mean.’
She blinked, and more tears ran down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. Suddenly she scrubbed them away with her apron, and for an instant I saw the child she must have been – no, the child she was. ‘Rest? Here?’
Her voice was raw, as though some feeling had finally come to the surface; but I didn’t know what it was. ‘Yes. If you’d like to.’
‘I—’ She choked halfway through the word, as if there was something too dangerous to say. Then she nodded, and the mask of inertia dropped over her face again.
‘Good.’ I breathed out, as slowly as I could, trying to ease the tension in my stomach. I pulled out the other chair so that I could look into the fire without craning my neck, and sat down next to her. The flames had sunk to bubbles of red-gold that grew on the logs like fungi, shrinking and spreading and multiplying, their roots tinged with blue. Slow warmth radiated from the hearth, easing the aches in my legs, the tightness that had been there since my journey to Castleford. If I raised my eyes the pattern on the wallpaper slid in and out of focus, from blotches to intricate curlicues and back again, the colour of flayed flesh. The gas lamps flared and whispered. Beside me, Nell’s breathing slowed to the same pace as mine.
At last, after a long time, the clock chimed. I glanced at Nell. She was staring at the wall, so fixedly that I wondered if she was sleeping with her eyes open.
‘I should call the maid,’ I said, softly. ‘Are you ready to go back to your work?’
She didn’t respond. I got up, and bent towards her. ‘Nell?’
Nothing. She was awake, I was sure of it; maybe she’d gone into the same almost-trance that had come upon me, lulled by the silence and the warmth. I looked down at her, my heart aching for the prettiness she should have had. Then I said again, ‘Nell?’ and put my hand gently on her shoulder.
The world lurched and swung. Then it turned inside out.
XI
The misery was a grey river, dragging me over and under and through a life so quickly that I only caught glimpses of it. Days darted by. Nights blinked on and off like dark fireworks. I didn’t exist, I was part of the icy current, an eye that could see but not speak. What was going on? I fumbled for myself – for my name, my body, anything – but there was no myself, and then no I.
A grey blur. The sense of speed almost unravelled me. And then, gradually, it slowed. I could see – I was seeing – I was someone else, looking at a world that was off-kilter, skewed by the otherness of alien eyes, the sheer otherness of her. Everything was the same but somehow so deeply different that I could have screamed – if I’d existed, if enough of me had been there to be afraid … It was steady now, full of details I would never have noticed, blurred where I would have looked more closely. Did I recognise— But I was too mixed up in her to know what I felt – only that she was looking at a front door with a stained-glass panel in the centre of it, a lighted lamp and a ribbon border. She was pleased, excited, warmth glowed in the pit of her belly. I felt her grip on the bell-pull, the strangeness of it, like an unfamiliar glove.
Things whirled past again. A voice, snatched away like a shout in high winds, ‘… not this door, the back!’ and then it was lost, the scene swallowed by greyness and the rush of more. More flashes, more glimpses, vivid as fever-dreams, growing darker and darker with shadows that weren’t e
xactly visible. A tiny bedroom, up under the eaves, greyish walls and peeling plaster. Cold. Nights that sucked her down with weariness. An old man – younger than he looked – who was kind to her. A black-and-white face that hardly knew she was there. A bosomy woman in an apron who slapped her cheek and pushed a spice bun at her with the same hand, in the same minute. Tidemarks of moisture on tiles, the damp that ate into her knees like lye. The old man squeezing her shoulder. The bedroom again. No key for the door. Staring at curling dingy paint while she squeezed one finger into the lock, trying to reach its innards with her fingernail. No luck. The winter, work that never stopped, the coal-bucket that wrenched her shoulder out of its joint, the old man sitting her down – ‘smudge on your face, dear … my handkerchief …’ And the bedroom, frost on the black window, the old man, ‘Don’t look so startled, I brought you …’ Coal. Lying awake, sick with cold, nearly wishing he’d come again, praying he wouldn’t. The door handle, clenching her fists as it turned, the old man. ‘Cold again?’
No. Greyness around her, muffling, smothering. Don’t feel. No.
Cold morning. Shivering. ‘What’s up with you? Psht, girl.’ Sick and sick again. No time to dry her uniform. The clammy touch of wet cloth on her skin. The floors, growing dirty as she watched. Dust deepening on the mantelpiece like snow. Crazy. The bedroom. The old man. The smell of the chamber-pot. Think about the smell, think about what you ate and what came out the other end, think about anything but this. No.
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