Alchemy

by Maureen Duffy

  ‘Ms Molders, do you have a few moments to show Ms Cowell around?’

  Of course she does. It must be all set up beforehand. This is their usual drill and she’s been painting her nails or cleaning her ears while she waits for the buzz. She holds the door open for me but I wave her on.

  ‘You lead the way. You know where we’re going.’ We pass through corridors, pausing to peer into classrooms assembled from a child’s plastic bricks until suddenly we’re in the older part, what must have been St Walburgha’s.

  ‘This is our pride,’ Mary-Ann Molders says, ‘our chapel.’

  She opens the door on an array of columns, between painted walls imitating mosaic, nineteenth-century repro Verona but in black, dried blood and gilding without the light and grace of the original frescos of the Emperor Justinian and his entourage. These are nineteenth-century saints with long cloudy beards and hair, barefoot patriarchs bearing the torture trappings of their martyrdoms. Surprisingly there’s no altar and no furnishings apart from stacking chairs and what must be the original pulpit but set where the altar would have been.

  ‘Do you have services in here?’

  ‘We call them “Gatherings”. They are mainly for theology students. They live together in hall, unlike students of other faculties who tend to have lodgings in the town.’

  ‘But other people, students, can attend the Gatherings.’

  ‘We have a couple each term that are open to all.’

  ‘And for a quiet moment of meditation?’

  ‘Oh the chapel is always open as you see, as long as nothing else is going on.’

  ‘So interesting that you’ve kept what must be the original decoration.’

  ‘Well, there’s a preservation order but anyway we wouldn’t want to change it. The students find it a real inspiration.’

  I turn away as if anxious to move on, hoping I haven’t awakened any suspicions with my interest.

  ‘Your theology students seem to follow an almost monastic lifestyle.’

  ‘They prefer it that way. It makes it easier for them to concentrate on their development. And they have to be protected.’

  ‘Protected?’

  ‘From distracting external influences, although we did have one case recently on campus of a tutor encouraging them to experiment with illegal substances. He was suspended of course.’

  Amyntas’ recipe for opiates. I resist an impulse to joke about heightened perceptions. Instead I bring out an anodyne, ‘I should think so,’ as we pass through the refectory, hall, and more classrooms, stopping to look into the gym and admire the Olympic-length swimming pool, not yet filled for the beginning of term.

  ‘And this is the library.’

  It’s a miniature version of the round dome of the old reading room at the British Library that I’ve seen in early photographs. Spot Karl Marx in the lower right-hand corner. Here there are the same galleries with fireproof metal stairs, floors and shelves. The original readers’ seats in red leather with individual lamps and solid chairs. Like the chapel it gives this foundation of a few years a feeling of permanence and reliability.

  ‘Splendid,’ I hear myself saying. ‘I really look forward to working in here.’

  ‘You have to book. But those doing MAs and doctorates like you get priority. There’s more space behind for the ordinary students.’ She leads me into a modern extension with a wall of desktop PCs and long central tables and chairs. Light floods in from tall plate-glass windows with a view over another quadrangle, bordered at the back by an urban shrubbery of japonica, forsythia and azalea with tall poplars beyond.

  ‘I suppose this is better for the eyes,’ I say, ‘but it doesn’t have the atmosphere of the old library.’ I feel myself running out of platitudes.

  Mary-Ann, I suspect, feels much the same. ‘I think the dean will be ready to see you now.’

  ‘Well, Ms Cowell, how do you like us?’

  ‘Very much indeed. Very impressive.’

  ‘And do you think you could work well here?’

  After what I’ve seen I’m sure I could.’

  ‘Then we would be very pleased to have you among us. I’ve spoken to the heads of English and history and either would be happy to be your supervisor. Perhaps when you start you could see both of them and come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement. We shall of course be putting all this in writing to you with details of fees and so on. And we will need your formal acceptance of the terms and conditions.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He stands up. We shake hands. Apple-pie Mary-Ann shows me out, back to reception, presses the white security switch opening the door to the outside world, shakes hands too. And I’m on the other side again. Why do I feel such a sense of relief, and like walking away very fast, even running? There’s a timetable at the college bus stop. The next bus isn’t for half an hour but I can’t wait here at the gates. I feel as if I might be watched by the CCTV cameras pointing through the railings. I start off down the road to the town, striding out like some twentieth-century hiker with stick, rucksack and boots, heading for the uplands where the air’s clean and fresh.

  At the beginning of March of the new year a messenger arrived, sent ahead by the countess, to say that she would be with us within the week. How gladly my heart beat now. I gave myself to pay particular attention to her patients so that all should give a good report of me and of my cure of them. Next I combed through our dispensary to see if anything were lacking that I had missed before, and remedied it. Meanwhile the house was made ready to receive her with clean bed linen, fresh supplies of meats, ale and wine and candles. The steward sent abroad for the tenants to come in with birds, fish and flesh of every sort and the kitchens were full of flying down, bowls of blood and entrails to feast the dogs.

  Carters rolled into the courtyard with loads of logs and kindling. Fires were lit in every room to chase away the winter damp. All was as merry as if Christmas had never ceased and we fallen into foul winter. Then after three days, in an afternoon of bitter wind but high clouds and a thin sunlight, the cry went up from the boy posted in a fork of a tree beside the road. ‘She comes, she comes.’ All we her servants crowded out to meet her as the first of the carriages came into view. The horses were snorting great clouds in the cold air and their sides were flecked with foam.

  We fell on our knees as the carriage doors opened, the riders dismounted and the chamberlain stepped down from my lady’s coach with the arms of Pembroke and Sidney emblazoned on the door, the colours still bright in spite of their coating of mire and dust of travel. But my lady herself came not out as was her custom to greet us all. The chamberlain called for a litter to be brought. Then I ran with two of the serving men to fetch the one that we kept always in the dispensary for the feeble sick, laid a clean silk cover upon it and cushions, and returned to the courtyard. Three of her ladies helped her from the coach into it and she was borne away to her bedchamber. ‘Attend me Amyntas,’ she said. ‘I have need of your aid and physic.’

  Letting a few minutes pass that her ladies might settle her, I entered and fell on my knees at her bedside. She put out a hand that trembled a little and touched my hair. ‘What can you prescribe my little physician, for weariness and melancholy?’

  ‘I have some fresh poppy syrup my lady that will bring you rest and sleep.’

  ‘I do not want to sleep; there is too much to be done. I must write letters to friends at court, to Sir Robert Cecil and Cousin Wotton, even to her majesty herself. Bring me some brandy.’

  When she had sipped a little, and the colour had returned somewhat to her cheeks which had been like to a yellowed parchment at first upon her arrival, I begged my lady to tell me what had so disordered her.

  ‘You see that Mistress Griffiths is not with me. That is because her friends are among those who defy my authority in the city, mine by my husband’s will in trust for our son until he will come of age, and then his. Some turbulent people, among them the town recorder and my own bailiff of the town, have
set up their own court in rival to that Council of the Marches which is the only true court of which my husband was president and my father before him. Some others of them of the meaner sort have torn down the walls fast under my castle and my private walks there which they have cast away. And all this which was begun in my lord’s time is carried on now with the greater insolence because I am a weak woman alone.’

  I saw that all this speech much agitated her and urged her to a little more brandy, hoping that that, the heat of the fire, and the fatigue of the journey would cause her to fall into a restful slumber. ‘My cares deny all rest Amyntas. Only perhaps if you should sing me some words of my brother’s, I might find a little quiet.’

  Get hence foule grief, the canker of the mind: Farewell complaint, the miser’s only pleasure: Away vain cares, by which few men do find Their sought-for treasure.

  Ye helpless sighs, blow out your breath to nought, Tears, drown your selves, for woe (your cause) is wasted. Thought, think to end, too long the fruit of thought My mind hath tasted.

  But thou sure hope, tickle my leaping heart, Comfort, step thou in place of wonted sadness. Fore-felt desire, begin to savour parts Of coming gladness.

  Let voice of sighs into clear music run, Eyes, let your tears with gazing now be mended, In stead of thought, true pleasure be begun, And never ended.

  She had dismissed her ladies, who indeed were also weary from the journey and glad to be gone from their duties. Therefore I sat on alone beside her on a red and gold footstool, bearing the countess’ own symbol of a phoenix, so that when she waked I should be there to serve her.

  At length she began to stir about in the bed and suddenly sitting up looked around wildly as if not knowing where she lay. ‘Do not fear madam. You are safe at Ramsbury.’

  ‘I am in my own chamber again. I dreamt I was still on the road and surrounded by murderers in the forest. My throat is like parchment. Bring me some beer, child.’

  So I brought it to her and held the cup for her to drink. ‘I am afraid to sleep lest the nightmare should ride me again. Come here and lie with me to keep the hobgoblins away. Take off your clothes. We will be together like Diana and her nymphs.’

  Now my hands trembled so much I could scarcely undo the fastenings of my doublet and shirt. At last I dropped my slops, having slipped off my shoes and stood only in my hose and the binding about my breasts.

  ‘Make haste with the rest child. Such slim white legs. Come.’ She threw back her bedclothes and patted the place beside her with her ringed hand. ‘You bind your breasts. Are they then growing? Let me see.’

  My lady pulled at the linen. ‘So small still.’ Her fingers traced their shape. ‘And the little mouse between your thighs. If only that might be pricked out for my pleasure.’ Her hand moved down to touch my secrets and it was if a sheet of flame enfolded me so that I cried out and trembled under her touch. ‘There child do not cry. That cannot hurt you. You must suffer more when you come to a man. What does the poem say: “no more signs there are / Than fishes leave in streams or birds in air.” Perhaps my body disgusts you, is no longer young.’

  ‘Madam is still beautiful.’ And indeed so I thought her, for aside from those necessary marks of childbearing her flesh was firm and rosy, her breasts, freed by the wet nurse from giving suck, were as a maid’s still, of whitest yet warm marble, blue veined and coral tipped. Yet I found it hard to look upon her for I had never seen either woman or man full naked before.

  ‘Therefore since there can be no sin in impossibility, hold me child and let me sleep in your arms.’ So I put mine about her and soon she slept indeed. Then was I able to withdraw my arms from about her for the flame I had not understood seared me again when our breasts touched and kept me from sleep myself, as also the fear that she might wake and wonder what she did or that one coming in early might surprise us as we lay, with me in all my nakedness.

  In the darkness of the winter night I could not tell how long we lay together but at the first touch of russet grey in the sky I rose softly and dressed myself. The countess lay still sleeping while exhausted nature replenished herself. I crept from her room and regained my own pallet where I lay trembling full dressed under the coverlet until I heard others stirring. Then I took myself to the kitchen for bread and half a pint of wine and to stop the chattering of my teeth by warming myself at the fire.

  Only Joan the cook and a scullery maid were up and busy about the breakfasts, laying out chines of beef, mutton and coneys for boiling with gruel of chickens for the weaker stomachs.

  ‘You are betimes Master Boston.’

  ‘I could not sleep for the cold.’

  ‘You should have hot young blood to keep you from that, unless you have a cold heart or too many sharp thoughts in your head.’

  When my shivering had ceased I made my way towards my lady’s bedchamber, staying my steps in the passage where I slept when I heard her call out for her ladies. ‘Bring me rags. I bleed.’

  Swiftly I turned and made my way back to the kitchen. ‘A hot posset for my lady and the finest mancheate with a clean napkin.’ I placed all on a silver tray and returned to her chamber.

  She lay back in her bed with her ladies about her, making no attempt to rise. ‘What have you brought me Amyntas?’

  ‘A little breakfast madam that shall gently soothe the stomach.’

  ‘I can scarce open my eyes, even though I slept like a child after the draught you gave me. Give me some bread and wine and then I feel I shall sleep again.’

  ‘Nature commends such rest madam after so much travelling by the way. It is the best physick.’

  ‘And for the pain in my belly what will you prescribe?’

  ‘Syrup of comfrey madam.’

  ‘Does my lady well to have such faith in one so young?’ the duenna asked. ‘Let me send to Wilton for one of your other physicians, more experienced in the healing arts.’

  ‘Let Master Boston try what he can do. When he has failed then is the time to send for others. Besides it is only a little ache that I have not felt these last three months. Perhaps I shall get with child again by a cloud or a shower of gold.’

  ‘You will need a man hid therein then my lady,’ said the duenna, and all the women laughed together.

  ‘Bring me your draught child and then all of you let me sleep. When I wake I have much to do.’

  As I walked to the dispensary for the syrup I thought that my lady’s melancholy with which she had returned was much eased and that as yet she had no memory of what had passed that night. Nor would I dare to remind her of it. Perhaps she had thought it but a dream brought on by the brandy into which I had managed to slip a spoonful of poppy syrup at the bottom of her last cup, and now believed I saw the beneficial results of this in her greater ease.

  When I returned she had raised herself against her pillows so that I could see through the disorder of her bedgown some of what had pleasured me the night before.

  ‘Shall I trust you truly, Amyntas?’ she asked, ‘for I believe you gave me poppy even though I forbade it. I had such dreams.’

  ‘Madam, I cannot deceive you. There was a very little in the brandy but only to give you rest as it has done. You know I would serve and preserve you with my life, and would die rather than any harm should come to you, in especial from my hand.’

  The letter from Wessex has come by the next morning, this morning. Briefly I wonder why they’re so keen to sign me up, and decide it must be the hefty fee they charge postgraduates just for a short summer course. The dean makes it clear that if all goes well I can stay on if I want, maybe for ever, at a price, gathering points towards an eventual elevation. I study the names of the heads of department to try to penetrate through to their owners.

  Ranee Raval. English.

  Daniel Davidson. History.

  ‘I’m in. But at a price.’

  ‘Well done. I think the expression is spare no expense. As I hope I made clear, Ms Green, I fully expected to have to pay. Tell me what you though
t of the setup.’ Galton’s on a high because he knows that now he’s truly hooked me. I have to remind myself I can back away at any time. Or can I? We haven’t signed a contract yet. And I’m supposed to be the lawyer. I choose my words carefully.

  ‘It’s hard to say. Some things struck me as weird. The way they keep their theologs as if in a monastery. And the chapel without any altar and almost out of bounds to the ordinary students who’re expected to lodge in the town.’

  ‘Along with most of the staff, apart from a privileged few.’

  Galton’s own address must be somewhere in the town I realise. I might even have passed it on the bus from the station. The thought makes me uneasy though I don’t know why. It adds to my feeling of having been watched while I was there.

  ‘Perhaps you could express an interest in their temple and get yourself into a service.’

  ‘I thought of that.’ I mustn’t lose the initiative in this conversation with Galton as so often happens. ‘They call them Gatherings.’

  ‘Ah yes, of course. How quickly one forgets. And the Revd Bishop, what did you think of him?’

  ‘Esau? Very hairy.’

  ‘And did you meet the secretary?’

  ‘Of course. The Molders was given the job of showing me round. Very apple pie and efficient. I imagine she lives in.’

  ‘Certainly. You mustn’t be deceived by that wholesomely efficient manner.’

  ‘If you think that then perhaps we should call it all off.’ Cue for a song.

  ‘No, no, of course not. It’s only that I feel so powerless, so unable to influence things.’ I realise it’s the closest Galton can get to an apology.

  Later when he’s rung off I consider the power-freak side of Galton. He’s used to being in control, his every word hung on by eager, open-mouthed students. That’s how he got himself into this mess. Exercising power, believing he could say and do what he liked and get away with it. Did he give some of Amyntas’ steamier confessions to his students? Or are they only in the full part of the manuscript he says was stolen? Why don’t I want to ask him? Because he might lie in spite of my warnings, and I couldn’t trust his answer.