An Almond for a Parrot

by Dray Wray

  ‘You shouldn’t be here, my sprite. I’m a sick man. Forgive me, it was but a whim, a foolish notion to think I could…’

  His dead wife was standing on the other side of his bed and I saw that she trembled when Doctor Gallicot returned.

  ‘What, pray, is the meaning of this?’ he said to me. ‘I gave strict instructions that his lordship was to have no visitors.’

  He had great authority to his voice, but I thought him no better than a butcher for he appeared to be bleeding Lord B to death.

  ‘Madam,’ said the physician, seeing that I showed no signs of leaving, ‘please be gone immediately.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘You will kill him if you continue with your leeches and your knives.’

  The physician went to the door and instructed the footman to call for Mr Merritt.

  Lord B said weakly, ‘Come here, my little sprite.’

  I went to him. He was too pale.

  ‘It’s wrong, my lord,’ I said. ‘He must stop bleeding you, he must.’

  ‘And what, pray, do you know about medicine?’ said the physician.

  I looked round to see the spirit standing by my parrot’s cage and an idea came to me.

  I opened the cage and lifted Boozey out. ‘Tell me, sir, is my parrot dead?’

  Doctor Gallicot looked astounded. ‘Of course it’s dead,’ he said, as Mr Merritt entered the chamber. ‘Take her away, Merritt. I have no time for cheap theatricals.’

  I stroked Boozey and the parrot took flight. Doctor Gallicot paled.

  ‘Tell me, Doctor Gallicot,’ said Lord B, ‘should I continue with your treatment? Or should I rely on the magic of my sprite?’

  I could see that the man was shaken

  ‘My lord, I have for many years been your physician, as I was that of your late wife. Are you are going to trust to some sleight of hand? We are talking about life or death.’

  Boozey landed on the footboard of the bed. All animation left the parrot and he was once more stuffed and still. All the physician’s composure vanished.

  ‘This is witchcraft! My lord, she must leave…’

  ‘I think not,’ said Lord B. ‘I will take my chances in Tully’s care.’

  ‘But I am your physician and I insist that…’

  To my surprise, Mr Merritt said, ‘You heard his lordship, sir,’ and called for the footman to show the defeated doctor out.

  ‘If his lordship dies,’ said Doctor Gallicot to me, ‘I will hold you responsible.’

  My knees were shaking as I watched him depart with his leeches and bleeding bowls but I felt I had achieved no small victory. I looked about the chamber and the shade had gone.

  Lord B put out a hand to me and smiled. ‘Physicians can be the death of you,’ he said.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The house fell silent, holding its breath, waiting to know how I intended to save his lordship. Mr Merritt stood before me, expressionless, and my courage wavered.

  ‘Madam,’ he said, with the steadfastness of a Doric column. ‘What orders shall I give the staff?’

  I imagined that this was how generals felt when commanding armies, except I was certain that Mr Merritt would oppose my strategy. But, instead, that afternoon he illustrated perfectly the absolute necessity of anyone retaining forty-one servants for without them little would have been achieved.

  His lordship was removed to his antechamber and there I examined him, and was distressed to see that he was covered in bites. Fearing the bed to be infested, I ordered that the mattress be removed and burned, the drapes of the four-poster bed be taken away, the windows of the chamber opened and everything scrubbed clean. Lord B’s valet washed and shaved his lordship and only when he was dressed in a clean nightshirt and cap was he carried back to his newly made bed. Comfortable at last, he sighed.

  ‘My sweet sprite, this feels like heaven.’

  Then seeing that new drapes hung round the bed, a frown crossed his face.

  I knew what he was going to say: that this had been his wedding bed and he wanted nothing altered.

  ‘If you are to recover, my lord,’ I said firmly, ‘the mattress has to be burned.’

  ‘It’s my fault,’ he said. ‘I’d always forbidden it because…’ he took my hand ‘… because…’

  I leaned towards him and kissed him on the lips, relieved that there was not a shadow of the winding sheet on my lord.

  ‘It was long time ago, sir,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, a very long time ago.’

  His two wolfhounds had been barred from seeing their master by Dr Gallicot and I allowed them into the chamber. They lay contented by the fire. I ordered Rhenish wine and a chicken broth to be made to my recipe. It was brought up by Mr Merritt himself on a silver tray and I fed his lordship silver spoonfuls of the nourishing soup.

  I was reluctant to leave his lordship and sat in the chair beside his bed, the night bitter and my feet frozen. Around midnight he called my name.

  I took off my gown and in my shift climbed under the covers, grateful for the warmth. He woke momentarily.

  ‘Chilly feet,’ he said, and rolled towards me, curving his body round my back for warmth and putting his arms about me, his hands on my breasts. Neither of us moved and we both slept peacefully till morning. A blueish light filled the chamber and there was the quiet that comes with the muffling of heavy snow.

  Carefully, so not to disturb him, I turned towards him and found he was awake, his eyes upon me.

  ‘Thank you, my sprite,’ he said.

  Mr Merritt informed me that for the time being we were cut off from the outside world, the roads being too treacherous to be attempted. He reassured me that we had more than enough provisions. For two weeks the great house sat adrift in a sea of windblown snow. Black crows cried out and I was grateful for the isolation for it was as if it prevented Death from galloping up to our front door.

  We had a ritual of sorts. Every day the windows were opened to let in the fresh – albeit freezing – air, and the bedlinen changed. I was puzzled by the medicine Dr Gallicot had given his lordship and, on smelling it, decided that nothing so rotten could make anyone well and threw it away. I stayed with Lord B throughout every day, and every night I refused to leave his side. Finally, he began to show signs of improvement and, little by little, he regained his strength.

  As his health returned to him he became restless.

  ‘I’m not staying in bed with my legs growing weak,’ he said. ‘Enough, my sprite, enough. I am determined to be upright and dressed.’

  There was one way I thought to keep him there.

  ‘Could I change your mind, sir?’ I asked as I undid my gown.

  I gave him scissors to cut my stays, and took off my petticoat and my panniers. His lordship watched me with an amused smile on his face. I stood before him, naked apart from my stockings, which were held up by pretty bows.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said, welcoming me into his bed.

  It happened so naturally that I didn’t feel it to be wrong. His kisses had a tenderness to them and were in their nature different to Avery’s in every respect. Certain that the fire in him would have been transmitted to his maypole, I put my hand gently on that most tender of parts and was surprised to find that our kisses had not in any way awoken it. There it lay, sleepy, and I began by degrees to stroke it and tend to this most necessary part of all satisfaction. Gradually the member became harder until the muscles of it stood blood-gorged to attention.

  ‘Madam,’ he said, ‘I have risen from the dead.’

  I laughed and sat astride him. Naked, and with a longing in me that I never thought would show itself again, I eased him in to my little garden. I nearly had reached that melting moment when I felt the power of him wilt. I lay down beside him and put my pearl hand to work and instantly he regained his pose. He rolled me over and entered me that way, and then my lord let out the most glorious of cries. So unexpected was it that no doubt his servants thought that I had murdered him. Knowing him to be well
enough for the main dish sent a thrill through me and I reached that moment that fails even the pens of poets.

  Next morning he was dressed and, having eaten a light breakfast, went to his study to look at his post.

  I had gone to tell Mr Merritt that we would be dining downstairs that day when there was the most terrible knocking at the front door. A footman opened it and, with a blast of snow and wind, in blew the irrepressible Mr Ainsley accompanied by another man wearing a three-cornered hat.

  Mr Merritt followed me into the hall.

  ‘Arrest her,’ said Mr Ainsley, pointing his gloved finger at me. ‘She is a murderess. God be my witness, my uncle died due to that witch’s meddling in the black arts.’ He turned to the man in the three-cornered hat. ‘What are you waiting for, Constable.’

  ‘I need to see some evidence, sir,’ he said.

  As the constable didn’t take any action, Mr Ainsley took hold of me.

  ‘Unhand me, sir,’ I said, pulling away.

  Mr Ainsley hardly drew breath before he continued. ‘Merritt, from now on you will take your orders from me. Please be so kind as to show me to the chamber where his lordship is laid out.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Mr Merritt, ‘I think you’ll find his lordship is…’

  Mr Ainsley bellowed at him in the manner of a fire and brimstone preacher. ‘Did I ask for your opinion, Merritt? Remember your place! You are a servant here.’

  It was then that Lord B came nonchalantly down the stairs, looking very well indeed.

  ‘Most enlightening, Jonathan,’ he said. ‘So this is how you would conduct matters after my death.’

  So surprised was Mr Ainsley to see Lord B that for a moment he was unable to speak. ‘U-Uncle, I thought you were dead,’ he said, weakly.

  ‘Obviously. I take it that you have come out of the goodness of your heart to claim my body. Or is the truth that you are here to see what you might have inherited? I am sorry to disappoint you. It must be a wretched inconvenience for you to find that I am alive. Very much alive.’

  ‘No, no, not at all, Uncle. No, it is joyous, most joyous.’

  ‘Were the roads so treacherous, dear nephew, that you needed an escort?’

  His lordship waved a lazy hand in the direction of the constable who was looking none too pleased at being brought out on a fool’s errand on such a cold day.

  ‘I humbly beg your pardon, your lordship,’ said the constable. ‘I was informed…’

  ‘Be quiet, man,’ snapped Mr Ainsley.

  ‘Pray continue,’ said his lordship.

  ‘I was told, your lordship, you had been as good as murdered by a witch,’ said the constable.

  ‘And when did you receive this startling information?’ asked Lord B.

  ‘Today, your lordship.’

  ‘Jonathan, I wager Dr Gallicot informed you three weeks ago that I was ill?’ Mr Ainsley gulped as if he was swallowing the psalms, page by inedible page. ‘Yet you were only roused into action today?’

  ‘The roads were impassible, sir, or I would have come sooner.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ said his lordship. ‘Constable, you may leave us.’

  ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you, your lordship. And you, my lady.’

  ‘Lady? Lady?’ hissed Mr Ainsley at the constable. ‘She is no lady.’

  ‘She don’t look like no witch either.’

  Lord B nodded to Mr Merritt, who handed the constable two sovereigns for his pains. He left, muttering to himself under his breath.

  ‘Uncle, you misunderstand my intentions,’ said Mr Ainsley, rolling his hat in his hands.

  ‘It is one of my weaknesses,’ said Lord B, ‘that I never misunderstand. For the last two Sundays you have preached a sermon about a harlot who is living with a lord in the vicinity of Bath. The only thing you left out of your vivid description was my name. A rather entertaining cartoon was sent to me in the post. You see, Jonathan, the post has had no problem reaching my door, whereas you, who were so concerned that I was being murdered, were unable to come to enquire after my health.’

  Mr Ainsley had opened his mouth to protest when another carriage was heard outside. The footman opened the door and Mrs Ainsely entered, followed by a servant with a trunk.

  ‘I hope, Mr Ainsley,’ she said to her husband, ‘that you’ve had them air the beds and…’ She stopped.

  ‘Merritt,’ said Lord B, ‘show my nephew and his wife to their carriage. And, Jonathan, you need not bank on my leaving you so much as a penny in my will. Good day.’

  When they had gone he turned to me.

  ‘I think, my sprite, the time has come to set Bath by its ears.’

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Much that is written about me in the gutter press is exaggerated for the enjoyment of others and is more to do with salacious rumours, gossip and scandal – all the petty ingredients that go to make up the soup of human existence – than the truth.

  It all started with Mr Ainsley’s sermons. They did much to attract attention, for the idea that Lord Barbeau’s mistress was a witch fascinated the bored inhabitants of Bath so when we eventually took up residence in Queen Square in March, I already had a reputation that the Bath Chronicle delighted in disproving. I was announced as being a great beauty and a credit to Lord B whose taste in all things was superb.

  ‘What pomposity,’ said Lord B when he read the piece. ‘Money and a title, my dear sprite – not to mention a beautiful face – washes many a dirty sheet clean.’

  It appeared that he was right for, far from being shunned, I was welcomed into the frivolous society of which Bath was composed and thus began one of the happiest times I can recall.

  We had been settled in our new house about a week, and were late in bed one morning for his lordship was never an early riser, no matter how much I pleaded with him to be up to take the hot waters.

  ‘No, sprite,’ he said. ‘The cure I rely upon is your loving – better by far than the King’s Bath where the water is pissed in by incontinent old earls.’

  I laughed. ‘Do you speak this way to your society acquaintances, sir?’

  ‘No, only to my beloved sprite,’ he said. ‘I saw a doctor yesterday who said that the best cure that he knew of for my malady is gambling. I presume he was working on the principle that as I cannot take my wealth with me when I die I may as well enjoy losing it at cards. Idiot!’ I kissed him and felt the fire in him return. ‘Today, I want to stay in bed with my sprite.’

  Later that afternoon as we lay sleepily together, he asked, ‘What possessed you to refuse the three twenty pound notes that I offered you when I was unwell? Kitty would have taken them in a trice, demanded a post-chaise and have disappeared in a cloud of lust to another lover.’

  ‘Apart from the obvious, sir, that I am not Kitty, I felt I had done nothing to deserve such generosity.’

  ‘Do you feel you have done enough to accept it now?’

  ‘No, sir,’ I said.

  ‘My dear,’ said Lord B, more seriously than I thought the subject warranted, ‘I negotiated with Queenie to have you for my mistress. Never did I imagine that you would become my nurse.’

  ‘Only a nurse?’

  ‘My personal witch, then.’

  ‘It matters not. The important thing is that you recover your health. Please, sir, tomorrow will you…’

  Before I could say another word he handed me a jewellery box. I opened it and closed it almost immediately.

  ‘Do you not like diamonds, my sprite?’

  ‘These, sir, are worth far more than three twenty pound notes.’

  ‘I hope so. I would be disappointed if they weren’t worth ten times as much. My wish, sprite, is to drape you in jewels until you positively glimmer.’

  Lord B opened the box, took out the diamond necklace and kissed the back of my neck as he did up the clasp.

  I climbed, naked, out of bed to look at myself in the mirror. For the sheer joy of it, I spun round and round, rising until I touched the ceiling.

>   ‘Bravo,’ said Lord B. ‘My sweetest of witches!’

  I landed and curtsied.

  ‘I will have you painted like that,’ he said. ‘Naked, draped only in gems.’

  ‘Would it be very wicked if I wore my necklace while you ravished me?’

  ‘I always think,’ he said, laughing, ‘that a woman is most alluring when she keeps something on in bed.’

  I fell into the pillows, wrapped in his arms, and, nuzzling into him, my hand found his maypole eager for the dance.

  There are, as Hope told me, many ways to make love and I became well versed in making his lordship very happy indeed.

  I could describe the King’s Bath and the small alleys thereabouts, Wiltshire’s Assembly Rooms, and the Pump Room. I could describe the numerous social engagements to which we were invited, the balls, the gambling and the folly of the beau monde at play. But it would be a sad waste of my ink and paper.

  Lord B enjoyed giving small soirées at Queen’s Square in the drawing room with its plastered ceiling of Greek gods and goddesses. It was on one such charming evening that he asked if I would show Boozey to his close friends. Doctor Gallicot’s encounter with my parrot was the stuff of rumours, some malicious and some too full of folly for words. Merritt brought the bird to me. In the middle of the room amid the flickering candlelight, I stood and brought Boozey to life and let him fly round the chamber. Everyone clapped and wanted to know the secret of my trick. Not satisfied, they demanded more. Encore, encore!

  ‘Come, sprite,’ said Lord B, ‘show my friends the true extent of your powers.’

  It was then that she appeared. Visible only to me, the late Lady Barbeau, with such sadness, put her arms round his lordship’s neck. He smiled an internal smile and put his hand to his shoulder. An irrational jealousy took me. I wanted her to be gone. She had no right to be here, now. This was my time, not hers. Without giving the wisdom of it a second thought, I rose in all my finery to the ceiling and stayed there until Lord B beckoned me down. But the sight of her had ruined my night and filled me with dread.