The Good Apprentice

by Iris Murdoch

  ‘Ilona — dear — it’s only me — don’t be frightened — forgive me — ’

  She clutched her niglitdress about her neck in a terrified movement, then tossed back the bed-clothes and thrust out her slim legs and bare feet. Edward rose and stepped back. Hastily she thrust her feet into slippers, then reached for a red dressing gown which was lying on the bottom of the bed and began awkwardly to drag it on. All this time her face was distorted in a grimace of mingled fear and annoyance. She buttoned the dressing gown with clumsy incompetent fingers and then stood up. She whispered to Edward, ‘You mustn’t be here, you must go at once.’

  Edward got up too and said, softly but not whispering, ‘Look, Ilona don’t worry. Your mother is with Jesse, she said she’d sit with him, and Bettina has gone off with the others in the car. Stuart went too. There’s only us.’

  ‘They could come at any moment. How could you do this! You know you mustn’t.’

  Edward said, ‘I don’t know any such thing!’ This was not true, he was intensely aware of being on forbidden ground. ‘Anyway, why should we live by rules, who made these rules? I’m your brother. Haven’t I any rights?’ No, none, he said to himself.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I just want to talk to you, do sit down for a moment, I won’t stay long, Ilona, please, I’m feeling so upset and lost, I want you to help me just by letting me talk, I’ll go soon I promise you. We’ll hear the car, and Bettina will come in by the front door and if Mother May isn’t with Jesse she’s sure to be waiting for Bettina in the Atrium. They wouldn’t want to talk up here.’

  This entirely impromptu reasoning seemed to calm Ilona a little though it was probable she hardly understood it. She sat down on the bed and Edward sat, curling his legs, on the floor, not near her. Ilona gathered her hair carefully and stowed it behind her. She turned upon Edward a face of entire distress and said, ‘You aren’t going away?’

  ‘No, what made you think that?’

  ‘What happened tonight.’

  ‘Well, what did happen tonight? My stepfather and my aunt suddenly materialised together. Bettina says they said they were Mr and Mrs Bentley.’

  ‘I don’t understand. That was Chloe’s sister, who’s married to — ’

  ‘Thomas McCaskerville.’

  ‘And the man was Chloe’s husband.’

  ‘Yes, Harry Cuno.’

  ‘Their car broke down.’

  ‘Yes, but they were obviously together secretly. They must have turned up here by accident in the dark. If there is such a thing as accident.’

  ‘I thought they’d come to fetch you.’

  ‘So did I, till I started thinking. Never mind. I mean, never you mind. I just feel in such a mess as if I can’t rely on anybody, and that’s only just starting.’

  ‘Jesse kissed her — I’ve never seen anything like it — he kissed her so much — ’

  ‘Yes He did. Didn’t he?’ Edward felt strangely deeply upset, hurt, as if his mother had actually been present at the scene, as if her poor helpless ghost had been trying, in the person of Midge, to kiss Jesse, to touch, to embrace her precious faithless beloved. Edward had not, even now, reflected upon how his mother had been ‘treated badly’ by her lover. He did not want to have to think about all that. That kissing had been awful. It was exciting too. It was exciting in an awful way. And somehow it was all connected, connected with him, and through him with Ilona, with Brownie … Brownie. Tomorrow.

  ‘Ilona, can I tell you something. You know about Mark Wilsden, don’t you?’

  ‘Your friend who fell out of the window.’

  ‘Yes. Did Mother May tell you?’

  ‘Yes, and we saw it in the paper.’

  ‘You don’t have newspapers here — ’

  ‘Dorothy sent us the cutting — you know, Mother May’s friend.’

  ‘Well, I’ve found his sister, and she’s here — ’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Yes, she’s over at Railway Cottage, where Sarah Plowmain and her mother live.’

  ‘You’ve been over there?’

  ‘Yes, don’t tell the others.’

  ‘But do you know those people, aren’t they awful — ?’

  ‘I used to know Sarah. But, listen, I’m going to see Mark’s sister again tomorrow morning, it’s terribly important. She’s been kind to me, she can help me, no one else can — ’

  ‘Can’t I help you?’

  ‘Oh Ilona, of course you help me, but this you must see is special — ’

  ‘You don’t need me. You’re going to her.’

  ‘Ilona, don’t be silly — ’

  ‘You’ll leave us — ’ Ilona, putting her hands to her face, began desperately to cry. Copious tears ran through her fingers and down her cheeks, onto her neck and onto the embroidered collar of her nightdress and all down her dressing gown, staining it a darker red. She cried, pouring the tears out, and uttering a little whining keening sound.

  ‘Ilona, don’t cry, oh don’t cry, I can’t bear it!’ Edward jumped. up and sat beside her on the bed, putting his arm round her shoulders. He felt her thinness, her smallness, the fragility of her bones. She shrank from him and he moved back, removing his arm. He could smell the wet wool and the warm scent of her body, so lately asleep. ’Oh do stop, my darling — ’

  Ilona turned and dug under her pillow for a handkerchief, found it, and mopped her face and dried her neck. Still sniffing and crying a little she said, ‘Will you take me with you to London? Could I stay in your house? It would be just for a while. I’d find a job. Please let me come with you to London. I don’t want to stay here, I’ll die here.’

  Edward felt an anguish of pity and love for her, and at the same time a sense of how impossible it was. He couldn’t take Ilona to London and keep her in his room like a pet frog. She’d die there. And what job could Ilona find, what job could she ever find? He said, ‘But you must stay with Jesse.’

  ‘They won’t let me see Jesse, they won’t let me come near him. They’re jealous. And tonight — he didn’t even notice me.’ She cried some more, then wrung out the handkerchief and watched the drops fall upon the little rug by her bed.

  ‘Anyway, I must stay with Jesse.’ Edward uttered this with instinctive vehemence, but it was a dark saying. He added, ‘What makes you think I’m leaving?’

  ‘You’ll leave. You’ll have to. You won’t be able to stand it. They’ll stop you from seeing him. You’re bound to go, you’ll follow her. You’ll forget me. Nobody wants me.’ The tears were coming again, like ever-renewed rain showers, Edward had never seen a girl cry so. He had never seen so many tears. Then he imagined that he had seen his mother crying when he was a very small child. So many women’s tears.

  ‘Ilona, don’t, you’re my sister and I love you, I told you so, remember.’

  ‘Then can I come to you in London?’

  ‘Well, it’ll be rather difficult-’ He thought, I can’t imagine it, she’ll die if she leaves here, and besides —

  Ilona abruptly stopped crying. She got up and dropped the wet handkerchief in a corner and opened a drawer and drew out a large square of clean white handkerchief, carefully unfolded it and dried her hands upon it and put it in the pocket of her dressing gown. She said in a calm dull voice, not looking at him, ‘All right, you don’t want me. It was silly to hope. There’s nowhere for me to go except into the river.’

  ‘Ilona, don’t talk such wicked nonsense! I’ve told you, I’m not going! And if I did, I’d always come back to see you. And later on, when things in London are a bit more sorted out, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t come to visit — ’

  ‘To visit! Oh you don’t see, you don’t know, what I want, how much I want, how much I thought your coming here would make everything different and give me things to hope for — oh what does it matter. Go away, please, I want to sleep, and they mustn’t find you here, they’d blame me.’

  Edward heard the murmur, then the loud unmistakable sound, of the car coming
back. He jumped up. ‘There’s the car, I must go. Ilona, I’ll look after you, all my life, I promise — dear, dear Ilona, believe me — ’

  ‘Go on, go quick. I must put this light out.’

  Before he reached the door she had turned off the lamp.

  Edward opened his eyes. It was daylight. He had forgotten to close the shutters. He lay flat on his back, relaxed, vaguely conscious. Then he remembered the amazing happenings of the previous night, the arrival of Harry and Midge as ‘Mr and Mrs Bentley’, the apparition of Jesse, Jesse’s curse on Stuart, then how he had held Midge in his arms and kissed her. He thought she was Chloe. How extraordinary. Had he dreamt it all or did it really happen? And then he had talked to Ilona and she had cried so much. And he had fallen down the stone stairs in the dark and hurt his leg. Then he had stood in Transition listening to the murmur of Bettina and Mother May talking in the hall. Near to the door he could have heard what they were saying, but the idea filled him with disgust and he limped back to West Selden. And now — how awful it all was, and what was he supposed to do about it? He sat up, pushed back the bed-clothes, and sat on the bed rubbing his bruised leg. He examined his cut hand, which had been healing since Mother May put that leaf upon it. Then with a flash he remembered: Brownie. Today.

  He looked at his watch. It was already late, past breakfast time, he had overslept. Suppose he didn’t reach her in time, suppose she were gone, suppose she thought he didn’t want to see her, suppose he were to lose her forever? He began to dress in clumsy haste. Suppose they detained him. Suppose Ilona, out of jealous misery, had told them where he was going. Dressed, he went to the window to see if there was anyone outside on the terrace. He intended to slink straight out of the West Selden door. A low heavy white mist was lying, its smooth surface a few feet off the ground. It looked as if a flood surrounded the house. Suppose he were to lose his way. God, he didn’t know the way to Railway Cottage, he had only found it by accident! He must find where the old railway line crossed the road. But he had nearly missed it and could miss it again in this infernal mist. Anyway, that must be a long way round, there was surely a quicker way to get to the railway line. He must look at the map. But he had put the map back in the drawer in the Interfectory.

  Edward stood in an agony of anxiety and indecision. He put his jacket on. He felt unwell, a little giddy and hazy in the head, he kept blinking his eyes, it was as if the mist had got into them. He went into the bathroom and wondered if he should shave for Brownie. He looked in the mirror. He looked a sight. Impatiently he shaved, moving the razor with painful slowness as if something were retarding his hand. He decided to put on a tie, then could not knot it properly and threw it down. He combed his hair and pocketed the comb. He still could not decide whether to risk going to fetch the map.

  He opened his bedroom door and listened. The white silence of the mist had penetrated the house. There was not a sound. He went to the top of the stairs, then scurried back for his mackintosh. He went down as far as Transition and listened again. There was no one in the kitchen. He cautiously opened the Atrium door. The big hall was empty, the breakfast table partly cleared. He went as far as the table, and seeing bread, jam, a jug of fruit juice, felt suddenly extremely hungry. He had missed his supper last night. He quickly tore at the bread and drank two glasses of the fruit juice which tasted intoxicating like wine, perhaps was wine. He made up a jam sandwich and stuffed it in his pocket. He felt for a moment quite sick and as if his feet were not touching the ground, and he resisted a temptation to sit down by the table and rest his head in his hands. He went on to the Interfectory and entered the empty room. In a moment he had pocketed the map, and was running tiptoe across the slated floor to the main door when Mother May came in from outside. She stood aside as he passed her and swung out of the door. He heard her call after him ‘Edward!’ as he ran, without looking back, across the terrace.

  He wanted to get quickly away from the house and find somewhere where he could stand and study the map. He ran into the trees to the left, along beyond the greenhouses and the orchard, so as to put the poplar grove between him and the house. He pictured Mother May and Bettina running after him, calling. He ran, waist high in the white mist, half a man running away. Just beyond the poplars he slowed down, then stopped and listened. There was no sight or sound of a pursuit. He unfolded the map, which immediately began to fall about like a collection of small books loosely tied together with string. He knelt on the ground, wet with dew and mist, and laid it out, then savagely refolded it so as to see what he wanted. A footpath was marked leading off the drive toward the railway, but Edward had not noticed this path which by now had probably been closed and planted over by the ‘nasty farmer’ mentioned by Ilona. It was safer to go by the road. With the help of the map he could at least estimate the distance. He walked on parallel to the track over lumpy grass, screened by gorse and elder bushes and small hazels. He thought he heard a car. Then he certainly heard the sound of the river. He kicked his way through a mass of old broken bracken which was already stiffened by new curled shoots like little green walking sticks. Then there was the river bank and a path which he recognised. The mist clearing from the ground was diffused in the air and he could dimly see the slope of the little hill and the trees on the other side. As the map informed him, if he followed the river he would reach the road sooner, but at a point farther from his objective. On the other hand, he was afraid to walk on the track in full view, and once on the tarmac he could run. Why had everything suddenly become so difficult?

  He decided he had better get back to the track after all. He looked at his watch. He had already spent a lot of time consulting the map and struggling along over the rough ground. Time was passing, he must hurry. He thought, almost tearfully, I’m not well. I feel so strange. I feel feverish, delirious, I’ve got a headache, I’d like to lie down and sleep. Everything looks so odd. Perhaps it’s just the sun, I can see the sun as a golden ball coming through the mist, only I mustn’t look at it. There is a mist, isn’t there, it isn’t just my eyes? I shouldn’t have drunk that fruit juice. Why was it there in that small jug? Did they leave it specially for me? They wanted to stop me from going away. I mustn’t look at the sun. I want to sit down and rest for a moment, but I mustn’t, I must get to Brownie, if I don’t I’ll never never find her again. He decided to follow the path a little further, hurrying as fast as he could. A clump of nettles looked to him like a green armchair, and he thought I’m inside a picture by Jesse! A leaf brushed his hand with a line of pain. He stopped, setting his feet wide apart and steadying himself. He looked at the river. He was just beside the ‘bridge’, where the water rushed through the leaning slatted fence and the horizontal bar made a precarious walkway. Clumps of cowslips were gathered near his feet, and down below the bank yellow irises were coming into flower, and wagtails were walking on the beds of floating water weed. He felt a desire to cross the river. Had he been led to this place, programmed to walk along that path? The brown water flowed purposefully, sleekly, less fast, taking hold of the slats of wood and passing through them smoothly without foam. There was a soft murmurous hushing sound. The water had a transparent look as of darkened glass. Edward looked down into the reeds which were growing up so greenly in the little gap between the fence and the bank.

  Then he saw something amazing, something terrible. He saw Jesse. Jesse was down below him in the water looking up. He’s gone mad, he’s gone mad, Edward thought as the shock struck him with a vicious jab and he stepped back from the edge. He saw me coming and he’s squatting there in the stream to frighten me. He came and looked again. It was different now. He could still see Jesse only he now realised that he was under the water. He saw his face and open eyes and a sort of smile, and his black hair and beard streamed out by the force of the water, also one hand, with the ruby ring clearly visible. Beyond the head there was a sort of black hump ribboned over with dead reeds, the water seemed still like brown jelly, and the eyes looking up like those of a sea cre
ature. Edward thought, my God, it’s an hallucination. It’s like something I saw in a dream that night when I was drugged. They have done it to me. He knelt and reached his hand down into the water. As he disturbed the sleek surface the image vanished, but for an instant he could feel the ring, something soft and cold, then a hard band. Then this impression too was gone. Edward got up and stared down again, leaning his head forward, almost pitching into the river. He saw the brown water and the swaying of the young reeds but nothing more. The water was foaming and circling now and he could not see through it. He thought, he’s not mad, I am mad; and he stepped back and began to run away along the bank.

  He ceased to run and walked on for a few paces. The path had ceased at the bridge and the long grass impeded him and he stopped. Then he turned and came back. His mouth was open and his breath came in little anxious whining sounds. He stood again over the place and looked into the river, looked down into the water which had resumed its brown glassy transparency. There was nothing there. He sat and slid down the bank, digging his heels into the muddy edge, and balanced with the water over his knees. He looked again and made sweeps in the water with his hands. Then he edged along the bank, dabbing here and there with his feet, slipping into the stream almost to his waist. He climbed up the bank and ran and scrambled along the side of the river in the direction of the current for some way, looking among the reeds and the long streamers of cressy plants which wavered in the flowing water. Then he gave up and set off walking as fast as he could across the grass in the direction of the track.

  When he reached the road he was still panting with fear and shock. He thought, this is awful, it’s hideous. Will I go on being like this, am I breaking up? And he thought, no, they aren’t poisoning me. It’s my own doing. It’s that awful drug I used to take, it’ll never go away, never. What a horrible vission. I’m coming to pieces. This is what I’ve come to, this is where I’m being driven. And I thought I was recovering, I thought I was getting off. But of course, the punishment is automatic. And he thought, what can Brownie do against this? I mustn’t tell her, she’s got enough of my troubles, she’s had enough of me, she’ll be horrified by me, I’ll disgust her. Oh Brownie, poor poor Brownie. When he reached the cottage she was waiting for him, standing at the door.