A Maggot - John Fowles (12 page)

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Q. I thank you for attending me, sir. I shall take
little of your time.

A. Take all you will, sir. I am at your service.

Q. I thank you, Mr Beckford. I take it you had never
set eyes on Mr Brown or Mr Bartholomew before this 30th of April
last?

A. Most unequivocally not, sir.

Q. Nor had any expectation, forewarning by letter, I
know not what, of their coming here?

A. Nor that, sir. My calling was inspired by
civility. I chanced to see them ride up, I took them for persons of
education. Rarissimae aves, Mr Ayscough, in this unhappy town.

Q. You have my sympathies, sir.

A. I thought to assure them that they had not arrived
in wildest Muscovy, as I doubt not they might well have supposed at
the appearance of the place - to show we are not quite without
politesse, for all our exile from speakable society.

Q. You did not meet the younger gentleman?

A. I did not, sir. His uncle, Mr Brown, told me he
was much fatigued, and made his excuses.

Q. And this uncle - he told you the purpose of their
journey was to visit his sister at Bideford?

A. His allusions were veiled, but I understood him to
intimate that his nephew had hitherto foolishly neglected certain
expectations of property, since the lady had no descent of her own.

Q. Did he particularize the nephew's foolishness - of
what nature was it?

A. I can't say that he did, sir. I meant to say that
such neglect is always foolish. He made some hint of a life too much
given to pleasure, of living above one's means. I recall he used that
very phrase.

Q. That the nephew had outrun his means?

A. Just so.

Q. He was reproving of his nephew?

A. How shall I put it to you, sir? I saw as I thought
an uncle and guardian who has led a sober, industrious and Christian
life and finds himself obliged to look upon the tares of folly in his
own close kin. Though I noted he blamed London in part, and its
temptations. I recall he spoke particularly against the licence of
the theatres and coffee-houses, and would have had them all closed
down.

Q. He spake of himself?

A. That he was a London merchant. I presumed of some
wealth, since he adverted in passing to one of his ships. And at
another time to a friend, alderman of the City.

Q. But named neither?

A. Not that I recall.

Q. Did he declare himself likewise City alderman?

A. No, sir.

Q. Now did you not find it strange, Mr Beckford, that
this London merchant - I know them well, sir, they are a close breed
- should tell you of delicate family business, upon so short an
acquaintance?

A. He ventured no detail, sir. I took it as a
compliment to my cloth. That he owed me as a gentleman some small
explanation of their presence here.

Q. But he was gentleman by wealth rather than
breeding?

A. Exactly so, sir. My own impression. A worthy man,
but not of true refinement. He asked me of my cure here, which was
civil. But when, by way of modestly alluding to my sense that my
merits are somewhat wasted in this place, I ventured an apt line or
two of the poet Ovid, I think he was taken somewhat at a loss.

Q. He knew more of counting-houses than of classical
tongues?

A. I deemed it so.

Q. But what think you now, Mr Beckford? You know
search was lately made for this lady his sister, and none found?

A. I do, and am entirely at a loss. Why a man of such
seeming substance and honesty should go to such prevaricating lengths
to mislead me - suffice it to say I have thought much on it. His real
purpose was evidently not one that could be told strangers. I fear
me, because it was evil.

Q. Others here marked that on occasion it was the
feigned repentant nephew who gave instructions and took precedence,
while the uncle stood by. What say you to that?

A. I have heard it since, sir. And I must tell you
that when I first watched them from my window as they came to this
inn, and speculated as to their business here, I confess but idly,
yet be that as it may - I did not then suppose them by their manner
uncle and nephew.

Q. But what?

A. I could not say, sir. I put no clear name to it. I
thought rather a young gentleman and an older one of your own
honourable profession, it may be on some affair of legal aspect.
Perhaps a tutor. I truly could not say, save that the conjecture of a
blood relationship did not enter my mind. I fancy I was somewhat
surprised to learn it when I waited upon them.

Q. What manner of speaking had Mr Brown?

A. A grave, plain manner, without flowers or figures.
Well enough.

Q. You had no suspicion that something illicit or
unseemly was afoot?

A. I confess not, sir. I took him at his word. The
circumstances were not such as to provoke my incredulity. The case is
common enough.

Q. Spake you both, in this conversation, more of his
affairs or of your own?

A. Your question is well asked, sir. I have thought
on that, also. I believe he may have led me to speak more of myself
than either my natural inclination wished or strict politeness;
allows.

Q. If I may put it thus bluntly, you were somewhat
his gull it this?

A. He would know of my hopes and disappointments,
then of the state of religion in this godless place. I have the
misfortune to be a youngest son, Mr Ayscough. We are afflicted with
schism here, to a most wicked degree, and it is much on m) mind. I
confess that if invited by a sympathetic listener, I dc not stint the
expression of my loyal abhorrences. I fear it was so that evening.

Q. He sympathized with your views - would hear more
of them?

A. He did, sir, and even did me the honour of wishing
there were more who held them as strongly. And regretted he could not
stay to hear a sermon I was to preach that coming Sunday, in which I
do myself the justice to say that I handsomely refuted the pernicious
arguments of those who would deprive us of our tithes. You would
perhaps care to peruse a copy of it I chance to have retained?

Q. I should esteem that honour, sir.

A. I will have my man bring it, as soon as I return
home.

Q. I thank you. But now, Mr Beckford, I must sow a
seed of doubt in your mind. Do you not know that the City is Whig to
a man? That most would never embrace what I understand to be your
worthy sentiments upon religion? That respect of ancient principle,
save that of their own secular right, holds little place among them?
That many have room for only one god in their world, that is Mammon,
to wit, their own profit; and will flout all that doth threaten to
hobble or trammel it. Did you not find it strange that this merchant
should show such sympathy for your own views?

A. I must confess myself his dupe, sir. Alas, I know
indeed of these matters, and how such would tolerate our
nonconformists and schismatics to a most reprehensible degree; but
here I believed I had stumbled upon a happy exception to this general
rule.

Q, Might not this merchant uncle have been in truth a
man of law - since we have some skill in directing a train of
discourse? I pray you, think, sir. Does this bear root in your

recollection?

A. He had not your manner, sir. With respect.

Q. But allowing for the circumstance that he was or
might have been, for some reason unknown, obliged to conceal his
ordinary manner and that you were shown but a plausible screen, not
what truly lay behind?

A, By such hypothesis it is possible, sir. Yes, it is
possible he but played a part. I can say no more.

Q. Id est, he was one trained to deceive, and even a
gentleman so perspicuous and educated as yourself, sir? He spake,
would you say, in a natural fashion - not as one who has affairs to
hide, in a low voice, or such?

A. As I say, sir. With some gravity, yet I thought
openly. As one accustomed to speak his mind on public matters in
public places.

Q. I would have you describe him to me.

A. Of middling height, somewhat stout in the belly. A
fair complexion for his age, though somewhat pale. The gaze
penetrating, as if he were a fair judge of men. Heavy brows.

Q. Now, sir, if you would be so kind as to guess upon
his age.

A. Forty five years are certain. I would guess a
lustrum more.

Q. No other distinguishing characters?

A. I marked a wart to one side of his nose. Here.

Q. Put the right nostril. No rings?

A. A wedding band.

Q. Gold?

A. Yes. And plain, if memory serves.

Q. His dress?

A. Of good cloth, but I noticed somewhat worn, as it
might be his travelling suit. The wig somewhat in the old style.

Q. The linen clean?

A. Indeed, sir. All as one might expect in a person
of such a kind.

Q. I felicitate you on your memory, sit. Now no other
peculiarities, no manners you marked especially?

A. He took snuff, sir, and too frequently to my
taste. I found it little elegant.

Q. Mr Beckford, you have heard nothing subsequent to
the events that is pertinent to them - I should add, beyond what is
common knowledge?

A. I have heard idle gossip, it is everywhere. The
benighted clowns hereabouts are much given to it.

Q. But nothing from other gentlemen or their families
in this neighbourhood?

A. In this parish there is alas only Mr Henry
Devereux to whom I may grant the appellation. He was not then here.

Q. He is here now?

A. He is returned a fortnight since to Bath.

Q. But you spoke to him of the matter?

A. I did my best to satisfy his curiosity, sir.

Q. And he seemed as ignorant as one might expect?

A. Quite so.

Q. Gentlemen of your own cloth?

A. I live in a desart, sir, though it pains me to say
it. No person of refinement would happily inhabit such a region as
this, were he not, as I, forced to it by circumstance. I regret to
say that my fellow in the cloth on one side is far more a professor
of the hunting of the fox and the like than of his faith. He would
sooner have his bells rung for a good main than for divine service.
On the other, at Daccombe, is a gentleman who devotes his life to his
garden and his glebe and allows his church to look after itself.

Q. Mr Devereux is your patron?

A. No, sir. That is Canon Bullock of Exeter. He holds
the prebend, and is my vicar in title.

Q. Of the Chapter?

A. Just so. He visits but once a year, for the
tithes. He is old, near seventy years now.

Q. This is a family borough, is it not? Mr Fane and
Colonel Mitchell are the members?

A. They are, sir. But they have not honoured us since
the last election.

Q. Since two years ago, in short? They were entered
unopposed?

A. Indeed, sir.

Q. And they have made no enquiries, concerning the
events in question?

A. Neither to me nor to any, that I have knowledge
of.

Q. Very well. Enough of that. You had no
communication with the three servants?

A. None whatsoever.

Q. Have you knowledge of other travellers in these
parts being robbed or murdered - either since or previous to your
coming hither?

A. Not in this parish or its neighbours. I have heard
tales of a gang of footpads near Minehead some five years past. But I
understand all are long since caught and hanged. They came not this
far afield.

Q. No highwaymen?

A. There is not rich enough custom for them here.
There are scoundrels and pickpockets enough at Bideford, who prey
upon the quays. And travelling Irish that are little better. But we
are strict on such here who have no passes. They are soon whipped out
of the parish.

Q. Have you formed any opinion as to what happened on
the first of May?

A. Only that divine retribution was exacted upon
gross deceit.

Q. You would say, they were all murdered?

A. I have heard it proposed that the two servants
were in league and did murder their masters, then fell out over the
booty and the maid, whom the victor took, and then escaped by taking
devious ways.

Q. But why should they have waited thus far from
London to do the deed? And why should your victor, if he was so
cunning as to conceal the first two bodies beyond finding, not
conceal the third the same?

A. I cannot tell, sir. Unless it were in the awful
haste of his guilt.

Q. You mistake your comprehensive rogue, Mr Beckford.
I have had dealings with too many of that brotherhood not to know
they are far more concerned for their mortal skins than their eternal
souls. A man who should have waited thus long to premeditate his
crime ... no hothead, sir. He would not have acted thus.