A Maggot - John Fowles (44 page)

'What is thy name?'

'Royal, mistress. John Tudor.'

'And where did thee learn to write so swift?'

'The short hand? By practice. 'Tis child's play, once
learnt. And where I cannot read when I copy in the long hand, why, I
make it up. So I may hang a man, or pardon him, and none the wiser.'
And once again she sees that tic in his right eye.

'I may read. I cannot write, save my name.'

'Then you are saved writing.'

'I would learn, e'en so.' He does not answer, but the
ice thus broken, she continues. 'Are thee married?'

'Aye. And rid.'

'How rid?'

'I married one worse than you, for her mouth. Who
never spoke save she disputed or denied. She matched Joe Miller's
jest. Should I forbid her another crooked word, why, she'd cry ram's
horn to my face. Until one day I beat her as she had well deserved,

and she would not brook it, and ran off. And did me a
great mercy.'

'Where went she?'

'I know not nor care not, mistress. Where women
always go - to Hell or another man. She was not so fair as you. I was
well rid.' Again his eye flickers. 'Thee, I might have asked after.'

'She never came back?'

'No.' He shrugged, as if he regretted having spoken.
"Tis old water, well past the mill-wheel. Sixteen years gone.'

'And have thee always worked for the one master?'
'Near enough.'

'Thee knew Dick, then?'

'Nobody knew him, mistress. He was not to be known.
Tho' he knew thee, it seems. More's the wonder.'

She looks down. 'He was man enough.'

'Was he so?' She looks hesitantly up at him, aware
that his question is sarcastic, yet plainly not understanding why. He
stares away out of the window for a moment, then back at her. 'Didst
never hear of such, when thou wert what thou wast?'

'Of such?'

'Come now, mistress. You were not always saint. You
have said as much today, and most credible, that you know your men.
Did you not take one whiff?' "

'1 grasp thee not.'

'What is most unnatural, and a great crime. Where
servant may become master, and master, servant.'

She stares at the clerk a long moment; he gives a
small nod, to kill her doubt, and then again there comes that minute
spasm of his eyelid.

'No.'

'Saw you no sign of it?'

'No.'

'Nor mayhap thought it might be so?'

'Nor that, even.'

'Very well, God save your innocence. And do not you
speak of it, unless you be asked. And never outside these walls,
mistress, if you value your life.' There comes from down below the
sound of hooves on the cobbles, the heavy grating of iron-shod
wheels, a coachman's cry. The clerk stands and looks down to watch.
Only when the vehicle has drawn out, and without turning to where she
still sits, does he speak again; almost as if to himself. 'He'll hear
aught but that.'

Then he goes and picks his coat from the bed where it
lies and puts it back on.

'I leave you now, mistress. Do your necessities, I
fetch you again to Mr Ayscough shortly.' She bows her head in a
little sign of acquiescence. 'Speak truth. Fear not. 'Tis but his
manner.'

'I have spoke truth, and shall. Nothing else.'

'There are two truths, mistress. One that a person
believes 1s truth; and one that is truth incontestible. We will
credit you the first, but the second is what we seek.'

'I must tell what I believe.'

He walks to the door, yet there he stops and looks
back at her. 'Thee, I should have asked after.'

She receives one last tic
of his right eyelid; and then he is gone.

* * *

Rebecca Lee further deposeth,
die et anno praedicto
*
* *

Q. Mistress, let us recommence. You rest upon oath,
do not forget it. First I would ask you this. Know you what the vice
of Sodom betokens?

A. Yes.

Q. Saw you ever, at any time since first you met his
Lordship, any sign that he and his man were its victims? That they
were guilty of practising it?

A. No. I am most certain, no.

Q. Was there no hint, when his Lordship first spoke
of his failing to you, that such was the true cause of his
insufficiency?

A. No.

Q. Nor later?

A. No.

Q. Did you never think, he may say what he likes, or
not say, this must be the true cause? Those I have known said to be
such have a different manner. 'Tis well known, where I was sinner.
There are names for them, petty-masters or pretty-boys. They are more
beauish than proper men should be. More foppish, and coxcombs, most
often, more full of malice and scandal than aught else. 'Tis said, by
resentment of what they are, and so must they damn all else, being
damned themselves.

Q. His Lordship seemed not like this?

A. No, not one piece.

Q. When Dick did use you before his eyes, he did not
command it be enacted in manner unnatural? Not in word nor nothing
else. He was silent as stone.

Q. Now, Mistress Lee, I respect your judgement here.
You are certain?

A. Certain he bore no common sign of it, nor report
of it neither. Nothing was said of him to this wise at Mistress
Claiborne's, tho' we had use to discuss all who came there, and most
wicked freely; what their faults were, and every scandal we had heard
of them. Lord B..... himself question me, who has the most evil
tongue in London, the most happy to hear ill of a friend. Even he
made no hint of such vice. Only of his Lordship's coldness, his
liking his books and studies more than flesh like mine; and whether I
has surmounted this taste in him.

Q. What answered you?

A. What was false itself: that reputation was false.

Q. Very well. Now come to the cavern.

A. Still shall I tell truth, master Ayscough.

Q. As I shall doubt where I please.

A. Doubted truth is no less truth.

Q. Then no less truth for being doubted. Speak on.

A. First as we mounted to where the cavern lay, tho'
'twas yet hidden from our eyes behind a fold of land, there stood
sudden in our path, a lady in silver.

Q. How, in silver?

A She was clothed, tho' most strange, in plain
silver, that had no pattern to it, nor flowering. And more strange
still, wore narrow trowse, as seamen wear, or northmen over their
breeches, such that I saw once a-riding into London, yet more narrow,
that fitted almost close as hose. And above a close-fit smock, cut of
the same cloth, that shone like silver. And on her feet she wore as a
man's riding-boots, yet shorter; as of black leather, without their
tops. And so she stood there, gazing upon us, as she had waited our
coming.

Q. Mean you to maintain she sprang from nothing, from
thin air?

A. So she had lain in hiding till then.

Q. Why say you she was lady?

A. She was no common person.

Q. Was she attended? Was there no groom or servant?

A. No. She was alone.

Q. Young or old?

A. Young and fair to see, with full dark hair, that
was not bound, as black as a raven's wing; yet cut strange in a line
above her brows, nor a curl to be seen.

Q. Wore she no cap or hat?

A. No. And I must tell thee her manner was strange as
her appearance, for she moved and stood not as a lady might, more as
a young gentleman, I mean of most simple and easy

sort, that cares not for pomp and formal appearance;
and did salute us in strange fashion also, so, with her hands held in
front of her, so, as 'twere in prayer. Yet held thus for a

moment only, as another might raise a hand to a
friend, in light greeting.

Q. She showed no surprise at your coming?

A. No, not none.

Q. What response made his Lordship?

A. He fell at the once upon his knee, and did take
off his hat, it seemed in respect. And Dick besides, and I must
follow, though I knew not why, nor who she might be. Whereat the
young lady did smile, as one who had not expected such courtesy; yet,
being done, did welcome it.

Q. She did not speak?

A. No, not one word.

Q. His Lordship addressed her?

A. He knelt with head bowed, so to say he dared not
look her in her face.

Q. Thought you they had met before?

A. Save that he did seem to know who she was.

Q. Made she no especial sign of greeting or respect
to his Lordship?

A. No.

Q. Of what stuff were these her singular clothes?

A. Of none I have seen. They shone like best silk,
yet fell more stiff, when she moved.

Q. You say she was young?

A Of my own age, or less.

Q. How far from you stood she in this manner?

A. It may be fifty paces, not more.

Q. Seemed she of English blood, or foreign?

A. Not English.

Q. Then of what nation?

A. In looks she was most like unto one showed these
two summers past in a tent beside the Mall, that they called the
Corsair Woman. Who was taken from a ship captured in the West, and
said as cruel a sailor as any man, tho' mistress unto the corsair's-
captain. He was renegade, and hanged at Deptford docks, she spared.
And would stare at us who paid to view her so she would kill us were
she not chained, yet was exceeding handsome and fine-figured.
Claiborne thought to have her to the bagnio, and the taming of her
fierceness as a whet to the boldest rakes; but those who kept her
would not agree a price. And said besides, she would not bear such a
thing, should kill herself rather than suffer it. This lady upon the
path was not she, I pray thee do not mistake. This upon the path was
gentle of face, not cruel.

Q. This woman you speak of in the tent, she was
Moorish?

A Turkess?

A. I know not, save she had dark eyes and hair, and a
skin of olive. She wore no red nor ceruse, and had somewhat of the
Jewesses I have seen in London; yet her manner not modest, nor
seeming fearful as is their wont. Of she in the tent d heard some
declare she was false, no true Corsair woman, but a common Egyptian
paid so to pretend. I tell thee, I speak only of how it did come to
my mind when first she stood there.

Q. Why say you she seemed more as a young gentleman
in her behaving?

A. That she made no affectation of elegant manner, as
a London lady might; as she had no need of fashion nor airs to prove
her state. She did seem at a loss at our kneeling, like she found it
not necessary. For soon after, she placed her hands upon her hips, as
a man might, to say we puzzled her.

Q. She was angered?

A. No, for she smiled still, it seemed more we did
amuse her. And then again of a sudden she did show with her arm
behind her, so might one invite a stranger to a house or chamber,
that he should enter at his will. 'Twas as the daughter of a house,
before her parents' coming.

Q. Saw you no malice nor evil in this person?

A. I told ill of her to Jones, may God forgive me. I
did see, as I say, strange dress and manner; in truth in all else
innocence and beauty, that knew not England nor its ways, yet had a
freedom and an ease no Englishwoman knows of.

Q. What followed?

A. She did make that same gesture with her hands, so;
then did turn and walk away, simple and idle as within her private
garden; for she did stoop and pluck a flower and raised it to her
nose to smell. So might she had we never been there. Then his
Lordship arose and we mounted where she had first stood, and could
see all before us, the cavern's mouth withal. Where she now did
stand, and seeing us, did point towards the pool, so to say we should
wait there; and turned and entered in its darkness and was gone.

Q. This path by which you had mounted - seemed it
well trod, had others passed that way often?

A. 'Twas faint, or not at all.

Q. Did you not ask his Lordship who this person was?

A. Aye, and he answered, I pray she shall be thy
friend. No more.

Q. Proceed.

A. We came to where a pool and stone did stand,
before the cavern. There his Lordship a little apart, while I knelt
by the pool, and bathed my face, and drank of it, for the sun beated
down, and I was hot.

Q. Now I ask you, mistress, you were hot, were you
not out of your wits with the sun and your walking? I do not say you
lie, yet that there was some disorder in your spirits, and you saw
what was never in front of you, but had pushed forth from your heated
mind in the semblance of reality?