An Instance of the Fingerpost (91 page)

A woman prophet was much worse, you might think, even less likely to inspire anything but contempt, yet I have already shown that it was not so. Is it not said that the Magdalen preached and converted, and was blessed for it? She was not condemned, nor ever has been, and I could not condemn Sarah either. It was clear to me that the finger of God had touched her forehead, for no devil or agent of Satan can reach into the hearts of men like that. There is always a bitterness in the devil’s gifts, and we know when we are deceived, even if we permit the deception. But I could say for a moment only what it was in her words that conveyed such peace and tranquillity, I had the experience of it merely, not the understanding.

My horse clopped along the empty road, better able than I to see where the track led in a darkness only lifted slightly by a moon which occasionally peeped from behind the clouds, and I let my mind wander over the evening, trying to recapture that feeling that had been mine so recently and which I felt, with the greatest of sadness, to be ebbing slowly away. So preoccupied with my thoughts was I that I scarcely noticed the shadowy figure on the road, walking slowly in front of me. When I did, I hailed it without thinking, before I realised who it was.

‘It is late and dark to be on such a road alone, madam,’ I said. ‘Do not be afraid but mount up here, and I will take you to your home. It is a strong horse, and will not mind.’

It was Sarah, of course, and when I saw the moon on her face, I was suddenly afraid of her. But instead she held out her hand and allowed me to pull her up, and she sat comfortably behind me, her arms around my waist to avoid slipping.

She said nothing, and I did not know what to say; I felt like telling her that I had been at the meeting, but feared to come out with some foolishness, or have my words taken as a mark of deceit and mistrust. So instead we went along in silence for a half-hour, before she began to talk herself.

‘I do not know what it is,’ she said in my ear, so quietly that a man not three paces away would not have heard. ‘There is no point wondering, as I am sure you do. I have no recollection of what I say or why I say it.’

‘You saw me?’

‘I knew you were there.’

‘You did not object?’

‘I think that what I have to say is for anyone who wishes to listen. It is for them to judge whether it is worth the effort.’

‘But you keep it secret.’

‘Not for myself; that does not matter. But those who listen to me would be punished as well, and I cannot ask for that.’

‘You have always done this? Your mother too?’

‘No. She is wise, but has nothing of this; her husband neither. As for myself, it started shortly after his death. I was at a meeting of simple people, and remember standing up to say something. I recollect nothing more until I found myself lying on the floor, with them all gathered around me. They said I had spoken the most extraordinary words. It happened again a few months later, and after a while people came to hear me. It was too dangerous in Oxford, so now I go to places like Abingdon. I often disappoint them, as I stand there and nothing comes over me. You heard me this evening. What did I say?’

She listened as though I was reporting a conversation which she did not hear, then shrugged when I was finished. ‘Strange,’ she said. ‘What do you think? Am I cursed or mad? Perhaps you think I am both.’

‘There is no harshness or cruelty in what you say; no threats or warnings. Nothing but gentleness and love. I think you are blessed, not cursed. But blessings can be even heavier burdens, as many people in the past have discovered.’ I found that I was talking as quietly as she, so that I might have been talking only to myself.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I did not want you of all people to scorn me.’

‘You really have no idea what you say? There is no preparation?’

‘None. The spirit moves in me, and I become its vessel. And when I awake, it is like coming out of the most gentle dream.’

‘Your mother knows of all this?’

‘Yes, of course. At first she thought it was just a prank, because I
had always been scornful of fanatics and all those who run around pretending to be possessed to get money from people. I still am, and that makes it worse to have become one myself. So when I stood that first time, and she heard of it, she was shocked by my impiety; they were not our people in the conventicle, but they were good and kind and she was distressed I might make fun of them. It took quite a lot to convince her that I had not been deliberately offensive. She was unhappy about it, and still is. She thinks that sooner or later it will lead me into trouble with the law.’

‘She is right.’

‘I know. A few months back it nearly did; I was at Tidmarsh’s, and there was a raid by the watch. I only just got away. But there is not a great deal I can do about it. Whatever is sent me, I must accept. There is no point in doing anything other. Do you think I am mad?’

‘If I went to someone like Lower and told them what I have just witnessed, he would do his very best to cure you.’

‘When I left that hall this evening, a woman came up to me, fell down on her knees in the ice and kissed the hem of my dress. She said that her baby had been dying the last time I came to Abingdon. I walked past the door and it was instantly well.’

‘Do you believe her?’

‘She believes it. Your mother believes it. Many others in the past few years have held me responsible for such deeds. Mr Boyle heard of it as well.’

‘My mother?’

‘She was racked with pain with a swollen ankle; it made her very ill tempered and she tried to beat me. I held her hand to make her stop and she swore that at that moment the pain and the swelling went.’

‘She never mentioned it to me.’

‘I begged her not to. It is a terrible reputation to have.’

‘And Boyle?’

‘He heard something and thought I must have knowledge of herbs and potions, so asked for my receipt book. It was difficult to refuse him, as I could hardly tell him the truth.’

There was a long silence broken only by the sound of the horse’s hooves on the road, and the snuffle of its breath in the cold night
air. ‘I do not want this, Anthony,’ she said quietly and I could hear the fear in her voice.

‘What?’

‘Whatever this is. I don’t want to be a prophet, I don’t want to cure people, I don’t want them coming to me, and I don’t want to be punished for something I cannot prevent and do not will. I am a woman and I want to marry and grow old and be happy. I don’t want humiliation and imprisonment. And I don’t want what will happen next.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘An Irishman came to see me; an astrologer. He said he had seen me in his charts and came to warn me. He said I will die, that everyone will want me dead. Anthony, why would that be? What could I have done?’

‘I’m sure he’s wrong. Who believes people like that?’

She was silent.

‘Leave, then, if it worries you.’ I said. ‘Go away.’

‘I cannot. Nothing can be changed.’

‘You will have to hope this Irishman is wrong and you are mad, then.’

‘I do hope so. I am frightened.’

‘Oh, I am sure there is nothing to worry about, really,’ I said. I shook myself to cast off the atmosphere of ominous terror that had grown around us, and when I did so I saw more clearly the foolishness of our conversation. Set down here, I suppose it seems even more so. ‘I don’t hold with Irishmen or astrologers and, from my limited experience, prophets and messiahs these days tend to rush around telling all the world of their powers. It is most unusual to hope that the cup be taken from you.’

She laughed at least, but noticed my allusion, for she knew her Bible well, and looked curiously at me when I spoke it. For my part, I swear I did not notice till later what I had said and it passed from my mind easily as we plodded on.

As I look back, I think that time on the horse was the happiest in my life. The return of the easy intimacy which I had so wantonly destroyed through my jealousy was such a blessing that, had it been possible, I would have continued on to Carlisle simply to preserve and
lengthen our time together, the conversation of perfect amity and the feel of her arm around my waist. Despite the freezing chill in the air, I felt no cold at all, and might have been in the most commodious parlour, not on a muddy, wet road near midnight. I suppose the tumultuous events of that evening and night had fuddled my mind and so shocked me out of my normal caution that I did not set her down on the outskirts of town so that we were not seen together in such a fashion. Rather, I kept her with me all the way back to my cousin’s tavern and even then could not let her go.

‘How is your mother?’

‘She is in comfort.’

‘You can do nothing for her?’

She shook her head. ‘It is the only thing I have ever wished for myself and I cannot have it.’

‘You’d best go and tend her, then.’

‘She is in no need of me. A friend who knows me well offered to spend time with her, and only leave when she was sure she was asleep so I could attend that meeting. She will die soon, but not yet.’

‘So stay with me still.’

We walked back to Merton Street, and went into my house, mounting the stairs quietly so that my mother would not hear, and then, in my room, we loved each other with a passion and ferocity I have never before, or since, felt for any living person, nor has anyone shown such love to me. I had never before spent a night with a woman, had someone lying by my side in the quietness of the dark, hearing her breath and feeling her warmth beside me. It is a sin and it is a crime. I say it frankly, for I have been taught so all my life and only madmen have ever said otherwise. The Bible says it, the Fathers of the Church have said it, the prelates now repeat it without end, and all the statutes of the land prescribe punishment for what we did that night. Abstain from fleshly lusts which war against the soul. It must be so, for the Bible speaks only God’s truth. I sinned against the law, against God’s reported word, I abused my family and exposed them even more to risk of public shame, I again risked permanent exclusion from those rooms and books which were my delight and my whole occupation;
yet in all the years that have passed since I have regretted only one thing: that it was but a passing moment, never repeated, for I have never been closer to God, nor felt His love and goodness more.

WE WERE NOT
discovered; Sarah arose at dawn, and slipped softly downstairs to begin her duties in the kitchen, and only after the fire was going and the water brought in did she leave to see her mother. I did not see her again for two days, and did not know that she discovered her mother abandoned by the friend, and in need of the assistance which prompted her to apologise to Cola and submit to his experiment with transfusion. She was sworn to silence and was a woman of her word in all respects.

For myself, I went back to a blissful sleep and awoke late, so it was several hours before I walked to an inn for some bread and ale, an occasional extravagance I indulge in when I am feeling at ease with the world, or wish to avoid my mother’s conversation. It was only then, as I was sitting dreamily over a pot, that I heard the news.

There are countless tales in myth to warn us of our heart’s desires. King Midas wanted to be so rich he wished that everything he touched might turn to gold, and legend has it that he died of hunger as a result. Euripides talks of Tithonus, whom Eos loved so well she begged Zeus to give him eternal life. But mistakenly she asked not for youth as well and he suffered an eternity of decrepitude until even the cruel Gods took pity on him.

And I wished to be spared the scandal which Grove in his malice threatened to visit on me. The memory of him cut into my mood, and I prayed that his mouth might be stopped for ever and that I should not suffer for what I had done and said, however deserving I was of punishment. I had scarcely finished my ale when I heard that my wish had been granted.

The moment I heard the news my blood ran cold with horror, for I was absolutely certain that my own prayers and private vengeance had been responsible. I had killed a man. I believe there is no crime
greater and I was tormented with remorse at my deed, so much so that I felt as though I should instantly confess. Cowardice soon overcame this urge, as I thought of the shame of my family should I do so. And I convinced myself that I was not really to blame. I had made a mistake, that was all. The intent was lacking, my guilt was limited and my chances of discovery small.

So speaks the mind, but the conscience is not so easily quelled. I recovered from the shock as best I could, seeking out all the information available in the attempt to discover some small detail to convince me that I had not, in fact, caused this awful event. I persuaded myself for a brief while that all was well, then tried to return to my labours and found all my concentration gone, as my rebellious soul confronted me with what I had done. And still I could not take any step to relieve myself; my contentment vanished, my sleep soon after and in the days and weeks that followed I grew haggard and sickly in my struggle.

I aim for sympathy but do not deserve any, for it was easy to remedy and cleanse myself of disquiet. I merely had to stand and say, ‘I did this.’ All else would be taken care of.

But to die myself, and make my family live under the obloquy of having engendered a murderer? To have my mother hooted through the street and spat on, my sister living out her old age in spinsterhood as no man would attach himself to her? My cousin’s trade dry up into failure because no one would drink in his tavern? These were real concerns. Oxford is not London, where all sin is forgotten within a week, where criminals are celebrated for their deeds, and thieves rewarded for their endeavours. Here all know the business of all and the desire to maintain good morals is acute, however great secretive breaches might be. My greatest loyalty is, and always has been, to my family. I have lived to bring what little lustre is in my power to my name, and maintain our position of respectability. I would have accepted that the courts might punish me, for I could not deny that it would be deserved, but I recoiled in horror at doing such great injury to my people. They struggled as it was, due to our losses in the troubles, and I would not add to their burden.