Feral Park (13 page)

“All comes to me through Lady Jane in Turnington. She and I take tea twice a week and I tell her what goes on in Berryknell and she tells me what goes on in Turnington, and until this past fortnight not much worth mention had transpired in Turnington other than Mrs. Taptoe’s settling into the dwarf cottage and the birth of a calf without a leg and the subsequent veal dinner which the event made possible. But now there is news of some genuine interest to come from the Lodge, for each of the young men is handsome beyond compare—or so says Lady Jane, for I have yet to meet them—and not a single one attached! All of which should make your eyebrows rise with some interest, my child, and I see that they do. I consider the oldest of the three as a potential match for Miss May Dray, if I may play for the moment the part of the matchmaker, for I understand him to love music as much as she…”

Anna did not interject that May Dray sought to marry her London music instructor or that in her opinion a better candidate might prove to be Gemma, should the gentleman not be put off by her detachable parts.

“…The second son—now he is perhaps the one at whom
you
should set your cap, Miss Peppercorn.”

“And why do you say this?”

“If you will permit me: Mr. Waitwaithe, whom I know that you fancy because of the way you stand before the solicitor’s office in an odd trance, is—to be succinct—dull-witted. He is a lackluster lump with an agreeable face. You would be pinning your hopes upon a connexion that would only bring you insipid companionship at best.”

“You speak boldly, Mr. Nevers, and, in fact, quite offensively.”

“But with creditable purpose. You should find the middle Mr. Alford bright and funny and amiable—so says Lady Jane—and would do well to leave yourself open to all possibilities.”

“But not the third son? Why should
he
not be the best match for me?”

The vicar grew quiet, as if taking time to fashion an appropriate answer to this most pointed question.

“I see the youngest brother destined for some other sort of match entirely.”

“And what other match would that be, Mr. Nevers?” pursued Anna.

“Let us return to the more pertinent topic of the morning. Yes, I will marry Mr. Dray to Miss Godby. Because it is the right thing to do.”

Anna smiled with great relief. “They will each rejoice at hearing the felicitous news!”

“Whatever the consequences, I should be compensated by knowing that I helped to mend two hearts which otherwise could not have been brought together,” said Mr. Nevers, thinking, Anna supposed, not only of the hearts of Mr. Dray and Miss Godby, but a third heart as well—a young heart new to Payton Parish and beating within the chest of one who wished to open a dancing school in the empty shop next door.

Once the musty carcasses had been cleared away.

The next morning found Mrs. Taptoe fully receptive to the idea of providing discreet accommodations to Miss Godby, and, in fact, altogether giddy over her lonely life finding some purpose, at least for the eleven days that were to be spoken of as fifteen. “Turnington Lodge is in a veritable hubble-bubble with all that is happening here or destined to occur in short order. The Alford brothers have arrived only hours ago. Lady Jane tells me that each is a most handsome man and would command the eye for a long time if such staring did not produce unease within the subject. Should you wish to remain until mid-afternoon and the idea pleases you, we could take a basket of walnuts to the young men to welcome them to the neighbourhood. Men are quite fond of their nuts, do you not think?”

Before Anna could answer, Mrs. Taptoe burst into laughter. It was a robust laugh that caused her whole body to joggle and shudder.

Anna did not see what was so very funny.

“I spoke of a man’s nuts, my dear. His cods, ballocks—the brace of radishes from my mention the other day.”

Anna nodded but still she did not smile.

“My dear, must I deduce that your sense of the comic will
never
extend to the scrotal?”

“I know nothing of—of that which you have just spoken to know whether I think they are funny or not. It is not something that I contemplate all that very often.”

“Oh, but my dear, dear girl. Does this mean that you have never even seen the male private pouch in an unencumbered presentation?”

Anna was mortified. “I have not.”

“Not even your own father’s? Has he never even once inadvertently uncloaked himself to you in his natural state?”

“I have not seen my father without his clothes, Auntie, inadvertently
or
advertently. Must we pursue this topic?”

“I do not think that a young woman’s education is complete without a thorough and learned acquaintance with all aspects of the male anatomy.”

Anna could not contain her distemper and spoke crossly: “I know
what
is down there, Auntie! I simply have not
seen
it in the flesh. Furthermore, I am content to wait until I am legally wed to partake of the privilege.”

“Your uneasiness with this discussion reminds me all too much of my daughter Guinevere and her reluctance to look upon even her own husband without his clothes. It now appears that you are two peas from the same tremulous pod!”

“I am not at all like your daughter, Auntie, and I resent the comparison.”

“If that be so, then you should not object if I were to shew you a book I have which illustrates every facet of the male figure.”

Anna swallowed hard and agreed to see the book. The two looked through it for a time in silence. The turn of each leaf brought a dry knot to Anna’s throat, which would have to be assiduously swallowed away. Finally, Anna found the words to ask how genitalia differed from one man to the next.

“Oh, my dear, no two equipages are alike—some penises are large, others are quite small—some well-nigh finger-thin and others as wide and thick as a cucumber! The testicles vary as well; as men grow older, for example, the pouch begins to droop, just as the bubbies of an old woman come over time to sag and fall. I believe this picture should illustrate my point.”

“I see,” said Anna, examining a caricature in which a man’s testicles hung down nearly to the floor. It was not long before Anna found herself growing much more comfortable with the book. She had even come to enjoy the lesson—a lesson in which she was learning quite a few things she did not know before. “And how would that penis there, as small as it is, ever be able to do its business?”

“Well, my dear, when the man is brought to a state of arousal, the member grows in size and becomes quite rigid and is perfectly functional in this state. My darling girl, did you not know this?”

Anna shook her head. “My word,” said Mrs. Taptoe. Running her hand with affection through Anna’s hair, she continued, “Was there no one there at Feral Park to teach you such things, dear child?”

Anna shook her head. “Papa did not wish to do it. No, there really was no one.”

“But did you not observe the animals that live in the park—the horses, your father’s pointers, and all those little cony-rabbits? Have you
never
seen two creatures copulating as nature intended?”

“Upon those occasions when the opportunity presented itself I was generally too abashed to watch. But now I know and thank you for the lesson,” said Anna, closing the book. “May I expect my diploma at some later date?”

“Foolish child!” laughed Mrs. Taptoe. “You have taken only the first of
many
lessons! There is much more for you to know if you do not wish to end up as my daughter Guinevere, who believes that the joining of the bodies of man and woman for whatever reason—even the making of babies—constitutes a degeneracy. Such thinking is odious beyond measure, and I do not know how she came to be this way.”

As Mrs. Taptoe was rising to put the book of anatomy back upon its shelf, she said, “Returning to the three Alford brothers, have you chosen which of this handsome trio may interest you to the point of attachment?”

“I have not. Nor do I think I shall.”

“But you will come with me to take a welcome-basket to the young men?”

Anna shook her head. “I cannot, madam. For James is needed back at Feral Park early this afternoon to assist my father in something or the other, and I should not be allowed to return home at a later hour without him. Nor, perhaps, do I even wish to. The gipsy children came closer to me to-day than on my last visit, and their attention, I must own, gave me a fright.”

“Of what manner of attention do you speak, my dear?”

“Several young ones approached with pointy fingers.”

“Pointy fingers, you say?”

“Yes. Pointed at me in a poking fashion. They jabbed and poked their fingers at me with simpering and self-pleased looks for some time before James succeeded in scattering them.”

“Why do you think they were pointing at you in such a way?”

“I should like to say it is because they have nothing better to do with their forenoon, but I believe they simply take sport because they find my look to be funny. Perhaps it is my bonnet, which was trimmed by Mrs. Epping, and I must say that it does indeed look rather ridiculous, but I was afraid that I would chance upon her as I passed the abbey—for she goes there sometime to picnic alone and read Byron, and each time I see her and I am not wearing the bonnet she trimmed, she herself wears such a frown. I have been told that the woman had little of worth in her life before marrying her guardian Mr. Epping, and after the knot was tied, even that tiny measure of happiness has not been guaranteed.”

“Is Mr. Epping a cruel husband?”

Anna shook her head. “At least not with especial intent. But he is odd, and yes, Mrs. Epping is odd as well to be sure, but in neither is oddness perpetual and without any interval of relief or lucidity. In fact, I have discovered from my chats with her that she can be
quite
lucid, and would in such a state have easily avoided the well that robbed her of all dignity in the eyes of her neighbours, for you will recall that the event of her entrapment categorized her in a most unflattering way. When last we spoke, I asked her how she enjoyed living as a married woman in Grantley Court, and she said that she has eaten gruel for every meal over the past se’nnight, except for the previous night, in which she had gruel with bits of something chewy that Mr. Epping had killed in the woods and which was small enough to be skinned in a quick session. My heart is full for her, and so I wear the bonnet she has trimmed so silly with twigs and twine and curls of colourful ribands that give it a harlequin aspect. Take yourself a look.”

“Twigs, yes, and I see a riband which has no decorative purpose to it. The whole bonnet, in fact, is without any discernable purpose, unless it is to adorn the head of a slow child without taste. And here is fur of some small, unidentifiable mammal. Ah, but this feather is nice.”

“Yes, the feather well-nigh redeems it; yet it is so large and sits so awfully high, does it not?”

Nodding: “It looks as if by bowing one might cool the Persian princess upon her royal divan!” Mrs. Taptoe began to laugh and then to cough, and then to laugh some more.

“Yes, yes,” said Anna, smiling with mirth herself from the silliness of the headpiece. “And so there you have the reason why I wear it and the reason, I suppose, that the gipsy children teaze me so over it.”

“And did you find Lucy Epping at the abbey upon your walk hither this morning?”

“I did not.”

There came now a tap upon the front door. In the absence of her parlour maid Umbrous Elizabeth, Mrs. Taptoe rose to answer. From the passage Anna heard the door creak open and the following ejaculation of delight from her hostess: “What a joy and a surprize! Pray, do come in, Sir Thomas.”

Within a moment Anna was exchanging morning pleasantries with Mrs. Taptoe’s landlord, whom she had not seen in a very long time.

“And will you honour us by sitting for a visit, sir?” asked Mrs. Taptoe, directing Turnington to the sofa with a fluttering hand.

“I shall visit for a moment only, but will not sit. Upon my word, Mrs. Taptoe, the cottage seems smaller than even the last time I saw it!” Sir Thomas looked about the room and smiled. “Pity that we could not have situated you within the other house, but it is now occupied by the Alford brothers from town, so the matter is now moot.”

“And how goes the moving in of my new neighbours?” asked Mrs. Taptoe.

“Quite well, quite well. I am out and about to make the proper welcome and to assist as needed. I hope that you do not mind that I have brought your letters earlier than usual from the post office.” Sir Thomas placed into the hands of his tenant a bundle of letters.

“Thank you so very much,” said she, and then turning briefly to Anna to explain: “Sir Thomas brings my mail each day. He is a very good landlord, I must say.” Then she renewed her invitation to her “very good landlord”: “Pray, do stay for tea.”

“Some other time, Mrs. T. Presently, I must run. Miss Peppercorn, please accept my very best wishes and extend the same to your father. I speak for Lady Jane and the girls, as well. Ah, the girls—brings to mind—we are short a governess. Miss Pulvis is quitting us. With hardly any notice. This very morning, in fact. Lady Jane and I are baffled over the cause.”

“She does not say?” asked Anna.