Resurrectionists (29 page)

She has sent me two guineas as a parting gift, to help with clothing and feeding the new baby. I shall put the money aside for just that, and attempt not to cut into it for our daily living expenses.

Hattie has not forgiven me. There is no inquiry in her letter as to the health of my husband or the happiness of our marriage. I burn with the injustice of it, for it was she and her silly friend, Mrs Ariel, whose matchmaking brought us together. Where did she expect it to end? One cannot play with young people’s hearts. I need just some small mercy from her, or from my parents. All is becoming too desperate otherwise. Monday, 7th April 1794

I gently questioned Virgil today on whether he thinks he might be able to rise soon from his sickbed, and he turned quite pale with dread. He knew I mean to ascertain when he might be able to return to work, and he very clearly did not want to.

“I am still ill, Gette,” he said. “Please, give me time to heal.”

“Edward suggested that Doctor Flood would hold your job for you,” I replied. “Is that so?”

“Yes, I believe it is. I am in so deep now, Gette.”

“So deep in what?”

He would not answer and I did not prompt him, for I felt guilty for bringing it up. He is still so weak –

he can barely walk from the bedroom to the kitchen. It was cruel of me to remind him of his responsibility, but I feel so alone in my concern. I know not how much laudanum he is taking, but he seems always to be in a daze, off in a world of his own. It is up to me only to deal with the vicissitudes of the Real World. All is so impossible. Virgil cannot work. I cannot work. I have made the decision that if Virgil is not much better by mid-week, I will personally call upon Doctor Flood and ask him for an advance on Virgil’s wages while he recovers. The prospect unsettles me horribly, but I cannot see any other way to proceed. Sunday, 13th April 1794

It is Sunday evening, and the bells on the church ring out in the clear spring air. I cannot hear them without thinking that the Reverend there is not a true Christian, that he is a crony of the most sinister man I have ever met. That perhaps many of the inhabitants of this village know and sanction what goes on beneath the old abbey.

I left it until Friday to call upon Flood. A hope lived in my heart that Virgil would be well at any moment. That he may wake up Wednesday morning, Thursday morning, with a clear head and his strength returning to his limbs. This was not to be. Friday morning he was as weak as ever, and I knew I had to go to the abbey.

I did not tell Virgil where I was going, for I know it would have filled him with dread. Instead I said I was going into the village for some bread, and he accepted that with a sleepy nod of his head. I could see the crystal bottle of laudanum was almost empty, and wondered how long he could manage without it. I remembered Charlotte’s description of Flood’s chambers. In the curve of a crumbling spire, I found a rusted iron door with a large ring on it. I pulled the ring and it shuddered open. I could see nothing but the first two steps. A smell of earth and darkness arose from the tunnel and I was afraid to go further. But my husband needed food to recover properly, so I had no choice. I took first one step, then another. I pulled the door down behind me and was plunged into total darkness. The stairs had no banister upon which to find my footing, so I gingerly tested each step before me with my toes. I seemed to descend forever like that, but finally my foot found uneven earth instead of a smooth, carved step. Charlotte had said the next hundred feet were to be walked in the dark. I put my hands out on either side of me and felt for the walls of the tunnel. The stone was cool and rough beneath my fingers. In the distance, I could just make out an amber glow near the ground: the candlelight in his room seeping under the door. I walked carefully forward. I was desperate not to trip, knowing it would hurt the child if I fell. I had grown so enamoured of the feel of the little being within me – its wriggles and its kicks as it made itself comfortable – that I could not wait to see its face in the light of the outside world. That outside world seemed very far away then, as I crept along the tunnel towards the light.

As my eyes became adjusted to the dark, I could see the outlines of two stone doors. Elaborate carvings were shadowy upon them. The one on the right led to the illuminated chamber. The other door led to more darkness. I lifted my hand and cautiously knocked at the door on the right.

It seems I held my breath for a full minute. He did not come. Against my better instincts, I felt relief wash through me: I would not have to face him. I released my breath, turned upon my heel . . .

And then the door began to open. Locks clunked out of place, hinges creaked. I turned around.

“Who is it?”

I could see only the eyes and forehead of a very old man. But there was nothing feeble or haggard about those eyes. They were dark, knowing, scrutinising me with unmasked hostility.

“Good day, sir. I am Mrs Virgil Marley. May I speak with you a moment?”

He stood back and opened the door fully. He wore, as Charlotte had said, a long red coat – but dark red, not bright – fastened all the way down the front with gold buttons. Rather like a cross between a cardinal’s vestments and a soldier’s uniform. His skin was disfigured with wrinkles and the pale-brown spots of age, his head barely covered with fine white hair, through which I could see a furrowed and dappled scalp. Apart from his eyes, which were as alert as a child’s, he was quite simply the oldest person I had ever laid my eyes upon. I estimated he must be at least eighty, perhaps ninety. I remembered then what Edward had said about the prolonged life some people in the village had been granted, and realised he may even be one hundred!

“Come in, Mrs Marley.” He led me into his dimlylit room, walking with as much ease as a young man. Something about that old, old skin moving across what seemed like healthy, mobile joints was unsettling. But then, perhaps I felt that way because I had heard stories of him, because I was expecting him to be a monster.

He moved to a large chair behind one of his experiment counters: more like a throne, actually, with intricately carved arms and an upholstered seat. Only one candle burned in the entire chamber, and shadows clustered in corners. He settled himself upon his chair and looked up at me, his features in strange relief in the candlelight. “I’m afraid I have no chair to offer you, Mrs Marley.”

In ordinary circumstances I would have thought him unspeakably rude to take the only chair while I was so great with child. But I was far too busy scanning the contents of his room to concern myself with such niceties. Here was such a confusion of specimens and experiments as to defy my pen. I saw a bellows in an enormous glass jar; tubes leading into other tubes; canisters lined upon shelves; spiders, snakes and other unutterable crawling things preserved in dim liquid; wooden tables with dark spreading stains; smooth benches crammed with dully glinting tools; a severed human hand pinned to a board; collections of papers covered with diagrams and writings; a hundred objects I could not identify.

“I see you find my chamber fascinating, Mrs

Marley. Why don’t you take a moment to view it more thoroughly?”

I snapped my attention back to him. He gave me a forced smile, probably meant to seem benevolent. I knew I should merely stand there and state my case, but I could not help myself. I moved from my spot and slowly circled the room, knowing his eyes were following my progress.

Here, the dreaded crocodile which had made its way into a dark corner of Virgil’s imagination, hung from the ceiling, huge and glassy-eyed in the thin amber glow. There, a large glass container with a tiny unborn baby preserved within, pink and barely formed. Along one side a row of antiquated texts, thick and hand-bound. Behind, an entire wall made of strangely luminous bricks, which appeared to glow if I looked upon them askance, but were mute and dark if considered directly. I stood in front of the bricks for a moment, turning my eyes upon them and away.

“Do you like it? It is glass imbued with a special phosphorescence. A project of mine.”

“Extraordinary,” I murmured. All around was the oddly discontinuous smell of the natural and the unnatural. Excavated soil, dank lime, the ephemeral scent of cool stone underground. All overlaid with emollients, medicines, solutions. And somewhere beneath it all, a faint rottenness. I returned to where I had stood before and studied him again. His smile was more natural this time, as though he had now remembered how to do it properly.

“You find my chamber interesting?” he asked.

“Yes. I have never seen anything like it.”

“Your husband must have told you I was a

scientist.”

“He has said very little about you, Doctor Flood.”

“I’m surprised. Virgil has spoken a great deal about you. Your father is a wealthy French nobleman, is that correct?”

I dropped my head. “Indeed, sir. But I am cut off from my family.”

“Virgil also told me that. He adores you, my dear. Do not be ashamed of it.”

I faced him again. He had his elbows on the table, his chin cupped in his hands. I noticed an elaborate ring on his smallest finger. The stone within glowed dimly red.

He missed nothing. “You are looking at my ring.”

“Yes, I am.”

He held out his hand for me to inspect it. I moved in three paces and leaned close. I did not want to touch his hand, remembering what Edward had said –

icy and unnaturally smooth.

“It once belonged to Cornelius Agrippa. Do you know who he is?”

“I have heard of him, sir. He was a German

magician of the sixteenth century.”

“The ring is quite, quite priceless.” He withdrew his hand and examined the ring with a vain tilt of his head. Then he returned his attention to me. “Why are you here, Mrs Marley?”

“Virgil is ill. Severely ill.”

“So Edward has told me. Why does Edward not come to fill his place?”

“Edward has returned to London. He and Virgil had a . . . disagreement.”

Flood nodded. “I see.”

“I can only be honest with you, sir. We are desperate. We can barely afford to feed ourselves. We have not lit a light in the house these four days for we haven’t enough to buy candles or oil.”

“And Virgil has other needs,” he said. “I

understand.”

“I care only to feed us and keep us warm, sir. I would offer to work for you, only you can see I am in no condition to do so. I merely ask that you advance us some small portion of Virgil’s wage. Please.”

He examined me closely. He was silent for so long that I became uncomfortable. I was about to open my mouth to speak again, anything to fill that awful silence, when he said, “You have some money put aside for the child.”

I was taken aback. It was impossible for him to know that. “How . . . how could you –”

He smiled. “Don’t be so surprised. It was a considered guess. You have wealthy relatives. No matter how angry they are with you, they will not see a baby die for starvation. It would cause them too much guilt.”

“Yes, I do have a little put aside. But I simply cannot spend it now. The child will need clothes, perhaps medicine.”

“I understand, Mrs Marley. What I do not

understand is why you don’t simply return home. Your parents would welcome you and your child, surely. You are young, your attachment to Virgil will fade if you break it off now. So much pain may be saved. You know, surely, that you are yoked to a soul who cannot long remain part of this world.”

I shook my head, bewildered. “It is unthinkable, sir, that I should leave my husband.”

“It is not so unthinkable. You have thought it.”

Once again, it was as though he could read my mind. My skin seemed to shrink a little around me with fear. “Idle thoughts do not equate to concrete actions,” I replied quietly.

He pulled himself out of his chair. “Mrs Marley, you are unwise. Your husband is also unwise. But I am fond of him and I am pleased to have him working for me. I will grant your request.”

Relief washed through me. “Oh, thank you.

Thank you, Doctor Flood. And Virgil will repay it as soon as –”

“I will not hear of it. This will be my gift to your child.” He moved towards a back corner of the room. I heard a drawer opening, but could not see what he was doing. His back was turned to me.

“I don’t know if we can accept such a gift.”

“Nonsense. Do not insult me with your false courtesy. You know you can and will accept this gift.”

I remained silent, fearing that any more words from me may persuade him to change his mind. He returned and slipped into my hand a roll of coins – more than we needed – and a bottle made of dark glass.

“What is in here?” I asked.

“A present for Virgil. Do not open it.”

I knew, of course, that it must be laudanum. My heart sank, for I wish that Virgil would stop taking it. But it gives him so much ease at the moment, and he has been so very sick.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you most sincerely.”

“Pass on my regards to Virgil.”

“I shall.” We were moving towards the door now, he with a lamp swinging in his hand. He reached over to open the door for me, and as he moved back he pressed his hand firmly against my stomach. I shrank from him in surprise and revulsion.

“You are to have a boy,” he said.

“How can you know?” My flesh crawled. He had touched me in such an intimate place with that unspeakably old hand.

“I have been a scientist for many, many years. I know many things. Go on, I will wait here and light your way to the stairs.”

I retraced my steps along the tunnel. When my foot hit the first stair, I turned to see if he was watching me. He had closed the door to his chamber and stood in the tunnel with the lantern, unlocking the second door. Curiosity got the better of me; I had to see what was in there. The door swung inwards and he moved into the room. I caught only the faintest glimpse of its contents before the door clanged shut and I was left in darkness. But that faint glimpse has worked upon my imagination ever since. In the dim glow of lamplight, bodies were laid out upon long tables. I had seen the trembling shadow cast by a ribcage, a black pair of feet silhouetted against a wall, and – horror – a man cleft in two, his torso five inches away from his groin and legs, Flood’s lamplight swinging between the two dark shapes. I pushed myself quickly up the stairs, heedless of my earlier fear of tripping, and opened the door to emerge in fresh sunlight.