Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631) (16 page)

Mary Fielding’s Shoulders sagged. “I don’t suppose,” she said, “that the old Woman will come back for her, will she?”

I looked again into Mary’s anxious Face and came to a Decision. “If she doth not,” I said, “then you need not trouble the Hospital. I shall procure a Wet Nurse in the Town to raise it at mine own Expense. It is the oddest Creature I have ever seen, and I am quite enchanted by it.”

At this Declaration, about which I was in compleat earnest, Mary’s Expression changed intirely; she began to laugh. “Mr ’Art,” she said. “I credit you are getting as ’are-brained as Mr Fielding. He would have all the Sorrow in the World undo itself and fade away because he willed it so. You cannot support a Child, Sir; you are not yet twenty. I shall speak with Mr Fielding and he shall decide what is to be done. I know I should have told him already, but I had not the Courage.”

At this Point the kitchen Clock chimed the Houre of five, and as this was nigh upon Time for Dinner, Mrs Fielding and her Servants chivvied me back up-Stairs. I returned to the drawing Room to await the Bell and ponder once again upon Jane’s Letter, and the Absence of Nathaniel from it. Then I fell to considering the little Bat and what was to become of it. I feared for its Future should it enter the Foundling Hospital. Even supposing it survived—which was not likely—who would want a Maid with Wings? It would in all Probability end up in some Establishment akin to Mrs Haywood’s, at the Mercy of some Monster like to Me. I disliked that Notion utterly.

Christmas Eve Dinner was not a grand Affair by any Means, as Festivities were planned for the Morrow; but evidently Mary did not feel it was sufficiently dull to enliven it with her Newes of the Foundling. We sate beneath the Holly in the dining Room, the ash Logs in the Fire burning high and fierce, and ate cold Beef. Mr Fielding complained loudly about his Gout, and then embarked upon a bitter Monologue contemning the open-palmed Practices of his Predecessor in the Magistracy, who had, he said, encouraged every Pimp in the Neighbourhood to think that he could buy the Law. I privately questioned whether Mr Fielding’s relentless Integrity did not sometimes cause more Trouble than it deserved.

I would not normally have betrayed any Confidence of Mary’s, but because I wholeheartedly believed that she would tell her Husband, when she met with the proper Moment to do so, and because I felt My Self to be involved in the Matter, I sought an Audience with John Fielding in the drawing Room after Dinner to ask his Advice upon it.

Mr Fielding was so taken aback that he almost let fall his Spectacles. The red Firelight danced within the darkened Lenses. “But it is not your Child, Tristan,” he said.

“I know that, Sir.”

“Then, why?”

“It is so unusual,” I said.

“Tristan, tell me,” said Mr Fielding, rubbing his Forehead upon his Fist. “Do you intend to keep a Menagerie of unusual Creatures, or to run a Side-show at a Fair?”

“Of course not,” I said. “’Tis a Human Child. And naturally I have no Interest in parading it before a gawping Publick. ’Tis bad enough that Visitors are allowed in the Bedlam, and Bridewell.”

“Yet you, yourself, wish only to admire at it.”

“No,” I said. Mr Fielding was in Fact more than half right; but not wholly, for I had another Sentiment besides, to which I could not put a Name. It made me want to carry off the pretty Freak and shelter it, far away from the ignorant Curiosity and well-meant Concern of those who would ask, like Mary: “Is she a ’Uman, Mr ’Art?”

I waited all Evening for the Sound of Henry Fielding’s upraised Voice, which would mean that his Wife had told him of the Foundling, but it never came. Shortly before Midnight he retired in Pain and ill Humour to Bed, and Mary, telling him God knows what, slippt away again to the Kitchen. When I realised what she had done, I followed.

The Kitchen was still very warm, and the low tallow Candles gave it a friendly, welcoming Aspect. Mrs Fielding had dismisst Liza and the other Maids for the Night, and seemed, despite all common Sense, to be preparing to spend hers with the Baby before the Fire. She had unbound it from its Swaddling, and sate with it loose upon her Lap, attemping to Spoon-feed it Pananda from a blue China Bowl. She half leapt up in great Surprize as I approached, clutching the Infant to her as if she feared some fell Danger was fain to threaten it.

“Peace, Mrs Fielding,” I said. “’Tis not your Husband, nor Mr John. ’Tis only Tristan.”

I had previously planned that if I could not keep the Bat, I would at least draw its Likeness before it was taken away from me. I decided therefore to have Mary remain sitting with the Babe upon her Lap whilst I sketched, expecting in mine Ignorance that it would remain still whilst I began, and failed, and began over again, to capture its Quintessence upon Paper.

“Mr ’Art,” said Mary desperately, after almost half an Houre of false Starts and muted Curses upon my Part, “I have a little Talent for Drawing. If you will but sit and hold her, I’ll try to draw her for you.”

So, we exchanged Places, and after some Confusion I discovered how to retain the Child in mine Arms without dropping or smothering it. This was, in truth, a Labour of Hercules, for the Babe would not be still for me any more easily than it would for Mrs Fielding, and I was extreamly glad when the Sketch was compleat and I could hand it back.

Mrs Fielding swaddled the Baby again in its Blanket, having somehow affixt a ragged Clout to its lower Extremity, and laid it back in the Basket. “I believe that I could learn the proper Manner of doing that,” she said—to herself, I thought, rather than to me. “The Skin
stretches so, it might be possible to fold it right away. Then she could mayhap wear ordinary Cloathes, when she is old enough.”

“Mary.” My previous Declaration hung unspoken in the Aire between us.

In that Moment I was convinced that I would keep my Bat. Mary would help me find a Nurse, and as regarding the Expense, had not John Fielding himself told me that I needed something else to squander my Fortune upon than Whoring?

For one long, silent Minute I believed it.

Then there came a loud, harsh Knock upon the Door that led from the Kitchen into the Street; and then another, till the solid Wood quaked with Drumming.

Mrs Fielding gasped and her Hand flew to her Breast; then she recollected herself, and straightened her Apron and her Cap before proceeding with great Dignity toward the Door. I stood close behind her. It was not like, I thought, that the Knockers were Robbers, but this was the Magistrate’s House, and Mary his Wife; it did as well to be careful.

Mrs Fielding opened the Door and there stood the Gypsy.

I know not wherefore I was so surprized. I had, I think, so greatly desired that she should not return that I had perswaded My Self that she would not. Yet, here the leathery Creature stood, as gristly as a blackberry Bush. She winked up at us out of two glittering black Eyes and drew back her Lips in a Grin, revealing a set of broken Teeth, like Thorns. Her gnarled Hand grippt tight about a small lanthorn Staff, upon which I seemed to see, entwined, the carven Bodies of Toads and Adders. In the uncertain lanthorn Light they looked as if they had been alive. I shivered.

“I come for the Babe,” she said. “I hope she hath given no Trouble.”

“Oh!” Mrs Fielding cried, though whether with Relief or Disappointment I could not be sure. “No; no Trouble at all.”

Mrs Fielding beckoned the Woman inside, and then fetched the Baby in its Swaddling from its Place near the Fire. “You will be careful that she don’t take cold?” Mary said anxiously. “I shall fetch another Blanket, else the poor Mite will freeze.”

“She won’t freeze,” the Woman said, taking the Baby with a low Laugh that sounded like the Echo of Branches breaking. “We know how to take care of our own, Mrs Fielding.”

“What is the Child to you?” I demanded, as Mary ran up-Stairs to find a Blanket. “Is she a Grandchild, a Nurseling, or merely a Shilling in your Pocket?”

At this, and I saw it happen plain as Daye, the old Woman, who had ignored me heretofore, spun about and fixt me with a black Stare that turned into a mocking one when she perceived that I was not intimidated. “She is the Daughter of my Mistress,” she answered. “Who is a great Lady; a Queen among our People.”

At these Words a sudden Chill ran though my Blood.

“What is the Lady’s Name?” I asked, altho’ my Tongue resisted me and my Voice was as pale as my Cheek.

“Merely visiting, weren’t you, my Lovely; visiting; never staying. Tried to run away, didn’t you; but Queen-Mother won’t let pretty Baby go, no, no.”

“Tell me!”

The old Woman cocked her Head upon one Side and smiled. “But you know her, Caligula. You may call her Viviane.”

Then she was gone, and the kitchen Door slamming, and Mary Fielding running down the Stairs; and My Self on my Knees where I had fallen, for I had not the Power to stand.

*   *   *

That Night I lay a long while in a State of Misery. I had sustained a Shock, and altho’ my Senses were not, seemingly, disordered or untrue, my Sensibilities were in utter Ruin.

The bitter Truth was that I could not verily remember whether I had ravished Viviane. I did not think I had. But I had also thought that I had seen her bodily transform into an Owl. How much Faith could I place in either Recollection? Moreover, the unwonted Visitation of the Child—if it were not—Great God!—my Child—was unintelligible to me.

At about three I rose, staggered down-Stairs and helped My Self to several Glasses of Mr Fielding’s best Nantes. Feeling somewhat thereby encouraged, I returned to Bed and belatedly began the rational Calculation that would tell me whether it were possible the Child be mine, or not. Mathematics saved me. Even if it had been new born yesterdaye, which it was not, Viviane’s Pup could not have been conceived beneath the Hawthorns on May Morning. January, I thought, was the probable date for its Conception, perhaps even earlier.

In January, I thought, Viviane must have shared her Favours more than once with Nathaniel Ravenscroft.

“But if ’twas Nat’s,” I said to My Self, “then why chose she to plague me with it, and not him?” Had she already shewn him the Babe, and he had denied it? Had she sent it to me, in Hopes that I might recognise it out of Guilt, or Fear?

There was, however, a Flaw in this Logick which I could not ignore, angry and half-fuddled as I was. If Viviane had wanted me to support her Bastard, why had she claimed it back from me at the precise Moment in which I had determined to do exactly that?

Had that been Viviane’s Game? To send me a small Miracle, and snatch it back, and glory in my Disappointment? To teaze me with
the false Supposition that it must be mine, and laugh to think me fallen upon my Knees in Horrour, even as I had forced her upon her own.

Had I raped Viviane? I thought that I had not. I did not know.

I needed Mrs Haywood’s. I needed Polly. I needed my Lash.

If she had intended that I should go mad, Viviane had failed. I did not lose my Wits, nor suffer the Disarray of my Senses that had followed upon my previous Encounter with her and her Kind. Instead, I beat back the Drumming with my Cane and with my Lash, and muffled my Fear beneath the Sound of someone else’s Screaming.

In the Middle of January I began my Studies in the dissecting Rooms of Dr William Hunter, which were situated in a large House in the Little Piazza of Covent Garden. This Building served also as Lodging for a good many of Dr Hunter’s other Students, some of whom, I discovered, had come from as far away as America. It was
an elegant Address, set on several Floors above a vaulted and colonnaded walk-Way which, being paved, covered and open to the Publick was oft-times used by People of the better Sort in Pursuit of an houre’s Exercise. This Quest proved often difficult; the Piazza was frequently so crowded as to make it nigh impossible to walk two abreast. Here congregated the City’s Poor: squinting apple-Sellers carrying Trays of bruised Fruit that had been harvested last Autumn in Hackney Fields, hand-cart Hawkers, kitchen Maids running Errands for the Mistress or the Cook, Poulterers’ Boys, cut-Purses, lame beggar Kids, poxed Whores, half-wild Dogges.

Dr Hunter’s Lectures took place in a large, bright lit Theatre which in any other Household would have been the drawing Room. It was a cold, echoing, lofty ceilinged Chamber, with two large Fireplaces, neither of which gave out much Heat even when the Fires were high. In the very Centre of the Room stood three long Tables, similar to that one I had in mine own Study, and around these were positioned a Set of hard Benches upon which we Students sate, shivering and all agog to the Words of the esteemed Surgeon.

Dr Hunter himself was small, fastidious in his Dress and his Habits, and possesst of an ineffable Civility that never failed him. His Bearing was quiet and gentle, yet his Speeches, delivered in his mild Lanarkshire Accent, were given in a clear, calm Manner that was utterly compelling. For all his seeming Meekness, I should not have cared to cross him; I sensed that beneath his courtly Display lay all the Force of a contained Fire. “We Anatomists are combative People,” he said to me a few Dayes after we had met—and I was thrown into such Transports by that inclusive “We” that I did not sleep the Night. “We all appreciate a good Scrap. And we do not like to lose.”

I was familiar with the Battle to which he was referring, and in which he had no Intention of being bested. Both Dr Hunter and the Brothers Fielding, tho’ of different Motives, were lobbying Parliament to pass a Murder Act proscribing those convicted of that Crime from Christian Burial. Mr Fielding professed Hopes, tho’ they were slight, that so horrible a Punishment might reduce the Number of such unnatural Deaths within the City. Dr Hunter wished rather for a great Increase thereby in the supply of Cadavers, which was presently insufficent for both his own Practice and the Education of his Students. He was cross and apologetic that his current lecture Course, which usually he ran in the Parisian Manner, one Student to a Cadaver, was largely comprised of the Study of Engravings and anatomical Blocks. We should not, he said, be able to work upon fresh Corpses for some unknown Time, as he had fallen out, thro’ no Fault of his own, with the Newgate Undertaker; and tho’ he had sent several Letters to the Press beseeching the Publick to leave their Bodies for Dissection, his Supply had temporarily dried up.