Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631) (21 page)

“She hath fainted,” said Dr Oliver. “Good.”

Good? I thought, with a cruel Spit of Anger. Good? My cheated Body howled Frustration. The aethereal Beauty of the Moment had dissolved into an ugly Lust that had neither Object nor Hope of Satiation. For the second Time, I could have wept.

As my vicious Desire dissipated, my medical Mind, which should always have been in the Ascendant, began more strongly to arouse. Oh, ’tis a Relief, I told My Self, that she is senseless; to me as much as ’tis to her. The Agony, of itself, can do her little Good, and to me ’tis a Distraction I would better do without. I directed mine
Attention closely upon the opened Breast. My Stomach tightened against a Stab of startling Fear. How can Dr Hunter properly assess her vital Condition, if she be not conscious? She may die, I thought.

The Tissue within the Breast was not Flesh, but Fat, and a white glandular Matter, richly supplied with Blood. I recalled the Doctor’s Injunction to be quick with mine Irons, and I grippt them tightly, lest they slip. I would be as clever with mine Hand at the cauterising of the leaking Veins and showering Arteries as he was with the Scalpel itself. The Blood was hot upon my Fingers, salt-smelling, slippery, surprising plentiful.

Dr Hunter’s Blade worked swiftly and with Precision. The Cancer was in a Lobe hard by the Pectoral Muscle, and it was necessary to cut away all the Glandular Tissue that surrounded it. Such was his Skill that within a very few Minutes, the gross red Body of the Cancer came free from the Flesh. It had the Appearance of a giant Louse, gorged fat with Blood, deeper and darker than the healthy Matter around it. Dr Hunter, keen as always to spare his Patient a Moment’s Anguish, ordered Dr Oliver and My Self to begin the Closure and Bandaging of the Wound. But something prevented me.

“No, Sir,” I said. I did not compleatly know wherefore. Her Ladyship had begun to revive. Perhaps, I thought, ’twas but the Hope she might be brought to scream again.

“What?” Dr Hunter said.

“You have not finished, Sir.” As I spoke, the latent and clouded Suspicion, that had caused me to refuse, came suddenly into brilliant Clarity. Staring into the Body, I perceived, as if it were mapped out for me, the exact Strategy by which the Cancer sought to insinuate itself thro’ the healthy Tissue, turning all morbid. I could see precisely where its Incursions began, and in what Direction they were headed. No Louse, but a parasitic Fungus, weaving its
deadly Nexus within living Flesh. “There was too much Blood,” I said. “From here—and here. The Arrangement of the Arteries in these two Spots is quite unlike to that of the Remainder of the Gland. The Flesh here is corrupt, Sir. I would swear to it.”

Dr Hunter cast me an horrified Glance, but, seeing that I was not in any Doubt, he bent over the Lady’s Breast to perform his own Inspection of the now cauterised Tissue. “I can see no Corruption,” he said.

“Damme, Sir!” I said. “Can not you? The Cancer is growing, Sir.”

“Quiet!” said Dr Hunter sharply. “She will hear you. Dr Oliver, your Opinion, please.”

“I am, as you know, disinclined towards too much cutting,” Dr Oliver said, slowly. “But I think in this Case ’twould be more harmful to excise too little, than too much.”

The two Surgeons stared at each other, their Expressions grave. My Cheek grew cold. I could not believe that Dr Hunter would disagree now, after Dr Oliver had given me his Support. The Lady will die, I thought, if he doth not continue. She will die, and she must not. She must not! Time, and mine own Heart, seemed to stop. Then Dr Hunter nodded his Concurrence, and lifted his Scalpel again. Again the Steel sliced thro’ the yielding Gland, again the red Blood leapt. The Doctor made no Sound, but from the Speed and Intensity with which he worked, I judged that he had found exactly what I had feared: the Tumour had sent forth two thick bloody Threads, which had burrowed thro’ the Breast, towards the Lymph.

This Time, Dr Hunter did not hurry to close up the Wound, despite the Fact that Lady B.—— was now awake, and moaning softly. At his Invitation, Dr Oliver and I inspected the Place, our Eyes sharp to any Atom of infected Matter; but this Time neither of us could see anything amiss.

Dr Hunter gave a relieved Sigh, and having put his Instruments aside, he left the Room in order to wash and change back into his previous Finery. Dr Oliver and My Self were quite bespattered with the Lady’s Blood, but that counted for nothing; it would be Dr Hunter she would look for when the linen Band was taken from her Eyes. I washed the Wound with Wine, then sutured it. Finally, I bandaged it as tightly as I could. Lady B.—— was pale as a Corpse, her Skin cold and her Breathing shallow. She said nothing as her Vision was at last unbound, and Dr Oliver and I assisted her to cross the Salon towards her adjoining Bedchamber.

Thank God, I thought, thank God that she is not my Wife.

Once her Ladyship was settled in her Bed, and the Bells rung for her Abigail and household Servants to clean up the Mess in her Salon, I made ready, on foot, to depart the Premises. Dr Hunter, restored to his courtly Dress, and looking almost as smart as if the Operation had never taken place, stayed, to reassure the Lady and her newly returned Husband of its likely Success. Dr Oliver left with me. He had been, he told me, about the House all Daye, and was now most desirous of fresh Aire and Exercise to clear the Blood and Screaming from his Head.

The Weather had brightened whilst we had been within the House. The last Traces of yesterdaye’s heavy Fog lingered yet about the cold Corners where the Light did not reach, but the main Thorough-fare was now intirely clear, and thro’ the covering Cloud above I could discern occasional Glimpses of the Sunne.

“I had the uncommon Pleasure, yesterdaye, of meeting with a young Man who claims an Aquaintanceship with you,” Dr Oliver said, as we walked.

“Who, Sir?”

“One Lt. Isaac Simmins, of the 31st Foot.”

“Simmins!” I said. “Little Simmins! Egad! I know not what Cause he should have to wish to claim any Connexion with me! He was my Tutor’s Son and I treated him with precious little Kindness.”

“He spoke fondly of you, in my Opinion. Perhaps you have more, and better, Friends than you know, Mr Hart.”

“Indeed,” I said. “I must have better Friends than I deserve. Where is Lt. Simmins staying? I shall write to him.”

“I do not know the Address,” Dr Oliver replied. “But I am sure you may smoake it easy enough. He was waiting upon an Associate of mine own, who hath, I believe, done him some Service I presume to be financial. Mine Associate hath no Child, and I believe your Friend to be the latest in a long Line of young Men whose Careers he hath seen fit to advance.”

We had by now come to the Crossroads at the northern End of Covent Garden. Dr Oliver, whose Destination lay in the opposite Direction from mine, bade me Good Afternoon and turned to leave. He had gone no more than three Paces, however, when he stoppt and looked back. “That was a sound Judgement,” he said. “You may well have saved the Lady’s Life.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I said.

“Where do you go now? I should not go straight home, if I were you. I should visit one of these Houses and relieve that—Irritation. It amazes me that you were able to think at all, let alone so clearly.”

With that, Dr Oliver touched his Hat, and scurried away thro’ the Covent Garden Crowds. I stood in the Street, bestilled by Shock.

I continued to stand, mortified, mine Eyes fixt upon the Space into which Dr Oliver had disappeared. A cold Breath passed thro’ me. Dr Oliver had seen it all. Dear God, I thought, and what did Dr Hunter see? Will he ever let me near to any of his Patients again? Yet Dr Oliver had also seen that I had perhaps saved the Lady’s Life.

My Thoughts turned then to the Lady, and, despite my wishing they would not, to how she had called me Jew. I cursed my dark Countenance, and the Sephardic Heritage that had coloured it. If my Father, I thought, had but shewn the Sense to marry an Englishwoman, I should mayhap have been blessed with the bright
Skin and blue Eyes of Jacob, instead of the swarthy Complexion of Esau. Yet, even as I gave birth to the Thought, I disowned it. It was not in me truly to regret my Mother. None the less, I thought. It would have been a fine thing if I had favoured my Father’s Family, instead of hers. I felt even my Mother would have admitted that.

The small Seed of Anger, which her Ladyship, by her Outburst, had sown, began to take Root within my Stomach. How dared she, I thought, insult me so? I had come to heal, not to humiliate her. Had I wished I could have dealt her such a Wound as she would never have recovered from. Had I not held the Irons?

At this Thought, a darkling Rage, a deep, slow Fury unlike anything I had before experienced, boiled up within my Stomach and mine Heart. I could not breathe. I stood aghast, as the Passion unopposed took first Possession of my Chest and then my Throat, squeezing all as if within the deadliest Compress. An ugly Roar, an Howl more potent than the Polyphemian Bawl swelled within mine Ears, within mine Head; a desolate, primitive Yowl of ragged Pain.

As if I had been an Automaton, I put mine Hands over mine Ears. I shook mine Head. The Howling continued. Mine Heart felt as if ’twere on the Point of bursting from my Ribs. As an Automaton, again, I began to walk toward Mrs Haywood’s House, toward Polly Smith. Perhaps this was at Dr Oliver’s Suggestion; perhaps, and more like, for his Remark had shrivelled any Concupiscence in me, it was merely the Prompting of fixt Habit. For Months, I had driven off the Drumming with my Lash. Mayhap, I could silence this raw Howl, bury this Rage within Polly’s insulating Flesh.

As I walked, I recalled the silvery Cry Lady B.—— had given, and how it had died in mid Flight. My Desire began to stir, and this Time I did not resist it. I might succeed in coaxing such an
aerial Scream from Polly; and it would be under mine own Hands and within my Power to maintain and to prolong. The Dread I had felt upon leaving Lady B.——; the aweful, speechless Fear that such Disease could ever afflict a Woman whom I loved, began to shrink. Mine Heart gave one great shuddering Leap within me; mine Hands began to itch. I quickened my Pace. My Lust cut thro’ the Covent Garden Crowd and parted it, like Water.

Daniel Bright, under the Portico, bade me “Good Afternoon”, and permitted me Entry despite my sombre and somewhat despoiled Attire. I was not expected, but I did not foresee that Circumstance occasioning Mrs Haywood any Difficulty.

The greatest Force of my Rage had begun to be soothed the Instant I had steppt toward the Brothel. Now, as I waited in the Roman Hallway, pacing to and fro across the Sabine Floor, I felt almost calm. After a few Minutes, Mrs Haywood’s little Maid brought me mine accustomed Glass of red Wine, trembling on its Tray, and asked if she might take mine Hat and Greatcoat.

“I may have saved a Life todaye, Lily,” I said, conscious of the blood Stains already upon my Person. I told her exactly how. She was quite pale by the Time I finished.

“Are you not going to congratulate me?” I said.

“Oh, yes, Sir,” stammered Lily, dropping an half-Curtsey. “You are very clever, Sir.”

“I know that,” I said. “Tell me something else.”

“What, Sir?” squeaked Lily, desperately. “What should I say?”

“Tell me that I am lucky.”

At that Moment, to the plain Relief of Lily, the Door to the Stairwell at the far End of the Atrium clicked open, and Mrs Haywood appeared. She was clad in bright scarlet Silks, perhaps to make up for the dismal Weather, and sported upon her Head
the grandest Wigg I had ever seen her wear. “Ah,” I said, as Comprehension dawned. “How is the Privy Councillor?”

“Somewhat subdued,” answered Mrs Haywood. She glided forward with her gloved Hand outstretched. I bent low over it. The mingled Scents of body Fluids and Hungary Water filled my Nostrils.

“My dear Mr Hart,” said Mrs Haywood. “This is an unexpected Pleasure. What is it that you require?”

“I was hoping,” I said, straightening up, “that I might have the Use of your Polly.”

“When, Sir?”

“Now.”

“’Tis impossible,” Mrs Haywood said. “Pauline is sleeping, and will not be woken until tonight. I will not have her over-taxed.”

“No, indeed,” I said. I was greatly disappointed. “Polly—Pauline—is a Treasure. But what am I to do? I have in Truth, Madam, even now a very great and pressing Need, and I fear the Consequence if it cannot be met.”

Mrs Haywood smiled. “If it were at all to your Taste,” she said, narrowing her Eyes, “I should invite you to join the Privy Councillor and My Self in the great Chamber. He would not object.”

I laughed. “I should be honoured,” I said, returning the Jest. “But I would feel My Self to be too much
in statu pupillari
to enjoy the Experience.”

“You flatter me too much, Sir, and you are too diffident of your own Accomplishments. You are no Novice.”

“High Praise, Madam,” I said, bowing. “But let us return to my Difficulty.”

“Very well,” said Mrs Haywood, becoming business-like. “You may spend the Afternoon with Antoinette, if that Prospect excites
you. She is without a Suitor todaye, and she is far from inexperienced. Perhaps it is Time she learned how to please a different Taste. But you must take Care not to mark her.”

Antoinette, christened Annie Moon by her Parents, was one of Mrs Haywood’s pretty Girls. She was, however, well on into her twenties, and I had the Impression that she would not be much ruined by mine Approaches, if they were not overly ferocious. She had mouse brown Hair beneath her Cap, and Eyes that were beautifully blue, if woefully unintelligent. Her Forehead was high, and her Complexion compleatly fair, tho’ I suspected this was not without Assistance. Her Breasts were full, and wobbled atop her Stays like rich Puddings. She had short Fingers, and soft fleshed, plump Wrists.

Under usual Circumstances, I would not have been aroused by the Prospect of using Annie. But my Circumstances were not usual, and my Desire was desperate. In the Absence of anyone better, Annie would have to do. I forced my Memory to flash back again to Lady B.—. If she had but remained conscious, I thought; for her Scream was perhaps the sweetest I have ever heard.