Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631) (50 page)

I chose not to walk the Distance to Bow Street, tho’ it was not far. The Weather was dampe; the London Highways and Lanes
were filthier than the main Road into Highworth, and the Traffick was great; tho’ I would dearly have loved to wander again thro’ their clamorous Ways, it seemed wiser to call upon the Chairmen. I kept the Chair’s Blinds open, however, and feasted mine Eyes upon the Multitude of excitatious Personages crowding, shouting, hurrying, leaping, fighting, busy about their own Affairs and intirely oblivious to mine Admiration. All this Noise, and phrenzied Activity seemed to me strange after the Peace of Berkshire; yet after no more than five Minutes, my Surprize, and the slight Disquiet that accompanied it, faded away. This City, I realised with a Jolt, this wretched, noissome, filthy, wondrous City, had been mine Home, every bit as much as Shirelands was; perhaps even more. Here, I had been happy; here I had been safe, at least until the End, from Viviane. Here I had not only my Work, but my very Purpose.

I ought to stay, I thought, suddenly. If I can convince Dr Hunter. Even if I cannot.

Would Katherine be able to stay, to live properly, in London? I had never once considered it. I pondered it, now, and with serious Intent. Would Katherine, who had never been to any Town larger than Weymouth, adjust to the Pace and Excitement of London? I feared, in my Bones, that she might not.

Bow Street was well lit up within, it being now seven o’ the Clock; and its candled Windows cast a soft ivory Sheen upon the murky Street. I paid off the Chairmen and alighted on the front Step, Anticipation tingling in my Blood.

Straightening first mine Hat and then my Coat, I approached the Fieldings’ Door and rang low on the Pin. The Hall beyond erupted with those once familiar Sounds, still dear to me: Children shouting, Dogges barking— and, I fondly imagined, knocking over the Children in their Surge towards the Door—and finally Mrs
Mary Fielding’s own Voice, commanding that everyone be still and let her unfasten the Door that Mr Hart, if it be he, might enter.

“It is indeed he, Mrs Fielding!” I shouted thro’ the solid Wood. I tried to compose my Features into an Expression that betrayed no Hint of my tumultuous Sentiments, but I was not, I think, successful.

A Key turned; Mrs Fielding opened up the Portal, and smiled.

“Mary!” I cried out, before I could stop My Self; and I fought back the sudden Impulse to catch her up in mine Arms, as I had done once before. I coughed, ashamed of the Impropriety, and correcting My Self, said: “Mrs Fielding, how good to see you!”

“Come inside, Mr Hart, don’t linger on the Step,” Mrs Fielding said quickly, with a broad Smile of her own and an hastily aborted Curtsey, the which I was certain I ought not to have noticed.

I steppt over the Sill, and stood in the Hallway, while Mrs Fielding locked the Door and drew across it several heavy iron Bolts.

“There are some,” she said, seeing my querying Expression, “as do not take too kind to Mr Fielding’s Progress with his Runners.”

“I see,” I said. “There have been Threats?”

“There have, Mr Hart,” Mary said. Her Countenance was grave. “Mr Fielding says the best Way to find out how many Rats are in a Nest is to stick a Pitchfork into it; and he is doing it. London hath Rats aplenty, Sir.”

It had begun to dawn upon me, slowly, that something had altered in Mary. It was nothing in her Appearance, which was as it had ever been: an agreeable, round cheeked Face beneath a linen Cap; open, honest Eyes, and a clear Skin, unspoilt by the small Pox. I considered her closely, thinking that perhaps she might be with Child again, but her Shape and plain Dress gave away no Sign. Finally, I realised what it was. “Mrs Fielding,” I exclaimed, with a Laugh. “You have found your ‘H’!”

Mary Fielding smiled, and held forth her Hand, quite as if she had been a Lady of Birth and Fashion. “I have,” she said, aspirating the Letter with considerable Pride. “I have.”

Mrs Fielding led me thro’ the Mobb of Dogges into the sitting Room, and then departed, leaving me in Company with both Brothers Fielding, who were sitting one to either Side of the slow burning log Fire, their Faces ruddy in the Heat. It struck me suddenly, seeing them thus together after such a Time apart from both, how unlike they were. Mr Henry Fielding was very tall, well built but not corpulent; his long Nose, the most prominent Feature of his Face, appeared above a sensuous Mouth, while his Eyes sparked with Wit and ready Temper. He was dresst in a dark brown Frock, a Wigg of middling Length, buff coloured Breeches and, due to the Gout, one Slipper, upon his less affected Foot. His other, which he had stretched out before him upon a softly cushioned Stool, was bound up in Muslin and Lint.

Mr John, in contrast, was somewhat shorter, but much more heavily built, a veritable Bull, with a wider, fleshier Face. I saw with a Start that he was tonight wearing neither black Band nor Glasses.

“Mr Hart!” exclaimed Mr Henry Fielding at the Sight of me. “Come in, young Man, and sit down. Liza, a Glass of Claret for Mr Hart.”

I found a Chair, settled My Self beside the side-Board, some small Distance across the Room from the Brothers, and happily accepted the Glass Liza poured for me. “Good Evening, Mr Fielding; Mr Fielding,” I said, addressing my Words first to Mr Henry Fielding and then to his Brother.

“You will pardon me, Mr Hart, if I do not rise,” Henry Fielding said. “My damned Foot hurts like the Devil tonight, and Dr Hunter hath told me that I must rest it or suffer much worse the Morrow. However, I have pledged both John and Mrs Fielding that I shall
endeavour to forestall the Pain’s disrupting my good Humour. Well, Sir, it hath been a while, a good while—and a great Deal hath happened. Here you are, a married Man, no less!”

“I am, Sir,” I answered.

“Where is your Bride? Can it be you have left her behind, so very soon?”

“I did not think that she would enjoy London, Sir.” I felt my Cheek grow warm.

Henry Fielding sank back into his Chair, chuckling in Amusement at my Predicament. This gave his Brother John an Opportunity to Speak; and despite the Affection I had developed towards this Mr Fielding over the many Months of my Residency at Bow Street, I felt a Queasiness in my Gut at his addressing me.

“Tristan,” said John Fielding. His sightless Eyes, for once visible to my Gaze in the Absence of his customary Lenses, turned a little Way in my Direction. As if he could still see, I thought, as I had always thought, when he turned those Eyes upon me, hidden or no. A chilling Shiver ran the whole Length of my Spine. “I am glad,” continued he, “to find you thus recovered from your Nerves. I hear that you are eager to recommence your Apprenticeship under Dr Hunter’s Tutelage.”

“Tutelage?” I frowned. “I know nothing of that, Sir. I have written to Dr Hunter to ask whether he would consider offering his Support to me in a scientific Inquiry of mine own Devising.”

“Your own Devising?” Henry Fielding exclaimed. “An ambitious Project, Mr Hart.”

I leaned forward. “I know it, Sir,” I said. “And yet my whole Aim is ambitious; I seek to identify and explain the Cause of Stroake, the better thereby to discover a Means of curing the Disease that hath crippled my Father.”

John Fielding gave a Grunt. He appeared, to mine heightened Sensibility, to have been propelled deep into Thought; tho’ scanty Trace of his Deliberations appeared on his forbidding Countenance.“Tristan,” he said, at last, in a serious Tone, “I know you for an exceptionally intelligent young Man, who might even yet become a brilliant Physician. Your Ambition is commendable and I wish you, ultimately, all Success. But it is my Duty to warn you, as one who hath your Welfare close at Heart, that I have grave Doubts as to whether Dr Hunter will allow you to resume your Studies until you have been consistently well for some considerable Time; if, indeed, at all. Moreover, even if he consent to help you in your Scheme, it is unlike that with all his great Skill and Knowledge at Hand, you will uncover a Cure for Apoplexy that you can use to help your Father.”

At these Warnings, mine Heart sprang into my Throat and clung there, as a terrified Cat leapeth into the Branches of an Ash. “Yet,” I said, forcing My Self to ignore the former Part of Mr Fielding’s Speech as if he had never given it, “am I not Honour bound to try? And even if I cannot help my Father, I shall set my Findings before the Royal Society, and advance the Currency of my Name enormously amongst our Men of Science.”

“Indeed,” said John Fielding. A dark Frown creased his Forehead. “To advance yourself is an understandable Desire,” he said. “And one that every young Man of Ability should share, after his Talent. You would be a second Paracelsus, I perceive. But such powerful Ambition, Tristan, is a two edged Sword, and you must be cautious, lest you cut yourself in its Wielding.”

At these Words, my Breath caught afire in my Chest. I realised just how passionate was my Desire and Hope of such an Outcome; and conversely, therefore, how terrifying the Possibility that I might fail. To be a second Paracelsus! What might I not sacrifice to become
such? I did not know; and this Awareness, that I did not, frightened me.

“Blasted Pain!” Henry Fielding cursed, savagely, half silently, and quite to himself.

I left Bow Street by Chair at about half-past ten o’ the Clock, and arrived, without Incident, back at my Lodging shortly before eleven. The inn Yard was exceeding busy, owing to the untimely Arrival of the Leicester Mail, so in the general Bustle I did not at first perceive, standing patiently in the Doorway, his Hat and Coat quite dampe from the spring Rain, the wiry Figure of Captain Simmins. In all Innocence, therefore, I lighted from my Chair, paid my Shilling to the Chairmen, and headed forth into the Inn. Then I felt an Hand catching at mine Arm, and without even turning mine Head, I knew in my Bowels that it was he.

“Good Evening to you, Captain Simmins,” I said.

“Good Evening, Sir.”

“Hast been long waiting for me?”

“No, Sir,” Simmins answered. “Th-ree Houres, Sir. No longer.”

“Some might consider that a long Time, Mr Simmins.”

“I – I do not, Sir.”

I turned mine Head to look at him. His Face shone golden in the Light that spilled out from inside the Building, as his Breath wisped, cloudy upon the drizzling Aire, thro’ his parted Lips. His dark brown Eyes were fixt upon my Face.

I looked sharp around, feeling for an Instant as if I were committing a Crime. Everyone’s Attention was upon the new arrived Mail; no one shewed the slightest Curiosity in My Self or the slender young Adonis who had suddenly accosted me.

“Come,” I said; and without more ado, I strode across the slate Doorstep and proceeded swiftly to my Lodging. I knew that
Simmins would follow me. Had I commanded it, he would have followed me into the Mouth of Hell.

I let Simmins before me into my Room, lit the Candle and fastened the Door before rounding upon him. “Have you found the Whore?” I demanded.

“No, Sir.”

“No? How can you thus answer? No? I gave you firm Instruction, Mr Simmins: find Miss Annie Moon and bestow upon her a certain Sum of Money. How can it be that in all these Weeks you have not found her?”

“I could not, Sir. I asked at Mrs Haywood’s Establishment, but all say she is no longer there.”

“Indeed?” Mine Heart sank. Surely, I thought, she hath not already bought her Freedom of Mrs Haywood? Mayhap she is dead. How can I, if Antoinette be dead, ever redeem My Self concerning her? “Then,” I said, “you should have redoubled your Efforts, and searched elsewhere, beyond Covent Garden. I am disappointed in you, Mr Simmins.”

“I kn-ow, Sir. I am s-orry. I will m-ake better E-ffort in the F-uture.”

Simmins hung his Head. I studied, close, his Expression, his Shape; the smallest Movements of his Hands and Feet. “Mr Simmins,” I said, “you are an Offense to my Sight. Your Coat is wet and your Shoes are muddy. How is it that every Time we meet you contrive to drip, Mr Simmins?”

“I st-ood in the Rain,” Simmins whispered.

“That is no Excuse,” I said. “Get out.”

*   *   *

I did not permit my Mind to linger at all upon the Intimation Mr John Fielding had given me regarding the poor Likelihood of my
Return to Dr Hunter’s Favour. The following Morning, I wrote to Katherine, to assure her of my safe Arrival, and to tell her I had visited the Fieldings. Then, having Quill in Hand, I composed a second Letter to Dr Hunter, to acquaint him with my London Address, and to ask of him whether he had considered my Proposition. I gave both Letters to the Pot-boy, with a Shilling for his Trouble, and then fell to considering how I might todaye further the Progress of my Theory, for I did not judge the Room of the Hound conducive to maintaining a studious Frame of Mind. There was, for one thing, no Desk, but merely a side-Table; for another, the Chamber was so diminutive that it was quite impossible for me to have unpacked compleatly lest I fall over mine Equipment, or scatter my Notes in the Clutter.

I thought that I might go to one of the Taverns I had frequented in Erasmus’ Company during our Tenure at the Hospitals, and there discover what Newes I could of Dr Hunter himself: whether he had made any new Discovery pertaining to Aneurysm, and what Progress he had made in bringing his obstetric Etchings toward Publication. I began to dress; but Recollection of Dr Hunter’s Depictions of the gravid Uterus put me in mind of Katherine, and mine Hands began so violent a Tremble upon my Cravat that I could not tie it, and was forced to sit upon the Bed until I had regained my Composure.

The Walk to St Thomas’s Hospital – for by this Means it suited me to travel, when I had at last restored both Will and Power to my quivering Limbs – took me past Smithfield, St Bartholomew’s and the antient Horrour of Newgate Prison thro’ Cheapside to the London Bridge, below which snailed the thick Thames, while small Boats queued for Passage thro’ the narrow Arches. I glanced down, at the green and silent Waters, and then steppt in a lively
Manner onto the Bridge, losing Sight of the River behind its Buildings.

This main Road into the Boro’ was the most crowded and busy of Southwark’s Thoro’fares, yet I knew nothing of the Fear that impelled most Men of my Station into Carriage and Sedan. I knew not wherefore, nor do I even now comprehend the Reason, but those Gentlemen of Highway and Alley, who might have perceived in me an easy Mark, and treated with me accordingly, kept as respectful a Distance from my Person as had the youngest of the Collerton Maids.