Fair Fight (29 page)

‘By God, that was a thing to see. I have never been so close to a fighting man in action,’ Perry had just been saying. ‘I was quite sprayed with his perspiration and his blood.’

At my gasp the gentlemen turned to look at me, and of course all assumed it was the subject matter which had brought a breath to my lips. Perry considered shocking me the highest pleasure.

‘Oh yes, Charlotte,’ he said. ‘My white sporting jacket was thoroughly bespattered. I cannot decide whether to have it cleaned, or framed as a memento.’ He ate a piece of rabbit with the greatest gusto.

I felt extremely odd, as though I were standing beside the table, watching us all.

‘What sport, to be bathed in a man’s fluids,’ I said. It was the kind of thought I often had, but did not dare speak aloud. I was bathing in fluids of my own.

Perry glared at me, and Mr Bowden was startled enough that he had to cough his wine into his napkin.

‘Now my dear,’ said Granville, ‘perhaps our talk has been too rough for table. Forgive us. Let you not grow rough in response. We will talk of pleasanter matters.’ He waved for more wine.

I was still clasping my knife as though it would steady me, and forced myself to put it down.

‘Nonsense,’ Perry said. ‘Charlotte is well enough used to sporting conversation. If she forgets her manners, let us not reward her.’

‘Mrs Dryer’s sensitivities are no doubt too fine to grow used to the brutal art, no matter how often she may hear of it,’ Mr Bowden said. He regarded me thoughtfully; I wished that he wouldn’t. ‘She shows a delicacy of spirit very becoming to a lady.’

‘She shows a vulgarity of manner becoming to no one,’ Perry said.

I shifted a little in my seat. It was even more terrible than I had feared. It was just as though I had relieved myself; worse, perhaps, since my gown was of white muslin. I imagined that I had ruined the embroidered seat of the chair.

‘You should not mock,’ Perry said to me then, ‘what you cannot understand.’

I was silent, only sat and felt the warmth beneath me cool. I tasted blood in my mouth and realised that I had been biting my own lip.

Perry turned to Granville, ‘That young fellow of yours has bottom, I will grant you.’

‘And a fist like a horse’s hoof!’ broke in Mr Bowden.

‘Certainly, he has that to boast of. But I maintain, sir,’ Perry drew himself up like a cockerel, ‘that we shall have him call out, “enough”, when he and the Bath Bully meet this Saturday next.’

I found myself staring at the piece of rabbit on my plate. The gravy was congealing into a cold and clinging jelly. In a moment Mrs Bell would remove my uneaten rabbit and we would have the sweet, the same Neapolitan cakes and syllabub we were served every Wednesday. Then I would be expected to withdraw, with my skirts turned scarlet and cleaving to my thighs.

‘The Bath fellow shall see the same end as the chandler’s boy,’ Granville said. ‘Did you not see they carried him off in a cart? How come you to be so confident?’

‘You are short-sighted,’ Perry said. ‘The room was too close; the boy could not display the science of defence. An unbalanced contest is no contest at all. He was trapped within range of those hooves.’

Perhaps I might begin to weep; it could hardly have reduced my dignity any further than I would shortly reveal myself to have sunk. I could see no course of action that would safely keep my secret. Perhaps I would sweep out of the room, carrying that spreading stain of claret as though it were the latest innovation in evening dress. Perhaps I should faint. The pond I had released from within myself was my dream of a child dissolved. My hopes were saturating the seat beneath me. I expected that I was at fault; what tiny spirit, waiting to be born, would choose so dreary a host? It was not unexpected. It was only so very ridiculous. That exaggerated monthly course that came upon the second course. It could not wait for the sweet. I believed I should faint, after all. The world was swooping. The rabbit had been removed and I never saw it hop away.

17

I
awoke into the scent of pastilles burning, like rising into the past. I was very miserable indeed, although I could not remember the cause. I was very hot and it took me some time to remember that I should push away the eiderdown.

Someone had put me into my plainest chemise. I lifted myself tentatively and felt the cloth stuck fast to my thighs. I was lying upon layers of linens, put down to protect the sheets. I had ruined them disgracefully. I began to weep. My thoughts were muddled, still; my first thought was that Mama would be furious. Then I recalled that she was dead, which thought, instead of bringing me to despair, sobered me somewhat. I remembered then what had come to pass and felt the weight of it land upon my breast like a great ugly bird.

The bed was an old-fashioned thing of oak, so high that I must climb three steps to reach it. Mrs Bell must have had quite a job to put me in it; perhaps the gentlemen assisted her. I dearly hoped that they had not – although, what difference could it make, now? My humiliation was complete, whether Mrs Bell had carried me or Mr Bowden.

Perhaps, oh good Lord, perhaps Mr Bowden offered me the use of his phaeton knowing what I would see at Queen Square.
That thought brought a stab of shame so sharp that I pushed it away and determined not to consider it.

There was a bottle of tincture upon the nightstand. Perhaps the doctor had visited. I could remember nothing of it, if he had. I could not see a spoon. My mouth tasted foully bitter.

I tried to lift myself and found that my head swam horribly. I fell back against the pillows and there I lay, thinking that if I lay long enough I might bleed to death. No one would be sorry.

I did nothing so dramatic, but only lay for days, calling for brandy, heedless of what the servants or my inconstant husband might think of me. When I thought of the house at Queen Square I could not help but moan aloud, which brought Mrs Bell and the threat of the doctor. I did not want to see the doctor; I could scarce imagine what state I had been in when he last came upon me. Granville did not come to enquire after me, as I had known he would not. I had always considered him made awkward by painful emotion, but now I considered that perhaps he was only unfeeling.

At last – after a number of days, I could not say how long – Mrs Bell said, ‘Well, madam, shall you get up today, or shall I call the doctor? I must call him, if you’re determined to stay abed.’

I surprised us both by shivering myself out of the bedclothes unaided and standing meekly to be bathed and dressed.

The greatest shock awaited me; I came downstairs to find the hulking figure of Tom Webber standing in the hall. The sight of him gave me such a surprise that I stopped on the stairs and put my hand to my throat. I thought I felt the child inside me sense the presence of the man and shudder, and then I remembered that there was no child, any longer. If I shuddered, it was on my own account, then.

He really was an enormous fellow. He looked deeply uncomfortable at the sight of me and tugged at his forelock like a farmer. He did not look as though he knew what he was doing there.

I found Granville at table. He stood when I entered and held his hands out to me. His tone was entirely usual when he said how pleased he was that I was recovered and rang the bell for service.

I only thanked him and sat. I felt as though I looked upon him from a great distance.

Granville called Mr Webber in and had him sit at table with us. Mr Webber looked quite as uncomfortable as I felt. He sat as though he were afraid he might break the chair, and when Mrs Bell poured him a cup of coffee I would swear that he cringed.

‘Is not Mr Webber the finest example of a man you have ever seen, Lottie? Look at the size of his arms. He is built like a tree.’

‘I am glad you are pleased with him,’ I said.

‘Good Lord, yes,’ Granville said. ‘Lord Denheim has his pug set to go against Webber this very week. What did we think, Webber? Was his arm so thick as yours?’

‘No, sir.’ Webber’s voice was softer than I would have expected it.

‘It is quite the thing amongst the London fancy, to have the training of a prize-fighter,’ Granville went on. ‘I have earned a welcome into London’s first circle.’

‘I am glad,’ I said again.

‘Are you? I hope so, although I can never tell, somehow.’

He was absurd. I did not know how to talk to him.

‘Lottie, look at me. Look at me, for goodness’ sake. I must tell you something else and I hate to talk to your bowed head in this way. Please, my dear, must you be such a nun?’

It was difficult indeed to hold his gaze. I could feel my eyes twitching with the desire to look away. Granville had a crumb of some foodstuff beside his mouth.

‘I have renovated the gatehouse,’ he said. ‘What do you think of that?’

‘It is admirable,’ I said.

‘Is it?’

‘Yes, it has been needed for a long while. I am glad to hear of it.’

‘Will you be glad to hear that I have moved Mr Webber there, with his wife? I could not house them here, you know. Mrs Bell would not hear of it.’

I could not help but twitch my eyes toward Mrs Bell. She was standing perfectly still beside the door, holding the silver coffee pot. My head throbbed just to look at her. I felt very strange; perhaps I should not have risen. I looked then toward Mr Webber, but could not meet his eye. His hands were furred. My husband’s hands, which I had once thought so hairy, were as a baby’s by comparison.

‘Webber does not mind my speaking so,’ Granville said. ‘He knows what a rough creature he is. It is why I prize him.’

I could not hold my husband’s gaze any more than I could Mr Webber’s. I let my eyes settle on my lap and felt the kind of relief one feels in taking off a pair of tight boots.

‘You must not walk down the drive any longer, Lottie,’ Granville said, ‘unless accompanied. I know you are accustomed to so doing but it will not be fitting now. It is growing chill, in any case. I should think you will not venture out much now. Lottie, you must answer me, if you will not look at me. Have you understood?’

Mrs Webber, in the gatehouse. I found myself shaking my head at the thought. It was so odd.

‘You do not understand?’ Granville said.

He thought I was shaking my head at him.

‘Of course I understand,’ I said.

We did not speak another word.

As soon as breakfast was concluded I fled to my chamber and made the door fast.

I could not begin to order my thoughts. My husband so changed in my eyes – Mr Webber – Mrs Webber, so close – and yet, I was forbidden to walk to see her, forbidden to walk at all – would I really obey an order so unreasonable as that one? I pulled the bolster from the bed and set it on its end upon the chair. A very little work with the cushions held it firm. I regarded it there, embroidered so many years ago by Miss Gale’s hands in a pattern of autumn leaves. She had used to pinch my legs if I did not sit still and the back of my neck to force me up straight. Now I drew off my glove and drew back my arm. For just a moment I felt foolish and weak – then I knocked the teeth from the bolster’s mouth.

The rough fabric grazed my knuckles as though it bit me. I drew back my fist again and again; I pounded the leaves from those needlework branches. I heard my breath come as heavy as a horse’s. I felt the pins working loose from my hair, the stray locks clinging to my dampened brow. I was made pure, I was cleansed of fear. Every moment of my life that I had spent without pounding my fist into something seemed to have been wasted time. I kept on until my legs trembled and the autumn leaves had tasted my blood.

I kept my gloves on all the evening. That was not unusual, and Granville made no comment. We sat together in the parlour and I took a glass of warm wine and water, and then another, and dared him to question it. He did not. He barely spoke at all, only wrote in his ledger and smoked his pipe. I worked on my tambour. I was sewing the maid upon a donkey again. Granville should never see the other one. I sewed daisies for the donkey to walk upon, and with the movement of each stitch my glove rubbed against my raw right hand.

I might have expected, after such a blow as I had felt, that I would fall into the arms of the liquor, perhaps never to rise again. I was surprised to find that I did not; doubly surprised that it was an action as simple as the beating of a bolster that made the difference. Almost every evening I locked myself away to grow as wild as a savage and pummel the autumn leaves into dust. I would sit at dinner, facing Granville’s blank-faced deceit, and feel the desire to strike out at something humming through my limbs. I made that bolster wear my husband’s likeness in my mind, I made it his strumpet’s swelling stomach. I became a fury, a tempest, a swarm of bees.

Not long afterward Granville left for London, taking Mr and Mrs Webber with him. I bid him goodbye with never a blink and did not trouble myself to ask when he might return. His absence was like the opening of a door; I might do anything. I cared nothing, any longer, for his wishes.

Although I felt a great and fearsome freedom, I did not yet know how I might use it. I had never been at liberty before. Perhaps more than this, I was afraid that nothing would change, that even without the influence of my husband or brother, the world would reveal itself to be quite dull and ordinary.

I began stealing into Granville’s library. He had a collection of sporting pages cut from newspapers large enough to fill almost an entire cabinet, all mounted upon stiff card and slotted into the drawers. The card exactly fitted the drawers; my husband was always a precise man. It was thrilling to go where I knew I should not. I took a book of Mr Douglas’ sermons. I thought,
It is perfectly respectable for me to borrow this
.
The sporting papers sat inside it almost as neatly as they did the cabinet. I took them back to my dressing room and there I burnt an extravagant amount of lamp-oil, sitting up to read of the ferocious battle between Mr Mendoza and Gentleman Jackson. The words themselves were often dry
– Mr Mendoza gave a fine display of science, but could present no match for the stalwart Champion of the ring. The bout lasted only twelve minutes, with Jackson declared undisputed victor –
they mentioned nothing of fear, or sweat. Of course they made me think of Mrs Webber, who knew everything of fear, sweat and a thousand other things I could only imagine. She had been living so very near, I could scarce believe I had not been brave enough to go out and find her. Now she had been carried off to London, before I could make her acquaintance. I thought,
If ever I am given the chance, I must summon the courage to talk to her
. I sat at the window of my dressing room, picking at the bumps upon my arms and sometimes, now, my breast. I did not care if I bled or made myself ugly. I barely painted up any more. I did not walk out; I had grown used to sitting within doors and it was a grim, dreary kind of winter. There was nothing pretty to see.

I was sitting in the window when I spied the old manservant, Horton, leading the brown mare around from the front of the house, with a sorry-looking figure upon it. I could see it was a woman, slumped and huddled in her cloak. I watched as Horton helped her dismount and handed the horse to Henry, the footboy. Horton took the cloaked woman by the elbow and both disappeared toward the kitchen door. I watched her as she passed beneath my window but saw only her bowed head, unkempt and beggarly. I took her for a poor woman from the village. I was not sure that it was proper that she should be brought to the house.

I did not call for a maid to enquire about the beggar, I called for wine. Lucy, the chambermaid, answered my bell.

‘Who is it that Horton has brought to the kitchen?’ I asked her, when once my glass was poured.

Lucy looked as stolid as she always did.

‘It is Mrs Webber, madam. From the gatehouse.’

My interest roused itself like an old dog beside the fire, slowly and shaking its head.

‘Mrs Webber? It cannot be. Mrs Webber is in London.’

‘That’s what we all thought, madam, but here she is, plain enough.’

‘What can you mean, Lucy? How did she get here? Why on earth did she look so ragged?’

‘I couldn’t say, madam. You called so quick I hadn’t time to hear.’

I looked at her but she looked blank. I did not think she meant to be impertinent.

‘Go, then, and enquire. You may tell Mrs Bell that I asked most particularly. And Lucy,’ I could feel my own heart quickening, ‘tell Mrs Bell that Mrs Webber is to be given whatever assistance she requires.’

I had been so much alone and confined to the house. I knew that some emotion rose within me but I could not name it, nor hold it still. I felt myself grow impatient as Lucy’s slow steps descended and I waited to hear them come again upon the stairs.

It seemed I waited a long time and when the sound of footsteps came at last, they belonged not to Lucy, but to Mrs Bell. She knocked upon the door, though it stood open.

‘Come,’ I said.

‘Lucy said you wished for news of Mrs Webber, madam.’

‘Yes, what news have you? Is it really Mrs Webber I saw from the window?’

‘Yes, madam. It seems she decided not to travel to London. She has a touch of the ague, madam. Nothing as to require a doctor. Horton says he will take her home again when once she has eaten and rested. I ordered that she be given some arrowroot.’

‘But why did he bring her here? Why did he not bring the arrowroot to the gatehouse? A sick woman should not be riding up and down the drive.’

‘Perhaps you are right, madam. I will speak with Mr Horton about it directly.’

‘You may send him to me. Let Mrs Webber rest here. Make up a room for her and let us send for the doctor. It is always better to err on the side of caution.’

‘I am not sure that a doctor is required, madam,’ Mrs Bell began.

‘I did not ask you for your thoughts, Mrs Bell.’

My tone was sharp and she looked as though I had reached out and slapped her cheek. When once the door closed upon her resentful back I rose and began to pace about. I went to the window, expecting any moment to see Henry set out to fetch the doctor. The yard remained empty. I paced the room again. One turn of the room, two. In what room would they place her? Three turns, four. There were the two empty servants’ rooms at the top of the house. Should I order her put there?