The Skull and the Nightingale (28 page)

I
invited Matt Cullen to dinner so that we could discuss the changing situation. As we devoured chicken pie I showed him the letter from Mr. Gilbert and described what had passed between me and Sarah.

“Where is the difficulty?” he asked. “Your desires and opportunities are in equilibrium. You copulate and describe doing so. Then, as a reward, you inherit an estate.”

“You are a gross animal, Cullen, and cannot see the indelicacy of prostituting one’s deepest feelings.”

“Pooh,” said he. “You are making difficulties where none exist. Here”—he drew a line on the table with his finger—“is your planned ravishment of Mrs. Ogden. There”—he drew another line a few inches away—“is the account you send to your godfather. Bar a few names and places, the tale you tell him can be a complete fiction.”

“But the old glutton will expect
regular
reports for his money.”

“Then make the story last. Slice it thin. Feed it to him in ounces.”

He took a large forkful of chicken pie, grinning at the contrast.

“Do you think he will be content with an invalid’s diet?”

“You must use your skill as a cook: give him sauce to go with the meat.”

“What kind of sauce?”

“Several kinds. He will relish physical detail. The lady will blush, her hand will touch yours, her bosom will heave. There can be weeks of such morsels before you reach beneath her skirts.”

“That is well, if crudely, said. You saw that Gilbert mentioned
Clarissa
?”

“Just so,” cried Matt. “There is your model. If Lovelace extracts a blush from his captive virgin he writes a twenty-page letter. Follow his example.”

“I could do something of that sort. But my difficulty goes deeper.”

“What difficulty?”

“The following contradiction.” I drank some wine to help me pin down the paradox: “Mr. Gilbert wishes to taste, vicariously, the fleshly pleasures he has missed—but in order to be reassured that they would have disappointed him. Does he see himself as inferior, because he was deficient in animal desires, or superior, because he rose above them?”

Matt frowned. “From what you have told me, I would say both.”

“Exactly. You have it.
There
lies the difficulty.”

“I see a difficulty for Gilbert; but why for you?”

“If I fail to do the deed, he may think I have no more potency than himself.”

“So you must succeed.”

“If I do, he may think me a slave to appetite—a lecher with no philosophy in him.”

Matt groaned. “Life is full of contradictions. Your course is clear. Enjoy the woman but tell your godfather you did not. Take Mrs. Ogden and take the money.”

My dear Godfather,

I had expected to be describing my visit to Mrs. Ogden. However, I have postponed that meeting for a day since I wish to be at my liveliest when I see her, and this morning finds me depleted following the energetic encounter with Miss Brindley that will provide the main topic for this letter.

As you acknowledge, the case of Sarah Ogden is quite unlike that of Mrs. Hurlock. She is young, innocent, newly married, and of considerable intelligence—there is a mind to be seduced. Hence the need for patience and contrivance. I must hint at pleasures which (as I believe) the squat Ogden cannot provide her. At the same time I must discern possible causes of irritation, in hope of making infidelity seem a justified reprisal. Seeds of resentment and desire must be planted in the lady’s mind, to grow as stealthily as fingernails.

A further consideration is that she and I, acquainted since childhood, have many shared recollections and associations which I will hope to invoke. I should be able to render her more susceptible by reaching back as Mr. Ogden cannot.

I must again admit, perhaps ignobly, to a deep distaste for her husband’s person and personality. Shackled to this sluggish dog, Sarah is condemned to diminution. Her wit will droop, her curiosity subside. It seems a duty to take anticipatory revenge.

These observations perhaps bear upon some of the musings in your recent letter. It may well be that, for Mrs. Hurlock, brute appetite is closely adjacent to “pastoral” pretension. Surely, however, our impulses are often less simple. The rutting of animals cannot involve anticipation, reflection, or memory, yet such awareness enhances human desires. When lust is combined with liking, jealousy, anger, curiosity, it becomes something greater. Am I not close, here, to your own views concerning the possibility of Passions working in conjunction? In some human couplings, I hope, the pleasure is more than merely physical: several kinds of gratification are simultaneously achieved, the effect being akin to a chord in music.

Your recent “aridities of thought” perhaps discount these ancillaries as merely enabling the physical act. My hope is that in some liaisons at least they can be celebrated in the physical consummation and even become an aspect of it.

But perhaps I am by now above myself, and writing nonsense. Let me return to the earthier topic of my dealings with Kitty Brindley. Yesterday she and I, together with Crocker and his new mistress, Jane Page, went by river to Richmond. Miss Brindley has become a notable figure on the London stage, flattered and courted wherever she goes. I was intrigued to see how far this change in her reputation might have affected her disposition.

The alteration was marked. There was a new vanity, displayed in countless small ways. Whether standing or sitting, she would strike an attitude, as though posing for a portrait. She was imperious with those who assisted her or waited upon her. By her manner she seemed to blame our host, Mr. Crocker, for the damp weather that attended our little voyage; when obliged to take shelter from the rain, she positively sulked. Over dinner, when the four of us were alone together, she was more agreeable, but still managed to imply obliviousness to the previous intimacies between her and myself. It was as though I was expected to pay court to her over again—and with no clear prospect of success.

I naturally wondered what would follow when evening came and, as arranged, we were to be alone together once more at the Full Moon inn. Perhaps she would seek to exercise her newfound authority by keeping me at arm’s length. Perhaps I had already been usurped by some wealthier rival.

Sure enough, when our party broke up she professed herself tired and demanded to be taken back to her own lodging on Rose Street instead of to the Full Moon. However, in anticipation of some such evasion, I had a counterstrategy prepared. Seeming to acquiesce in her change of mind, I hired a hackney carriage and gave loud instructions to the coachman to take us to Melrose Square. He set off in that direction, but by prior arrangement with me turned aside after the first mile and proceeded toward the inn. Since it was growing dark and I had engaged Kitty in conversation, she did not at first realize what had been done. By the time she did so and loudly protested, I gave a further signal to the coachman, who whipped up his horses and took us pell-mell the rest of the way.

When we arrived it was clearly in her mind to create something of an outcry. I was confident, however, that my determination and greater assurance would carry the day: if she expostulated she would not be believed. My expectation proved justified: I was able to hurry her into the inn, greet the landlord—who had seen us together before—and get her up the stairs to the room we had formerly occupied.

She upbraided me with fury, all but accusing me of rape. I gave a calm reply:

“My dear Kitty, we have enjoyed pleasurable hours in this very bed. Since the last time we did so, we have not had so much as a difference of opinion. I naturally assumed that your earlier refusal was no more than an affectation or a caprice.”

She glared—but I continued in equable vein: “We have passed an agreeable day. I intend to enjoy further pleasures here tonight—pleasures in which I hope you will choose to be a sharer rather than a victim.”

Leaving her to digest my words, I unconcernedly poured out some of the wine which I had ordered in advance. When I gave her a glass, however, she dashed it furiously from my hand. With no sign of anger I took a sip or two myself, regarding her with a smile, and then turned to set the glass down on the table.

“Do not dare to touch me!” she hissed, shrinking away.

By instinct I offered exactly the appropriate response. Firmly, but with no show of violence, I grasped her wrists and forced her back across the bed.

“It is time,” I said, holding her down, “for the animal that is within you to be released.”

With that I wrenched her skirt up above her waist. She struggled and kicked, but in so doing succeeded only in further exposing her procreative parts. I passed my hand down her white belly and thrust it into her bush of black curls. She cried out again, but the cry subsided into a moan, which proved to be the signal of capitulation. When, a little later, I released her wrists, she wrapped her arms around me and gave way to pleasure. Our earlier conflict seemed to have inflamed us: we became almost monstrous in our doings.

How these exchanges bear upon my earlier pronouncements in this letter I scarcely know. There is much for me to explore and discover.

I remain, &c.

The composition of this letter, which followed my visit to Sarah but
preceded
the excursion to Richmond, proved a laborious task. My idea was simply to offer my godfather some titbits to occupy his attention. Whether I was sincere in some, or any, of my general observations, I scarcely knew. Mr. Gilbert seemed to have thought himself into a state of detached yet prurient impotence mysterious to me. I could do no more than toss a handful of speculative remarks in the general direction of his predicament. The later paragraphs were fabricated with no little self-disgust: I was ashamed to be demeaning Kitty by these absurd fictions; but felt that I had no choice.

T
he weather being fine for our excursion to Richmond, we set out in the best of spirits. We were a party of five—Crocker, myself, Pike, Jane, and Kitty—or perhaps six, since Pike brought Trinculo in a small cage. As we were proceeding to the landing stage where the hired vessel was waiting, our good mood was disrupted by an unfortunate incident. A rawboned boatman, one of a ragged group, cried out: “Never take the fat fellow—he’ll sink you like a stone.” His friends greeted the remark with raucous laughter. Crocker walked toward him, smiling. “You’re a scarecrow,” he said, “but I like your humor.” Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out a crown and tossed it to one side of the jester. As the rascal stooped eagerly to pick up the coin Crocker, with unexpected nimbleness, stepped forward and planted a great kick on his backside that sent him sprawling face-forward in the dirt, with his head striking a post. The action was so sudden and violent as to produce a moment’s silence. But as the fallen man struggled to his feet, with blood trickling down his face, there were angry shouts: I feared a skirmish. Pike put down the cage and stepped alongside me as though ready to do battle. Fortunately the injured man turned and slouched away, clutching his coin, while our own boatman came forward to shepherd us to our craft.

As we headed upriver Crocker sat silent, his face darkly flushed: we could see that he was ashamed of what he had done. Jane tried to rally him:

“You are formidable,” said she. “I will take care never to rouse your fury.”

“It was an ugly impulse,” said Crocker gloomily. “I am mortified.”

“Then you should not be,” said I. “Such impudence is not to be borne.”

But it took an unexpected intervention from our boatman to raise Crocker’s spirits.

“Never you mind, sir,” he called out. “Ned Spratt won’t bear a grudge. You overpaid him. He’d take two kicks in the breech for a shilling any day.”

These words wrung a smile from Crocker, and from that moment our expedition was an assured success. The sun was shining warmly, but a breeze filled our sail. We soon drew away from the city into cleaner water and clearer air, leaving the London stench behind us. Houses gave way to fields and meadows. There were birdcalls around us and the river chattered under our bows. The ladies raised light parasols to protect their complexions, but seemed enchanted by the blue skies and the gentle swaying of the boat. Moving between languid swans, we followed the large curves of the Thames into quieter and quieter country till we were steered smoothly to our destination, a small landing stage near Richmond.

We were in the grounds of a riverside inn secured for our exclusive use. Crocker and I and the ladies, with Pike and Trinculo in attendance, climbed many steps to a high terrace, commanding a view across the Thames.

“I trust that you are all comfortable,” cried Crocker when we were seated around a large table, “and that Sol’s scorching ray is sufficiently moderated by the soft zephyr that murmurs through the trees.”

Jane quoted drowsily: “ ‘Phoebus is smiling on valley and hill.’ ”

“Phoebus smiles,” said I to my neighbor, “and so does Miss Brindley.”

Indeed she did: I had never seen her so vivacious. Now she spoke up saucily in her rustic vein:

“And well may I smile, zur—these are my native parts, and I be at ease here. I could make myself useful, so I could, and find employment while you fine gentlemen would starve. To be sure you could no more milk a cow than you could fly.”

“Would you not succor us?” cried Crocker. “If you saw me wasted to a skeleton?”

Kitty haughtily tossed her head: “I might zee fit to give ’ee a little bread and milk, if you was humble and begged it of me.”

Under the presiding eye of the tavern keeper, maidservants were bringing out food and wine. There could not have been a greater contrast with the crowded inn at Wapping where Pike and I had talked some days previously. We had a whole hillside to ourselves, the wide vista before us seemingly provided for our private enjoyment. Our waiters were discreet almost to the point of invisibility. Pike had taken Trinculo from his cage and fastened him to a tree by a long silver chain. After some pert frisking, as though to attract our attention, the little creature settled on a branch and poked at its fur with probing fingers.