The Wilding (12 page)

‘It’s a scandal,’ the landlady said.

‘
Two days
I’ve been searching – it’s a miracle she’s still alive –’

‘’Tis, Sir.’

‘Then have you a room and hot water?’ I urged.

‘We have; but who’s to pay?’ the woman asked. ‘Are you her husband?’

I hesitated. What should she be – cousin, sister?

‘Husband,’ Tamar replied in her hoarse whisper.

‘Never mind your ring, my love,’ said I. ‘You shall have another.’

*

We were given mulled cider to drink while the chamber was being prepared. Tamar could hardly wait for the cider-shoe to heat up; when it was ready she drank greedily, pushing so close to the inn fire that her skirt, scorching from the embers, released a foul dungeon smell into the room. The men clustered round the hearth made noises of disgust. They would have driven her off, but could not do the same to me, being all too old, so that in the end they, not us, were forced to move away.

‘Why did you say that?’ I hissed when nobody could overhear. ‘I can’t stay with you.’

She had been quietly crying, on and off, ever since I took her from the lock-up. Now the tears started again.

‘It isn’t decent, Tamar.’

She mumbled something in her hoarse, choked voice. Through the sobs I at last made out, ‘Frightened.’

‘Frightened?
You?
’

She nodded.

‘But I’ve rescued you, what can you be frightened of?’

She wiped her nose on her hand. ‘Dying – on my own. I thought I would. I never felt so bad before.’

‘Not now, though?’

‘Yes, I feel bad now. I do.’

Her head dropped forward; fresh tears fell into the folds of her evil-smelling dress. I put my head in my hands. If my father should ever hear of this night’s work … !

With luck he would not. I straightened and prodded the bundle with my foot.

‘You’ll feel better with these on.’

‘God bless you, Master Jon.’

‘That’s all the thanks I require,’ I said grimly, remembering the constable’s jibe about earning a blanket. ‘And I’m your husband now. Call me Jon.’

The landlady came over to us.

‘The chamber’s ready, Sir.’

I showed her my purse. ‘Is there a woman who can go up with my wife – help her?’

‘There’s Sarah.’

‘Be so kind as to send her here.’

Sarah arrived. She was only a little thing, fourteen or so, with a creamy freckled skin and reddish hair not unlike Tamar’s own.

‘Now Sarah, my wife’s been attacked and left lying in the dirt and cold. You see her condition?’

The maid nodded, her young face full of pity.

‘She’s very weak, and sickly; she needs warm water and towels, to clanse herself. You must help her undress, and wash, and put her into a well-warmed bed. And take food up to her room.’

Sarah nodded. ‘And you, Sir, will you be eating with –’

‘No. She must sleep and get back her strength. Pray lay out these clothes for her.’

Sarah picked up the bundle and stood doubtfully studying Tamar. ‘And the dress she has on, Sir?’ she said at last.

‘Use it for rags, burn it, whatever you please.’

She nodded. In truth the cream-coloured dress was not so far gone as rags; for all I know, a skilful laundress might have done much with it, but I was determined Tamar should never wear it again.

*

I ordered salt pork and ate with relish; there was nothing else to pass the time. After a while the maid came down for Tamar’s food. I could not catch the landlady’s whispered questions. I did, however, hear the words ‘lousy’ and ‘piss-sodden’ from the maid, at which point I could not help glancing round. Both mistress and maid were staring at me as if they no longer put any faith in the robbers of my invention. If they did not take me for a prankster who had brought a street whore under their roof, they must think me a monstrously cruel husband.

I felt myself insulted. Here was I, performing an act of Christian charity while everything conspired to present me as an unchristian, even devilish, man. Yet I no longer cared as much as I might have done, say, a week earlier. For one thing, I was muzzy with cold and travelling and pork and cider; for another (I see now) my sense of right and wrong had coarsened. Mistress and maid whispering together vexed me, to be sure, but I felt I could live without their good opinion; I had begun to discount the judgement of ordinary honest folk.

I watched the maid take a covered dish upstairs to my ‘wife’. The puzzle now exercising my mind was how I should conduct myself once inside the chamber. Tamar’s exhaustion was plain; given food and warmth she must surely fall asleep, and then I could go quietly into the room and dispose myself to sleep also. ‘My heart is pure, and God sees the heart,’ said I to myself. That was my comfort. If the constable, landlady, maid, old-clothes-seller and even my mother and father had gathered round in a circle and cried out against me, it would be my comfort still.

*

As soon as I entered, I heard a faint snoring from the bed. The bed curtains were drawn, so that I was able to keep my candle lit without waking her. Even so, I slipped on something and almost fell, so that it was with difficulty that I suppressed a cry. Steadying myself, I saw that the object I had trodden on was a dish, wiped clean of gravy: the relics of Tamar’s supper. I wondered why she had left it thus on the boards, when she could have used a table or a window sill, and concluded it was the habit of the cave.

To my relief, the chamber smelt no worse than any other innkeeper’s room: in shedding her whore’s livery, Tamar had also parted company with its fearful stench.

I cast about for a place to sleep and settled on a scarred ol chair. There I spent the first half of the night, my coat thrown over me, until I woke with a relentless cramp which drove me out of it and forced me to stretch myself out next to the bed.

* * *

Somewhere a bell chimed seven, and then a quarter past. I must have slept again, for next thing it was chiming eight and birds were bickering in the eaves. I opened my eyes upon a strange scene. Instead of my bed, I seemed to be lying on a hard floor; the window was in the wrong place and the shutters had grown great cracks in the night, with grey light leaking through. I must be in some village, pressing; but I had no memory of coming there the night before. Only when I turned my head and saw the bed curtains drawn did I recall where I was, and with whom.

Supposing that after a night’s rest Tamar would be eager to return to Tetton Green, I sat up and listened for her snore. Her breathing being much quicker and lighter, I thought she was coming out of sleep, so I spoke softly through the curtain, saying I was about to rise and would leave her the room to dress in.

Downstairs, I breakfasted on a bowl of hot, salt broth. The landlord, now serving in his wife’s stead, asked if I had passed a pleasant night. I answered that I had (that was polite enough, I think, when every bone in my body ached) and intended to make a start as soon as my wife was dressed. I asked him to keep a portion of the same broth for her as it seemed a good, hearty food to take in preparation for a journey.

After that I listened to the church chime the half-hour, the three-quarters and the hour, yet Tamar did not appear.

I went back up to the chamber and knocked. There was no reply. On entering I found the bed curtains still drawn and the snoring begun again.

‘Tamar, get up,’ I urged her from the other side of the curtain. ‘Tamar, you must wake.’

There was no response. At last I moved aside a curtain and peeped in.

She was lying on her back, one hand flung up beside her cheek. The marks of injury and harsh weather were plainly visible, but I had never seen her look so clean – I would say innocent, but
that
of course she was not – or so young. Her dreams seemed happy ones, her pointed features no longer sly but childish. It came to me that had she been well fed and comfortably lodged all her life, she might now look very different. Perhaps Mother Nature had intended for Tamar soft and delicate features, a fine complexion and a woman’s gentle form instead of her tough, bony, servant’s shape.

To chase away the sadness occasioned by this thought, I tried again – ‘Tamar! Tamar, wake up, wake’ – and pulled at her arm, but to no avail. She stopped snoring, but was otherwise like a dead woman. I was obliged to go downstairs again and fidget about.

The landlord asked me did I want my horse. I told him I had changed plans, since it seemed my wife must have a long sleep to recover from yesterday’s ordeal. He hastened to assure me that it was common: ‘Folk that’ve had a mishap are always tired next day. It’s the fright.’

I squirm with shame at the memory of that day – at my lust, certainly, but more at my stupdity. When a man arrives at an inn with a half-naked woman and presents her as his wife; when her clothing comes out of his pocket; when they share a room and eat together, and all this is paid for by him – would you not say that the end is predestined? And yet (great virtuous booby that I then was) I did not think so!

Nor can I plead virginity (though I
was
virgin), since I had not the excuse of the innocence that often accompanies it. I knew that my parents, seeing me lodged with Tamar, would have been horrified, and I understood why. I knew how nature is performed, and how, as the fumes of lust rise and heat the brain, Reason is smoked out and Madness takes her place. Knowing all this, I still imagined myself virtuous and clearheaded enough to stay by Tamar’s bedside, untempted. It was sheer pride, and it has been scourged right out of me since then.

I stayed with her the next night, fancying myself her lord and master when in truth I was her pupil and servant. All that I pass over in mortification. One other thing is worthy of mention: I was worn out by lust, yet Tamar told me that all through the hours of sleep I kept waking, crying out in fear of Uncle Robin. ‘He came after you, and beat you,’ she said. I had no recollection of it, and I never afterwards dreamed of him striking me. But then, my conscience that night was more than usually troubled.

It may appear that in recounting this affair, I blacken Tamar in order to clear myself. Let me repeat that I acted in full knowledge, compelled by stupidity and lust; I cannot be cleared of this, nor do I want to be. I am resolved that everything of importance should be told – not to injure her, for I hold her no worse than myself, but to shine a light into dark corners. Some pure-minded folk in this world, who had rather leave such nooks unlit, may cry out in disgust: what good to go peering into them? I can only answer as follows: a man who walks in darkness, from dislike of the cobwebs, may catch a spider in his mouth unawares.

* * *

The day after my nightmares I took Tamar back to Tetton Green. Knowing what I knew, I found it curious to see her sitting on the cart, transformed from shivering drab to warmly clad country girl. Nobody so much as glanced at us, now: our outward show was respectable and corrupt, like the times. Even Tamar’s voice was healed, and as we passed through the villages she would call out to food-sellers by the road, asking how much for their wares, and then purchasing (with my money) pies and pastries for her mother. I did not like her manners, nor her making so free with my purse. I may add here that she had ordered up dishes of food again and again as we lay in the inn, until I thought she would never leave off eating; I let her go on, all the while observing privately that it is as they say – put a beggar on horseback and he rides to Hell.

As we approached Tetton, I remembered that I had said nothing to Father of staying away two nights or more. When I had set off, it had been without thought of where I should sleep; there had been no call for thinking, since at that time of year, with the roads empty, I was sure of a bedchamber wherever I went. I must now season him a dish of lies to account for my two days at the inn: not the truth, but something very like it. Thus I went on from lust and waste to fear and deceit, all in the grand old way.

*

We reached Tetton Green just as dusk began to fall. Lights were burning in Aunt Harriet’s house and I whipped Bully quickly past; since I was not paying a visit, I could hardly put the horse and cart into her yard. Nor could I drive them into the wood or leave them, in the growing darkness, in the lane. I therefore dropped off Tamar and her bundle (all that she was not wearing on her back, plus the blankets) at one end of the path leading to the cave. I then drove the cart to the inn in Tetton Green, to be called for later, before following Tamar on foot.

She was at home, if I may call it that, before I could overtake her. As I approached the cave I heard her muttering impatiently, ‘He’s
with
me, I tell you.’

‘I’ve been fretted with worry,’ came the older woman’s whine.

‘Here are the blankets, look. Move your legs.’

‘What about the constable?’

‘Never mind him. Move your legs.’

I entered in time to see Tamar bend and tuck the blankets round her mother’s prostrate form. There was something new: a lamp in a corner of the wall.

‘Has your mother been lying without any covering?’ I exclaimed.

‘She’s two dresses on,’ said Tamar.

‘But in this weather – at her age –’

‘We’ve slept in less.’ She pulled out a pasty from under her cloak and handed it to Joan. ‘It’s not the lock-up.’

I did not feel very friendly towards her just then, nor was I inclined to be easy on myself. Between us we had forgotten that Joan, too, must lie alone without even those wretched blankets. This was bad enough in me, but how much worse in her daughter! At the same time, I was forced to agree that the cave was snugger than Tamar’s cell had been, perhaps from Joan’s constant presence, or the heat thrown off by the lamp, or merely some softening in the weather. While pondering this I became aware of a rustling sound and realised the old woman was lying on straw.

‘Where did you get that?’

‘Near here,’ said Tamar. ‘You thought I’d left her naked, eh?’

I guessed that ‘near here’ meant my aunt’s stable, and wondered how she had got into it. Did she perhaps have some arrangement with Paulie? She might; he was not likely to receive comfort from any other woman. At that point, a hank of straw floated down from the cave ceiling, causing both women to exclaim in amusement.

‘Hob’s a naughty thief,’ said Joan. ‘Stealing our bed to line his own. See, he’s made himself a little house up there.’

She pointed. I was just able to make out the creature’s head turning from side to side, and the gleam of its cruel beak.

‘Don’t you want to know about the lamp?’ Tamar asked.

I was curt. Dilsquo;No.’

She flashed me a warning look before turning to her mother. ‘I got out this morning. Master Jon fetched clothes for me.’

Joan eyed the plain, serviceable garments. ‘Beautiful,’ she said. Was she mocking Tamar? I could not tell. ‘You’re a true friend, Sir. Oh, and I’ve something for
you
. Tamar, fetch my paper.’

‘The rest of your history?’ I asked.

‘Not all, not yet.’

‘It’s a memorable one, indeed,’ I said, trying to remember: she had been seduced by her sister’s husband, and then the sister had recovered, and war was come to the village. It was a history, certainly; yet just at that moment my own life interested me more.

‘
Robbing!
’

I jumped at the dry little voice of the raven. The women, on the contrary, seemed to have lost all power of motion and stared at me, unblinking.

At last Joan said, ‘He babbles night and day, now, what with the lamp.’

‘
Don’t come here
.’

‘He wants you to go,’ said Tamar maliciously. She thrust a single folded sheet of paper into my hand.

‘Is this all?’

‘You’ll find it plenty,’ said Joan.

‘Has Tamar read it?’

‘She can’t read.’

‘And wouldn’t want to,’ said her daughter, ‘it’s for fools’ – and she laughed in my face.

I perceived that this scorn of reading was put on in order to mock me, and I was not a little angry. Only yesterday she had pulled me down to her in bed at the inn. True, she had shown the way throughout, as befitted a woman of her kind; but even so, I had anticipated having to comfort her, if not to swear love, then at least to extend protection. I had always understood that when a man lay with a woman outside marriage there was a price to pay, that sooner or later the woman was overcome with shame and then began the sighing and the pleading (which in the man’s case went before the act rather than afterwards) and that even harlots feigned these regrets, going through the motions while clamouring for gifts. Yet Tamar gave no indication of throwing herself on my mercy; rather, she seemed possessed by growing scorn for me. Even now she was saying, ‘I’ve more pasties here, Mother, and a piece of boiled beef,’ laying them down on Joan’s blankets without a word of thanks to me, who had purchased these good things.

‘I’ll be gone,’ I said.

Joan peered up at me. ‘You’ll not stay a little, Sir?’

‘I must hasten home. It’s almost – time.’ I had nearly said ‘Christmas’, but that would be cruelty. ‘And’, (I wanted to be thanked) ‘the tale ends well, since you have your blankets.’

‘You’re all goodness,’ Tamar said shortly. Then she bent down as if I were not there and began to make room for herself next to Joan. The last I saw of them was the two women huddling together, Tamar pulling the blankets over both.

*

Fortunately there was a moon that night, or I should have been lost. I came out of the wood and hurried towards the inn, brought away the cart and started at once for home. In my coat was Joan’s paper; from time to time, hearing it rustle as my body swayed to the motion of the cart, I had a strong impulse to fling it away. What were these women to me? I had been drawn in, as Father had foretold, and had performed an act of stupid lust – but here I stopped; I could not call it an act, precisely; it had resembled a state or condition lasting an entire day. So much the worse. When it passed, like the fit of madness it was, nothing remained but deceit, extravagance and shame.

The extravagance had very real consequences, one of them being the loss of the best part of my earnings. I had nothing in hand for my father’s accounts or (I realised with horror) for Simon Dunne. I should now break off from these beggarly leeches; I should shake the dust of their dwelling from off my feet, as the Bible says, wipe them out of my recollection and pray that when I came back to my aunt’s house I would find them drifted away like the vagabonds they were.

In this fashion I berated myself as I was first starting out, miserably heated and distressed. When I say ‘heated’ I mean just that: in the physical turmoil brought on by my agitation I was obliged to leave my coat unbuttoned; my cheeks burned in the night air. As I drove on, however, my body cooled, and then my brains, and I at last began to think.

I had been enticed into lewdness. Very well: many young men did the same or worse. I could at least say for myself that it was over. Nor had my conduct been always and entirely shameful. Nobody hearing of my exploits at the inn would now believe it, but I had honestly pitied both women – had wished to stand their champion and friend. No maiden had been debauched, no innocent ensnared – unless, I realised with fresh humiliation, that innocent was myself. No wife could now bestow on me the delighted surprise that should bless the bride-bed. The first time could come only once, and I had thrown mine away upon Tamar. I fancied I saw my father look sadly at me and shake his head.

But Tamar – I had done nothing to offend her. Why, then, had she treated me with such contempt? Mist lying across the road like a veil, illuminated and thickened by the moon, seemed the very image of my perplexity. I pulled my coat more tightly about me and drove on, my head above the mist-layer as the cartwheels cut through it.

Solitude is the mother of thought. Without that drive back to Spadboro I might never have understood, at least in part, the events of the previous two days. Even now, I would scarcely offer my interpretation in a court of law; I will only say it accounted for much of what I had witnessed, and it ran thus. Tamar had acted out of neither love nor lust. She disliked being in my debt for so much as the clothes andthe inn might come to, and had settled in the only coin she had. Having done so, she need thank no more. This, then, was the key to her insolence: she did not like my angling for gratitude, and would give no more, because it was demanding over and above the settled price; in effect I was demanding to be paid twice, in lewdness and in honest respect. Be he the King of England, a man cannot have both.

Yet why such marked contempt? As a rule, a man feels little respect for a woman whose virtue he has conquered, whereas a woman becomes attached to her conqueror – yet here was a notable exception. I was obliged to turn these notions inside out, as it were, and spy into them through Tamar’s eyes. Thus examined, it appeared that she had my measure now: I was like the men who came to the cave. At the beginning, I had given without taking; this had pleased her, but also troubled her notions of the world and its workings. Since our adventure at the inn, I presented no such puzzle. I could be laid in the same box as all the other men, and was the more contemptible in that I had foolishly paid over more than was necessary. Tamar’s trading was of the simplest kind: she gave pleasure in exchange for money or goods. Male protection, of the kind that obtains in the marriage contract or, in a lesser way, when a whore finds herself a bully, was not one of the goods she sought; she had never known it. Men and women were to her a perpetual market, in whose dealings she and I were now quits.

Here I recalled the gold ring she had clung to and still hoped to retrieve. Was that merely because of the comforts it would have purchased, or because it was freely given? To know, I would have to pry into the relations between her and my uncle. I was not sure I had the stomach for that, even if I could have done so to any purpose.

I was now crossing a damp place where the mist, which had dissolved as the cart came uphill, began to set round it again. My heart beat furiously when a woman with a white clout round her head loomed up close by me; I shouted at her, demanding what in the Devil’s name she meant by wandering there so late at night. After that I whipped Bully on until we were high up on the dry ground near Spadboro. From there he knew the road, and how close we were to home, and consequently needed no whipping.

* * *

I refuse to dwell on the pleasures of the Twelve Days. Let it suffice that my mother and Alice had wrought marvels of baking and roasting; that my late return and the suspicion attaching to it – which my father chose not to broach, for fear of spoiling the holiday – nevertheless cast a shadow over our merriment; that on Christmas Day itself a man came to say his wife was in mortal agony with a breech-birth, so that Mother was obliged to leave the table and go to her aid, and came back a day later with tear-swollen eyes, having saved neither mother nor child. In short, that our festival, so lovingly prepared for, mostly came to nothing.