The Wilding (23 page)

There came a tap at the door.

‘Who’s there?’

‘Rose.’

I let her in. The tray she carried bore two bowls: one full of the broth I had eaten earlier, and another containing bandages and mustard paste.

‘My word, Master Jon!’ she said, setting down the tray. ‘You’re white as snow!’

‘And as cold. Could you fill me a warming pan?’

‘Aye. When you’ve had this.’

I gulped down the hot, salty liquid not for hunger but to get its heat inside me. I think I would have knowingly drunk poison, were it only hot enough. The boy arrived while I was finishing it up and settled in a chair near the bed.

Rose hurried downstairs and returned with the warming pan. She took the empty broth bowl from me and passed the pan down the bed, first one side, then the other, while I rolled about to keep from being burnt.

‘You’ll be right in no time,’ she said, laying down the warming pan and turning to her poultice. ‘Here, unbutton.’ She smeared mustard over my neck and chest, clapping the cloth on top. ‘The dinner’s going to be late. Do you think you could stay on your back, Master Jon, to keep this in place? I haven’t time to bind it.’

I said I could undertake that, provided she returned within the hour.

‘And now,’ said Rose, ‘rest here, and keep the lad with you, and I’ll be back as soon as I can. Do you hear, Billy?’ she addressed the boy, who nodded. ‘Stay with Master Jon until I come for you’ – which made me think that Barnes and his wife understood each other.

When she was gone I bade the boy bolt the door.

Though the genial warmth of the poultice now began to penetrate my breast, my feet and legs continued like dead meat. I wondered why I was so very cold. It was not the first time I had been severely chilled; once, when I was fourteen, a boy braved me to swim theriver in November. I came out a single lump of ice, but once I was done hopping up and down, and had been rubbed dry, I did very well. This was different. My body had taken mortal fright and could not recover itself. It came to me, too late, that I should not have eaten the broth; but who could fear Rose?

Her husband was another matter. Barnes was physically equal to the act of tipping me over and I had seen him deal roughly with Joan. Yet he hardly seemed to dislike me, and somehow I could not see him drowning a man by stealth.

Could Paulie have pushed me? He was constantly in and out of the stables and sheds. But he was undersized and not strong; besides, I could think of no reason why he should wish me harm. Should he be the man, however, Barnes was also guilty, for Barnes must be covering up for him.

What of Dr Green? I now recalled that he had been at the house unusually early and I was not supposed to know about it. Had he come with his men to tell my aunt that their birds were flown? Was I suspected of aiding and abetting the fugitives – and had one of his witch-hunters, finding me leaning into the hogshead, decided to pay me out for my interference?

I shivered more and more, and put my head beneath the sheets in an attempt to warm up. As I did so I had a sudden vision of my aunt staring down at me. Something had been strange about her. What?

And then I knew. At breakfast she had worn black, but when she came to see me lying on the floor she was dressed in dark blue – a very dark blue, to be sure, but still not black.

‘Billy,’ I said. ‘Can you do something for me? I want you to wait here. I won’t be long.’

The boy nodded. Forgetting the poultice, which now felt like part of me, I stood up, then cursed as I felt it slither away, smearing mustard down my body, before coming to rest on my left foot. I rolled the thing up and dumped it on the window sill, where it oozed a yellow stain onto the wall. I dabbed myself dry with the nightgown, creating another stain to match it.

‘Just wait here and I’ll be back soon, there’s a good boy.’

He watched with big childish eyes as I pulled on my few dry garments over my nightshirt. In her hurry Rose had not thought to take away the wet ones and they lay in a stinking bundle to one side of the bed. That made my task easier, and I blessed her for the oversight.

Rose would be busy about the meal; I crept down the back stairs, hoping I would not run into Geoffrey or Hannah. In the event I gained the wash-house door without being seen. Once there, I stopped and listened but could hear nothing within. I entered and pulled the door shut behind me.

The soiled linen was stored in a hamper in the far corner. Before I even reached the hamper I was aware of a telltale odour. Going up to it, I threw it open and began groping among the linen until my hand touched something wet. I snatched it up like a trout tickled out of a stream: my catch was a richly embroidered shift trimmed with French lace. It could belong to nobody but my aunt, and the front part of it was fairly soaked in sour cider. Since my own wet clothes were still upstairs, the wetness could not have rubbed off fro them. I fled back to my chamber, let the boy go and bolted the door again. I would let nobody near me but my father himself.

*

That was as cheerless a time as I can recall. I examined the ruined mustard plaster on the sill, wondering whether by applying the remains of it to my feet I might drive away the deathly cold that had taken possession of them, and decided it would be of little use. All I could do was get into bed, cover myself up and wait.

My would-be murderer was Aunt Harriet. She might be of the weaker sex but she was tall and well nourished, and had the advantage of surprise. The woman who could find it in herself to betray her own sister could, with equal vindictiveness, dispose of a meddling nephew.

Ideas brewed and bubbled in my head. She had opened the hogshead expressly to tempt me to look inside it. She had not opened the hogshead, but had seized her chance. She would prevent my father from reaching me. She was even now telling him that I was not here. She had written to him to keep him away. She had accused me to Dr Green. She was prowling outside my chamber and would pounce the instant I opened the door.

Another thought came to me. Who had placed the shift into the basket? In the normal course of things Hannah Reele fetched down soiled linen to the wash house, taking such items as could not be washed to her own room where she would dab and brush at them to get off the dust. But this was not dust: this was a soaking in rotten drink. Hannah could not fail to notice it, and if she heard the servants talk of my accident, surely she must interpret? What she might do after that, I had not the faintest notion.

*

As I lay there, teeth chattering, I felt shame at my own cowardice. I say I felt it, but I struggled to suppress the feeling and after a while I was able to dismiss it out of hand. The Jonathan Dymond who had arrived at End House a few weeks back would not have countenanced skulking in bed. He would have preferred to race downstairs, accusing Aunt Harriet and fighting off her servants if need be; he was greatly concerned with acting the man. I had performed some manly acts of folly since then, and made some discoveries, and I cared less to act the man than to act with wisdom. Hot-headed youths cannot distinguish between the two; but that is their misfortune.

To me, imprisoned in the chamber, it seemed that my father would never come. In the event he arrived not long after Rose brought me my portion of the midday meal, which after much banging and calling she had been forced to leave outside the room. At the sound of Father’s familiar voice I came to the door and flung myself on him in welcome. As I did so, I perceived a warning in his eyes: Aunt Harriet stood to one side, watching us.

‘What’s this?’ he said, pointing at the stain on my nightgown as I stepped back. It was entirely like him that he made no motion to examine his own clothing, as many men would have done, to see if it had taken harm.

‘Mustard,&rsqo; put in Aunt Harriet before I could speak. ‘To keep him warm after his soaking.’

I said, ‘I’m well enough to go home now,’ and I felt it. The very sight of Father worked on me like a cordial.

‘I hear you fell in a hogshead. How came you to do that?’

‘You must ask Aunt Harriet.’ I turned to her. ‘Why, Aunt, you’ve changed your gown! Surely you had on another this morning?’

She shook her head impatiently, but just for an instant her eye met mine and we understood each other. She knew I had helped away her witches. She could prove nothing against me, but she knew. That was why I had ended up in a hogshead of cider; I could prove nothing against her, but I knew.

Father now asked her with apparent innocence what was become of those troublesome neighbours of hers.

‘It seems they had friends who brought them away.’ She spoke with cold disdain, though I knew she would gladly have spitted and roasted the women, and me alongside them.

‘They may return,’ Father suggested.

‘I doubt it. Dr Green tells me the place is deserted, and there are cart-tracks all round this house.’

‘They had a cart!’

‘Aye. The question is who paid for it.’

Her eye again caught mine. It seemed she had no suspicion of ‘Mathew’, thinking him too steady, or too stupid, for such midnight goings-on.

Father nodded. ‘They could scarcely afford it themselves. If I may, Harriet, I would stay and talk with Jon while he dresses.’

Since she could not watch me pull off my nightgown, this meant she had to leave us alone. With a sour smile she withdrew. Father thanked her, and as soon as he had closed the door, laid a finger across his lips to silence me. He then took out a piece of paper and a pencil and wrote, ‘
I have much to tell
you, and doubtless you me, but SAY NOTHING, we are certainly
overheard
.’ This he folded up and put back in his pocket when I had read it.

‘I’m glad to see you, Father,’ I said, singing to his tune. ‘Is Mother in good health?’

‘She is, God be praised. She and Alice are cooking supper for you.’

‘I look forward to that.’

‘You may not get the chance to eat it. When your mother sees that nightgown, we may have to leave home.’

I dressed and threw the rest of my possessions higgledy-piggledy into my bag. When all that was done, I pulled back the bed sheets, took the mustard plaster from the window sill, and rubbed it into my aunt’s linen, concealing the mess with the covers.

‘Jon!’ my father cried before he could restrain himself. I laid a finger on my lips and his eyes bulged.

‘Where’s the cart, Father?’

‘Next to the cider shed. Have you taken down the press?’

I could not recall owing to the shock of my near-drowning. Was there a cheese still up? I did not know.

‘We can do it together,’ Father said. ‘Only let’s hurry.’

*

In the shed, the smell of ropey cider brought me almost to fainting: I felt myself back in the hogshead, cramped and suffocating. Sweat burst out on my face, so that Father asked if I was truly fit to travel. I said I would be well enough when we got into the air.

Billy stood gawping as we loaded the press onto the cart.

‘Are you leaving, Sir?’

‘Yes. It’ll be Mr Binnie next year.’ I pressed a farthing into his hand and went to the kitchen to say goodbye to Rose, who hugged me and said she was glad to see me still alive after the morning’s mishap. I studied her blank, kindly face and saw that I would learn nothing from her.

Coming out of the kitchen into the yard, I said to Father, ‘For the love of God, let’s go now.’

‘Have you said goodbye to your aunt?’

‘To what purpose?’

‘You promised not to give needless offence.’

‘Needless offence … !’ I began, and stopped. I might never have another chance to speak with Aunt Harriet.

‘You do right to remind me,’ I said. ‘I’ll be back directly.’

*

I knocked at my aunt’s chamber door and then, without waiting for a reply, flung it open. In the centre of the room stood a little table; seated at it was not Aunt Harriet but Hannah Reele, who jumped up in surprise. She was holding some dark cloth and as she rose she clutched it to her body, away from me. I could not see if it was the black velvet. The curtain before Aunt Harriet’s closet was drawn.

‘Is my aunt in there? I must speak with her in private.’

‘Sir, it’s not –’

‘Never mind that. Leave us.’

‘Sir.’ She drew herself up with a little self-important air. ‘With respect, I shall enquire first of my mistress.’

‘Oh, she won’t want you to hear this. Will you, Aunt?’ I called over to the closet.

Hanah walked towards the bell-pull. I made no attempt to stop her and she was about to seize it when my aunt’s voice came from behind the curtain.

‘Let him be, child.’ The cloth flew to one side and my aunt came out holding a cloth and a bottle of Hungary water. ‘Is it so urgent that I cannot have a moment to refresh myself? Hannah, you may go about your business. Have no fear for me.’

Hannah curtseyed. She seemed to have plenty of fear for herself since she shrank away as, holding tightly to her black bundle, she passed me in the doorway. I slammed the door after her.

‘I’ve come to say goodbye, Aunt Harriet. And to ask you something.’

My aunt’s lip curled. ‘I thought we should come to this. You said you’d save me Binnie’s fee. What have you spent your money on, I wonder? A cart?’

The eyes she turned on me were so very unforgiving that I shivered despite myself.

‘You mistake me.
My
question is this: how do you sleep, Aunt? How do you pray?’

‘Oh, a sermon! Pray excuse my sitting.’ She put down her cloth and bottle on the little table, seated herself in the chair recently occupied by Hannah, and commenced dabbing her neck and temples with scent.

‘In a perspiration, Aunt? On such a cold day?’ I seated myself opposite her and swept the bottle off the table, shattering it. As the odour of Hungary water filled the room, Aunt Harriet’s cheeks flushed the faint pink that signalled one of her rages. I went on, ‘What need of perfumed waters? Except to drive away the stink of cider,’ and fixed her with my eyes. If it cost me my life, I thought, I would not be the first to look away. ‘You’re a great one for godliness and justice, aren’t you Aunt?
Thou shalt
not suffer a witch to live
. If you’d hang a beggar for a few scrawls and amulets, what’d you do to a woman who tries to commit murder? If indeed you
are
a woman. I never met one as pitiless as you.’

I had talked too long. My aunt’s colour was going down; she was regaining her self-command. I had been a fool to send Hannah out of the room. She was even now hiding the dress and shift and I would never see them again.

My aunt said calmly, ‘This comes of shock. Had you bothered to ask, you’d know that I’ve been here with Hannah since breakfast.’

‘Will she swear to that?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then she’s damned along with you. I found your shift in the laundry basket, soaked through with cider. Did it go for a swim by itself?’

Aunt Harriet shrugged. ‘My linen’s always in the basket. If somebody did push you, I’d say he went into the laundry looking for something to dry himself, and happened on one of my shifts.’

‘You’ll need a better story on Judgement Day.’

lsquo;About what?’ my aunt retorted. ‘Murder? You’re the first carrion that ever sat arguing – and a pretty picture you make!’

‘You meant to kill me for helping Tamar and Joan. And I did, Aunt.
I
got them away from you.’

I was all exultation, until I recalled that I had broken my promise to Father. I had not meant to, but her assurance goaded me out of my self-command.

My aunt said, ‘Helping, is it? I know that kind of helping. You helped Tamar to my property, and she helped you to a juicy little thing.’

‘And I brought Joan paper.’

She snorted in disbelief. ‘
Paper?
’

I leaned in closer. ‘Let me explain. Only forget the dirty old beggar, only
read
her account of her life – written in good English, in a good hand – and suddenly it’s most convincing! What a report she gives of her last night in this house! It deserves to be more widely known, and if I have my way it shall be. Only’ – I put on a face of mock sadness – ‘you don’t come out of it well, Aunt.’

At this point Aunt Harriet lowered her eyes and I inwardly triumphed, for I had won the staring contest. At last she said, ‘Your witness comes out of
nothing
well.’

‘You’ll never get them back. They’re –’

She bridled. ‘Do you imagine I’d want –’

‘– protected, free to tell their tale. Don’t you wish you could stop them?’ I gloated.

‘We’ve laws in this country to punish slander.’

I leapt up. My aunt, seeing me, did likewise but I had the bit between my teeth now: ‘What about fraud? Isn’t there punishment for that? My father – whom even
you
admit to be honest – received a letter from Uncle Robin saying Tamar was his child and he’d left her an inheritance. Father would swear to that in court. So,
what happened to that will?
’

Her face pink again, my aunt backed away. ‘What do you want me to say? I never saw any will.’

‘He wrote one.’ I closed the gap between us; my aunt moved away again, broken glass crunching beneath her shoes.

‘Do you think he’d show it to
me
, you simpleton?’ She slapped her hand down on the table top. ‘Have you any wits at all? Clearly not, since you were set to inherit my estate and you’re intent on throwing it away!’

‘I have a house and land from my own parents,’ I said steadfastly, ‘and in the absence of a legitimate heir Robin’s natural child should inherit Robin’s estate.’ Speaking thus, I swelled with the conviction that I was both noble and generous: a delightful feeling, while it lasted.

The most curious expression came onto my aunt’s face. At the same instant she stopped dead, so that I was also obliged to halt in my pursuit.

‘You’ve done your utmost now,’ she observed. ‘Insulted me, threatened me. Will you hear me say
my
piece?’

She took a step in my direction.

‘You can’t deny what you’ve done,’ I said, backing away from her since she seemed about to walk through me. Slowly we circled the table.

‘You think Robin’s natural child should inherit? Then I ask you:
which
natural child?’

That caught me off guard. ‘He had others?’

‘My sister was with child when she left the village.’

‘Yes, with Tamar.’

Aunt Harriet shook her head. ‘Oh, no,’ she said, quiet and deadly. ‘Tamar isn’t old enough. Surely you know your sweetheart’s age?’

The most painful disappointment seized me. To think that all my efforts on Tamar’s behalf might come to nothing! I said, ‘I never heard this from Joan. That child’s most likely dead.’

‘It’s living.’

‘Then his estate must be divided between them. But why should I believe you?’

My aunt said nothing but her lips widened in a monstrous smile.

‘What?’ I asked. ‘What?’

‘Go ask your precious Mathew Dymond,’ said my aunt. ‘He was the one – not me – that decided the child should never know. Oh, it might suspect, perhaps, with neither sisters nor brothers. Its stepmother is barren; the nearest she can get to a babe of her own is to deliver other people’s.’

I sat down as if punched in the belly while my aunt stood over me and exulted.

‘Here’s a riddle!’ she exclaimed with diabolical jollity. ‘Riddle-me-ree, which would you be: the son of your supposed uncle, with a sister you’re already bonded to in
love
’ – the meaning she put into these last words turned me quite sick – ‘or a little keepsake from your mother’s army days, men swarming all over her like maggots on a dead dog? Really, there’s no knowing
who
spawned you!’

Her mouth worked on, showering me with spittle, but I could no longer hear the words that distorted her lips. I felt like one sitting within a bubble or a crystal bowl, looking out upon the world: I was not connected with it. My body felt curiously light, as if at any moment I might take off and fly about the room, and there was a palpitation in my throat, or was it my heart?

After a while I said, my voice seeming to come from far away, ‘I’m not my father’s son?’

‘You’re somebody’s,’ my aunt replied.

Swaying like a drunken man, I got up from the table. ‘I’m Robin’s. He comes to me –’

‘Oh,’ my aunt cried contemptuously, ‘you flatter yourself!’

‘He’s not at rest – you, you should suffer such dreams!’

‘Perhaps I wish it,’ said my aunt with that dreadful smile of hers. I became aware of an added chill in the air, a dankness. I have said elsewhere that I am an enemy to superstition, and so I am, but I was afraid to remain any longer. Though I tried to walk slowly, I am afraid that by the time I reached the stairs I was going at a run.

*

As I emerged through the yard door my eyes watered: it had turned bright outside, the sky an icy cloudless blue. My father – I cannot help calling him that – stood by the shed door.

‘You took your time,’ he said, looking enquiringly into my face.

‘Home truths,’ I replied, hugging my arms to my body. The chill of that room seemed to have got into my bones; my aunt’s
Perhaps I wish it
whispered in my head, insidious as a curse.