To the open Amusement of Saunders Welch, I became a frequent Visitor to Mrs Haywood’s Establishment. He might have been somewhat less diverted had he been at all aware of the Nature of the Activity in which I was participating. Mr Welch had strong Views, as did both Brothers Fielding, on Violence between Men and Women. But the Innocent who had feared that he was devilish had gone; his Place taken by a Fiend who feared I knew not what.
I still enjoyed, occasionally, to fuck, but these Times were becoming rarer. The Act itself delighted me no more now than it had ever done, but sometimes it was necessary for me to surrender to the red Mist and throw Polly, or one of the other experienced Whores, to the Floor, or pin her down upon a Bed. Mrs Haywood did not offer me her pretty young Girls any more.
Under Mrs Haywood’s Tutelage, and the expressionless Visage of the old Whore, I dedicated Houres to the Acquisition and Perfection of my Form with the Lash, the Cat, the Scourge, and the Birch Rod. I diligently practised the fine Art of binding Ankles, Wrists, and Knees in such Ways as to induce the most exquisite Agonies, without dangerously limiting the Flow of Blood; which, as Harvey had proved before me, doth indeed pass betwixt the Heart and the Extremities at a tremendous Rate. I became adept at provoking Screams of the truest Pitch and Intensity; bright Rainbows of refracted Anguish that lit up the Room. The purest Shrieks often would be enough to bring me compleat Satisfaction.
Sometimes, when I was still at the Start of this Education, I imagined My Self in my Laboratory, and the Whore before me my Subject, as I had imagined Viviane; but these Phantasms really disturbed me more than they delighted, and after a short while I gave up their Pretense.
Outside the Brothel, I became more confident. I sang, I skippt, I whistled. I carried Trays for Mary and even kissed her upon the Cheek when her Husband and Brother-in-Law were nowhere near. Life was become a Joy to me instead of a Chore. I even began to forget mine apparent Madness. No longer did I study Descartes and Locke with the Desperation of a condamned Man. I suffered no Delusion, no Phrenzy, no Melancholia. If I had, verily, been mad once, I thought, I never need be so again. Perhaps I never had been. Perhaps the Disorders my Senses had suffered indeed had sprung from some other Cause. Perhaps I had eaten something rotten. Perhaps I had been exceptionally drunk. Perhaps there had been in the Aire some Drugge.
Fascinating, the Possibility that the non-natural things could effect such an Alteration upon my Perceptions.
This Mutation in my Spirits, and the Change it wrought upon mine whole Demeanour, made an unlooked-for Impression upon John Fielding, who before had considered me to be both troubled and troublesome. Upon St Lucie’s Daye, he called me into his Presence to deliver a Rebuke upon my Conduct. The after-dinner Room was still, and apart from that given by the lively Fire, without Light. I stood, mute and resentful, before the Chimney-piece, my Face more than half in Shaddowe.
“’Twere preferable,” he said, sitting back in his Chair and staring unnervingly in my very Direction thro’ his darkened Glasses, “that you devote less of your Time, and your Father’s Fortune, to Whoring.”
“’Tis not excessive,” I protested.
Mr Fielding laughed, the first Time I had ever heard him to do so. It was not an unkind Laugh, and it carried about it some small Intimations of Regret. “And that were ever the Defense!” he said. “But it will not wash out in your Case, Tristan. Mr Welch has told me; you call upon Mrs Haywood three Dayes out of every seven, and nine in this past Fortnight. Your Whoring is excessive; and, I suspect, obsessive also.”
I felt my Colour rise within my Cheeks. It was not for Mr Fielding to judge the Quality of my Whoring, I thought, nor for Saunders Welch to bear Witness to him upon it. But I said nothing.
“It is clear to me that you are restless and bored,” Mr Fielding went on. “Exactly as I should expect from a young Man of your Wit and Intelligence who hath no useful Occupation to pursue. Therefore, my Brother and I have made Arrangements for you to begin your Studies in Anatomy with Dr William Hunter.”
“I thought it to have been forgot,” I stammered.
“Not so,” Mr Fielding said. “My Brother and I came to the Conclusion that it were better if you were not faced with too much Expectation immediate upon your Arrival. Now you are settled, it is best that you proceed upon your Education.”
I stared at Mr Fielding, and I was glad, deeply glad, that he could not see my Face, for I had no Control of it. If it had but occurred to the Brothers Fielding to inform me at the first of their Decision—but it had not and so here I stood; my Mind, for sure, as clean and sharp as a Lancet, but mine Hands as cruel as a Cut, and my Soule so steept in Vice it might as well been given straight up to the Devil. And all this come about because I feared to have been forgot! How was I now to go to Dr Hunter and study Dissection and Medicine; how could I stand within his Rooms and state that I wished to study Pain in order to prevent it? How could I, in short, convince him of a Creed in which I did not now believe? I could not. And yet, if I were to say that I had changed my Mind and no longer felt deserving of the Prize I had dedicated mine whole Life to achieving, I should be conceding not only my Soule, but a clear Victory.
No, no! I shook My Self, recalled to Mind those Justifications I had taken Comfort from when Doubts about mine Habit had before assailed me. It was true, I told My Self, that mine were not common Tastes, but my Vice was minor in Comparison to many. I did not desire Children, or Beasts. Moreover, it was not necessarily true that I was intirely evil. How could I be evil when the bright Sunne stroaked me, the Rains kissed me, and the Beauty of Creation arched over me in the blue Bowl of the winter Sky? How could I be evil when I took such Care that the Screams that pealed about mine Ears were followed always by the Chimes of sweet Relief when Pain came to an End? How could I be evil when I felt so happy?
The Rector had been wrong. The Tutor had been wrong. I had been wrong.
Whatever the Cause and Nature of my Need, it did not unfit me for the Study of Anatomy or the furtherance of the Human Condition. It was mine; mine was therefore its Comprehension, mine its Control. It dictated nothing. It would make no Difference.
“I shall be glad,” I said, “to begin Work with Dr Hunter as soon as may be.”
“You have until the twentieth of January to prepare yourself. And you had better explain to Mrs Haywood that she will not be seeing you so often in the Future. I am sure that this Intelligence will leave her quite bereft, but she will recover.”
I could not determine whether it would seem impudent if I were to laugh, so I remained silent. Mr Fielding sighed, and leaned back in his Chair. Then, to my Surprize, he removed his Wigg, ran his Fingers across the Stubble that covered his Head, and scratched his Scalp.
“Damned things, Wiggs,” he said. “Ridiculously expensive, in constant Need of Maintenance, and as full of Lice as this wretched City. Why do we wear them?”
I was not certain whether his Question was rhetorical, but I ventured upon an Answer. “Habit,” I said. “And the Fashion, Sir.”
“Fashion! Ha! Naught but a Means to delude and torment innocent Men and Women. What Virtue hath Fashion, truly?”
I looked down at My Self. My grey silk Frock, which I had purchased from my Taylor only two Dayes since, gleamed in the Firelight with the perfect Sheen of newly polished Pewter. I had delighted in the Knowledge that its Shade was matched exactly by that of my Shoes, and that the silver Buttons of the Frock had been cast with the same Imprint as the Buckles thereof. I looked up.
“None, Sir, I suppose—excepting perhaps an aesthetic one.”
“Do you believe that Virtue and Beauty are, therefore, equivalent?”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“And yet the most thorough Corruption may lurk within the fairest of Breasts. In Medicine, Sir, as you will see; and in Law, and certainly too within the Human Soule.”
“But what of non-Human things?” I protested. “I was thinking of the Beauty of a clear Sky, or of a Seabird in Flight against a Cloud, or a musical Note, perfect in its Execution. Are these things not good?”
“Of the three,” John Fielding said. “Only the third hath any Good I can appreciate. But continue, Tristan.”
“If they have any Good,” I said, “’tis surely by respect of some Virtue that inhere within them; and this Virtue, plainly, is Beauty.”
“Then you have suggested that Beauty is a Virtue, but not that Virtue is Beauty.”
“Is not Virtue beautifull, Sir?”
“Truly, it is; because Beauty inheres within it, as it inheres within a clear Sky or a Note of perfect Musick. But you must not confuse a Quality inherent in a thing with the thing itself.”
I was silent for a Minute as I reconsidered my Position. It had become of personal Importance to me that I should emerge victorious from this Spat, and this Desire momentarily overpowered mine Adherence to the Rules of philosophical Engagement. “I did not state that the two things are equivalent,” I said. “I merely answered: ‘Perhaps’. But for the Purpose of our Question regarding Fashion it doth not matter whether Beauty be a Virtue or a Quality within it. Beauty necessarily inheres within Fashion; ’tis as much Fashion’s Purpose as is Signification of Rank or Fortune. If it were not, Persons of Fashion would perforce appear as dull as Ducks. So Fashion hath the Quality of Beauty, if not necessarily the Virtue.” I paused. “But you, Sir, have not proved that Virtue doth not inhere within Beauty. If a clear Note be good, ’tis not Beauty alone that can make it so, but Goodness.”
Mr Fielding laughed. “Therefore, Beauty and Virtue may not be intirely identical, but it is the Devil’s Job to separate them. I salute you, Sir; but I still shall not put on that insufferable Wigg.”
I did not know whether I had won, or whether he had chosen to let me think it so. But at that Moment I began to perceive how it could be possible for me to germinate a real and honest Liking for Mr John Fielding. I permitted My Self the Risk of a small Snicker.
* * *
I wrote at once with these exciting Newes to Nathaniel, and also to Jane. To Jane, in addition, I apologised for my brutish Behaviour on my last Night at Shirelands Hall. I told her that I was plagued by the deepest Remorse, which was true, and that I was missing her, which was not. To Nathaniel I wrote the Opposite. I was missing him dreadfully, and whenever I considered the Circumstances of our Severance I felt a Nail drive thro’ mine whole Heart. But I could not apologise for the thing that I had done.
I received on Christmas Eve a Reply from Jane, who in a most forgiving Tone that made me feel my Shame all the more keenly, told me that mine Apologies were unnecessary. My Father had at last resumed taking his Meals out of his Study, and Life continued at Shirelands more or less as it had always done. Christmas was to be a quiet Affair, and I should be glad that I was in London, despite the Season. Mine Aunt sent her Regards, and so did James Barnaby.
“It will gladden yr Heart to know, Brother, (Jane wrote)that a Dayte has finally been Fixt upon for my Weddynge. We are to be Marryed from Shirelands, in St Peter’s Church, next Yeare upon the Eighth of June. Mr B. has taken up the Lease of Withy Grange, which is barely five Miles Distant from Shirelands, and which shall suit us very Well. He is determined that it be readye for June, and is about some fashionable Improvements to the View which must be Compleated before we can move in. We are to have fine Lawns and a Grecian Valley, such as Mr Broun hath made at Stowe.
She continued in this Vein for an intire Page, but I had lost Interest, and skippt ahead to the Ending.
Rector R. and Family are Well, and have askd me to Conveye to you their best Wishes. They are Presently quite Crampt as they have
(here I was forced to turn the Letter)
their Montague Cousins staying with them againe. Their Mother is Ill and the eldest Boy gone into the Nayvye so there is no one to look after them except—
(I turned the Letter)
an Unmarried Uncle. I send you my Deepest Love, deare Tristan, and I praye to see you soon, upon my Weddynge if not before. I am rn out of Spc, dr Br. But I rem yr hum. and lovg Sr, Jane Hart.”
If the Rector’s Family are well, I thought, then why no Newes of Nathaniel?
“Doth it not seem strange to you,” I complained to Mary Fielding, who was presently come into the Room, “that my Sister says nothing of my Friend, whom I had expressly asked after?”
I held out the Letter for her to peruse. Mary took the Sheet from me and read it, carefully, and every Word aloud. I left her in the drawing room Doorway and kicked mine Heels beside the Window, watching an antient Pedlar and his Dogg make an erratick, circuitous Progress thro’ the busy Street. Mrs Fielding finished, refolded the Letter, and held it out to me. “I don’t know, Mr ’Art,” she said. “If your Sister hath naught to do with your Friend, mayhap she hath no Newes of him to repeat.”
I took the Missive back and regarded Mary more closely than I had done before. “You look troubled, Mrs Fielding,” I said.
Mary sighed. “I am, Sir,” she said. She seemed then upon the Point of saying more, but stoppt, and wrung her Hands. I put mine Hand upon her Shoulder.
“Mrs Fielding,” I said. “What is the Matter?”
Mary Fielding pulled herself together, shaking mine Hand away and giving Vent to a small Laugh, high and thin, that had no Mirth in it. “’Tis of no Consequence to you.” She paused for a Moment, then went on: “Altho’ how Liza is to get those blood Spatters from your Shirts I don’t know. If you must visit the Cockpits, Sir, I would that you’d stand farther from the Ring. Not that there’ll be any ’ope of getting them out now, not with you going off to study with Dr ’Unter.” She gave a shudder. “’E is a great Doctor, Mr Fielding says, and a kind Man, with lovely Manners, and a charming Accent. I’ll tell Liza to try Vinegar.”
“Mary!”
“What, Sir?”
“What is wrong?”
“Oh, Mr ’Art,” she said. “I’m feared I have done something very stupid.”
Then she explained about the Gypsy. There were many of them about, she said, all over the Country, by the Sound of it; and she knew it was dangerous to have aught to do with them. But this one had been an old Woman; harmless, Mary thought; so very old her Eyes were like black Prunes in her Head, which had been brown and wrinkled as a Conker. She had come to the back Door selling Holly and Mistletoe; and Mary did so love fresh Greenery indoors at Christmas-time, she would have as much of it as possible; so she had—foolish Mary!—invited her in, and they had talked long over Tea. And then, only then, had Mary Fielding noticed the Baby on the Gypsy’s Back.
“The prettiest little thing I ever did see,” Mary said. “I can’t understand how it was I didn’t see it at the first, for once I had I couldn’t look at anything else, so dear it was. So then she asked me to look after it, for but an Houre or two—”
All this, she said, had taken place at nine in the Morning, and it was now well past four.
“If you believe that she hath abandoned it, then it must go into the Foundling Hospital,” I said.
“Oh!” Mary wailed. “And won’t Mr Fielding be angry! A Foundling, left in this ’ouse! But—but would you come and see it, Mr ’Art? I thought, with your Knowledge of Anatomy you might—”
“What?”
“Please come and see, Sir; I darest not talk too loud on it.”
Thoroughly perplext, altho’ greatly amused by the Irony of a Foundling being left in Henry Fielding’s House (altho’ not, as in his infamous novel, in his bed), I let Mary lead me to the Kitchen, where a plain willow Basket sate at safe Distance from the Fire, which was crackling chearfully. The Kitchen smelled deliciously of Sausage-meat and Spices, despite the Fact that we were only to eat Sundaye’s Leftovers tonight. Mrs Fielding, acting on my behalf, had won the Argument over which Stuffing to order for the Morrow’s Turkey, and I caught the distinctive salty Whiff of Oysters mixt with the sharp Tang of Lemon. My Mouth began to water.
“I warn you, Mrs Fielding, I have no Experience of Children,” I said. “And little Liking for them, either. I shall doubtless make it squall.”
The Infant did indeed begin to stir at the Sound of my Voice, and kicking forth its Feet and flailing its Hands it set the Basket quite into Motion. But it did not weep. Instead, an high pitched, wheezing Cry came from it, halfway betwixt a musical Note and an Hiss.
“There there, my pretty Poppet,” Mrs Fielding said, and she lifted the small wriggling thing, still wrappt in its woollen Blanket, from its Bed. “Oh, I don’t know how to hold you, I’m sure. There—” changing the Babe’s Position somehow—“That’s better. Mr ’Art, please take a Look. I don’t know what to think.”
At first, I thought the Child perfectly common. It had a pretty enough Face, with large round grey Eyes that stared out at me with the unsettling Intensity typical of Children. It looked very young; a dozen Weeks at most; probably it was younger. I had no Measure by which to judge the Maturity of Babies. Then the Child yawned, and I caught a glimpse of a Row of white Teeth, lining its rosy Gums like miniature Needles.
Did I see that? I thought. I could not be intirely sure. I steppt closer and peered into the Infant’s Face.
“That isn’t all, Sir,” said Mary Fielding. She began with the utmost Care to unwrap the Blanket, soothing and petting the Baby as she did so. “I thought to change her Clout; it had been a long while, and I thought she must be fouled. I don’t like that People leave them.” The Blanket now open, she cradled the naked Infant in the Crook of her Arm. “Is she a ’Uman, Mr ’Art?”
The Baby was female, but that was the least noteworthy thing about it. Intirely along both Sides of the Torso, beginning halfway down the Forearm and extending to the Ankle, there stretched a wide Membrane of translucent living Tissue, pink with Blood. Immediately, I thought of Mrs H., of Nathaniel, and of Goblin Babes.
“Egad!” I said. “’Tis a young Bat!”
As if in Agreement with mine Assessment, the Baby began to wave its Hands; its Wings, for so I had already decided to stile them, causing a Turbulence in the Aire that set Mrs Fielding’s Cap-strings all a-dancing.
“Is it Magick, Sir?” said Mary Fielding in a tremulous Voice.
“Aye,” I said. “And Mary Toft gave birth to Rabbits. Mr Fielding would be angry indeed if he were to hear you say that. The Child is but deformed—spectacularly so.”
“She is a ’Uman Child, then?”
“It is without Question a Human Child. Not a Bat, and not a Changeling.” I indicated to Mary that she should lay the Child upon the Table, that I might examine it more closely. Mary called to Liza to make Room upon the Tabletop, which was covered otherwise with Breadcrumbs and Milk and other things that I assumed to have something to do with Christmas Dinner, then she laid down the Baby, still in its Blanket. I gently took hold of the Infant’s right Arm and stretched it out, and did the same thing to the left. Both Limbs moved, I thought, normally. I repeated the Exercise with both Legs, and again found that the membranous Wings did not seem to interfere with the Action of the Parts. “Well, it will not be crippled,” I said. With growing Excitement, for, I thought, I should greatly like to shew Dr Hunter this Marvell, I ran my Fingers lightly along the Tissue of the left Wing. It was as soft and pliable as Velvet. “How extraordinary,” I said. I thought: How beautifull.
Fearing that the little thing take cold, I tried to fold the Blanket once again about it, but failed, and steppt back. Mrs Fielding shot me a withering Look, and with an Ease that was astonishing to me she swaddled the flapping Baby and replaced it delicately within its Basket.
“I am surprized,” I said, “that the Gyspy hath left it. They earn much Money out of such Freaks at Fairs, and the Like.”
“Shall I tell Liza to take ’er to the ’ospital, Mr ’Art?”
“No,” I said. “I should very much like to keep it until I have shewn Dr Hunter. He may have another Suggestion. I must confess My Self reluctant to see it go; I had never imagined that a Deformity of this Nature was possible.”
Mary Fielding’s Shoulders sagged. “I don’t suppose,” she said, “that the old Woman will come back for her, will she?”
I looked again into Mary’s anxious Face and came to a Decision. “If she doth not,” I said, “then you need not trouble the Hospital. I shall procure a Wet Nurse in the Town to raise it at mine own Expense. It is the oddest Creature I have ever seen, and I am quite enchanted by it.”
At this Declaration, about which I was in compleat earnest, Mary’s Expression changed intirely; she began to laugh. “Mr ’Art,” she said. “I credit you are getting as ’are-brained as Mr Fielding. He would have all the Sorrow in the World undo itself and fade away because he willed it so. You cannot support a Child, Sir; you are not yet twenty. I shall speak with Mr Fielding and he shall decide what is to be done. I know I should have told him already, but I had not the Courage.”
At this Point the kitchen Clock chimed the Houre of five, and as this was nigh upon Time for Dinner, Mrs Fielding and her Servants chivvied me back up-Stairs. I returned to the drawing Room to await the Bell and ponder once again upon Jane’s Letter, and the Absence of Nathaniel from it. Then I fell to considering the little Bat and what was to become of it. I feared for its Future should it enter the Foundling Hospital. Even supposing it survived—which was not likely—who would want a Maid with Wings? It would in all Probability end up in some Establishment akin to Mrs Haywood’s, at the Mercy of some Monster like to Me. I disliked that Notion utterly.
Christmas Eve Dinner was not a grand Affair by any Means, as Festivities were planned for the Morrow; but evidently Mary did not feel it was sufficiently dull to enliven it with her Newes of the Foundling. We sate beneath the Holly in the dining Room, the ash Logs in the Fire burning high and fierce, and ate cold Beef. Mr Fielding complained loudly about his Gout, and then embarked upon a bitter Monologue contemning the open-palmed Practices of his Predecessor in the Magistracy, who had, he said, encouraged every Pimp in the Neighbourhood to think that he could buy the Law. I privately questioned whether Mr Fielding’s relentless Integrity did not sometimes cause more Trouble than it deserved.
I would not normally have betrayed any Confidence of Mary’s, but because I wholeheartedly believed that she would tell her Husband, when she met with the proper Moment to do so, and because I felt My Self to be involved in the Matter, I sought an Audience with John Fielding in the drawing Room after Dinner to ask his Advice upon it.
Mr Fielding was so taken aback that he almost let fall his Spectacles. The red Firelight danced within the darkened Lenses. “But it is not your Child, Tristan,” he said.
“I know that, Sir.”
“Then, why?”
“It is so unusual,” I said.
“Tristan, tell me,” said Mr Fielding, rubbing his Forehead upon his Fist. “Do you intend to keep a Menagerie of unusual Creatures, or to run a Side-show at a Fair?”
“Of course not,” I said. “’Tis a Human Child. And naturally I have no Interest in parading it before a gawping Publick. ’Tis bad enough that Visitors are allowed in the Bedlam, and Bridewell.”
“Yet you, yourself, wish only to admire at it.”
“No,” I said. Mr Fielding was in Fact more than half right; but not wholly, for I had another Sentiment besides, to which I could not put a Name. It made me want to carry off the pretty Freak and shelter it, far away from the ignorant Curiosity and well-meant Concern of those who would ask, like Mary: “Is she a ’Uman, Mr ’Art?”
I waited all Evening for the Sound of Henry Fielding’s upraised Voice, which would mean that his Wife had told him of the Foundling, but it never came. Shortly before Midnight he retired in Pain and ill Humour to Bed, and Mary, telling him God knows what, slippt away again to the Kitchen. When I realised what she had done, I followed.
The Kitchen was still very warm, and the low tallow Candles gave it a friendly, welcoming Aspect. Mrs Fielding had dismisst Liza and the other Maids for the Night, and seemed, despite all common Sense, to be preparing to spend hers with the Baby before the Fire. She had unbound it from its Swaddling, and sate with it loose upon her Lap, attemping to Spoon-feed it Pananda from a blue China Bowl. She half leapt up in great Surprize as I approached, clutching the Infant to her as if she feared some fell Danger was fain to threaten it.
“Peace, Mrs Fielding,” I said. “’Tis not your Husband, nor Mr John. ’Tis only Tristan.”
I had previously planned that if I could not keep the Bat, I would at least draw its Likeness before it was taken away from me. I decided therefore to have Mary remain sitting with the Babe upon her Lap whilst I sketched, expecting in mine Ignorance that it would remain still whilst I began, and failed, and began over again, to capture its Quintessence upon Paper.
“Mr ’Art,” said Mary desperately, after almost half an Houre of false Starts and muted Curses upon my Part, “I have a little Talent for Drawing. If you will but sit and hold her, I’ll try to draw her for you.”
So, we exchanged Places, and after some Confusion I discovered how to retain the Child in mine Arms without dropping or smothering it. This was, in truth, a Labour of Hercules, for the Babe would not be still for me any more easily than it would for Mrs Fielding, and I was extreamly glad when the Sketch was compleat and I could hand it back.
Mrs Fielding swaddled the Baby again in its Blanket, having somehow affixt a ragged Clout to its lower Extremity, and laid it back in the Basket. “I believe that I could learn the proper Manner of doing that,” she said—to herself, I thought, rather than to me. “The Skin stretches so, it might be possible to fold it right away. Then she could mayhap wear ordinary Cloathes, when she is old enough.”
“Mary.” My previous Declaration hung unspoken in the Aire between us.
In that Moment I was convinced that I would keep my Bat. Mary would help me find a Nurse, and as regarding the Expense, had not John Fielding himself told me that I needed something else to squander my Fortune upon than Whoring?
For one long, silent Minute I believed it.
Then there came a loud, harsh Knock upon the Door that led from the Kitchen into the Street; and then another, till the solid Wood quaked with Drumming.
Mrs Fielding gasped and her Hand flew to her Breast; then she recollected herself, and straightened her Apron and her Cap before proceeding with great Dignity toward the Door. I stood close behind her. It was not like, I thought, that the Knockers were Robbers, but this was the Magistrate’s House, and Mary his Wife; it did as well to be careful.
Mrs Fielding opened the Door and there stood the Gypsy.
I know not wherefore I was so surprized. I had, I think, so greatly desired that she should not return that I had perswaded My Self that she would not. Yet, here the leathery Creature stood, as gristly as a blackberry Bush. She winked up at us out of two glittering black Eyes and drew back her Lips in a Grin, revealing a set of broken Teeth, like Thorns. Her gnarled Hand grippt tight about a small lanthorn Staff, upon which I seemed to see, entwined, the carven Bodies of Toads and Adders. In the uncertain lanthorn Light they looked as if they had been alive. I shivered.
“I come for the Babe,” she said. “I hope she hath given no Trouble.”
“Oh!” Mrs Fielding cried, though whether with Relief or Disappointment I could not be sure. “No; no Trouble at all.”
Mrs Fielding beckoned the Woman inside, and then fetched the Baby in its Swaddling from its Place near the Fire. “You will be careful that she don’t take cold?” Mary said anxiously. “I shall fetch another Blanket, else the poor Mite will freeze.”
“She won’t freeze,” the Woman said, taking the Baby with a low Laugh that sounded like the Echo of Branches breaking. “We know how to take care of our own, Mrs Fielding.”
“What is the Child to you?” I demanded, as Mary ran up-Stairs to find a Blanket. “Is she a Grandchild, a Nurseling, or merely a Shilling in your Pocket?”
At this, and I saw it happen plain as Daye, the old Woman, who had ignored me heretofore, spun about and fixt me with a black Stare that turned into a mocking one when she perceived that I was not intimidated. “She is the Daughter of my Mistress,” she answered. “Who is a great Lady; a Queen among our People.”
At these Words a sudden Chill ran though my Blood.
“What is the Lady’s Name?” I asked, altho’ my Tongue resisted me and my Voice was as pale as my Cheek.
“Merely visiting, weren’t you, my Lovely; visiting; never staying. Tried to run away, didn’t you; but Queen-Mother won’t let pretty Baby go, no, no.”
“Tell me!”
The old Woman cocked her Head upon one Side and smiled. “But you know her, Caligula. You may call her Viviane.”
Then she was gone, and the kitchen Door slamming, and Mary Fielding running down the Stairs; and My Self on my Knees where I had fallen, for I had not the Power to stand.
* * *
That Night I lay a long while in a State of Misery. I had sustained a Shock, and altho’ my Senses were not, seemingly, disordered or untrue, my Sensibilities were in utter Ruin.
The bitter Truth was that I could not verily remember whether I had ravished Viviane. I did not think I had. But I had also thought that I had seen her bodily transform into an Owl. How much Faith could I place in either Recollection? Moreover, the unwonted Visitation of the Child—if it were not—Great God!—my Child—was unintelligible to me.
At about three I rose, staggered down-Stairs and helped My Self to several Glasses of Mr Fielding’s best Nantes. Feeling somewhat thereby encouraged, I returned to Bed and belatedly began the rational Calculation that would tell me whether it were possible the Child be mine, or not. Mathematics saved me. Even if it had been new born yesterdaye, which it was not, Viviane’s Pup could not have been conceived beneath the Hawthorns on May Morning. January, I thought, was the probable date for its Conception, perhaps even earlier.
In January, I thought, Viviane must have shared her Favours more than once with Nathaniel Ravenscroft.
“But if ’twas Nat’s,” I said to My Self, “then why chose she to plague me with it, and not him?” Had she already shewn him the Babe, and he had denied it? Had she sent it to me, in Hopes that I might recognise it out of Guilt, or Fear?
There was, however, a Flaw in this Logick which I could not ignore, angry and half-fuddled as I was. If Viviane had wanted me to support her Bastard, why had she claimed it back from me at the precise Moment in which I had determined to do exactly that?
Had that been Viviane’s Game? To send me a small Miracle, and snatch it back, and glory in my Disappointment? To teaze me with the false Supposition that it must be mine, and laugh to think me fallen upon my Knees in Horrour, even as I had forced her upon her own.
Had I raped Viviane? I thought that I had not. I did not know.
I needed Mrs Haywood’s. I needed Polly. I needed my Lash.