I did not learn whether Lady B.’s Cancer was, ultimately, cured or not. Certainly, it did not to my Knowledge recur during the Time I was to remain in London. But the whole Experience had rattled and disturbed me to an Extent greater than I was prepared to admit. Mr Fielding’s Analysis of my Motives intrigued and frightened me in equal Measure. For the Remainder of April and the next Fortnight I could think of little else. Mine Instinct was to repudiate the Notion, even to ridicule it; but like—so I feared—the Cancer, I could not excise it. I buried My Self deep within my Work, but no matter how involved Mine Hands, how exhausted my Body, my Mind’s relentless questioning would not abate.
I could perceive, altho’ I did not want to, that if Mr Fielding were correct, his Argument would entail at least two bloody Threads of logical Extension and philosophic Inquiry, each of which led to a Conclusion as fearfull as it was remarkable.
If mine own Mother had died of the Disease, then my near Panick at the Notion of Lady B.——’s probable Death seemed almost comprehensible; excepting for the Fact that I had not known, and did not remember, anything of the Circumstances of my Mother’s Death. If Mr Fielding’s Analysis was right, then my whole Motive to become any sort of Doctor had its Origin in that infant Loss; but that was to suppose that I remembered an Event that I did not remember; that I was both ignorant and yet had full Cognition of at the same Time. How, I wondered, could such a Paradox possibly be true? ’Tis utterly impossible, I thought, that I could be unaware of an Awareness.
Yet the Conceit troubled me still. I knew from Experience that my Senses were not always to be trusted. Could the same thing be true of my Memory? I could not know. If I knew, I should be remembering what I did not, and the whole Wheel would spin again. What I did know, knew for certain, was that I had wanted to cause Pain to Lady B.——. I had desired to heal her, too; but I had wanted to hear her Scream, none the less. I had not known then—unless I had—that my Mother had died of the very Disease that I was trying to save the Lady from. But suppose, suppose some hidden Power in mine Imagination had transformed her, without even mine Awareness, into a Simulacrum of my Mother? The Implication then was that I wanted, or would have wanted, to hear—or to have heard—my Mother screaming also. That Thought, the Thought of her in Pain, terrified me to the Core. That Idea decanted a Chymistry of Horrour, innate and immediate; Fear and Panick and Love and Anger mixt without Aire in a Crucible Flask, swirling and combining, never catching Fire.
And yet, and yet—if I had heard that Scream, my Mother might have lived.
The Idea that I might remember, and yet not remember, my Mother’s Death; that I might desire to hurt her and yet recoil from the very Thought, was almost too horrible to contemplate. When I had witnessed Viviane’s Transformation from Woman into Owl, I had blamed my physical Senses; when I had feared that I had ravished her, I had been able to blame them still, for I remembered only what my disordered Senses had shewn me. But this was of another Order of Madness. If my Memory, and mine Imagination, were as confused as this would seem to make them, then mine apparent Sanity was as illusory as the Shaddowes on the Wall in Bedford’s Coffee-house.
And yet again—and here the second bloody Thread—I could not disswade My Self from pondering what it might mean if Mr Fielding were correct, and my Memory both was and was not; and I was not mad. Could it possibly be that all Men’s Minds functioned thus? A Muddle of paradoxical Contradictions and seeming Impossibilities that somehow, almost magically, were true? Perhaps, I thought, there are Darknesses in the Mind where the Eye of Consciousness doth not penetrate. Where doth any ordinary Memory exist when it is not in Process of Recollection? It hath not ceased to be. Yet it is neither in Man’s Awareness, nor is he aware of its Lack.
I could not foresee quite where this line of Questioning was like to lead me, nor did it even begin to address the Conundrum of how I, My Self, could possibly remember something I did not. But I could not abandon it. Mine Ideas spiralled like the darkening Sea. I felt sick and dizzy from the continued Motion.
At the End of the first Week of June, I returned home for my Sister’s Nuptials. I was displeased, as this meant that I should have to take some Dayes off from the Hospital; but the Valley of the Horse was beautifull; its Woods in vibrant Leaf, chirring with the million Trills of Finches; its Fields sparkling with Butterflies. I had not feasted mine Eyes upon such a Glut of Greenery for so long, I soon felt My Self engorged beyond Satiety, and drew down the carriage Blinds.
Altho’ I had left Shirelands in deep Dread of the Valley, which my Bones insisted had taken violent against me when I had accosted Viviane, returning home I experienced an odd Sensation of Reprieve, as if my Presence had not been noticed at all. Pondering this, it occurred to me that perhaps the genius loci must take time to recognise me, and I felt safe, if only for the nonce; for it did not occur to me once to presume my Mittimus exhausted.
The Carriage pulled up at the front Door of Shirelands Hall shortly before Noon on the second Daye of travelling. Jane must have been awaiting me, for no sooner had the Movement stoppt than I heard a quick feminine Tread upon the Gravel and her affectionate Voice impatiently calling my Name. The coach Door being opened by the Postillion, and the Step put down, I rapidly descended, grateful to stretch my constricted Limbs and Spine. My Shoes had scarcely touched the Ground when my Sister flung herself upon me.
“Dear Tristan!” she said. “It is so good to have you home!” She steered me straight into the House, chattering like a Yellowhammer. We took Tea within the turquoise Cool of the front drawing Room, the Shades half drawn. The Tea tasted like Tea.
Very little had changed at Shirelands Hall whilst I had been absent from it. My Father remained the same unapproachable Recluse, altho’ he had consented, after many harsh Scoldings from mine Aunt Barnaby, to exchange his Black for Grey upon the Daye of Jane’s Wedding. Jane viewed this small Concession as a great Triumph, as she believed that once he had taken off his Mourning, he would not rush to put it on again. I thought that was unlikely, but I did not say so.
Apart from this, Jane’s Nuptials, and Removal to Withy Grange, took up the whole of her Attention. I quietly perceived that she was much more delighted at the Prospect of becoming Mistress in her own House than she appeared to be at that of marrying Barnaby. I was not unamused by this.
“Over Christmas,” she said, “I shall aim to entertain as much as possible. We shall hold a Ball on Boxing Daye, and all our Friends shall stay until February, if they will.”
“Ah! You will hold Court.”
Jane tilted up her Nose in Disgust at my poor Sarcasm. “I have had enough,” she said, “of silent Meals.”
“Of course you have,” I said, regretting my Jibe. “I trust you shall have many Hundreds of happier ones.”
Jane forgave me at once, it being beyond her Nature to hold any Grudge. She presst me to visit the Grange as soon as I was able, and to stay for at least a Month. I did not tell her how intolerable I should find such a Circumstance. To be an whole Month in Company with James Barnaby!
Eventually, when I could do so in a subtile Manner, I asked after the Ravenscrofts, meaning by this, Nathaniel.
“Oh,” my Sister said, rolling her Eyes. “They are all very well, especially now that they have lost all the Montagues, apart from Kate the Cursed.”
“Kate the What?”
“Oh, no! La! I did not mean to call her that! Kate the Cursed is Sophy’s Nickname for their Cousin, Katherine. It is not kind or charitable of Sophy, but the Girl is, by all Accounts, quite dreadful. She is only twelve and already the most shameless Flirt I have ever heard of. Not only that, she is given to violent Passions and Outbursts of Temper. Sophy said that she was hit by her upon the Ear, and it began to bleed.”
“What Cousin is this?” I asked. “I remember none having such a Temperament.”
“You would not. She used to be rather sweet. She is staying at the Rectory now because her Mother cannot control her any longer. Can you imagine? I do pray she will not be at my Wedding. She could ruin it.”
“No twelve yeare old Shrew will ruin your Wedding, Jane,” I said. “I shall take it upon My Self to lock her in a Closet, or throw her in the River, if she looks set to begin a Scene.”
I spoke in Jest, but for an Instant, Jane looked worried. “Tristan, please don’t,” she said.
* * *
The eighth Daye of June dawned the clear blue of a Sparrow’s Egg, flecked with tiny Clouds of white and grey. The Aire was still, and a slight Chill lingered in the blossoming Elder and long, flowering Grass.
I had little to do before leaving for Church, so shortly after eight I took My Self away into the Gardens, to compleat some Observations upon a Sett of anatomical Drawings I had procured from Dr Hunter. I had just finished mine Annotations upon the Ligaments of the Symphysis Pubis when Mrs H. came hurrying across the Lawn to tell me that the Coach had been ready for some Time, and that if I did not come quickly my Sister would be made late for her wedding.
I supposed that Jane looked very fetching in her Garland and her wedding Dress, which was of blue Silk, and had been made especially for the Occasion. But I could not tear mine Eyes away from my Father, who appeared to them as somebody I scarcely recognised. I had never seen my Father out of Black. Yet there he stood, a striking handsome Figure in dove grey Frock and Breeches, clutching an ebon Cane, the immaculate white Ringlets of his Wigg reaching below his Shoulders. The Ravenscrofts are right, I thought. He is but eight-and-forty. He should marry again.
My Father assisted Jane into the Coach and I climbed after. Jane was exuberantly lively, at first, on the Way to Church, and confabulated endlessly about the Weather, the wedding Breakfast and the House at Withy Grange. Finally, I was forced to follow my Father’s Example and stare out of the Window in an Attempt to shut her up; but she merely continued to herself.
The Carriage was forced to slow as it entered the Village. I heard the excited Babble of country Voices in the Road, every one eager for a Sight of Jane in her wedding Gown and my Father out of his Mourning. Poor Jane, I thought. She would have done far better to have suffered him keep his Black.
St Peter’s Church stood in the Centre of the Village, atop a small grassy Knolle. It was a crumbling Edifice dating from sometime during the Hundred Yeares War; brimming aloft with Gargoyles and below with Tombs of mine Ancestors. I could never approach it without a peculiar queasy Sensation stirring in my Gut, as if I had been underneath the Eyes of the multifarious Dead. Todaye, tho’, the Church’s grey Walls glowed in the summer Light. The Bells were sounding brightly and with great Chear, and even the Graveyard’s Rooks stalked with a sprightly Step.
The Coach stoppt at the church Gate. I dismounted smartly and hoppt out of the Way as first my Father and then Jane descended. The large Crowd of Locals who had gathered on the Spot parted before me like the Red Sea, and then stood at a respectful Distance to admire the wondrous Spectacle that was my Family.
A Flower had worked itself loose from Jane’s bridal Wreath during the Journey, and she was now near to an Hysteric on Account of it, despite the Fact that no Deficiency was apparent in the Garland. Having tried once to explain this, and been violently rebuffed, I decided that the safest thing to do was to depart at once into the Church and take my Place whilst Jane composed herself. I supposed, too, that my Father should have some private Words for her at this Moment, tho’ what Comfort he could give to her evaded me.
I left them, therefore, at the Gate, and passed thro’ into the aged Building. Entering the musty Nave, I made my Way as quietly as possible to the family Pew, from where I surveyed the assembled Company.
The Barnabys had brought all their Relations; or at least, as many of them as could be got to fit within St Peter’s Church. Across the Aisle, mine Aunt sate up beside James Barnaby, talking animatedly. He, for his part, seemed as unruffled as if he were about to listen in upon a boring Piece of chamber Musick. If he upsets my Sister, I thought, I shall break every Bone in his Body. The Resolution pleased me.
Behind me in the Rows sate the Rector’s Wife; and Sophia, now grown very handsome, in dark blue Silks with a curled Wigg. She smiled at me. Next came the Remainder of the Ravenscrofts, now swelled to fourteen; and another whom I guessed must be Kate the Cursed.
I had expected, from what Jane had told me, that she should be dark, but Kate had Bianca’s Colouring. She was well grown for twelve, if twelve she was, and sate as tall as Sophy, altho’ she was considerably more slender. Her Gaze was fixt in an intense Scrutiny of the Back of the Pew in front of her, and her Expression, I thought, could have curdled Milk. A Pity, as she would otherwise have been a rare Beauty. The Sadness of her Aspect did not seem to fit with Jane’s Description of her as a shameless Flirt. If anything, she appeared to me as one withdrawn, walled up inside a private Purgatory beyond the reach of Man, and disinclined to break out.
In mine Interest, I had looked at her a little too long; Katherine felt my Gaze upon her and lifted her Head to stare back at me out of clear grey Eyes as startling as the Moon.
At once her Countenance was transfigured, as if the Light had altered both without and within it. Her Eyes widened, and her Lips parted slightly in Surprize. Then she began to smile; not as a Flirt would do, but wistfully, as if she was not even aware that she was smiling; coloured, and turned her Face away.
You, I thought.
At that Moment Jane entered the Church with our Father, and a mended Garland, and the Service began. I whirled about, disguising my Confusion under the Pretext that I had droppt my prayer-Book. St John himself could not have been more stunned. Every Nerve in mine whole Flesh had caught afire.
She is but twelve, I told My Self as Jane and Barnaby linked Hands before the Altar. She is too young, and too nice to be interesting to me, by any Means whatever.
“Marriage,” intoned the Rector Ravenscroft to Barnaby and Jane, “is not an Estate to be entered into lightly, for the Gratification of carnal Lusts; but a sacred Covenant, akin to that betwixt God and Mankind.”
How rapid would her Heart beat ’neath mine Hand?
I stared forwards, but I did not perceive whatever it was that stood in front of me. Instead, I seemed to see Katherine Montague’s Features, chisseled in high Relief upon the Stone: her light grey Eyes, that slanted very slightly upwards at the Corners; thickly lashed, and a little more prominent than they should have been, but only by enough that their Beauty was increased thereby; her high Cheekbones; her delicate Jaw, which ended in a Chin a mere Fraction too sharp; her small, uneven Teeth. I wondered at her translucent ivory Skin, her pale Lips, all without a Touch of Whitelead; and at that Aire of unbreachable Sadness thro’ which I had somehow penetrated, tho’ without Intention, tho’ without Desire.
I know her, I thought.
What doth she sound like when she shrieks aloud? Surely it must be clear and fine, the Whistling of a Curlew in the cold Light shortly after Dawn. I want to take her down, and wrap her in mine Arms, and soothe the Agonies away.
The Service finally drawing to a close, I was at last able to turn around, but to my Disappointment neither Mrs Ravenscroft nor Katherine was there, and I beheld only Sophia. I concluded that the other two had left the Church sometime during an Hymn, and I began to imagine that Jane’s Fears had come home to roost regarding Kate.
I could control her, I thought. And then: Control her! I? Damned if I could! I cannot even control mine own Thoughts. In Church, too. The sooner I am gone from Berkshire the better.
The Crowd by now having thinned, I was at last at Liberty to leave my Pew without Embarrassment. I straightened my Body, and, I hoped, my Mind, and followed some of Barnaby’s countless Relations into the warm morning Sunnelight. The fresh Aire heartened me, but only for a Moment. Mrs Ravenscroft and Katherine Montague stood amidst the Gravestones on the Sward that sloped down to the open Meadow, surrounded by ruminating Sheep. Katherine looked me up and down. A slight Smile, subtily different in its Nature and Suggestion from her prior Expression, played about the Corners of her Lips. She turned her Head, cutting me intirely; then glanced back slyly, to see what I had thought and what I would do next about the Business.
Having more Sense than to walk straight past my Sister in her Houre of Triumph, I first kissed Jane, and wished her an happy Marriage. I then congratulated Barnaby. Mine Advice to him, I decided, should be given later, and not right in front of his joyful Bride. Nevertheless, I embraced him in a more than brotherly Hugg that cost him some Pains to get out of, and I am sure left him with a Soreness in his Neck, which had been always ridiculously stiff. Then I proceeded thro’ the Graves towards Mrs Ravenscroft, and Katherine Montague.
Katherine was cloathed in a primrose-yellow Gown, over a small Hoop. Her little Feet, in silken Shoes, made shallow Depressions in the mossy Bank upon which she stood, in the dappled Shade of a white willow Tree. My Gaze travelled slowly upwards over the bright Silk of her Skirts to settle upon her Waist, which had been made so tiny by the Tightness of her laced Stays that I could have near encompassed it in mine Hands. A delicate Handkerchief of white Muslin embraced her slim Shoulders, and met in a careless Knot upon her Breast. June Sunnelight, filtering thro’ the thin Leaves of the Willow, licked the exposed Skin of her Throat; wherever it touched, the pale Ivory gleamed phosphorescent.
I proffered my “Good Morning” to Mrs Ravenscroft, who responded with the usual Civility.
Katherine said: “Mr Hart,” and droppt an half-Curtsey with such breathtaking Insolence as seemed fit to turn my Condescension in coming to talk with her upon its Head.
Mrs Ravenscroft looked aghast. “I am sorry,” she said. “She hath not been well brought up, I am afraid. Her Mother is a Widdowe of few Means, and they do not see enough of good Society. We are hoping to make an Impression upon her here, but our Effort doth not seem to be working.”
Katherine staightened up, and looking direct into mine Eyes with an Expression of such sweet Defiance it near stoppt mine Heart, held forth her naked Hand as if for me to kiss. I took it. Her Skin was softer than Velvet, and strangely familiar to my Fingertips. The Phalangeal Ligaments tensed briefly beneath the Ball of my Thumb; delicate finger-Bones contracting, then extending lightly to press into the cupped Palm of mine Hand. I slid my Thumb slowly to the Knuckle Joint between her first and second Fingers, and applied my Fingertips to the rear Surface of the proximal Phalanx. The velvety Skin extended, and the small Bones shifted apart beneath my Touch. I released the Pressure and felt them retract into their proper Place, with a small Click.
Katherine looked down—tho’ not out of Shyness, and mine Attention followed hers to where our two Hands were joined together within a Cataract of liquid Sunnelight.
“How dark your Skin is next to mine,” said Katherine. She looked up at me, and smiled.
This Statement brought me back to My Self. I quickly released her Hand and, stepping back, executed the terse Bow I should have given her at the first.
“Mrs Ravenscroft; Miss Montague.” I prepared to depart. I could not, in all truth, have sustained the Conversation for very much longer. Mine Imagination was beginning to gallop ahead upon its usual phrenzied Track. This would not do; I had to rein it in.
“Sir,” called Katherine Montague.
I turned at once. “Yes?”
“Shall we see you at the Breakfast?”
“Of course. Good Morning.”
I returned to the Path and sought out my Father, who was waiting beside mine Aunt Barnaby, appearing as greatly out of Countenance as I felt. I told My Self that as long as I could keep away from Katherine Montague and restrain my vile Mind, I should have nothing to fear. But for the second Time, too, I wished that I were back in London. Polly Smith’s Body would have satisfied this Flame in Minutes.
The wedding Breakfast was to be held after long standing Tradition at the village Tavern, altho’ mine Aunt had argued in Favour of holding it at Shirelands so that we need not be overlooked. My Sister—now Mrs Barnaby—and her Bridegroom departed for the Feast in Barnaby’s Curricle. I followed on directly, with mine Aunt and Father, in our own Coach.
“Well,” said Aunt Barnaby in a Tone of intense Contentment, spreading her Skirts across the intire Seat. “That’s Jane well married; now we have but to settle Master Hart.”
Her Words startled me. Not knowing whether to think her serious, and be subject to an Alarum, or not, I laughed.
“Tristan,” said my Father, his Gaze never moving from the Road outside, “is not yet one-and-twenty.”
“Tush, Brother,” retorted mine Aunt. “You were wed at scarcely more than that. That you had your Fortune already, I’ll grant you; but any Fool can see that Master Hart is already more a Man of the World than ever you were.”
“Then he shall need no Help from you,” my Father muttered.
“Brother, there are Pitfalls in such a City as London, into which even a clever young Man of Substance and Fashion may fall. And I am sure that Mr Henry Fielding sets no good Example upon that Score. Is he not married to his Housekeeper?”
I perceived then that mine Aunt was utterly in earnest. I could too easily anticipate what was to follow—a lengthy Lecture upon the dreadful Consequences of being tempted into Marriage by some virtuous young Wench—or even not so virtuous—who had nothing but her Face to recommend her.
Egad, I thought. If mine Aunt knew anything at all of me, surely even she would seek to protect the Wenches from me, rather than me from the Wenches.
I lifted up my Cane and rapped thrice upon the Roof of the Coach, which drew to an Halt at once. “Set me down here; I will walk,” I called.
Mine Aunt gave Vent to a small Noise of Irritation. “Sir,” she said, “you will be late in sitting down to Breakfast.”
“There need be no Delay on mine Account; I am of little Importance,” I said, vaulting down onto the Greensward. My Father, I thought, almost laughed, but I could not be certain.
The Coach then moving on without me, I stood still as a Statue on the Roadside, listening to the sweet repeated Whistle of a song Thrush in the thorny Hedge, and reflecting with Delight upon mine unplanned Escape from Supervison. I attended closely to the Thrush for a Moment, with a little Suspicion; but in its clear Note there was no Hint of Accusation. I thought then that perhaps I might locate a quiet Spot and continue my Remarks upon Dr Hunter’s Drawings, returning to join the wedding Party after all the Crush was over; but then I realised that Jane would not thank me for this. I bent my Steps instead toward the Tavern, which was barely a quarter-Mile from where I had alighted. I took care to walk exceeding slowly, watching the Bees amid the Clover.
I walked so slow, in fact, that I had not gone far beyond the Cottages and the Forge when I was overtaken by the Ravenscrofts, walking two abreast in a Cavalcade. Sophia was in the Head of the Column with her Mother; she flashed me a charming Smile, and turning to Mrs Ravenscroft, begged to be allowed to walk with me instead.
I had no Stomach for that, fair as Sophy was, and I pleaded that I should only prove a sorry Tortoise to her Hare. I need not have worried, however, for Mrs Ravenscroft, perchance thinking upon a similar Principle to that which had excited mine Aunt, took Sophy sharply by the Elbow and led her away, saying to her only that haply we should meet up at the Tavern.
Am I beyond Sophy’s Expectations? I thought. I had never once considered her like that, but still the Notion startled me. I had grown accustomed, in my long Association with Nathaniel, to think of the Ravenscrofts as mine Equals, and in many Ways this must have been true; but not in the Case of Marriage. Marriage required Money, and Money the Ravenscrofts did not have. Yet I should have been delighted, I thought, if Nathaniel, instead of Barnaby, had married Jane.
Mrs Ravenscroft may well have felt that if she had to choose between the Preservation of her Daughter’s Reputation and that of her Niece, then her Loyalties must lie with her Daughter, and the Niece be damned to take her Chance. At any Rate, it fell out that last in the Column walked Katherine Montague, alone; and when she lifted up her smiting grey Eyes and stared hard at me, I could not resist falling in beside her.
For some Moments neither one of us spoke. Then I decided that this might be mine Opportunity to find out what the Devil had happened to Nathaniel, so I cleared my Throat and said, in as Carefree a Manner as I could affect: “Miss Montague, have you heard anything of your eldest Cousin?”
“Of—Nathaniel Ravenscroft? No. That is, nothing new. No.”
She seemed flustered by my Question. She had spoken the name—Nathaniel—almost with Trepidation. I turned mine Head and regarded her closely. All the Colour—and she had little to begin with—had drained from her Cheeks. As if I had shewn her a Ghost, I thought. Oh, surely, something hath happened involving Nat. Something that neither his Family nor mine desires me to know. A small Alarum began to sound behind mine Heart.
“I trust Nathaniel is well,” I said.
“As far as I know, he is well.” She bit her Lip.
“You miss him?” I said.
“No,” she answered. “I do not miss him at all.”
“I see,” I said, altho’ in Truth I saw nothing but the Quivering of her lower Lip, which I precipitantly desired to kiss. This astonished me. I had kissed no Woman on the Lips since Margaret Haynes. Katherine Montague, beside me, was so slight, I could have apprehended her compleatly in mine Arms. I could shelter her, in Winter, within the Fronts of my Greatcoat.
“Was Nathaniel unkind to you?” I asked.
“No. Yes. Yes! He teazed me.”
“He teazed me, too,” I said, remembering the Events of that May Eve. ‘Gelding’, Nathaniel had called me.
“Did you hate him?” said Katherine.
“No; no,” I said. “I love him. He is my dearest Friend.”
Katherine said: “Oh,” and fell silent.
We walked along together, slowly, and attempted no more Conversation. I was no nearer to learning the Answer to my Question, which annoyed me, but I did not press her. She seemed to have slippt back into her earlier fathomless Blackness. Yet she had not gone quite alone, for I could sense the Darkness, circling around us, like a Vortex in a quiet seeming Pool. And perhaps because of that, because her Silence, which was meant to shut out the intire World, included me, I knew that if anyone were to tell me what had happened to Nathaniel, it would be Katherine Montague.
We were almost at the Tavern when Katherine halted, looked up into mine Eyes and said: “Do you want to kiss me? You may, if you like. I should not mind it.”
I stoppt dead, as one struck by a blue Thunderbolt out of a cloudless Heaven. Mine immediate Thought was that I had misheard her. “What?”
“You may kiss me,” Katherine repeated. “Don’t you like me?”
The Beginning of the Ravenscroft Column had entered the Tavern, and the Remainder was rapidly disappearing. Katherine and I, making up the Tail, stood by now a long Way behind; a good thing, for it meant that no one but My Self had heard her. I stared at her in open Amazement for a full ten Seconds, unable to marshall any Reply whatsoever. I did want to kiss her; and surely she could see the Desire etched upon my Physiognomy; but I had no Intention at all of acting upon it. For the first Time since our eye-Beams had twisted in St Peter’s Church, her Expression was unsure.
“I do,” I said. “I like you extreamly well; but you must not make such an Offer to me; or, God forbid! to anybody else. I shall put it down to your Inexperience—but, Miss Montague! What appears to me in the Light of Innocence must strike another as Forwardness. You will do yourself Harm by such Conduct.”
“Wherefore should I care?” she said. “As if I have anything to look forward to. I shall not marry well, like Miss Hart; I shall die nursing Mama.”
“By Christ!” I exclaimed. “Do not speak so of yourself.” I hesitated, then decided to throw Discretion to the Devil and plunged onwards. “You are the most beautifull Girl that I have ever met, and you are but twelve. Your lack of Fortune need not blight your every Chance.”
“Fortune hates me. I am not beautifull, and I am not twelve. I am a Fortnight past fourteen. Who told you I was twelve?”
“My Sister.”
“She will have got it from Sophy. That lying Bitch! She hath nothing in her Heart but Spite and Jealousy.”
This took my Breath away. “Miss Montague,” I said, after some few Seconds during which I did not know whether to laugh or to disapprove. “You must not call Miss Ravenscroft a Bitch.”
Katherine tossed her Head, and her white Throat glistened in the Sunnelight. “Should I not? It doth not make her any worse, or any more the Liar if I say plainly what she is. And she is a Bitch. What else hath she said to your Sister about me?”
I turned towards her. “That you are a disgraceful Flirt, which would seem no Lie; and that you boxed her Ear.”
“Well, I did that; she was being horrid to me and deserved all that she got. But the Rest is a Lie, and a filthy one.”
My Gaze fixt itself upon the Pulsation of the Aortic Artery within her Throat, swelling and twitching beneath her Skin, as her Life spun thro’ it. “So say you? After the Offer you made just now to me?”
“That was because you were you. And as to your ‘God forbids’, Mr Hart, God forbid you think I’d offer Kisses to any Jacky or Tom. But I shall never offer again if you wish it so.”
“Never? There may come a Time and Place for such Offers. Here and now, Miss Montague, I do wish it so; for your Interest must depend upon the Illusion of Propriety, if not the Reality.”
She steppt up exceeding close to me, her little Teeth bared as in a Growl, and her grey Eyes sizzling with some Emotion I could not quite apprehend, altho’ I felt its Force, and took an involuntary half-Pace backwards to escape it. The top of her blonde Head, in its white Cap, came barely past my Chest. Mine Hands began to ache.
“Propriety?” she said. “You use that Word to me, when I can see Thoughts of the improperest Kind writ all over your Face.”
I had to bend my Neck to look at her; she stood so close to me our Bodies almost touched. “Most improper,” I said. “The Superlative is formed thus: improper, more improper, most.”
“Best improperest,” hissed Katherine Montague.
I would have kissed her then; but before I could catch her, she suddenly reeled away from under mine Hands, and left me standing in the open Roadway, mine Heart pounding like a Blacksmith’s Hammer and my Loins aroused to such a pretty Pitch I did not dare follow her into the Tavern. Instead, I waited, uncomfortable, upon the Verge beneath the Hedge, until mine Appearance should return to something approaching respectable. From the middle Branches by my Shoulder came the undistinguished twittering of a Dunnock. I listened closely; but again, there was no Need; and it occurred to me that mayhap the Birds within the Village were as friendly to me as were those within the Gardens of Shirelands. They are mine, I thought. Not Viviane’s. The Notion encouraged me immensely. I was no longer intirely alone.
But what to do, I thought, about Miss Montague? I felt certain that she should have somewhat to say to me about Nathaniel; and, besides, there now remained the unfinished Matter of that Kiss. It is imperative, I thought, that I speak with her alone. Before the Thought was but half-finished I saw plainly how it was to be brought about. My Father, according to Tradition, was bound to invite the Rector and Mrs Ravenscroft to dine with us this Evening at Shirelands Hall. I would, for Politeness’ Sake, extend the Invitation to Sophia, as evidently she was Out; and, once this had been accepted, insist in the Name of Charity that Miss Montague attend also, since she had been in such Want of good Society.
The Dunnock in the Holly ceased his Song and put his Wings to Flight, wisping past mine Head in a shy Flutter. The Aire breathed sweet upon my Face, and Daiseyes shone beneath my Feet. Upon the top Branch of a Rowan across the Lane, a Robin filled his small Breast and began an Aria.