I woke to blue Morning. For a Moment, I lay motionless, perplext and confused to have found My Self in Bed, when I had been but Seconds previously in the Grounds. I had not Time to wonder at the Marvell that I had been outside, whither I had not dared set Foot for what seemed to me an Eternity, before the Notion struck me that perchance I had collapsed there, and been brought hither by the Servants, in which case ’twas lucky I had not succumbed to Pneumonia; at which Thought I realised that Katherine had been sleeping in my Chamber, and that if the Servants had brought me within she must have been discovered, and the Game was up. I sate up, casting my Gaze wildly, around me. “Katherine!”
After perhaps a Second, I perceived her, and my panicked Heartbeat slowed in my Chest. She was sitting upon the window Seat, attired once more in my red dressing Gown, and holding in her Hands an open Book. At my Cry, however, she started up, and letting the Book fall to the Floor, she crosst the Bedroom at a Run, arriving at my Bedside with some Violence. “Tristan, you are awake at last!” she cried, throwing her Arms tight about my Neck.
I caught hold of her Biceps, before she could throttle me, and made her to let go. “My Darling,” I said. “Let me breathe! What mean you by ‘At last’? It can be no later than seven o’ the Clock.”
“’Tis nine; but you slept so deep that I was afraid…” her Voice trailed off.
“I was sleeping? Not gone from the Room?”
“Not that I know of, Bloody Bones.”
I rested my Cheek against Katherine’s Hair. The Fragrance of the lavender Water, in which I had washed it, perfumed it yet. I could not credit the Likelihood that I had dreamed my Meeting with Nathaniel—but what else could it have been, if I had never left my Bed?
Memory took me to Erasmus’ Confession upon the previous Evening: he had told Katherine that I had suffered a nervous Collapse. I thought hard about this, and after a while found My Self wondering at her Loyalty; she had never given up on me in spite of everything, and she had crosst the Country to be at my Side. Had she been frightened, then, when I had seemingly failed to wake? Had she secretly dreaded that I might not?
“Mine Illness,” I said eventually, “is most unlike to kill me, excepting that I forget to eat and betimes cannot sleep. I do not believe that I have ever done aught truly dangerous, as have some, who have imagined themselves able to walk on Water or to fly thro’ th’Aire. Sometimes I am uncertain in my Senses, and perceive one thing as if it were another; but the Misperception is temporary. When my Senses return, I can see very clearly what is real, and what is nothing but mere Phantasm.” I lifted up mine Head. The Morning was clean and sharp against mine Eyes.
Perhaps an half-Houre later—I cannot be certain, for perhaps due to the odd Nature of mine Awakening, Time that Morning seemed to me as formless as a Bone in Vinegar—Katherine, who had returned to her Seat in the Window, ventured: “Tristan, I would love to walk in Shirelands’ Grounds. Do you know that I have never properly seen them? When I arrived on Saturdaye it was already dark, and when I came to Dinner the Carriage travelled at such Speed, and Sophy was so provoking, I was able to see almost nothing.”
I startled at this Request. “But you cannot leave the Room,” I exclaimed.
“I can’t stay hidden for ever, ’tis impossible; and anyway, I would hate it in the End.”
“You know well I have no Wish to share you, yet,” I said. “And my Family will try to send you away.”
“But you will not let them, will you, Bloody Bones?”
“I cannot walk outside,” I confesst, all on a Sudden overcome by a Panick. My Words tumbled one upon the other.
“Why?” Katherine asked. “Do you fear the Goblins?”
“Worse,” I said. “The Goblins are in Pay of the Land, and the Land is what I fear. It knoweth me for a Monster, and hates me accordingly.”
“Tristan,” Katherine said, circling her Arms about my Chest and looking me direct in mine Eye. “You are no Monster, my dear Sir.”
“Well,” she said, straightening up. “If you can’t go out, then so be it. But I know that the Valley hath no Enmity ’gainst me, and so why might not I walk abroad as I wish?”
“I fear you may be taken in my Stead.”
Katherine did not drop her Gaze. “It is my Understanding,” she said at last, with surprizing Authority, “that in such Matters no one can be punished for another’s Misdeed unless all Parties have agreed it.”
“What? How dost know this?” I exclaimed, astonished.
“Somebody once told me. They—you know who I mean when I say they—they have Laws. Not Laws of our Kind, that can be broken at will; their Laws are like those by which the Sunne always rises and sets, and doth not turn around halfway; or how falling Objects fall always downwards.”
“You speak of Natural Laws,” I said, thinking of Newton.
“Yes; Laws that cannot break. And this is such a Law, just such.”
“By that Argument,” I said, my Rationality becoming engaged by the Debate, despite mine extream Surprize, “you are safe; never would I let Harm come to you, even to save my Life.”
The Goblins are gone, I remembered, my Victory coming back to me in a Flash. Gone from Shirelands; whether in Dream or in Body, I have slain them; they mayn’t rise again; and as for Raw Head—well, whoever he is, he is not here. And I thought: If Katherine and I are to marry, then I cannot continue to behave as if I were a mad Man. Erasmus Glass hath made that plain enough.
“If you wish to walk in the Gardens todaye, we shall,” I forced My Self to say. “I have not dragged you to my grisly Den, that you be never seen again.”
Immediately had I these Words spoken, I knew in my Gut that I was free. Whatever Enemy brooded against me without Shirelands’ Gates, it could no longer enter unless I agreed it do so. I was free to walk in mine own family Home, to open up my Windows and breathe in the outside Aire; to step out thro’ the great front Door, to tread the Lawns and pass between the high Hedges without Danger, without Fear. I crosst to my Window and on a Whim flung up the Sash. The morning Light danced green and gold upon the Valley of the Horse. Across the Land whispered a soft autumnal Wind, and it carried to me on its Breath the mewing Screech of a far-off Buzzard, high above the many-flowered Chalk. Even if it were unfriendly, I thought, still, ’twas beautifull. Great Joy and great Sorrow, equal in Measure, melted together in my Breast. In my Months-long Terrour of Raw Head, I had forgotten what a Wonder my Valley was, and how deeply I had loved to wander it, with Nathaniel; and the Reminder was like to the Pressure of a Lover’s Fingers on a Bruise.
I had sorely missed mine Home, for all that I had thought My Self returned to it.
* * *
Turning from the Window, I touched with the Toe of my Shoe that Book which Katherine had previously let fall on the bedroom Floor. I picked it up. To my Surprize, however, I saw that it was not mine at all, but had come from my Father’s Library. I dimly recalled that I had carried it hither. But when, and wherefore? I knew the Title; I possesst mine own Copy, locked behind the glass Door of my study Bookcase. It was the Poetry of Donne.
“It falls open by itself, at The Extasie,” Katherine said. “I like it very much—but it is hard to understand it.”
I turned the Volume over in mine Hands.
As ’twixt two equall Armies, Fate
Suspends uncertaine victorie,
Our soules, (which to advance their state,
Were gone out,) hung ’twixt her, and mee.
And whil’st our soules negotiate there,
Wee like sepulchrall statues lay;
All daye, the same our postures were,
And wee said nothing, all the daye.
On a swift Sudden I seemed to hear my Mother’s Voice. Its Accent was warm and brown as Cinnamon, playful and joyous as a summer Breeze above the High Chalk. I closed mine Eyes. The Poem, in mine Head, continued on. Mine Infant Face lay buried in her blue, silk-rustling Breast.
This Extasie doth unperplex
(We said) and tell us what we love,
Wee see by this, it was not sexe,
Wee see, we saw not what did move:
But as all severall soules containe
Mixture of things, they know not what,
Love, these mixt soules, doth mixe againe,
And makes both one, each this and that…
When love, with one another so
Interinanimates two soules,
That abler soule, which thence doth flow,
Defects of lonelinese controules.
Wee then, who are this new soule, know,
Of what we are compos’d, and made,
For th’Atomies of which we grow
Are soules, whom no change can invade.
I opened mine Eyes. For a Moment, I felt as if I had intruded upon an Intimacy. My Mother had known this Poem; she had loved it; she had read it aloud by Sunneshine and by guttering Candlelight to my Father, as he sate listening silently, unable to meet her Eye; yet unable still to unthread his own Eyes from her.
Only many Yeares of close Attention could have caused the Pages to fall thus apart. How many hundred Times since her Death had my Father opened up this Book, that he might hear again her Voice? Had she the merest Comprehension of how compleat a Change would invade when she had gone?
My Mother could have lived. Why had she chosen otherwise?
I snapped shut the Book and put it high upon my Mantelpiece.
* * *
Having dresst, I went down-Stairs to find Erasmus, with the Intention of explaining to him that as Miss Montague was now to be taken for a Walk about the Gardens, it was imperative that he compleat the Task I had yesterdaye allotted him; viz, the Acquisition of a Sett of Garments appropriate to her Sexe and Station. I found him seated at Breakfast.
He looked up at mine Approach, and smiled. “’Tis good to see you, Tristan. Do you join me?”
“No; I will break my Fast in my Chamber, as usual.” I paused, then feeling my Refusal to have been somewhat churlish, I said: “Thank you, Erasmus.”
“I was most impresst last Night by your Ideas upon your Father,” Erasmus said, before I could say another Word. “If you have any Suggestions to try with regard to his Care, as you implied you might, I should be interested to hear them.”
“Verily, I should be glad,” I replied. “But ’tis not the best Time for the Discussion; I am about—” I stoppt abruptly. I knew that Katherine was within my Chamber. I was certain of it. And yet there was some curious, subtile Warning in Erasmus’ whole Demeanour that made me to reconsider the Wisdom of my mentioning her to him again. Best I find Cloathing for her by My Self, I thought. Erasmus need not concern himself about the Business; ’twould be a waste of his Time, that is better spent upon my Father. Taking first a deep Breath, I began instead to elucidate my firm Conceit that my Father would respond more positively to Stimulation than to its Lack. I did not succeed in convincing Erasmus that I was right. However, having heard me out, he made the Suggestion that since I was in mine own Self manifestly improved, it might be helpful for us all if I were to visit my Father in his Chamber this very Noon. “There,” he said. “You shall make your own clear headed Assessment of his present Condition, which you have not yet done; and you may find that your Ideas are thereby altered.”
“I may equally well find them given Encouragement,” I said.
We parted company shortly afterwards, Erasmus heading up-Stairs to my Father’s Chamber to appraise him, and Mrs H., of my intended Visit; I to my Sister’s old Closet. Katherine might look askance at a back-fastening Gown and leading Strings, but since her Choice was to be that or Nakedness I had little Doubt that she would ultimately concur.
However, to my rational Dismay, when I came to the Point of letting Katherine go from my Chamber, I found My Self as incapable of it as I had previously been of leaving the House. My Disappointment was profound; and Katherine, perceiving from the Intensity of my Passion that mine Inability was neither Test nor Trick, eventually allowed me the Daye’s Grace and said that she would see the Gardens on the Morrow, to which I readily agreed.
“I do not wish,” I honestly told her, “to keep you Prisoner; but I think I am afraid that you will vanish like Mist in Sunnelight when you depart this Room.”
She looked at me very strange at that, and with much Anxiety, and told me in no uncertain Terms that she would not vanish, as she was a flesh and blood Human Girl; and that whoever had put into mine Head the horrible Idea that she might not be deserved the severest of Scoldings, which they would get once she caught up with them. In short, she was exceeding angry; her grey Eyes flashed like folded Steel, and for the first Time ever in her Presence, mine Heart did quail a little in my Breast. I promised most sincerely that I would let her leave my Chamber the following Morning, come what might; and then, it being near to twelve o’ the Clock, I departed about my new assumed filial Duty.
* * *
Arriving at my Father’s Door, Erasmus knocked once to alert Mrs H. The Door opened almost immediately; she must have been listening for us. She stood across the Opening, peering outwards and blinking in the hallway Light as if it were painfull to her old Eyes, and I could not help but think of the Gargoyles upon Collerton Church, keeping timeless Watch over the antient Dead.
The Chamber beyond her was much too dark for me to perceive much, for the Curtains were drawn and the Shutters closed, and the only Light emanated from the one wax Taper that Mrs H. was clutching in her scrawny Claw. Seeing me, she dippt a small, perfunctory Curtsey, and said: “Good Afternoon, Mr Tristan. Your Father is ready to see you.” Her black Eyes looked quick-sharp to Erasmus, as if seeking Guidance, and it was not until he had given her a quiet Nod that she steppt out of the Doorway and I was able to pass free over its Threshold.
The Aire within was stuffy, tho’ quite cool. I pondered with considerable Distaste what it must have been like over the Summer, and wondered at my Father, shut up now regardless of his own Will, intirely away from Light and Aire. Did he perceive the Degree to which he had come closer to Reunion with my Mother? The Instant of Death, it seemed, was all that now had Power to divide them, for both lay entombed. Yet therein I perceived a terrible Irony, for my Father was not dead, and was not, by Erasmus’ Reckoning, very soon to be so. Instead, I thought, he will persist in this dimmed Limbo, as good as dead, but neither able nor permitted to die.
If my Father be conscious, I thought, and cogent, he should by no Means continue in this daily Situation, lest he become unable to remember being alive. How can such interminable Silence be aught but a Barrier to his Recovery?
I took the proffered Candle from Mrs H., and, Erasmus closely following, moved toward my Father’s Bed.
I had expected that he would be lying down, as he had been upon that horrible Daye when I had seen him spoon-fed, but to mine intense Relief he was sitting proppt up against a Quantity of soft Pillows. He was not dresst, but wore over his night-Shirt a cambrick dressing Gown, and atop his Head a linen Turban in whose careful Application I discerned the tidy Fingers of his devoted Nurse. His Countenance appeared askew, for the left Side of his handsome Face had been severely afflicted, and the Flesh hung limply off his Cheekbone and Jaw. His Skin was tallow white.
For the merest of Instants I felt a Stirring of Fear; then out of mine Anxiety emerged the strange Truth that this Father, however fearfull and freakish he might look, was really far less terrifying than he had been in good Health, and seemed to me all the more human for his Deformity.
“Sir,” I said, approaching my Father, as if he had been my Patient. “Sir, it is your Son. It is Tristan.”
My Father did not speak; I would not have expected him to do so even had he been in full Health; but his Eyes turned quickly upon me. For a long Second, as they lingered upon my Face, I met his Gaze; for the first Time in my Life I looked properly into those green-grey Orbs that withheld so many Secrets. Then, as always, his Attention slippt away, and hovered in its accustomed Place somewhere over my left Ear.
“You know me,” I said. “Canst speak, Sir?”
My Father blinked; a lop-sided Contortion of Distress accosted his Physiognomy. I put the Candlestick down, on the bare Table that stood by the Bed. “You understand me, at least,” I said. “Mrs H., doth ever my Father speak?”
“He cannot easily speak, Mr Tristan.” For a Moment, Mrs H. appeared somewhat confounded. “He hath Difficulty in forming his Words; tho’ sometimes he uses very short ones.”
“If he can comprehend and communicate, albeit with Difficulty,” I exclaimed, “then he remains a rational Being, and should not continue to be shut away in this Manner. He is an educated and thoughtful Gentleman. Mrs H., why do not you, in all the Houres you spend closeted at his Side, read to him?”
“Lower your Voice, Sir,” Erasmus said, interrupting. “It is my Belief that your Father’s Hearing hath become extreamly sensitive. Mine Opinion hath been that he requires total Rest, in order that the Damage that hath been done may have Chance to repair.”
“Indeed,” I said. “And hath this Stratagem achieved aught?”
“It hath, Sir. His regained Speech. Until recently he could not speak at all.”
“Probably,” I said, ignoring, in mine Enthusiasm, the plain Fact of my Father’s Paralysis, “he refused to speak, for Shame at finding himself crippled, and now hath begun to speak as a Defense against Despair; for that is what this Pitch and Stillness would inspire in me, and I am better used to suffering Illness than he, who hath never endured aught as long as I remember; nay, not even the Influenza.”
“Draw Breath, Tristan,” Erasmus said, gently, but with a warning Tone. “You shall make your own Assessment, and welcome; but do not upset your Father.”
“Egad,” I said. “I know not how I am to make any physical Assessment in such Darkness, for I can barely see. Mrs H., for God’s Sake pull back those damned Draperies and let in a little Light!”
Mrs H. looked toward Erasmus, who shook his Head. I remembered then, with a small Jolt, how he had stood up for me against Dr Oliver, when the Latter would have pursued a Path of Care that would have proved injurious to mine Health. Now he stood up between me and my Father, and I knew both that he believed that he was right and that he would never back down without substantial Change in that Conviction. But I was equally convinced of the Rectitude of mine own.
“Erasmus,” I said quietly. “There is much to be said in Favour of Containment and Rest. I do not dispute that at the Onset of his Affliction these were appropriate Treatments. But I am certain that my Father’s Recovery will now be advanced by an increasing Contact with the real World.”
I stoppt abruptly. His Recovery from what? I thought. From this Stroake, or that of my Mother’s Death?
“Well,” Erasmus said. “What Forms, Sir, do you propose that this Contact should take?”
“Lord,” I exclaimed. “I suggested Reading, which hath always been his Pleasure, so let us begin with that. Mrs H. shall select a Number of Volumes from his Library, and read to him. Moreover, there must be an End to this oppressive Darkness. Bring back the Light as gradually as you will; but bring it back, even if at first he is resistant to its Introduction. I do not ask that you be cruel, Sir; but sometimes, as you certainly remember from our Time together in the Hospitals, it is neccessary to cause Discomfort or even Pain in order to help heal an Injury.”
Erasmus regarded me thoughtfully; then his Gaze shifted to my Father. Mine followed.
That Gentleman’s Expression, or as much of it as could clearly register in Eyes alone, I perceived to be as full of Dread as had been that of Lady B.—— before Dr Hunter had begun his Operation. Suddenly, an astonishing Conception dawned upon my Faculties. My Father was afraid of me.
Verily, ’twas so; verily, I apprehended that it had been so for a good many Yeares, and I, caught up in mine own Preoccupations and distracted by my Fear of him, had never once discerned it. Yet it was so. I realised that my Mouth had fallen open. I shut it up. My Father, afraid of me? It was a compleat Reversal of the natural Order of things. Surely, I knew well that the Child ought to fear his Parent, but I had never thought that a Parent might fear his Child. Why should he?
Had the Rector feared Nathaniel?
“I think it Time this Visit ended,” Erasmus said. “Tho’ if you and Mr Hart are both willing, Tristan, you may return the Morrow, or the Daye after. I will give Consideration to your Ideas regarding the Light. But as to Reading,” he smiled, “I think that is a Task better suited to yourself than to Mrs H.”
“My Self?”
“Without Doubt,” Erasmus said. “I am sure Mrs H. doth not disagree; I very much doubt, Madam, that you have any Knowledge of Latin, or Greek?”
Mrs H. sniffed. “I should think, Mr Glass, that I most certainly do not!” From the Tone in which she answered, Erasmus might, I thought, have been suggesting that she had been a Prostitute.
Erasmus and I made our Excuses to my Father, who made no Attempt to speak, tho’ I was certain he had understood. Then we left the Chamber.
“So, Tristan,” Erasmus said, turning to me with a Smile as we progressed down the Stairs. “Tomorrow, if you will, you may begin your Treatments, and we will discover what their Effects, if any, shall be.”
Verily we shall, I thought. Upon my Father’s Recovery, and upon mine own.