A Maggot - John Fowles (33 page)

Q. And how did these others vanish, did she suppose?
Upon a broomstick?

A, Sir, I asked the same, saying they had not left,
or only hick, to my eyes. She could tell no better than I.

Q. Saw she no passage or way farther into this cavern
than she went herself?

A. No, sir, yet said there must be, or they might
have turned themselves to other creatures I had not marked, thinking
them natural, such as the ravens I spake of.

Q. Old women may credit that. Not I.

A. No, sir. Then the cavern must have its inner
parts. And it may be it ran under its hill and out upon another side.

Q. Seemed the land apt to provide it?

A. It may be, sir. I could not know how it lay, see
you, .there behind the cliff.

Q. This smoke you saw - was there not an issue above?

A. Why, yes, sir, plainly. I doubt such a one five
persons might have passed from, without my seeing.

Q. This humming you spake of also - enquired you
concerning that?

A. I did, sir. And Rebecca said it came from the
great spinning wheel I spake of, that one of the hags had beside her,
that circled more swift than eye could follow, at her smallest touch.

Q. What, in a close cavern, and you two or three
hundred paces off? 'Tis not to be believed.

A. No, sir.

Q. You are certain she intended you to believe that
Satan had lain with her? Seemed she in pain as she rode?

A. No, sir.

Q. Showed she no great abhorrence or horror, in
thinking that she must have his seed in her womb? I do not mean at
the telling, Jones; but after. Did she not speak of it again?

A. No, sir, but much of the great mercy of her
escape, and finding Christ again. Or the light, as she said.

Q. What said she of Dick's running out, as if sore
afraid?

A. Naught, sir, beyond the supposing the fellow
driven at the end out of his wits, the while she lay drugged, by what
had passed.

Q. And this speaking of a maggot, when first you came
upon her?

A. She said it was from one of the hangings in her
dream, sir, in the Devil's gallery. For there she saw a fair corse of
a young lady being gnawed by a seethe of maggots as it lay, unburied;
and one of which was monstrous large, out of all nature, she could
not forget it.

Q. If all she said were true, how comes it to pass
that she is let escape to tell all? That Satan in person may come and
claim his own; well, we'll not go into that. That he should come and
not claim, I do not conceive. Why lay she not murdered or spirited
away with the rest?

A. We spake of that, sir. And she believed it was
because she prayed as she lay there and begged God's mercy on her
sins, and swore with all her heart she would never do such again, if
He would succour her now in her extremity. That she heard no answer
there, as she lay. Yet felt she was answered, in her dream. And when
she did wake, and found herself rid of her persecutors, all gone,
felt more sure still. And more and more full of the divine presence,
the light as she called it, when she met me, that she called the good
Samaritan, and we came down safely, so that in the end she must thank
the Lord and solemnly renew the promise she had made. Which she did,
sir, in the manner of her religion, with the shaking and sobbing I
told of.

Q. Now consider this, Jones. You fall on the wench,
when she least expects and desires. Least of all does she wish to go
with you to his Lordship's father. She is no fool. She knows her men,
and thee and thy failings, and the tale thou art most like to
swallow. So she cooks thee a fine repast, admixed of superstition and
quack conversion and plays the repentant fallen woman in need of thy
protection. And moreover warns thee that what passed was so loathsome
and terrible a commerce that thou'lt be held for a blasphemous liar
if thou tell it. What say you to that?

A. I have thought the same, sir. I won't deny it. Yet
humbly begging your worship's pardon, would believe her still till I
know better. Set a thief to catch a thief, as the saying goes. For my
part I know your liars, sir, being one myself, God forgive me. I
smelt none there, as to repentance for her past.

Q. That might be. And what she told of the cavern, as
false as it sounds. I shall have her yet, I shall know. Now I would
have the subsequent course of events. You rode straight to Bideford?

A. No, sir, for at the first village we came upon,
though all seemed asleep, there was a great barking of dogs, and a
fellow cried after us, and we were sore afraid the constables or
tithing-men might be upon us, and feared the watchmen of Bideford
worse, should we come straight there in the night. So thought best to
lay by our road till it was dawn, and enter the town more safe by
day.

Q. You lay in the fields?

A. Yes, sir. On a bank we found.

Q. Did you speak of going to His Grace again?

A. I did, sir, for when all was told, she said I must
see now we - could not. I said I did not, I was certain we should be
well rewarded. At which she said something strange, sir. To wit, that
she knew my heart and that it spoke a different tongue; that if gold
was all I believed in, tho' she knew I did not, then she had no less
than twenty guineas sewn among her petticoats, and I had best murder
her there and then, and take them. Well, sir, I said she mistook me,
I thought most of my duty to his Lordship's father. No, she said,
'tis the gold. Now thou'dst call me liar to my face, I said, and that
is poor reward for my help to thee. Farthing, she says, I doubt not
thou art poor, and weak when such temptation shows; yet thou know'st
it wrong. Thou mayst deny it, but the light falls on thee as well,
she said, and would save thee. First save yourself, says I, 'tis the
way of the world. And now she says, ] have lived that way, and I tell
thee it is damned. And we came to a stop there, sir, for I was taken
aback she was so sure of me, and something of how she spake, which
was not of accusing or reproach, see you, sir, 'twas more as my own ,
conscience might have said. Then as I thought on this, she ! went on,
Well, wilt murder me for my gold? 'Tis easy enough, and to hide my
body, in this wild place. For this was spoken where we lay on the
bank, sir, and no house within a mile. I said, Rebecca, thou know'st
well I will not, but what of our Christian duty to tell the father
what has become of the son? What is more Christian, she says, to tell
him he is gone certain to Hell, or not? And I tell thee thou must
tell him, for I will not; and I counsel thee not, for thou'lt get far
more trouble by it than reward, and all to no purpose. It is done,
his Lordship is damned and they'll be persuaded thou hast some part
in it. And then she said, If it was money alone I needed, I was
welcome to the half of what she had on her person. sir, we argued
thus for some time more, and I said I would think on it; that how
whatsoever was done, if I was to be one day taken up and questioned,
I should be in great trouble if I told truth and had no other word to
prove it save my own; in which only she could help me. To which she
said, she had given me her father's name and his place of abode,
which she spake again, sir, and now gave me her word she would stand
by what I said, if asked. And at that we were silent, sir, --..id
slept as well we could. I know you will say I should have been more
firm, but I was tired, why, all of that day seemed lik-e a dream to
me also, so far was it from what I had expected.

Q, The next morning?

A. We came to Bideford without trouble, and found us
an inn behind the quay, which we chose for seeming less busy than the
others, and so put up there, and brake our fast upon a star-gazy pie,
that was stale, but in truth I have never eaten better, so empty of
belly I was. And there at the inn they said a ship sailed on the tide
that very next morning for Bristol, which we went to ask when we had
ate, and found it true. And I would take passage for us both, but she
would not have it, and once more we fell to a skirmish or what you
may call it, I saying I would not part from her, she saying I must.
Well, sir, there were other matters I will not tire you with, but it
came to my agreeing. I should for Swansea, she for Bristol, and
neither of us to speak of what we knew, but should be ready to speak
for each other, were either accused. I inquired and found I could be
suited for Swansea two days thence, as I have told, with master
Parry. So we made for our passages with our two masters, then went
back to the inn.

Q. Did they not ask you your business there?

A. Yes, sir. And we said we were fellow servants,
come from Plymouth, having lost our places by reason of our widow
mistress's death, and so regaining our homes. And must leave the
horse, and would pay a month's keep for it, until it was fetched; for
we would not seem to steal it, sir. And I did not forget to send
message to Barnstaple at the Crown, as I had writ Mr Lacy, for where
it now was; which your worship will find I did, and sent by a boy and
gave him twopence for his pains.

Q. The name of this inn?

A. The Barbadoes, sir.

Q. This money she promised thee?

A. She was good to it, sir. She took me to a little
room apart after our dinner and counted me ten of her guineas, tho'
she said it was whoring money and would bring me no good; but my need
was great, so I took it.

Q. And spent it so fast you had none a month later?

A. I spent some, sir. I gave most to my brother, for
I found him in great need. You may ask.

Q. You saw her take ship?

A. Yes, sir, that next morning, and warped away, and
sail.

Q. The name of this ship?

A. The Elizabeth Ann, sir. She was brig, the master
Mr Templeman or Templeton, I mind not which now.

Q. You are positive the wench did not leave it before
sailing?

A. Yes, sir. I waited upon the quay, and she stood at
the rail as they went out and raised her hand to me where I stood.

Q. Said she nothing particular on your parting?

A. That I must trust her, sir. And try to lead a
better life, if we should not meet again.

Q. You saw no sign at Bideford of his Lordship?

A. Not one, sir. You may believe I watched well for
him, and Dick beside.

Q. You sailed yourself for Swansea the day after?

A. Yes, sir. At full flood, then down on the ebb.

Q. Despite thy fear of the sea and of privateers.

A. Well, sir, there is truth in that. Salt water I
never abode. But I had small choice, found where I was. I had liefer
be in Little-Ease.

Q. Where I wish I might lodge thee. I tell thee thy
first plan was a far better, that you should go to tell his
Lordship's family, for all thy seeking thy own profit in it. I desire
to know more of how this whore persuaded thee from it.

A. You may think I was cozened by her, sir, and it
may yet prove I was. But, your worship's respect, I must tell you
again she I spake with that day was another woman from she I had
spake to before. There was some great change upon her. Why, she was
more friendly to me in a minute than in a day of her previous ways.

Q. In what manner friendly?

A. We talked much on our journey to Bideford, sir.
And not only of our present.

Q. Of what else?

A. Why, of her past wickednesses, and how she had
seen the light and would never return to her whoring. Of how Jesus
Christ came into this world for such as she and I, to show us a path
through its night. She asked me as well much of myself, sir, so we
were met for the first time and she would know who I was and of my
past life. Which I told her somewhat of.

Q. You told her your true name?

A. Yes, sir. And of my mother and family, that in
despite of all, I had not forgot. And for the visiting of which she
did strengthen my conscience, as I have told.

Q. And also to be rid of you, is it not so?

A. I did believe her sincere in that, sir, also.

Q. You said earlier, she spake against her betters.

A. Yes, your worship. Of the injustices of this world
and what she had seen of them at Mother Claiborne's.

Q. To wit?

A. Sir, begging your mercy, I had spoken of some past
faults of my own, and she said that the gentlemen who went to her
bagnio were not better than us, but worse, for they did choose to
live evilly when they might live well, while it was forced upon us,
only to get our daily bread. That wealth was a great corruption in
men's minds, a blindfold upon their true conscience, and the world a
most damned place until such day as they see it.

Q. She spake seditiously, in short?

A. Your worship, she said there was no hope for the
world while sin governs our betters, and they not punished for it.
That we in humbler stations must look to our own souls, and not serve
their wickedness.

Q. Did you not laugh to hear such words in such a
mouth?

A. No, sir. For they seemed sincere, and she did not
prate, and when I said, so I did, that it was not for us to judge our
betters, she would persuade me gently, by putting me questions.
Saying I'd not thought on it enough and that there was a world to
come, which must be earned equally by all in this present one. For
there was no rank in heaven, she said, save in saintliness. She
flattered my better side, sir. I know you deem those of my nation
have none such, and are all wicked. Your worship's respect, sir, we
Welsh are most desperate poor people, with so little natural
advantage that our faults come most from our need. We are not wicked
at heart, more we'd be friendly and religious, if truth be spoke.