Fanny (42 page)

CHAPTER XII

Containing an Incident of a more tragic than comedic Kind, the Import of which may not be Reveal’d for many Years, but which nonetheless alters our Heroine’s Destiny most profoundly.

U
PON THE MORROW I
awoke with all in Readiness for my Departure with Littlehat. My clothes were laid out upon a Chair, my few Valuables stuff’d in my Pockets; my Hat, my Riding Wig, my Boots—all were prepar’d.

I bolted out of Bed and ran to the Window. ’Twas a grey and rainy Day in London, near as cold in September as it might be at Christmastime, an autumn London Day that chills one to the very Marrow of one’s Bones.

I stood watching the Rain make Rivers of Garbage in the Street below—Rivers which carried all Manner of Offal from Orange Peels to Human Excrement, from drown’d Kittens to Shards of broken Glass. Since knowing myself with Child, my Feelings for Animals, always most puissant before, had grown intolerably strong, so that whene’er I saw a drown’d Kitten, or a starv’d Dog, my Heart seem’d to lurch in my Chest, and my Eyes wept with Pity for all the Animals in this World. ’Twas thus with an aching Heart that I watch’d the Gutter-Spouts drench the unwary Pedestrians who ran along, hugging the Wall, or, if they were jostl’d away from it, cov’ring their Heads as best they could with their Cloaks, for in those Days no Man would use an oil’d Umbrella for Fear of being thought Mollyish. Sooner be drench’d than that!

What a miserable Day to make our Escape upon horseback! But surely with a Plan this great, mere Weather would not foil it. I reach’d into my Bosom again to extract Lancelot’s Letter and read it just once more (for I had slept with it safe in my Shift)—but lo! the Letter was gone!

Panick then reign’d in my Breast. I ran to the Bed and search’d ’neath the Pillows, ’neath the Quilts, e’en ’neath the Mattress, but there was no Trace of the Letter. I had fallen asleep with it still about my Person and the Door to my Chamber lockt, but now ’twas lost! What Villain had snatch’d it? And what Use might be made of it to detain or betray my Lancelot?

O I had underestimated Kate’s Evil! I had thought her too cowardly to act against me, but ’twas clear I had been wrong. Why had I not burnt the Letter at once as Lancelot directed? Would my Longing to keep a mere Love Letter deprive me of the Love of Lancelot himself? O Cruel Irony!

I reach’d for the Key to my Chamber Door (which hung, these Days, on a Chain about my Neck), but, to my Astonishment, the Key, too, had vanish’d and the Door was securely lockt from the other side. I struggl’d with it, half in Disbelief, half in Fury, for still I could not credit my Senses in this Predicament. Could I be held Prisoner upon this Fateful Day? I pounded my Fists against the Door in Fury and Rage, but I doubted that anyone should come to my Rescue. The Deed had been too well done for it to be undone now by mere Pounding.

I ran to the Windows facing upon the Street. I could escape thro’ the Windows if not thro’ the Door; but the Windows were—I now remember’d—painted shut! Many Times had I told myself to have ’em scrap’d, but always procrastinated, and now all my Efforts to force ’em open avail’d nought!

Come, Fanny, thought I, how should you let mere Prison Walls detain you when now your Mind is fixt upon your Destiny with Lancelot? Whereupon I held myself in check and I sat down upon the Bed to think. Be still, I counsel’d my beating Heart. Be Serene, I counsel’d my disorder’d Mind. Panick ne’er broke down Prisons, but slow, calm Consideration might do so.

But my Thoughts came all in a Rush! I thought of Lancelot’s Brig, anchor’d off the Isle of Wight, riding the Seas, Flags flying, waiting to take me to my Destiny. I thought of the Witches’ Prophecy—“Your Daughter will fly across the Seas”—which seem’d to portend my Escape now, despite all Odds. I thought of Bellars’ Jewels and Promises, of the tragick Deaths of Isobel and Joan, and finally of Horatio’s utter Faith that I and I alone might convince Lancelot to shun the Colonies where poor Horatio should always be in Peril as a Runaway.

What dire Opinion would Horatio have of me, if I fail’d to appear as I had promis’d? And would Lancelot believe I had rejected his Love? Why had I fail’d to burn the Letter? Was there a Worm in my Heart gnawing away with Lust for Bellars? Was there yet a Part of me that could not sail across the Seas without setting Eyes upon him once again? Was I still torn betwixt Passion and Honour, betwixt fiery Lust and fond Friendship? Or was I merely still too innocent of Evil and had I taken too little Care to guard against Kate’s Envy?

These were the furious Thoughts that battl’d in my Brain as I sat upon my Bed, wond’ring when Littlehat should come to fetch me and how I should communicate to him my Imprisonment, my Love for Lancelot, my Willingness to flee with him and keep my Word to all the Merry Men?

I rose and dress’d myself in Man’s Attire, refusing to believe that I should not find some Way out of this foul, unfair Gaol. But, once dress’d, I could do nought but gaze at the Raindrops chasing each other down the Window Panes and wonder when my good Friend Littlehat should come.

’Twas deathly still and quiet in the House. I heard no Sounds of Coxtart or the other Wenches stirring. ’Twas strange; ’twas very strange indeed. Where might they have gone? What Ploy might Kate have us’d to so impound me without Hope, for I doubted not but she was the Culprit, the Author of this hellish Plan, the Serpent in this rotten Garden of Evil.

I struggl’d again with the Window, but ’twould not budge an Inch. I ran to the Bell Pull and yankt upon it with both Hands, but lo! it came loose as I did so! The entire Chamber had been prepar’d to thwart my Plans! O Villainy! O misplaced Innocence!

I press’d my Nose to the Rain-streakt Glass, determining that I should position myself there and wait for Littlehat to appear, then make such Noises that he could not fail to hear me, despite the Din of Traffick in the Rain-soakt Street.

Whilst waiting, I should find a Means to open the Window, I vow’d to myself. And so I station’d myself there, in Readiness for my Journey, whilst the Rain pour’d down and the Pedestrians, Chairs, Carts, and Coaches in the Street below sent a Din up to Heaven which might have been the very Echo of my Distress.

How long I waited I cannot say. Time lost all Meaning as I struggl’d with the Window, then stopp’d to rest, then struggl’d and stopp’d again. I watch’d the Pedestrians below with a Wary Eye. Whene’er I saw a short, fat Man or one with a black Beard, my Heart seem’d to cease beating in my Breast. ’Twas very like a mad Infatuation; I long’d for Littlehat’s squat Form and comical Face as if he, not Lancelot, had been my Lover!

The Rain grew heavier, then abated a little, then grew heavier once again. The Damp penetrated my Chamber, where no Fire burnt in the Grate upon this chill and miserable Day. I rubb’d my Hands together with the Cold. I press’d my cold Nose to the Panes. Many Times I began to weep for my Plight, but held myself in check with the stern Admonition that losing Hope was the greatest Defeat of all, and that if I might but maintain Faith in my eventual Salvation, then Salvation should somehow come to me.

At last, I saw a short, squat Figure in a green Surtout hurry along the Street, leading a fine Ebony Arabian Mare. The Gnome-like Figure walkt with lower’d Head, and, his Hat being uncockt, I could not see his Features; but from his Gait and Manner, I was certain ’twas Littlehat. Then the Rebellion had been a Success! For if Littlehat had left the Confines of the Prison Walls, perhaps ’twas safe to assume that Lancelot and the others had done so, too. At this very Moment, they were doubtless speeding towards our Rallying Ground. My Heart leapt in my Bosom with Joy and I wanted to shout “Hail Littlehat! Hail Lancelot! Hail Horatio!” For the nonce, I near forgot I was a Prisoner myself.

Now Littlehat approach’d the Door to Coxtart’s House, looking behind him, to ascertain whether he was being follow’d. Now he was momentarily out of my Sight as he rang at the Gate. Now he stepp’d back again, waiting; and now a female Figure in a Cloak came out to speak with him. She must have been waiting there all along, for she walkt with him into the Street, instead of calling him within. O Treachery!—’twas Kate!

At first, both were turn’d with their Backs towards me, but then they slowly turn’d ’round. Now I could see Littlehat’s Face. As he glanced up at the House, I beat with furious Fists upon the Window, but, alas, he could neither hear nor see me. Now Kate whisper’d something in his Ear, and now suddenly he wore a troubl’d Mien, his Moustache seem’d to droop, his Mouth quiver’d as if he should begin to cry. Quickly, I ran to the Bed, tore off the Linens, and began knotting ’em together in the Hope of making a sort of Ladder for my Escape. Why had I not thought of this sooner? Then back to the Window where I could see Littlehat was just now sadly walking away. With a Burst of Fury at Kate, and profoundest Anguish o’er Littlehat’s Melancholick Tears, I smasht my Fist thro’ the Window, breaking one Pane, but also cutting my Wrist so severely that it bled the brightest, reddest Blood.

“Littlehat! Littlehat!” I shouted, but he could not hear me. With my left Hand, I smasht another Window Pane, calling to him and screaming all the while—tho’ to no avail, and still the Opening in the Window was too small for me to crawl thro’.

O I was in a Rage of Tears and Madness! Paying no Attention to the spurting Blood, nor to the Pain in my Hands, I smasht at the Window with both Fists whilst calling to Littlehat, who, e’en now, was moving farther and farther away.

I ran to the Bedstand and found a brass Candlestick, and with this I batter’d at the Window Panes until I broke ’em all, whereupon I began the much more difficult Task of breaking the wood Frames so as to make an Opening for myself. But how to secure the Sheet so that I would not fall and dispatch myself to Heaven forthwith? I had not reckon’d with this Problem. Should I forget the Sheet, crawl out upon the Window Ledge, and hope that Littlehat would heed me then? ’Twas a long Fall to the Ground, yet if I could slide a little Way upon the Sheet, I might jump the Rest—tho’ a Fall from here might indeed be fatal.

Just then I spy’d a Hoisting Hook, a good two Feet above the outer Window Frame. If I could climb out upon the wet Window Ledge and afix my linen Rope to this, I might lower myself a bit and be within close enough Reach of the Street to leap the Rest of the Way. Carefully, praying to the Goddess above, I stepp’d out onto the slippery Ledge. With my bleeding Hand I grasp’d the side of the Window Frame (trying for all my Might not to look down) whilst with my good Hand I sought to attach the Linen to the Hook. ’Twas a Job that requir’d two Hands, but the Ledge was slick as Glass and I dar’d not let go. Still, what was Death compar’d with losing Lancelot? I let go my Hold upon the Frame, and carefully reach’d up and ty’d the utmost Corner of the Bed-Linen to the Hook. Then, begging the Goddess that the Hook should bear my Weight, I grasp’d the linen Ladder with both Hands and slid down it to Liberty!

O the Rope held for the nonce, yet ’twas far too short, and I had a long Way left to jump. But what other Choyce had I, dangling so precariously in Air? I took my Courage in my Mouth and leapt. Whereupon I fell upon the Street, trying to roll to break my Fall—but coming down, alas, so heavily upon one Foot that I bruis’d it horribly. For a Moment, the Pain prevented me from moving at all. Ne’ertheless, I soon scrambl’d to my Feet and began to limp in the Direction Littlehat had gone. I dragg’d myself along thro’ sheer Will and Stubbornness, for my Hand was bleeding more than e’er before and my Foot had now begun to swell within my Boot, making the Pain nearly unendurable. How I endur’d it, stumbling headlong in the Rain, I cannot say. I only know that I thought of Lancelot waiting, and of Horatio’s Distress when he should find himself betray’d, and of the Sadness of my Friend Littlehat, which had been so clear upon his loving Face.

I must have been in true Delirium by then, for I remember nought but shouting “Littlehat! Littlehat!” just before I stumbl’d in a Mud Hole and chanced to hit my Head against a Post.

What next transpir’d I also do not know, since I was dumber to the World than that Post upon which I’d dasht my Brains. I dreamt I was aboard a handsome Brig, anchor’d off the Isle of Wight, and I was dress’d all in a Pyrate’s Garb, with multicolour’d patchwork velvet Breeches, a velvet Coat and Waistcoat, and a gorgeous gleaming Cutlass, which I wielded ’gainst the Foe as ably as any Man. I climb’d the Rigging like an expert Sailor, then I stood in the Crow’s-Nest, high above the Water, watching the Seas glitter with Jewels of Sunlight whilst the Men upon the Deck below appear’d for all the World like Children’s Mannikins made of Lead.

Now Lancelot was beside me, kissing me upon the Face and Neck and thanking me for having Faith in him and promising that it should not be long before we found safe Haven for our new Jerusalem. In the Dream, all was Peace, Joy, and Tranquillity. My Heart was flooded with Sunshine and I knew that all would be well with me thereafter. ’Twas one of those Dreams we have when our Fortunes reach their lowest Ebb, and we wish to reassure ourselves that all is not lost.

But O what base Deception do our Dreams create! For when I awaken’d, ’twas in my familiar Bed in Coxtart’s House, with Coxtart’s awful Face, not Lancelot’s lovely one, watching o’er me, and my whole World seem’d suddenly black as Hell.

I wept and whimper’d in Coxtart’s Arms. Ne’er did any Wench have such a strange Nurse, such a curious Mother!

“Come now, Fanny mine,” says she. “Why weep when ye have charm’d a fine Admirer? Why, Lord Bellars himself hath call’d here a dozen Times if he hath call’d here once—and just in these three Days! My Word, you’ve hardly cause to weep when a Gentleman of Lord Bellars’ Rank hath been so daft with Worry o’er yer own fine Self!”

“Lancelot! Lancelot!” I cried amidst Gales of Tears.

“Pray, who is Lancelot? Is my Lord Bellars’ Christian Name Lancelot? I doubt it, for I have heard he is call’d Laurence, tho’ perhaps Lancelot is yer Pet Name for him abed!”

O I wept bitter Tears both at Coxtart’s Misunderstanding of my Plight, and the dread News that three whole Days had pass’d, and here it was too late to reach the Isle of Wight!