Fanny (73 page)

From the Moment we found Lustre, our Luck began to change. The Horse was sick and needed Care; he could not sustain e’en Belinda’s Weight. But each Day he grew stronger, and tho’ we doubted we had Money enough for e’en Oats or Hay, Littlehat found a few Guineas which had dropp’d thro’ a Hole in the Pocket into the Lining of one of the old Coats he wore, and then I found a few Shillings I had not seen before, and then Lancelot found a Sack of ten Guineas sewn into the Lining of one Coat! Why, we were rich as Landlords now!

“Most probably they have been there all along,” I told Lancelot and Littlehat; and yet I knew that ’twas the Goddess’ Own Doing! O someday I should tell ’em both of the Coven, and of Isobel and Joan; but for the nonce, I must only nurse Lustre back to Health and hold my Tongue. Achieving Wisdom in this World oft’ means keeping one’s Mouth shut, and not blurting out all that one knows before the Time is ripe.

Yet I was sure I knew the Reason for these miraculous Finds: I had been initiated as a Witch and Lustre was my Familiar. Separately, our Pow’r was small, but together, a Witch and her Familiar had triple Strength—or so Isobel had said. Did I believe all this? At Times I did; at Times I doubted it as Twattle; yet still I wore my tatter’d red Garter just in case. I only know that from the Moment Lustre was restor’d to me, Good Luck came to take the Place of Bad!

The Bond betwixt Lancelot and myself was also growing, and we were slowly melding into a Family—we who were no Blood Relations save Belinda and me. Soon ’twould be Time to tell all our Tales and wholly open up our Hearts, ne’er to close ’em more. Lancelot had indulged my ev’ry Fancy, sail’d Home with me, follow’d me to Wiltshire, car’d for my Child as his, and e’en for my mangy Nag as his. Whate’er Doubts I may have had about his Love were now dissolv’d; he had grown into a Man and he stood by me in all my Passions. What Woman can hope for more?

The Death of Horatio had sober’d Lancelot most extreamly, and he seem’d determin’d to heap upon me and Belinda the Concern he previously reserv’d for his Black Beloved. Lancelot had lov’d a Woman once, long ago in Oxfordshire; then, disappointed with her Fickleness, had turn’d to Love of Men. But now, with Horatio gone, his Fealty was all to me, for we had shar’d Life’s Great Adventure and were bound by joint Misfortune as well as mutual Laughter.

Lustre rallied swiftly; we found an old Chaise for Sale at an Inn near Cheddar (where it had been left for Pawn) and bought it quite cheaply. Lustre grew strong enough to pull one Person and Belinda in the Chaise, then two Persons and the Babe, whilst the third walkt alongside; by slow Degrees, we made our Way to Wiltshire.

The Nights were long, and Dusk fell rapidly and early; yet no Harm befell us on the Road—not e’en Highwaymen—perhaps because we lookt so poor. At Inns we slept all in the self-same Bed for Warmth; and Lancelot and I did little more than clasp our Hands and clasp Belinda’s Hands—and Littlehat’s as well! Eros had fled to that curious Place where oft’ he goes when our Lives hang in the Balance and we must save our Strength for other Feats. And ’twas on Christmas Eve that we made Lymeworth.

I scarce recogniz’d the Place—’twas so changed! Perhaps ’tis true, that all the Houses of our Youth are changed, but in this case, the whole Gothick Edifice had been cover’d with a prodigious Scaffolding, and ’neath it rose the Façade of a new Palladian House, with Columns and Pediments, and rusticated lower Storey, and large Square Windows—sixteen across at least—and Grecian Gods and Goddesses ascending from the Pediment and Roof into the frigid Wiltshire Air! O it seem’d that Lord Bellars had thought better of his Plans to pull down the whole Pile and had decided rather to cover the Gothick Front with a Palladian one! O Folly! O Fashion! The Gardens, too, were changed, tho’ not entirely, for a Great Work had been begun and then abandon’d, as ’twere,
in Medias Res.
The Ancient Oaks still stood upon the Hill, the Beeches and the Elms below, as well. But where the Topiary Garden had been, all was Purest Nature, with grazing Sheep and a little round, white Temple to some God whose Face I could not see. My fragrant Bow’r had not vanish’d, tho’ ’twas sere with Winter’s Cold; it had remain’d perhaps less for Want of Intent to tear it down than for Want of Time to accomplish it. The Obelisks still march’d along the Wall; the carv’d Balls still seem’d to bounce against the Sky; and sure my headless, armless Venus still stood within the Walls, having not mov’d an Inch since that Day—Eons ago—when I fell at her pretty Feet (pois’d upon a sculptur’d Shell, above a sculptur’d Wave) and wept.

Timid as Beggars, we approach’d the Great Front Door, feeling we should rather cower at the Back Door—e’en tho’ we knew not where ’twas amidst all this Scaffolding! The new Front Entrance seem’d a Grecian Temple with six tow’ring Columns, but there also were two more Temples being built, one on either End of the Great House. O I much preferr’d the other Lymeworth! The Great House that had contain’d my Childhood was now encas’d in a new-fashion’d outer Shell, like Chinese Boxes, one within the other. And yet, I carried the old Lymeworth inside, as we all carry the Houses of our Youth inside, and our Parents, too, grown small enough to fit within our Hearts.

Ah Belinda, a Mother carries a Babe for but nine Months, yet for all her Life that self-same Babe carries her Mother in her Heart—as my Tale presently shall show.

We knockt. I touch’d my Curls nervously, wond’ring if I should be recogniz’d as Fanny. Lancelot and Littlehat stood back, holding Lustre whilst I stood at the Door with Belinda. Footsteps were heard within. Presently, Mrs. Locke, the Housekeeper, came to the Door, dress’d all in Mourning, with sev’ral Mourning Rings upon her gnarl’d Fingers. She lookt at me as if to throw me out, and then star’d and star’d, first at me, then at the Babe, then at the Men behind me.

“Do my Eyes deceive me?” she askt. “Or is it Fanny?”

“The very same,” I said, Tears coming to my Eyes. Where were the Porter, the Footmen, all the Household? Mrs. Locke was formerly not wont to attend the Door. Behind her was the renovated Great Hall, alter’d to suit the newest Fashion. Its Floor was chequer’d Marble of black and white; yet a Painter’s Scaffold still hung from the Ceiling, and the Walls were but half-painted with mythological Scenes.

“O Mistress Fanny, ye come at such a Time, such a Time.”

“Who has dy’d?” I askt; but Locke only began to weep.

“Come in, come in,” said she; and but for the Babe in my Arms she lookt verily as if she’d fall into ’em herself.

“Meet my Daughter!” I said, putting the Babe into her Arms.

Belinda lookt at Mrs. Locke and babbl’d quite unafraid. “Dada? Baba?” she askt, grabbing Locke’s red and swollen Nose as if to pull it off; Locke laugh’d betwixt her Tears.

“La! Mistress Fanny, she looks just as you did when a Babe! Come in. Lady Bellars will be glad to see you.”

“These Gentlemen have brought me safely Home and the Babe as well. Pray, make ’em comfortable,” I askt, signalling Lancelot and Littlehat to come. Lustre turn’d and trotted off to the Stables as if nothing at all had changed since the last Time he was here.

Presently, we were all led to divers Apartments in the newly renovated Rustick (the second Storey being reserv’d for visits of State—at least, ’twas so intended), but as we walkt along the Corridors ’twas plain to see that the House was in great Disarray, and Pieces of Furniture stood ev’rywhere, drap’d in Linen. Likewise, there were Signs of interrupted Construction ev’rywhere. New Ceilings were being painted, new Panelling built to replace the old, and the Wind whistl’d thro’ the Walls where the two new Grecian Temples were being built at either End of the House.

The Staff seem’d much reduced; one Chambermaid was sent to bring Water and lay Fires for all three of us. She was a new Girl—new since I’d left Lymeworth—and she was giddy and silly enough to answer my Questions ere she knew who I was.

“For whom is the Household in Mourning?” I askt, since she, too, wore a Mourning Ring—not a Hair one nor a Death’s Head like those Mrs. Locke had worn—but one on which this Posie was engrav’d:
“Prepar’d Be to Follow Me.”

“O Madam,” said she, “d’ye not know? ’Tis Lord Bellars himself an’ now his Son, Daniel, too.”

“It cannot be!” I said, holding Belinda on my Lap whilst she pull’d at my Hair and babbl’d as if Death did not exist in her World.

“How so? How can that be? Daniel was only Twenty.”

“Aye, an’ fell in with bad Company, too. Ran away to London, he did, all fer fancy of an Orphan Girl that liv’d here once under Lord Bellars’ Roof, an’ refus’d his Father’s Wishes to go up to Oxford or e’en away on the Grand Tour. But she was a Bad Egg, she was—the Wench he lusted fer—workt in a Bawdy House, she did, an’ when he found out ’twas Mrs. Coxson’s Brothel she went to—Mrs. Coxson is a Famous Bawd, ye know—he follow’d her there, only to find she’d already gone—gone to serve some Dark Satanick Cult, ’tis said, as was her witchy Nature. So he took up with another Tart, he did, a certain Mistress Kate, an’ she got him into Debt, she did, fer she was a Jezebel, she was, an’ he fell in with Bubblers an’ Stock Jobbers, he did, to pay his Debts and many was the Time he was thrown into the Fleet an’ bail’d out by Lady Bellars—but by an’ by he was gaol’d again, an’ his Mum, bein’ quite resolv’d to make him learn his Lesson, refus’d to send a Penny, whereupon he was kill’d in a Brawl in Gaol o’er a Bottle o’ Gin, he was, poor Fellow, an’ now his Mum’s distracted with blamin’ herself fer his Death, poor Lady. ’Tis Pity the Poor Fellow’s gone. I liked him quite.”

“But what of Lord Bellars?” I askt, less astounded by this Tale than I seem’d to be (for now the Pieces of the Puzzle began to fit in place). “Lord Bellars had Friends in Change Alley and Lloyd’s Coffee-House.” I said. “Could he not warn his Son of Larcenous Bubblers?”

“O d’ye not know? Lord Bellars fled to Switzerland some Months past an’ became a Hermit in a Monastery. Not only did he disown Daniel, but he left the House unfinish’d as ye see—an’ such a fine House, too. O fer a Time the Workmen workt on Credit, but then they refus’d to work more until Lord Bellars or his Banker should pay ’em. But we heard nought o’ Milord until a Letter came, tellin’ o’ his Death. Lady Bellars will tell all—if she’s not mad with Grief. Most Days she does nought but stay abed—so piteously sad is she….”

I scarce knew how to react to the News of these Tragick Deaths, which at first made me feel wholly to blame for all the Ill Fortunes of my adopted Family. Alas, I thought, I have caus’d Daniel’s Death, and Lord Bellars’ as well, and Lady Bellars’ Grief! But then, as I thought on’t, I realiz’d that ’twas Hubris to see myself as Cause of all. Daniel was a Fool to come to London (which he surely did as much to mimick his Whoring Father as for Love of me). And ’twas surely fated for him to take up with Kate, who would have fancied him if only because he’d come for me. Lovers of such sort oft’ become each other’s Punishment upon this Earth, ere they reach Purgatory or Hell. Acquainted with Kate’s envious Nature as I was, I could well imagine the Gusto with which she’d fallen upon Daniel, hearing he was in search of a certain “Fanny.” ’Twas her Fate as well as his that brought ’em to be each other’s Scourges. And what, I wonder, became of Kate, when Daniel was thrown into the Fleet to dye o’er a disputed Bottle? I askt the Maid, who seem’d to know so much and have so loose a Tongue.

“I know not,” said she smugly, “but the Hussy no doubt dy’d o’ a Clap.” O snippy Chambermaids are quick to condemn Women driven to the Bawdy House by Want—as if such ne’er could happen to themselves! I had no such Illusions; Witch, Whore, Stowaway, Slaver, Amanuensis, Pyrate—I knew the Things a Woman could be forced to do for Want of Bread, for Want of Freedom, for Want of Strength, for Want of Manhood. Ne’er again would I condemn a Sister for her Luck—not e’en an envious one like Kate.

The Chambermaid curtsey’d and left; she return’d soon after with fresh Clothes for me and for the Babe, informing me that Lady Bellars would see me in her Chamber as soon as I could make myself ready. With her Aid, I washt and dress’d myself in the Gown she brought, which, by the sheerest Chance, was the same Sacque-backt Dove-grey Silk I had tried on, then rejected, upon that fateful Day when Mr. Pope came to visit. ’Twas much looser now than e’er before, for my Adventures had not only made me wiser, but thinner! Thus, ’tis oft’ true that as we gain Mental Substance we frequently lose Substance of the Grosser Physical Sort, which perhaps presages our Ascendance, after Death, into the Spirit World!

Belinda was washt by the Maid and dress’d in a Gown of pale cream Silk—one of my own old Infant Gowns. Whereupon I inform’d Lancelot and Littlehat that I would call upon my Step-Mother, Lady Bellars, alone; they wisht me Luck. Well they might, for I hardly knew what I might expect in all this Turmoil, or what it all might portend for my Future and Belinda’s.

When I was receiv’d into the Ante-Chamber of Lady Bellars’ new Apartments, I found the Windows most heavily drap’d in black, as if my Step-Mother were not only Mourning for her Son and Husband, but plann’d to depart this Life forthwith herself. The Ante-Chamber was dark as a Stygian Cave, and ’twas fill’d with the Cages of her Birds which had been drap’d heavily as if for Night; consequently, tho’ ’twas still Day outside, no Birds chatter’d nor sang.

A Maid receiv’d me into Lady Bellars’ own Bedchamber. There my astonish’d Eyes beheld a pale Figure, lost in Pillows upon the great Bed, and lying back with her Eyes clos’d in an almost Deathlike Trance. Her three Lapdogs—a King Charles Spaniel and two Pugs—lay upon the Quilt mimicking quite their Mistress’ Torpor. As I cross’d the Threshold, they leapt awake and began to bark, rouzing the Monkey who perch’d upon the Canopy of the Bed, but not e’en causing their Mistress’ Eyelids to flutter.

Slowly, I walkt to the side of the Bed, holding Belinda in my Arms.

“My Lady,” I whisper’d. She did not move, tho’ the Dogs barkt furiously, leapt off the Bed to sniff me and the Babe, and then, satisfied I had a friendly Smell, ceas’d all their Noise, and resum’d their chief Life-long Pursuit of Sleeping.

“My Lady,” I said softly, “I bring you Proof of Life amidst these Tragick Deaths.”