The Skull and the Nightingale. Michael Irwin

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      Within three days of my arrival my godfather again hosted a dinner. To my surprise the guests were as before, save only that Thorpe was absent. Although bored by the prospect of the evening ahead I was on balance not displeased: if I came to be seen by Mr Gilbert’s neighbours as a familiar member of the household he could not easily cast me aside.

      I had hoped to play the courteous listener, but found myself more than once thrust into prominence. Mr Hurlock, as witlessly noisy as before, assailed me with his raillery. He questioned me about the pleasures of London life, brushing aside my demurrals.

      ‘Don’t believe the boy!’ he cried out. ‘I say don’t believe him! Does he look like a monk? He does not! There he sits, a handsome enough piece of young flesh. Never tell me there haven’t been women in the case. The town teems with ’em. Covent Garden, Drury Lane: there the ladies gather, and there the young men swarm about ’em like lice in a wig. Don’t tell us you haven’t been there, young man!’

      My godfather made an ill-judged attempt to turn the current of the rant: ‘I believe you may have visited such places yourself, in your time.’

      Spluttering wine, Hurlock exploded into a laugh.

      ‘You may believe it, Mr Gilbert. You may well believe it, sir! I’ve gone belly to belly in many a London garret.’

      By now the embarrassment around the table, particularly in the countenance of his wife, was such as to be perceived even by Hurlock. He extricated himself as best he could: ‘That was in my plundering days, before I was married. Long before I was married!’

      He let out his bark of laughter, but laughed alone. My godfather changed the topic.

      ‘Mr Quentin, I hear that you may be contemplating a visit to London?’

      There was a silence, and I saw that Mrs Quentin, who was sitting opposite me, had flushed. With an effort, her husband spoke out: ‘I have been obliged to plan such a visit. It is not what I want or can afford, but it must be undertaken. My wife requires the services of a skilful dentist, such as cannot be found in these parts. We must seek help in London.’

      There were murmurs of sympathy, but I could see that the unfortunate Mrs Quentin was on the verge of tears, whether at the prospect of the dental ordeal or from the mortification of hearing her plight publicly discussed. To ease the situation I launched into a lively monologue about recent advances in dental knowledge, and new devices that had become available. I spoke with knowledge, because the previous month Latimer’s uncle had had the last of his teeth extracted and a set of false ones installed. I did not, of course, allude to the discomfort he had suffered, nor to the resulting unnaturalness of his facial expression. Mr Quentin seemed interested in what I had said, asking a number of questions, and his wife recovered her composure.

      As the talk became general I hoped to subside into the background, but was again thwarted. Mr Gilbert asked me to repeat, for Mr Yardley’s benefit, my account of the London frog-swallower. I obliged the company as best I could. The ladies grimaced but Yardley nodded and clicked his tongue. He gave it as his opinion that a bellyful of water would be no very forbidding environment for a frog, save only in respect of its warmth, uncomfortable for a cold-blooded amphibian.

      Towards the end of the meal my godfather engaged with Mrs Hurlock on the subject of music, reminding her that in years gone by he had sometimes heard her sing. To my surprise the buxom lady became positively animated on this theme, recalling the names of several of her favourite pieces. When, in a polite show of interest, I seconded her admiration for Handel’s ‘Say not to me I am unkind’, Mr Gilbert promptly proposed that she and I should sing it together. Having no desire to perform in this company, and little confidence in the abilities of Mrs Hurlock, I would gladly have refused, but she responded eagerly, and the Quentins politely supported the proposal. It would have seemed churlish in me not to oblige. I was influenced also by the reaction of Mr Hurlock, whose over-fed face expressed blank disgust. It would be a pleasure to irritate him further.

      To my surprise our impromptu duet proved creditable. Mrs Hurlock’s voice, although not strong, was sweet and true, and I was able to adapt my own performance to it. We were warmly applauded, particularly by my godfather. Mrs Hurlock, redeemed from anonymity, quite blushed with pleasure, in what must once have been her girlish manner. Her husband was the one person present who listened with hostility and clapped perfunctorily. Plainly he would СКАЧАТЬ