The Skull and the Nightingale. Michael Irwin

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СКАЧАТЬ but Yardley, prompted by my godfather, talked about the ingenious construction of birds’ nests, claiming that certain instinctive animal capacities might amount to something akin to human thought. He was interrupted by Hurlock, who woke from his sleep crying out at random: ‘Say nothing of Spain! The only enemy we need fear is the Pope of Rome!’

      When our party dispersed my godfather and I went out upon the terrace to bid farewell to the guests. Mrs Quentin shyly thanked me for providing her a little reassurance concerning her forthcoming trials. Mrs Hurlock expressed the hope that we might sing together once more on some future occasion. Her husband, half asleep, was muttering and stumbling. A bright moon turned the lawns to silver and gleamed on the roofs of the carriages as they rattled away along the drive. Mr Gilbert and I watched them till they were out of sight and we were alone together on the silent terrace.

      ‘The night is mild,’ said he. ‘And the time has come for us to talk. I think we might sit out here for a while. Would you be so good as to fetch the port.’

      I did so without a word, my heart beating faster. Mr Gilbert and I sat on either side of a small table. He took a sip of port and stared out across the moonlit garden. When he spoke it was with the air of a man embarking on a difficult topic.

      ‘I should have said either less or more in my letter. I am now resolved to say more.’

      I drank a little port myself, to give him space.

      He continued, with his eyes still looking into the distance: ‘You have known me only as the person I am at present. I have been several others. Some with a sturdier figure. They are now gone.’

      He turned to me, his voice suddenly sharp.

      ‘You have met my neighbours, and no doubt think them, as I do, a pitiful crew. Mrs Quentin with her rotting teeth; the sottish Hurlock, who has all but lost the power of thought.’

      I half-heartedly made to demur, but he over-rode me.

      ‘Yet such people were the local beauties, the local blades. Mrs Hurlock in particular – Anna Halliday, as she was – attracted much admiration. She is greatly altered. You may not now believe that I admired her myself.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Hurlock was in pursuit of her – Hurlock, the great buck of the county, but a fool. I might easily have won her – she preferred my company. What, you may ask, was the stumbling block?’

      I shook my head.

      ‘Let me tell you. I looked past what she was, and saw what she would be – saw the matron in the maid. It was wisdom of a kind, but of the wrong kind – that of an older man. This was not the only such opportunity that I missed. I was confident that my time would come, but it never did. In terms of marriage, in terms of passion, it never did.’

      Unexpectedly Mr Gilbert changed his tone, surprising me with a compliment: ‘You conducted yourself with credit this evening. I observed you closely. You were polite to Hurlock, attentive to Yardley, good-natured in your concern for Mrs Quentin. You sang pleasingly. Yet you were detached. You were forming judgements. The young man I saw was the young man who writes me letters.’

      He turned to interrogate me.

      ‘How would you describe yourself? I see that you are courteous, shrewd, amiable. What other qualities would you claim?’

      I knew that my answer should be no less forthright than the question.

      ‘Let me set aside false modesty. I am physically vigorous. I cannot claim to be a scholar, but I am reflective and read quite widely. I can adapt myself to most kinds of company. I am sensual, probably to a fault. By temperament I am cheerful and amiably disposed, but I can have darker moods – even fits of rage.’

      Mr Gilbert nodded, as though I had said nothing to surprise him.

      ‘You are not afraid to take risks?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You have a relish for unusual situations?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Can you be ruthless?’

      This question called for a little thought.

      ‘I believe I can.’

      I wondered at these questions. Was I to be asked to stage a robbery, or an assassination? But Mr Gilbert let the matter drop as suddenly as he had broached it, and poured more port. One of his great black dogs padded silently from the house and laid his head on my godfather’s knee. I felt at ease – even exhilarated. What a singular exchange this was, under the stars, our words punctuated by stirrings of twigs in the breeze or the occasional scuttling of a rabbit. Where would it take us next? In the moonlight my godfather, with his pale face and small wig, had a ghostly luminosity that seemed to render him more dominant. Fondling the dog’s ears he spoke again, this time ruminatively: ‘I lost another neighbour, Squire Warhurst, last year. By all accounts he died a good death, praying to the last. He was confident of admission to Heaven, and Parson Thorpe endorsed that expectation. His soul may be there as we speak. Yet the man was a bully, a glutton and a hell-bent whoremonger till mending his ways at fifty, following a stroke. If Warhurst has been saved I can feel guardedly optimistic as to my own prospects.’

      He broke off: ‘You suspect that I am facetious?’

      ‘To be candid, sir, I was not sure.’

      My godfather smiled faintly. ‘I am not sure myself. But seriously, or half-seriously, I reflect that the years and capacities I have left are insufficient for me to emulate this man’s sinfulness, even if I wished to do so. May I not, then, indulge myself a little? A very little?’

      After a hesitation he continued, as though lost in soliloquy: ‘A man may avoid the sin he is too timid to commit. In such a case, surely, the professed belief is mere faint-heartedness. Might not the Almighty deem that the fellow has been cowardly rather than virtuous? Might not the eternal reward be curtailed accordingly? If so, the poor devil would be twice deprived – in this life and again in the next.’

      I tried to meet the challenge: ‘Then you believe in an after-life?’

      ‘Of course.’ A pause. ‘From time to time.’

      Somewhat baffled by now, I tried to exert myself: ‘Sir, I am not sure where your remarks are tending.’

      ‘Then I must make myself clear.’ My godfather drew a breath and spoke out with decision. ‘The case is this. I have preserved appearances for so long that none of my neighbours know – indeed, I scarcely know myself – what lies below the surface of my character. Caution and good fortune have protected me, but they have protected me too far – protected me from life itself. I have never married, never fathered a child, never broken a bone, or so much as seen a corpse, save on a gibbet. I live in a great house defended by servants and dogs. The price I pay for my safety is imprisonment of a kind. I need a window in this confinement, a window through which to see a wider life.’

      ‘Were you not saying as much to me on my last visit?’

      ‘I was, but I wish to go further. There lies the point – I wish to go further.’

      He took a full mouthful of port. By now he was agitated, his breathing quicker.

      ‘I invited you to describe the life of London. But as I read your letters I came СКАЧАТЬ