Iain Pears - An Instance of the Fingerpost

“Ask away, and if I can oblige, I will willingly do so. You look in great distress, my friend. Are you ill?”

“I hope not. That is what I want you to determine.”

“And what do you think it may be? What symptoms do you have?”

“I have none.”

“No symptoms? None at all? Sounds very serious to me. I shall examine you thoroughly, then prescribe the most expensive medicines in my pharmacopoeia, and you will be well instantly. By God, Mr. Wood,” he said with a smile, “you are the ideal patient; if I could have a dozen like you, I would be both rich and famous.”

“Do not joke, sir. I am deadly serious. I fear I may have caught a shocking disease.”

My manner of speaking convinced him I was in earnest and, good doctor and kind friend that he was, he instantly dropped his bantering tone. “You are certainly worried, I can see that. But you must be a little more frank. How can I tell you what your illness is unless you tell me first? I am a doctor, not a soothsayer.”

And so, with great reluctance and fearing his mockery, I told him all. Lower grunted. “So you think this slut may have lain with everyone in Oxfordshire?”

“I do not know. But if the reports are correct, then I may be sickening.”

“But you say this has been going on for two years or more. I know the diseases of Venus do commonly take some time to show themselves,” he conceded, “but rarely this long. You do not notice any signs on her? No sores or pustules? No running pus, or creamy discharges?”

“I did not look,” I said, gravely affronted at the idea.

“That is a pity. Myself, I always look very carefully and I would counsel you to do the same in future. It doesn’t have to be obvious, you know. You can hide it under a pretense of love with only a little practice.”

“Lower, I do not want advice, I want a diagnosis. Am I sick or not?”

He sighed. “Drop your breeches, then. Let’s have a look.”

With the gravest embarrassment at the humiliation, I did as I was told and Lower subjected me to the most intimate examination, lifting and pulling and peering. Then he put his face close to my private parts and sniffed. “Seems perfectly fine to me,” he said. “Pristine condition, I’d say. Scarcely taken out of its wrapping.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “So I am not ill.”

“I didn’t say that. There are no symptoms, that is all. I would suggest you take remedies in large quantities for a few weeks, just to be on the safe side. If you are too bashful to get them yourself, I will buy some from Mr. Crosse and give them to you tomorrow.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Not at all. Now, get dressed. I would suggest, by the way, that you avoid all intimate contact with this girl again. If she is as these reports suggest, then sooner or later she will become dangerous.”

“I fully intend to.”

“And we must make her character generally known, lest others fall into her snare.”

“No,” I said. “I cannot permit that. What if these reports are false? I would not calumnize her unnecessarily.”

“Your sense of justice does you credit. But you must not hide behind it. Such people as she are corrosive to any society, and must be known. If you must be fastidious, then confront her directly, and find out. At the very least, we must pass warning to Dr. Grove, so he can act as he sees fit.”

I did not act hastily; I needed more than gossip and the testimony of Jack Prestcott before I was prepared to act. Instead, I kept a more careful watch on her, and (I admit with shame) followed her on occasion when her labors were done. I was greatly distressed to have my worst fears confirmed still more, for on several occasions she did not go home, or did so only briefly. Instead, I saw her leave the town, walking purposely on one occasion in the direction of Abingdon, a town full of soldiers where I knew that trollops were in great demand. I could see no other explanation, and I note with chagrin that Wallis, when he discovered the same information, decided the only explanation was that she was carrying messages to and from radicals. I mention this to indicate the dangers of inadequate and partial evidence, for we were both wrong.

But I did not see this at the time, although I think I was prepared to listen openly and frankly to any explanation she might offer. The next day after a sleepless night during which I wished fervently that I might be spared the encounter, I told Sarah to sit down when she came into my room, and said I wanted to speak to her on a matter of grave importance.

She sat quietly, and waited. I had noticed that in previous days she had not been her usual self, and had worked less hard, and been less cheerful than was her wont. I had not paid a great deal of attention, as all women are prone to these moods, and scarcely noticed that for her it was out of her normal character. I did not know then, and did not discover until I read Jack Prestcott’s memoir, that this was due to his cruel violation of her. Naturally, she could not tell any of this—what woman’s reputation could endure such shame?—but she would not easily forget an offense once committed. I understand fully why Prestcott submitted to the delusion that she had bewitched him in revenge, however ridiculous the belief. For her hatred of the malice of others was implacable, so much had she been schooled by her upbringing to expect justice.

I had also noticed that she had spurned my affections, and moved out of reach quickly on the one occasion when I had tried to touch her, shrugging her shoulder in what appeared to be disgust at my hand on her shoulder. I was hurt by this initially, then I put it down as more evidence that she was turning away from me for the richer rewards offered by Dr. Grove. Again, I did not know the exact truth until I saw it, scribbled down in Prestcott’s hand.

“I must talk to you on a matter of the gravest importance,” I said when I had prepared myself properly. I noticed, and remember well, that I had a strange pressure in my breast as I began to talk, and my words came breathlessly, as though I had run a great distance. “I have heard some terrible reports, which must be dealt with instantly.”

She sat and looked at me blankly, with scarcely any interest in her face at all. I believe I stuttered and tripped on my words as I forced myself to continue with the interview, and even turned to examine my shelves of books, so I would not have to look her in the face.

“I have received a grave complaint about your behavior. Which is that you offered yourself brazenly and coarsely to a man of the university, and have been fornicating in the most disgusting fashion.”

Again, there was a silence of some duration before she replied—“That is true,” she said.

That my suspicions and the reports seemed confirmed did not comfort me. I had hoped that she would indignantly refute the charges, allowing me to forgive her, so we might continue as before. Even at that stage, however, I did not jump to conclusions. Evidence must be confirmed independently.

“And who is this man?” I asked.

“A so-called gentleman,” she said. “Called Anthony Wood.”

“Do not be impudent with me,” I cried in anger. “You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. You have abused my generosity by seducing Dr. Grove, of New College, and not content with that alone, you also threw yourself on an undergraduate, Mr. Prestcott, and tried to get him to satisfy you as well. Do not deny it, for I heard it from his lips.”

She turned pale, and I take it as an indication of the foolishness of those who believe character can be read in the face that I assumed this to be shock at the discovery of her wiles. “You heard that?” she said, her face white. “From his lips indeed?”