Iain Pears - An Instance of the Fingerpost

“That is quite all right,” Cola replied. “As long as you do not expect miracles.”

“Will you come again?”

“Tomorrow, if 1 can. And if she worsens, come and find me at Mr. Boyle’s. I will be attending him. Now, about payment,” he said.

I reproduce, more or less word for word, the conversation as set down by Mr. Cola, and admit that his account, as far as my own memory serves, is impeccable. I will merely add one thing which, strangely, finds no mention in his description. For as he spoke about payment, he took a step closer to her, and rested his hand on her arm.

“Oh yes, your payment. How could I think you would forget about that. We must deal with that urgently, must we not?”

It was only then that she broke away, and led him into the room where I swiftly concealed myself in the gloom so I might escape observation.

“Very well then, physician, take your payment.”

And, as Cola says, again with perfect truth, she lay herself down and pulled up her dress, revealing herself to him with the most obscene of gestures. But Cola does not mention the tone in her voice, the way her words trembled with anger and contempt, and the sneer on her face as she spoke.

Cola hesitated, then took a step backward and crossed himself. “You disgust me.” It is all in his account, I merely plagiarize his words. But again I must differ on a point of interpretation, for he says he was angry and I did not detect that. What I saw was a man horrified, almost as though he had seen the devil himself. His eyes were wide, and he all but cried out in despair as he recoiled from her and averted his gaze. It was many days before I learned the reasons for this bizarre behavior.

“Lord forgive me, your servant, for I have sinned,” he said in Latin, which I could understand and Sarah could not. I remember it well. He was angry at himself, not at her, for she was nothing to him but a temptation which had to be resisted. Then he ran, stumbling in his hurry out of the room, not slamming the door, it is true, for he left too fast to shut it at all.

Sarah lay there on the straw pallet, breathing deeply. She rolled over and buried her head in her arms, face down into the straw. I thought she was merely going to sleep, until I heard the unmistakable sounds of her weeping her heart out, heavy choking sobs which tore at my soul and rekindled, in an instant, all my affections.

I could not help myself, and paused not even an instant to reflect on what I was doing. She had never cried so before, and the sound of such deep sadness flooded my heart, dissolving all bitterness and rancor, and leaving it pure and clean. I took a step forward, and knelt down beside her.

“Sarah?” I said softly.

She jumped in fright as I spoke, pulling her dress down to cover herself and recoiling from me in terror. “What are you doing here?”

I could have given long explanations, could have made up a story about how I’d just arrived and was anxious about her mother, but the sight of her face made me abandon any thought of pretense. “I have come to ask your forgiveness,” I said. “I do not deserve it, but I have wronged you. I am so very sorry.”

It was easy to say, and I felt as I spoke that those words had been waiting their chance for months. Instantly I felt better, and relieved of a great weight. What was more, I truly think I did not mind whether she forgave me or not, for I knew she would be quite within her rights not to do so, as long as she accepted that my apology was genuine.

“This is a strange time and place to say such a thing.”

“I know. But the loss of your friendship and regard is more than I can bear.”

“Did you see what happened just now?”

I hesitated before admitting the truth, then nodded.

She did not instantly reply, then began shaking; I thought that it was with tears once more, but then discerned to my astonishment that it was with laughter.

“You are a strange man indeed, Mr. Wood. I cannot make you out at all. On no evidence at all, you accuse me of the most vile behavior, and when you see a scene such as that, you ask my forgiveness. What am I to make of you?”

“I hardly know what to make of myself, sometimes.”

“My mother is going to die,” she continued, the laughter ceasing, and her mood changing on the instant.

“Yes,” I agreed. “I am afraid she is.”

“I must accept it as God’s will. But I find it impossible to do so. It is strange.”

“Why so? No one has ever said obedience and resignation are easy.”

“I am so frightened of losing her. I am ashamed, for I can hardly bear to see her the way she is now.”

“How did she break her leg? She fell, Lower told me, but how could that be?”

“She was pushed. She came back here in the evening when she had closed the wash house, and found a man in the house, looking through our chest. You know her well enough to realize she would not run away. He got a black eye, I think, but she was pushed to the ground and kicked. One of the blows broke her leg. She is old and frail and her bones are not strong any more.”

“Why did you not say so? Make a complaint?”

“She knew him.”

“All the more reason.”

“All the less. He is a man who worked once for John Thurloe’s office, as did my father. Even now he will never be caught or punished for anything he might do.”

“But what…?”

“We have nothing, as you know. Nothing that could interest him, at any rate. Except those papers of my father’s, which I gave to you. I said they were dangerous. Do you have them safe still?”

I assured her it would take many hours to find them in my room, even if someone knew they were there.

Then I told her of what I had seen that evening, and said that Cola also had made a thorough search. She shook her head sadly. “Lord, why dost Thou persecute Thy servant so?”

I wrapped my arms around her and we lay there together, I stroking her hair and giving what comfort I could. It was not much.

“I ought to tell you about Jack Prestcott,” she began eventually, but I hushed her.

“I do not want, or need, to hear anything,” I said.

Better that it should be forgotten, whatever it was; I did not want to hear, and she was grateful to be spared the humiliation of having to speak.

“Will you return to work for us?” I asked. “It is not much to offer, but if it becomes known in the town that the Woods will admit you into their house, it will begin to mend your reputation, quite apart from giving you money.”

“Will your mother have me?”

“Oh, yes. She was very angry when you left, and has never stopped complaining how much better the housework was done when you were there.”

She smiled at that, for I knew my mother had never once allowed herself to issue even the faintest word of praise in Sarah’s hearing, lest it make her grow proud.

“Perhaps I will. Although as it seems I am not to pay for doctors now. then my need for money is the less.”

“That,” I said, “is carrying submission to divine will too far. If it can be done, then your mother must have attention. How do you know this is not a test of your love for your mother, and that she is meant to survive? Her death would be punishment for your negligence otherwise. You must have treatment for her.”

“All I can afford is a barber, and even they might refuse. She has refused any treatment I can give her, and I could not help in any case.”

“Why?”

“She is old, and it is her time to die, I think. I can do nothing.”

“Perhaps Lower could.”

“He can try, if he will, and I would be happy if he succeeded.”

“I will ask him. If this Cola will say she is no longer his patient, then he might be prevailed upon. He will not abuse a colleague by doing so without his leave, but it sounds as though there should be no trouble gaining that.”