Iain Pears - An Instance of the Fingerpost

Nonetheless, I decided first to discuss my investigations with Thomas and went to see him immediately on my return to see how his campaign was faring. I did not get around to my own problems for some time, so deep was he in misery. I learned then that my stratagem for helping him had not been as effective as I had desired, for Dr. Grove had dismissed Sarah Blundy when the rumors about his morals began to spread, and his action was seen as a sign of resolute sacrifice rather than an admission of guilt.

“Already they are saying that he is likely to get the living,” Thomas said gloomily. “Of the thirteen senior Fellows, five have already offered their support to him, and some of those 1 counted on do not look me in the eye anymore. Jack, how could this have happened? You know what he is like, more than most people. I asked the warden for reassurance only this morning, but he was stiff and unfriendly to me.”

“It is the changing times,” I said. “Remember, many of Grove’s old friends are in positions of influence close to the government. Even Warden Woodward must beware of displeasing the powerful at such a time. He was put in by Parliament and must give regular signs of conformity himself, lest he be put out again by the king.

“But don’t despair,” I said heartily, for his long face and heavy sighs were beginning to grate upon me, “the battle is not yet lost. You have a few weeks yet. You must keep cheerful, as there is nothing people like less than seeing reproach in a face at every meal. It will harden their hearts against you even more.”

Another heavy sigh greeted these words of wisdom. “You are right, of course,” he said. “I will do my best to look as though poverty was nothing to me, and seeing the lesser man win gave me the greatest of pleasure.”

“Exactly. Just what you must do.”

“So distract me,” he said. “Tell me your progress. I trust you paid my respects to your mother?”

“I did indeed,” I replied, even though I had forgotten, “and although I was not best pleased to see her, I learned much of interest from the trip. I have discovered, for example, that my own guardian, Sir William Compton, was persuaded to connive with my uncle to defraud me.”

I said it with as much levity as I could manage, although bitterness gripped my heart as I explained the situation to him. Typically, he chose to search for a kindly explanation.

“Perhaps he thought it for the best? If, as you say, the estate was indebted, there was a risk you would be thrown into a debtors’ prison the moment you reached your majority, then it was surely a kindness on his part.”

I shook my head vehemently. “There is more to it, I know it,” I said. “Why was he was so willing to believe that my father, his best friend, was guilty of such a crime? What had he been told? Who had told him?”

“Perhaps you should ask him.”

“I intend to do just that, when I am ready. But first I have some other matters to attend to.”

I found Sarah Blundy late that evening after a long wait; I had thought of going to her abode, but decided that I could not face mother and daughter together, and so stood at the end of the alley for upward of an hour before she emerged.

I do not mind admitting that my heart was beating fast as I approached, and that the wait had put me in a foul temper. “Miss Blundy,” I said as I walked up behind her.

She spun round quickly and took a few steps backward, her eyes instantly blazing with the most vicious hatred. “Keep away from me,” she spat, her mouth curled up in an ugly snarl.

“I must talk with you.”

“I have nothing to say to you, nor you to me. Now leave me in peace.”

“I cannot. I must talk to you. Please, I beg you, hear me out.”

She shook her head and made to turn away and continue her journey. Much as I hated to do so, I ran round in front of her to block her path, and assumed the most supplicatory of expressions.

“Miss Blundy, I beseech you. Listen to me.”

Perhaps my expression was more convincing than I thought, for she stopped and, assuming a look of defiance—mingled, I was glad to see, with some fear—waited.

“Well? I am listening. Speak, then leave me in peace.”

I took a deep breath before 1 could bring myself to utter the words. “I have come to beg your pardon.”

“What?”

“I have come to beg your pardon,” I repeated. “I apologize.”

Still she said nothing.

“Do you accept my apology?”

“Should I do so?”

“You must. I insist upon it.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You will not refuse. You cannot refuse.”

“I can easily do so.”

“Why?” I cried. “How dare you talk to me in this way? I have come here as a gentleman, though I had no need to do so, and abased myself to acknowledge my fault, and yet you dare to refuse me?”

“You may have been born a gentleman; that is your misfortune. But your actions are those of one far lower than any man I have ever known. You violated me, although I gave you no cause to do so. You then spread foul and malicious rumors about me, so I am dismissed from my place, and jeered at in the streets, and called whore. You have taken my good name, and all you offer in return is your apology, said with no meaning and less sincerity. If you felt it in your soul, I could accept easily, but you do not.”

“How do you know?”

“I see your soul,” she said, her voice suddenly dropping to a whisper which chilled my blood. “I know what it is and what is its shape. 1 can feel it hiss in the night and taste its coldness in the day. I hear it burning, and I touch its hate.”

Did I, or anyone else, need a franker confession? The calm way she confessed to her power frightened me mightily, and I did my best to summon the contrition she wanted. But she was right on one score—I felt little; her devils made her see true.

“You are making me suffer,” I said in desperation. “It must stop.”

“Whatever you suffer is less than you deserve until you have a change of heart.”

She smiled, and my breath caught in my throat as I saw the look on her face, for it confirmed everything I had feared. It was the clearest admission of guilt that any court of law ever heard, and I was only sorry that there was no one else around to witness that moment. The girl saw that I had understood, for she pitched up her face and let out a peal of laughter.

“Leave me be, Jack Prestcott, lest worse befall you. You cannot undo what has been done; it is too late for that, but the good Lord punishes those who transgress and will not repent.”

“You dare speak of the Lord? How can you even utter His name?” I shouted in horror at the blasphemy. “What are you to do with Him? Talk of your own master, you fornicating witch.”

Straightaway, her eyes flashed with the darkest anger, and she stepped forward and struck me on the face, grabbing my wrist and pulling my face to her own. “Never,” she hissed in a dark voice which seemed more like that of a familiar than her own, “never talk to me like that again.”

Then she pushed me away, her breast heaving with emotion, while I too was winded by the shock of the assault. Then, lifting her finger at me in a warning, she walked off, leaving me trembling in the middle of the empty street.

Less than an hour later, I was seized by a powerful griping of the guts which left me curled up on the floor, vomiting out my stomach so violently I could not even cry out in pain. She had renewed her attack.

I could not talk to Thomas about this matter; he could not give me any help at all. I doubt that he even believed in spirits; certainly he was of the opinion that the only proper response was prayer. But I knew that this would be insufficient; I needed a powerful counter-magic fast, and there was no means of getting it. What was I to do, run after Blundy and ask her if she wouldn’t mind pissing in the bottle Greatorex had given me? Unlikely to be successful; nor did I feel like breaking into her cottage and ransacking it for the charm the Irishman said she must be using against me.