Gordon Dahlquist - The Chemickal Marriage

‘Did they find her?’ she asked. ‘The Duchess’s men?’

‘I do not know,’ said Svenson. ‘I have not heard.’

‘You would think, with an entire regiment surrounding the house – and going through the house. One injured woman, screaming like a witch?’

‘It was the fire,’ said Chang. ‘The fire drove them out and stopped the search.’

‘She set that fire,’ said Miss Temple.

‘I’m sure she did,’ said Chang. ‘And I would guess she fled to the lower depths, to the river, where no one could follow.’

Miss Temple sipped her tea, and once more looked at Chang.

‘What did you do ?’ she asked.

Svenson closed the case with a snap of its clasp, and tucked it into his tunic pocket. He realized that Chang had not spoken and that the question was in fact for him. ‘Beg pardon?’

‘When you went to her, Doctor. Why did she stop screaming and then damn you to hell?’

‘I believe it was a general curse, aimed at us all. I could do nothing.’

‘I thought you had a bit of glass.’

‘What? No, no.’

‘Well.’

For a moment no one spoke, the only sounds echoes from outside the cabin, the muffled creak of the vessel, distant voices on the pier. Miss Temple sipped her tea.

‘ That is not why we are leaving, I assure you. I am not afraid of her, no matter where she is or what she tries to do. I will never be afraid of anything again. I have had enough of it.’

‘Then why are you leaving, Celeste?’ asked Chang. He cocked his head. ‘All has been forgiven. You could do here what you would.’

She cocked her own head to mock him. ‘For reasons you well know – as I have told you in your ear. But since you ask, for the Doctor’s benefit, I am happy to explain. You see, Doctor Svenson – I cannot stay because it would be impossible to live . Cardinal Chang and I would be driven apart. I know it, and I would be alone. I do not wish to be alone any more – I can no longer bear it. But neither can I go home – were I able to go home, I never should have left, if you follow. Perhaps when I am an old woman of eighty-nine I will reclaim my father’s seat. Until then the only alternative is travel. Constant motion.’ She looked at Chang and finished her cup of tea. ‘It is the one sure way to ensure mutual occupation and mutual protection. And mutual dependence, if I may say. It’s actually very sensible. I’ve thought it through.’

‘I see you have.’

‘And of course Chang’s agreed, because I’m right. What would he do here? Die in a year – senselessly. You know he would. And what would I do? Fall under a train. This way we won’t. Or not immediately. I can always fling myself under a train in the Malay Straits, if the Malay people have trains. What of you?’

‘How will I die within the year?’

She laughed. ‘ No . If you do I shall be angry.’

‘I will bear your wrath in mind.’

‘How is Cunsher?’ asked Chang.

‘Well, I believe,’ replied Svenson. ‘I have not seen him.’

‘Mahmoud and Gorine are recovered,’ said Chang. ‘The Old Palace is to be rebuilt. Along with half the city.’

‘Invest in brick.’ Svenson smiled. He finished his coffee and set down the cup. ‘I’m sure it is near your time.’

‘What will you do?’ Miss Temple asked again.

‘O Celeste. My reprieve puts me at liberty – at least while I am here – so here I will stay, at least for a time, waiting to go home.’

‘Do you want to go home?’ asked Chang.

‘Not in the slightest,’ said Svenson. ‘That being the rub. Ah well.’

The Doctor stood and collected his greatcoat and peaked cap. Far too quickly and with a disturbing ease, he shook hands with Chang and bent down to embrace Miss Temple.

‘I will never forget,’ she whispered.

‘Nor I.’

He squeezed her tight and shook hands a second time with Chang. The low cabin door closed and his boots echoed down the passage. Miss Temple stared after him, as if she could see through the wood. Chang held out his hand. She took it and dug her nails into his palm.

Cunsher waited unobtrusively amongst the draymen, around the first corner. He fell in step with the Doctor, refusing a cigarette with a shake of his head. Once Svenson had tossed away the match, Cunsher passed him a slip of paper.

‘Passage booked to Cadiz,’ he said, ‘sailing in two days.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘There cannot be so many ladies thus disfigured.’

Svenson studied the address of the rooming house: inexpensive and near the riverside, and therefore thronged with the displaced, and – so many of those displaced having been injured – all but anonymous. It was possible. Cunsher coughed discreetly.

‘Mr Foison might supply some fellows, if asked – his recent willingness –’

‘No, thank you. I am in your debt. All the more if this remains between ourselves.’

‘Of course.’

They reached the end of the lane and stopped, for Svenson would proceed alone.

‘How will I know you have returned?’ asked Cunsher.

‘You won’t. One way or another, you see, it’s quite impossible.’ Doctor Svenson sighed and clapped Cunsher on the shoulder. ‘But there’s an end to everything, my friend. And then – somehow, somewhere – going on.’

An ending unravels as much as it knits. This book is indebted to the following, and I am grateful for the chance to thank them:

Ace (PS), Liz Duffy Adams, Danny Baror, Venetia Butterfield, Cupcake@Casa, Shannon Dailey, Mindy Elliott, Joe@ 23rd, Joseph Goodrich, David Levine, Todd London, MacDowell Colony, Bill Massey, Honor Molloy, Rachel Neuburger, Suki O’Kane, Donna Poppy, Howard Sanders, Jillian Taylor, Anne Washburn, Mark Worthington, Yaddo, Margaret Young.

For Anne, after it all.