Fiona McIntosh - Scrivener’s Tale

‘Since you began treating her, do you mean?’

Reynard sipped his coffee slowly and didn’t give any indication of offence. ‘She’s not prepared to communicate with doctors anymore. I don’t think it’s directed specifically at me.’

Gabe flicked a glance at Angelina and the surreptitious look she gave him over the rim of her cup contradicted Reynard’s claim.

‘Angelina is frightened and capable of harming herself,’ Reynard continued, unaware of the silent message. ‘But if, Gabriel, you can be persuaded, I think you might be the right person to guide her through this.’

‘This what?’ Gabe asked.

Reynard looked at him quizzically, his silvery eyebrows knitted together. ‘This period in her life, of course. You’re my last hope. If I can I’d like to find her family, get her reconnected and hopefully out of enforced care — which is all that she can look forward to unless we can fix this.’

Gabe put his cup down deliberately softly to hide his exasperation. ‘When you say “last hope”, Reynard, what exactly do you mean?’

Reynard sat forward. ‘I’ve saved her from mental health hospitals. I’ve taken her on as a special case with a promise that I will find the right doctor for her. Soon she’ll be returned to the care of institutions and become a ward of the state … and you know what that means. She’ll be lost to the corridors of madness. They’ll drug her, labelling her schizophrenic or bipolar, and they’ll move on to the next youngster. She’ll be tied to a bed, kept like a zombie for most of her waking hours, they’ll —’

‘I work in a bookshop,’ Gabe appealed. ‘I’m writing a book,’ he added, his hands open in a helpless gesture, a desperate attempt to avoid this task.

‘Ah, yes, the scrivener,’ Reynard replied. ‘It’s your distance from your previous profession, perhaps, that makes you all the more valuable. You haven’t forgotten how, surely?’

Gabe sighed. ‘No. I haven’t forgotten.’

‘So you’ll see her?’

He recalled standing opposite Angelina’s last night — it was an omen. He remembered the note crumpled in his left fist, which was now plunged into the pocket of his jacket. He shifted his gaze back to her. In her look was a plea.

‘Yes, I’ll see Angelina.’

‘Excellent. Oh marvellous, thank you, Gabriel … I —’

‘There are conditions —’

‘I understand,’ Reynard said, barely hearing him, Gabe was sure.

‘Don’t be too hasty. Hear me out first. I insist on seeing her alone,’ Gabe said, knowing it would not go down well.

Reynard’s face clouded. ‘Oh, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’

‘Why?’ he asked reasonably.

‘I am responsible for Angelina … for every moment that she is out of hospital.’

‘Are you suggesting she’s in danger with me?’ Gabe asked, without a hint of indignation.

‘Not at all. She’s unpredictable, Gabriel.’

They both glanced at Angelina, who had in the last minute or so seemed to tune out of their conversation. She was staring through the window but with unseeing eyes. Her coffee was cooling, untouched; crystals of sugar were scattered around from her opening the sachets carelessly.

‘Unpredictable?’ he queried, returning his attention to Reynard.

‘Dangerous,’ Reynard replied.

Gabriel tried to school his features but he wasn’t quite quick enough to shield Reynard from the slight slump of his shoulders that clearly conveyed his mistrust of this diagnosis.

‘I don’t feel threatened by her,’ he said as evenly as he could. ‘And Reynard, this is not a request, it’s a condition of me doing the assessment for you. You’re the one asking the favour.’ How quickly that firm note came back into one’s voice, he thought, privately impressed. So many times in his working life he’d had to adopt that calm but implacable stance with parents, guardians, teachers, even other doctors.

‘Where?’ Reynard asked sounding reluctant.

‘It will have to be my studio, I suppose. It is neutral for Angelina. It is also spacious and quiet. You can wait downstairs in the lobby or you’re welcome to sit on the landing outside. But I want to speak to her without interference of any kind.’

‘I will wait on the landing as you suggest. When?’

Gabe shrugged, surprised by Reynard’s continuing possessiveness. ‘It’s my day off tomorrow. Let’s say eleven, shall we?’

‘That’s fine.’

Gabe stood. ‘Bring a book. The landing offers no diversion,’ he said, his tone neutral. He looked at the girl. ‘Bye, Angelina.’ She ignored him. Reynard began to apologise. ‘Don’t,’ Gabe said, ‘it’s okay. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

‘Thank you,’ Reynard said.

Gabe left without another word, unaware of how Angelina’s gaze followed long after most people’s vision would have lost him to the blur of street life.

Brother Josse opened the door to the calefactory and felt the change in temperature. It was the only chamber, other than his private room, where a fire was permitted. But he invariably went without setting a fire in his living quarters as he believed in leading by example, and though his bones were weary — when he lay down these nights his muscles seemed to lock themselves without his permission, then the aches and pains would arrive — and his eyesight failing, he would not capitulate and give himself more comfort than the rest of the Brothers.

The warmth enveloped him like a blanket and he sighed with silent pleasure. He regarded the back of his visitor, who was looking out of the window onto the herb gardens. Spare and small-framed, the man turned at the sound of Josse closing the door.

‘I didn’t hear you arrive,’ the stranger said, soft of voice but with a warm and ready smile.

‘That’s the point, I believe,’ Josse replied, equally genially. All in the Brotherhood could move in silence. ‘It has been a very long time.’

‘It has,’ came the reply. ‘You were not much more than a lad last time we met.’

Josse nodded. ‘And you said one day you would need my help, that you would come,’ he said, taking in his guest’s straight bearing beneath the simple grey robe, the neat hair shot through with silver, but the face surprisingly unlined for one so old. How could that be?

‘I have kept my promise,’ the visitor said gently.

Josse knew he was staring, trying to make sense of the man’s presence. He finally gathered his wits. ‘Er, will you break bread with me?’

‘Thank you. My tastes are uncomplicated though, Brother Josse. I eat no meat.’

‘Ah, that’s right. No living creature; I remember you telling me all those years ago.’

The man smiled again, the echo of its brightness sparkling in his eyes. ‘I think the fruits and vegetables forgive me though,’ he said with a shrug.

‘I have followed in the same steps.’

Surprise registered on the man’s face. ‘Truly? I’m impressed.’

Josse laughed. ‘I believe I’ve been in awe of you since childhood.’

‘I don’t know why,’ came the reply and even the tone was modest.

Josse shook his head. ‘Even now you surprise me with your own humility and yet I know that you are —’

‘Please,’ the man said, ‘do not treat me with any deference. I am, as you see, a simple soul with simple needs.’

‘May I offer you a cup of gleam?’

‘Certainly, it would be a treat. I haven’t tasted the spicy wine in many years. It will loosen our tongues for we have important matters to discuss.’

Josse felt a thrill of excitement. He didn’t know why this man had taken such an interest in his life when he’d been brought to the priory at the age of nine. He remembered him not much differently than how he stood here now: the hair was a little less silvered perhaps, but beyond that the eyes were still sharp and bright, pierced by a curious shot of gold around the pupils.