H C Turk, page 9
One door upstairs was odd. Past Rathel's chamber I stepped, smelling at this narrowest door. The area beyond somehow seemed both small and large. Being unlocked, the simple mechanism of this door readily opened, and there was a ladder. My, my, and up I went, finding at the ladder's top a flat hatchway in the ceiling. Here was a latch similar to the windows', but no despair came over me. Instead, I determined to attempt all the available motions of my hand until I unriddled the unpleasant metal. And succeed I did, mainly by force, not intellection; for I grabbed the piece and pushed hard, producing an impressive click. Upward I leaned, the door swinging open, cool, exterior air and the light of the sky falling upon me. Then I stepped from the ladder onto the building's roof.
What magic I found there! Beneath my feet was a platform with a finished floor and a handrail. Though the purpose of this deck was to allow servants opportunity to repair leaks, my task was visionary. Beyond me in all directions was the sinners' world, an endless view of near and distant buildings to extend my thrill of opening the door onto nature's light and air. Although many buildings seen were taller than Rathel's, her town house was built upon high ground, and I peered over much of London. I felt the superiority of my angle, felt that endless space beyond, felt a thrilling location that seemed as much my own as that hole beneath my bed, this one an antithetical type of space: not one to conceal me but to reveal the world. And I cackled to have achieved this view, to look upon the sinners' endless architecture, seeing church spires and buildings nearly as great as St. Nicholas Cathedral, observing our lovely garden mostly hidden by treetops, but a fine sight regardless. At the end of the street was a patch of green, another type of garden though not enfenced behind a house: the park I had seen on my last journey into the city, a bit of wildness I determined to explore. But that greenery was too removed from Rathel's town house, too much a part of the sinners' world that was literally beyond me, and would have to wait for a more proximate familiarity. So down the ladder I climbed with a felicitous disposition, a feeling to satisfy even a witch removed from her true world.
Outside the door stood Rathel. Guiltless I remained, studying neither her smell nor her countenance. Instead, I explained myself, not having lost my pleased demeanor.
Through this passage I have discovered the roof, and a satisfying view therefrom. I hope you are not offended by my pleasure." And past silent Rathel I ran, neither fleeing nor allowing the chief sinner to interrupt my function of determining my place in God's world apportioned to sinners.
Downstairs I found a large chamber full of books on shelves, another full of chairs and divans and other furniture, and that largest area filled with nothing, a mediocre space inferior to that beneath my bed. A significance shared by all of these lower chambers was a mortared hole with ashes. Beside each was a pile of felled trees. Not even I was ignorant enough to consider these holes sites for the burning of any witch coinci-dentally discovered downstairs. I knew them to be fireplaces, and hated upcoming cool weather in advance. How different from our cabin fireplace, which had less of a smoke residue than my nose. Praise God no such hell hole existed in my chamber.
Toward the rear of the house were rooms of no elaborate accommodations. These inner homes of Rathel's slaves I did not examine, though one of the denizens soon found me exploring and wondered of my travels. I mentioned having discovered the roof. To this, Elsie replied that brazen I must become to gain the house's opposite end; for this bottom was the basement, achieved only by passing through the kitchen.
"No other entry is available?" I asked her. "Certainly a kind woman such as yourself would not see me tormented by entering a bloody area proven to sicken me."
"And, no, girl, I'm not having you sick on my account, but neither am I being duped by your flattering talk. So I'm telling you now of the other entry, but it's outside, a door for receiving firewood. But locked it is to keep prowlers out, and can be opened only from within. If I've nothing better to do, lass, I might be opening the thing for you. But, then, perhaps I'm a better person to be teaching you bravery, for you'll not get far in London if unable to face cooking."
I then affected not courage, but timidity.
"Miss Elsie, I believe I do have potential for entering the kitchen in order to gain the basement. I kindly seek your assistance, however, for even if I summon the courage to approach that frightening area, ignorance will preclude my opening the basement door. I am pleased to thank you beforehand for describing how to conquer these devices."
The sinner went static as she examined my face, reasonably disbelieving that a girl of such fluency could not open a door.
"Very well, lass," she sighed. "And Fm telling you now that a key is needed, which you won't be gaining on your own, and won't be using without aid even if you did find the thing. So the key I'm getting for you and opening the door meself, because if I'm teaching you on that basement door, so long we'll be in that smell to pain you that a vomiting you'll commence to sicken me also. So our plan be this: I'm opening the door, then through the kitchen you run, then down the stairs carefully so you're not stumbling to die with a broken head against the firewood."
Elsie had me follow her into that rear corridor between garden and kitchen. As she opened the latter's door, a wave of hideous fumes came to me that inspired a rethinking. Surely the basement could not be worth my suffering that fog of destroyed animals. What need had I of the basement considering my conquests of the roof and garden? I thus decided to be off and under my bed before Elsie returned. But as I turned to flee, there she stood at the kitchen entrance, holding the door open to release a smell of burnt blood and death.
"Come, girl, and you're stepping quickly to get this passage done," she said, and waved me toward her. "The courage you're gaining here is worth a bit of upset innards." And she looked toward me with such a concerned expression that she nearly seemed a witch.
I ran. Glimpsing Elsie, I ran past, hearing her loud instructions: Move to the far wall, turn right, through that open doorway and down-and mind the stairs. So I ran, past Theodosia fiddling with death in a kettle steaming gore, past an open fire enough to burn me paces away, it seemed. In an endless moment, I ran while smelling steaming pots and a coating of dead fat throughout the room. Metal was everywhere: huge masses in the stoves and ovens and unknown devices for hot destruction. To the doorway and down, feet skipping quickly upon the stairs, into a darkened room that was cool and quiet and lacking any sense of death, with a smell of lichens and rodents. Then Elsie was behind me, moving down the stairs with an assured but heavy gait, viewing each tread as she spoke.
"Aye, and Tm hoping you find this no fond place, in that it seems a bit musty for any longish stay." She stopped nearby, looking only at the odd youth, not the familiar basement. "So when you're through with your exploring, lass, be up the stairs again and rap on the door. There I'll be, at some chores in the kitchen, but not many I have and not for long; so be making no encampment here as you do beneath your bed. A later day will have me showing you the ways of locks and latches, but for a spell I think it best we keep you inside if we're able."
The woman then departed, and I proceeded with my examination, which began with relief. Another sinning horror survived. Since Elsie had closed the kitchen door behind her, I received minimum smell from that death chamber, and virtually no sound of sinners' voices, clattering metal, of hissing steam escaping slaughtered creatures' pieces. In this basement I was alone, the only sounds my feet stepping on the soil floor and insects retreating from my intrusion. Here the only light came from small windows near ground level. And here I found a third type of space, unlike that of my bed's bottom or the rooftop, for those realms were of the sinners' world, and the basement seemed more of God's. The basement seemed a cave, and though no especial appreciation had I for these holes-preferring the dry expanse of the open world's air-this cavern was superior to corridors, even as my bed's bottom was a secure place in this land of dangerous sinning.
Superior, but not perfect, for my exploring revealed more of Rathel's furniture stored beneath thick fabric, but little metal beyond rake heads and hinges. Mostly present were soil and the mildew Elsie considered unpleasant. I also found wood: not planks, but limbs and trunk portions recognizable as parts of trees instead of flooring. The heap of rough coal pieces I discovered gave no satisfaction, in that their source was obvious: burnt wood whose ashes were compressed into lumps. Not likely would I again find the smell of hot charcoal fascinating as I had in Jonsway. Neither was I oveijoyed to examine large, ceramic jugs whose fermented, fruity liquid I smelled as vapors leaking through one imperfect seal. Equally fruity was a sludge contained in smaller jars, the sweet smell of mulberries failing to entice me. A superior find were boxes filled with straw, a material with a bracing, subtle scent and a satisfying texture. But a better smell lay deeper. When I entered with my hands as though to have more of my person in the wilds again, I discovered the purpose of these boxes. They were not made to contain straw-the straw was inserted to preserve apples!
What a gift of God was this food. Not that I was starving, for I had consumed enough of the household's raw vegetables for sustenance; but this sweet find was so appropriate for this area that I rejoiced in God's love, which again He manifested in so simple yet profound a manner. Quickly I consumed a fruit, which offered an especially vivid taste because of my disposition. Then I placed the core behind a box, believing that possibly these fruits were a resource that Rathel had hidden for some sinning reason, and I would be burned for having consumed one. With a final inhalation of this cavern's air, I moved up the steps, fearing that if I tarried further, Elsie might quit the kitchen and I would have that hated chamber and two impossible doors to face alone; and how long could I live on a bushel of apples? But survive the kitchen I did, again with the aid of Elsie. Through that tunnel of dead steam I ran with her guidance, into a house that yet held me, though no longer was I lost therein.
Six
Wise was Lady Rathel to settle the witch in this new world by allowing me to apply my own sense of moderation and survival. No less intelligence she displayed by promoting our mutual accommodation through intermediary Elsie, who well accepted the new lass's challenge, though she remained displeased to learn that meat would never pass within me, only fruit and vegetables in their natural state. And, yes, those basement apples were provided rne without request, but none of the cider, thank you, no preserves after the first sticky bite. I also found liquefied tea acceptable upon understanding it to be flavored, not filthy, water. Coffee, however, touched my lips only to be spat away, for this was the blood of burnt beans-but what a joy were onions! How appealing their shapes and hues: round and yellowish, long and green. What fine eating Elsie provided me with onions, somewhat to her dismay, since my breath became noxious to her after a meal of these tubers. And my eating was alone, at the huge, formal table where Rathel also ate with no companion, because I was her only peer in the household, and I would puke to be so near the molested flesh she consumed. And why the elaborate utensils? Clear, cut glasses, ceramic plates and cups, hateful metal tools for stabbing and cutting. These latter I would not touch, though I did relent to Elsie's demand that I accept my greens on a plate. Her assertion that only the lowliest of baseborn folk ate with their fingers caused me to dissent. No better way to eat apples, I declared.
The servants took their meals in the kitchen as was their proper place, and better than eating on the roadway, as Elsie professed. My place was more properly on the road than in this house, on the road and out of London, and this I would achieve, for my life's goal was to escape Rathel and regain the wilds. But I had no knowledge of any wilderness beyond. Regardless of the wind's direction, I smelled only local gardens and greens from the roof, the location of Man's Isle a mystery. I only knew that more familiarity with London was required for my escape. And never did I forget Rathel's design for my life. Though not spoken since Jonsway, her intents with me had not changed, I knew, for even her breath had the scent of vengeance. Neither was the nature of her plans forgotten: that I would kill for her as a witch, thus with either sex or magic.
I knew not how to explain to Rathel the foolish impossibility of her notions, for witches cause consternation with their sex, not death, knives and clubs more effective means of killing than any magic known to me. Deluded in her expertise, Rathel would not readily be convinced by one considered fit only for murderous servitude. But this convincing would further my life's goal, for if Rathel considered me useless for her purposes, what point in retaining me? But how would I confirm my inadequacy? If my only method of leaving London was to kill some man for Rathel, then long in this city would I remain.
"And I'm finding a smell of wetting in your room, lass?" Elsie demanded. "You're having trouble, then, in hitting your chamber pot?"
"Your pardon I most humbly beg, Miss Elsie, in that you well know I take satisfaction in cleaning my quarters and keeping the area perfect."
"Aye, that I know, lass, but perfect for you is sprinkling too much lavender petals and tea. Perfect for you is residing beneath your bed. But I'm saying we must have limits, child. If there's too much dust, another spider, or more pee on the floor
I'm smelling, then I'll be the one upkeeping your chamber, and I'm doing it with the strongest soap I can find, and that's a smell you'll not be fond of."
Sweeping was a task I enjoyed, for it brought me in touch with the natural element of dirt and allowed me to sprinkle too much tea on the carpet to provide the floor with a natural scent. Few other chores was I allowed, certainly not burying the household feces. Strange were the sinners to be human yet share little more than dung and tea with witches.
Theodosia and Delilah shared nothing with me, not only because I rejected their cooking, but because I made to usurp their employ, offering to launder attire and peel fruit-though not in the kitchen. But as Theodosia remarked, if I did all the servants' chores, would the mistress allow them to sleep in my bedchamber? Not blinking likely.
Rathel had no such duties. Being the inheritor of her husband's estate, the lady was a business person with fiscal responsibilities, the average day finding her out and about London to see of landholdings and taxes. Business sinners would also visit her town house, though only men, for rare was the lady in London who controlled her own wealth. And rare was I when the solicitors arrived, for Rathel suggested I remain unseen when men were present. Here the witch agreed.
Elsie was disappointed that these guests were never women from social clubs. Being a fine lady of English society, the mistress should be passing time aiding poor children or bedridden peers. Praise God at least, I told Miss Elsie, that Rathel is not out stealing other children from their homes as taught her by the Vidgeon fool.
Then I scowled and stomped away from poor memories attacking, Elsie with sense enough not to inquire of my distress. To her own misfortune, she later returned to that subject of social clubs; for most women of London-regardless of station-found satisfaction in craftwork, Elsie with modest pride displaying her crocheting. True appreciation had I for her peaceful efforts, but not enough to preclude Elsie's disappointment upon finding me with no desire to craft doilies of my own, though I well appreciated digging with her in the garden. Elsie's smell became one of disappointment because needlework was the nearest she came to being a lady, and a lady she would have me be, not a gardener.
"Oh! and Elsie—this is nearly the real world!" I exclaimed while looking above and beyond to see God's greenery and sense His sky.
"Ah, and you're not telling me again, are you, lass, of your terrible state for having to live in a beautiful home?"
"That house is but a brick cave, Elsie, an enclosure to separate sinners from genuine living. But this grass and soil and sky—this is the true world, miss."
"This is a garden, child, a fine garden and one I'm loving, but part of the world, not all of it."
"If you love it so, why the assaulting?" I asked Elsie, who was uprooting an epiphany only to bury it elsewhere. "The plant is secure here and living fulfilled. Is moving the flower traumatically a game you play wherein you imitate the mistress? Is this epiphany to your shovel a child witch stolen from her true home only to be taken to a false manse?"
With the term "witch," Elsie reacted with a discomfort to be smelled by one. Her words, however, were only of plants.
"Why is it, then, you're not condemning Miss Theodosia for plucking up weeds? Is this not a type of murder to one so wild?"
"Not to one who eats turnips without remorse," I answered. "Besides, Miss Theodosia is not so . . . compelling ... in her speech as you are."
"And thank you, child, for saying how argumentative I am," she scowled, looking up from her dirty knees. "Be plucking a rose, then, and insert it above your ear if you're so displeased with my transplanting. At least your hair will then be smelling decent, in that you've not brushed the dust away from your last bout of rooting beneath the bed."
"Very well, miss, if I am so offensive in my preference for
God and nature, I shall move along and cause you no further misery. Perhaps I might examine the eastern gate to see where it leads."
Depart I did, along the hedges and across the gravel path. Toward the garden's eastern end were trees so tall and a stone fence so high that none of London could be seen, this area seemingly a wild place despite the sound of carriages beyond and the smell of the sinners' odorous city. But true nature is not bounded by sinning emanations. Wilderness is a place proven by its natural inhabitants. London, in comparison, seemed a moderated hell.
As though my comment were a threat, I continued to the gate, but this mass of lumber seemed a door not for a house but a fortress, an impediment as imposing as it was bulky. This huge door was not so temporary a hole as to be traversed by me. Besides, beyond was London, and that was a wall as thick as a city to separate me from the true world. If my window required a great effort to conquer, and the exterior doors remained unfathomable, how fong before I would decipher London? But I was not lost in my journey from the city, for I had scarcely begun. Time I had to learn much and wait longer, for a witch lives not a life, but an era.
