Soul

‘You are to come with me,’ Lavinia said.

‘Pretty boy,’ he slurred, reaching for her face.

Hoping to shock some sense into him, she shook him violently. ‘James, it is I, Lavinia.’

He pushed the cap from her head and her hair fell to her ears.

‘So it is. Hamish, meet my wife. Such a pretty boy she makes.’ He languidly threaded his fingers through Lavinia’s ringlets.

Suddenly, his demeanour altered. Grabbing her hair, he pulled Lavinia down towards him, his breath an acrid concoction of indigestion, opium and stale wine.

‘You have no right to be here, do you hear me? No right!’

‘You must come home. It is your duty.’

Pushing her aside, he reached for the silver pipe that was being offered to Hamish and, inhaling, collapsed back onto the cushions.

‘Aloysius, help me!’ Lavinia commanded.

The coachman reluctantly stepped out of the shadows and hoisted the Colonel up under his arms. He dragged the lolling body out of the opium den, through the silken wall hanging and into the coffee shop, the Colonel’s inert feet banging against the tables.

59

LAVINIA SAT AT THE FOOT OF THE bed and watched her husband sleep. She had kept vigil for over six hours, watching him toss and turn, a fine film of perspiration covering his face, his hands curled up in childish rage. She wondered how many men were folded within him like the Russian doll stored in her trousseau: father, scientist, husband, visionary, addict?

She closed her eyes; the trip back from Mincing Lane had been harrowing. The Colonel had collapsed in the carriage, his face ashen, his limbs twitching as the rising sun progressively illuminated every mark of pain on his waxen skin. He looked like a man already murdered by his own unhappiness.

He stirred in his slumber, a lock of hair falling across his heavy brow. Very lightly, before she could stop herself, she caressed his cheek. His skin was hot to the touch.

‘Water,’ he croaked.

Lavinia poured him a glass from a jug on the side table, then helped him to sit. He tried to grasp the glass, but his hands shook furiously; water spilled onto the coverlet.

Taking the glass, Lavinia held it to his lips. As James drank thirstily, his bloodshot eyes fixed upon her. Finally, he pushed the glass away. Lavinia, dreading the moment he would speak, got up and pulled the curtains open.

A sparrow shot across the window: a feathered meteorite against the city skyline with its turrets, spirals and red-brick rooftops. Lavinia pondered the simplicity of the bird’s life, and for a moment wished she were outside, unburdened by all that lay within.

In that same instant, the Colonel found himself blinking at the sunlight he hadn’t seen for over a week. He looked down at his scratched hands, the wasted muscles of his arms.

‘I refuse to live as a hypocrite, Lavinia.’

‘You cannot love him.’

He answered by his silence. A terrible silence into which Lavinia’s whole future seemed to collapse.

‘Arrangements can be made,’ he said eventually. ‘As far as the outside world is concerned, we will continue to live as man and wife.’

She sat there, barely hearing him.

Clambering out of bed, the Colonel stumbled for a moment on weakened legs, his ankles bony below the hem of his nightshirt. He looked across at the photographic portrait they had sat for: husband, wife and son. They were the archetypal Victorian couple: his propriety and wealth indicated by his silk waistcoat, his fine pocket watch, his whiskers groomed and waxed; Lavinia, handsome in dark damask, held the sprawling baby on her knee, dressed in bonnet and smock. They could be one of a hundred society families, he suddenly thought; it was a mendacious image, the very artifice of respectability. Then the thought of losing Aidan shot through him like a deep and sudden bereavement. A child needed his mother above all else. God help the foundation upon which this society is built, he concluded, his knees feeble from hunger and illness.

Lavinia’s gaze followed his. ‘I will not allow it. You have an obligation to your family!’ she cried.

Fearing the servants would overhear, he gripped her wrists, pressing her arms against her body.

‘You have no choice!’ he hissed, his face inches from hers.

She kicked at his ankles, forcing him to drop his hold. ‘But I have. I can denounce you.’