The Unseen(91)

Cat wakes, by chance alone, as the sky is turning pale silver. For a while she lies still and wonders why her back aches, and why her feet are cold, and where she is. For a while, she revels in the glorious sensation of having rested. Her stomach rumbles hotly. Then she lifts her head and sees George. No room for two people side by side on the narrow bed. He has lain all night on his back, with Cat on his stomach as though he were a mattress. He snores softly, shifts his spine when she moves, and a spike of fierce love for him startles her. Panic soon replaces it. Dawn is on its way, and she has passed the whole night fast asleep in his arms. In less than an hour she must be washed and dressed and ready to open the house and make breakfast and start the day, yet she is miles away, and has slept in her clothes which are creased and stale. And she hasn’t even got the vicar’s bicycle with her to speed the return journey. She slides to her feet as softly as she can, but George opens his eyes.

‘Where are you going?’

‘It’s morning!’ she snaps, anxiety making her curt. ‘I can’t believe I slept so long … I have to get back! They’ll notice … and I look like a vagrant!’

‘Don’t fret so … the sun’s not yet up, you’ve time.’ George sits up, twists his shoulders to free up the muscles. ‘Tell you what, for a slip of a thing you aren’t half heavy after a while.’ He smiles.

‘I can’t believe you let me sleep on like that.’

‘You needed it. I was going to wake you when it got late, but you looked so peaceful. So I shut my eyes for five minutes, and must have drifted off as well.’

Cat rakes her fingers through her hair and brushes roughly, pointlessly, at her skirt and blouse. Pulling on her shoes, she turns to climb the steps. George catches her hand.

‘Wait! Wait a second, Cat. You never did answer me. My proposal.’

‘There’s no time now, George,’ Cat says, trying to pull away and be gone.

‘Yes or no – both very short words, and quick to say,’ he counters, and his tone is guarded now. ‘I would be good to you, Cat Morley,’ he adds when she hesitates, won’t meet his eye.

‘I know it. I know you would. But I can’t marry you, George.’

‘Why not?’ he asks, his face falling. Cat hugs her arms tight around herself, suddenly cold and queasy. ‘Why not? Do you love another?’ he presses, sounding both angry and afraid.

‘No!’

‘Am I not good enough for you?’

‘You would be good enough for any woman, George, and that’s the truth,’ she says, sadly.

‘Then why won’t you marry me?’

‘Because you would own me! I won’t be owned, George! By you or anybody … bad enough that I am slave to the vicar and his wife. I would not swap that one kind of slavery for another.’

‘I’m talking of marriage, not slavery …’

‘But it’s the same thing! If you’d only heard some of the accounts I have, from women in London – how marriage has served them, how they have been treated. If I wed you it would be your right to beat me! To take my money, my children, everything I own, though God knows I own precious little … It would be your right to take your pleasure with me, whether I wanted it or not! To shut me indoors and never let me see the light of day … It would be your right to …’ She runs out of breath, and coughs; finds her hands shaking in fear at her own words.

‘I would do none of those things! Is that what you think of me?’ he asks, stricken.

‘No! I don’t think you would do any of them, George; I speak only of the state of marriage, and why I will not enter into it. With you or any man!’ she cries. ‘I will not be owned!’

From outside the boat, in the wake of her words, comes silence. George turns away from her, sits back down on the bed and does not look at her. Cat swallows, her throat parched and painful. She hesitates a moment, then climbs out of the cabin and makes her way back towards Cold Ash Holt.





The Rev. Albert Canning – from his journal


TUESDAY, JULY 18TH, 1911


Today Robin has gone up to London. He sent a telegraph ahead to propose a meeting with the upper echelons of The Society, and although he had not had a response before he left, I am sure they will be most thrilled to see the evidence he has procured here, and to think and plan in which way best to use it, to further the teaching and enlightenment of the people. It is like walking in God’s very shadow, to know such things are so close at hand. It is a constant distraction, and a glorious one. I can think of little else. I yearn to be in the meadows at dawn, with Robin at my side; to be suffused with the overwhelming sense of rightness which overcomes me at such times. Yes, I yearn for it. Afterwards, the human race, in the full light of day, seems a paltry and unworthy thing indeed. I find my parishioners almost disgust me, with their sicknesses and their impiety and their material obsessions and their lasciviousness. Bringing them to the truth would be a task indeed, and I confess, to my shame, that some selfish part of me would rather not try, and would rather keep this exquisite discovery between myself and Robin. But this is not the way of theosophy, and I must work to oppress such thoughts.