“The pain is quite gone?”
“It ceased the moment he ate Nidget,” said Zacharias. “If nothing else, Leofric is a dragon of his word.”
“So he always was,” said Sir Stephen.
They passed under rustling canopies of pale green leaves, their measured tread bringing them along the shrubbery which screened off the outside world.
“Well, there is no need to explain anything to you, Zacharias,” said Sir Stephen. “You always knew me and Maria as well as we did ourselves. Never was there such an observant child. Your nurse said she never knew such a feeling little creature. Why, you will not recollect this, but when you were quite a little boy, no more than three or four years old, you used to take my hand when I visited the nursery, and ask if I were very tired, in such a solicitous manner as, combined with your imperfect pronunciation, was quite absurdly moving.”
Zacharias did, in fact, remember this. He had been instructed to ask the question by his nurse, who considered that, as a charity case, he should make special efforts to win his guardian’s affections.
“It stands to reason they will find it harder to love a little black creature like you, than if you had dear Lady Wythe’s blue eyes and golden hair,” Martha had said.
She had meant to be kind. Martha had been attached to him notwithstanding his blackness, and had wept to leave him when she went away to be married. It had all happened long ago, in any case, and there was little purpose in disillusioning Sir Stephen now.
“May I hope, sir, that you are finally acting in accordance with my wish that you should move on to your final home?” said Zacharias. “You know it was never any part of my intention to bind you to this world.”
“Then you should not have sacrificed yourself for the good of my immortal soul,” said Sir Stephen. “You are not the only one capable of feeling beholden to his friends.”
“If we are to enter into the question of which of us owes the greatest debt to the other—” Zacharias began.
“I beg we will not,” said Sir Stephen mildly. “I chose to take you on, you know. Since the decision to become a parent is invariably self-interested, it is my belief that a parent’s obligation is to the child, and the child’s obligation is to itself. However, let us avoid such old ground, or we will fall to quarrelling again. I have always said I would consider myself at liberty only once you were relieved of the burden you assumed upon my death. Now you are free, it is clear that my duty no longer calls me to tarry. I have known for a while that I am awaited elsewhere, and have only delayed because you had the better claim upon me.”
Zacharias could not speak. Sir Stephen’s continued presence had not always been convenient, but he had, Zacharias now realised, come to rely upon the certainty that Sir Stephen would appear when he was needed. It was curious to think that he had been present at Sir Stephen’s death, but was the only person for whom his death had not been real—until now.
“Whatever they have in the worlds beyond this one, I will miss these gardens,” said Sir Stephen, looking around. “So many memories are associated with them. Still, memory is not enough to linger on. Maria may eventually succumb to the attentions of that impudent fellow Barbary, and then where would I be? Better to pass on—to leave you mortals to the business of living, and concern myself with the business of dying.”
Rather shocked, Zacharias said: “I cannot conceive that Lady Wythe would dream of entertaining inappropriate attentions so soon after your death.”
“Oh, they are not inappropriate,” said Sir Stephen. “Daniel Barbary would never do anything inappropriate, damn him. He has vouchsafed only the most delicate civilities—the kindest consideration. He would make an excellent husband if Maria were inclined to risk marriage again. It would doubtless be for the best if she did: she was not made for a solitary existence, and though I know you would do what you could, you could not provide anything like the companionship of a husband. It would be greatly to Maria’s advantage to contract another union—and so I had better move on. Doubtless these matters will seem of little consequence in the next life.”
“You have been very good to me, Sir Stephen,” said Zacharias unsteadily. Now that the loss approached, it seemed to him that it came too soon. There still remained far too much to say—far too much left undone, to permit of their parting.
“What, now, will we speak of obligation again?” said Sir Stephen, smiling. “I have proscribed all such talk, remember. I have heard enough of duty from you, Zacharias. Now you are liberated from your office—which I know you entered for duty’s sake—I hope you will concern yourself much more with what you desire. With what would give you joy. You have given me such joy, my dear boy. That I shall remember, wherever death may take me.”
At the gate Sir Stephen paused and laid his hand upon Zacharias’s shoulder. A light pressure—a last look, full of affection—and he departed. He walked along the street, his image fading as he went, until even by straining his tear-blurred sight to the utmost, Zacharias could not descry any trace of his oldest friend.
27
ZACHARIASWASATa loss for what to do about the caterpillars.
He had taken the lease of the cottage in large part for its charming garden. The trim flowerbeds and vegetable patch had captured Zacharias’s imagination. He had envisaged himself kneeling upon the earth, digging in the soil, making every day small, tangible contributions to flourishing.
He had not conceived of the multitude of afflictions that threatened vegetable kind, however. Every evening he pored over weighty tomes on gardening lore, and he rose every morning prepared to do battle, but in vain. His endeavours bore no fruit, of the metaphorical or physical kind, and each day he confronted the reproachful attitude of a garden struggling to retain its grip on life.
It eventually dawned upon him that he was going about the business in the wrong way. He had taken up gardening as a diversion from his primary occupation, the magical researches that took up the main part of his days, but he saw that he could not continue this strict division between work and leisure if he were to make any sort of successof the garden. If he desired it to thrive, he must apply to it what skills he had.
Once he had worked out a suitable formula, the garden did indeed begin to do better. Zacharias had hopes of roses soon, and he thought he might even venture to eat one of his cabbages.
This was to run a real risk, for it was not clear what the full effect of the spell had been. In ingesting the cabbage, would he also be consuming the magic that had grown it? What would be the consequence of that? He would not feed the cabbages to anyone else, but for himself he thought he might make the trial.
It was an advantage of living alone in the countryside that it enabled one to lead the uninterrupted life of the mind. Cut off from London, he could afford to ignore the bickering, the intrigues, the grandstanding and shufflings for position that had bedevilled his former life. Provided he did not, by leaving out any excessively magical equipment, alarm the villager who visited once a day to cook a hot meal and tidy the cottage, he was left in peace to pursue truth—even if that involved the occasional ingestion of a dubious cabbage leaf.
The caterpillars were a problem, however. Fat, fuzzy and complacent, they sat upon his vegetables in veritable hordes, ignoring him until he addressed one directly.
“Good morning, sir,” he said.
The caterpillar paused the busy movement of its jaws to reply:
