The Wrong Drug
Why, his bed was in the street, damnit! Muff Diggins, I’d slaughter him half the time if I got the chance to. Half good, half bad, and inconceivably ill-mannered to boot.
“Don’t poison the Good House,” I jested. “Honestly, you’re a sir. You live here for free, it’s the least you could do to not be a bloody—”
Muff tipped his finger to his lips in a stupid ploy to shut me up. A successful ploy, as it happened. He nodded knowingly and gave me an arrogant smile. The problem was how he viewed himself, which no one except us could endure.
“An’ all this a’ say what, that yer a lady?” Muff crinkled his eyes as if in some sort of ill-begotten glee. Always moving his head around, talking with his eyes and hands more than with his mouth, fecking creep… “Oh, I’an see it now— Lady Nemeila, ’ere to save us all. Bollocks, ah… don’t spill blood on’t cucumbers.”
I scoffed. “Your riddles… they’re not clever. They’re bordering on illiterate.”
“An’ yer bordering on illegitimate, my wain. All I’m sayin’ is ’at there’s a reason for my madness.”
Haléy snorted under her breath. “Bless you to come back from that one…”
It was Haléy’s mouth and Muff’s fault. It was always Muff’s fault, even if it wasn’t at first apparent. It wasn’t as if he tried, in any case. Before my thoughts were assembled, I retorted, “And you’ll weep ’til all hours when we truly are, won’t you, you little twat.”
Haléy cried in a muffled whisper, “Jesus, I were only playing.”
“Oh, shatter out your eyes…” I rolled mine. The nerve. Is it so hard to be on my side? I spun around to take on Muff, whose eyes I could feel gleaming with misplaced malice. “For fuck’s sake, pleased with yourself now?”
“An’ you’d kiss your mother wi’ that mouth after spewin’ that tripe? You’re the bitch ’ere, Miss Nemeila.” Muff always had the uncanny knowledge of people’s thoughts and a biting wit that made me sorry I’d tried to match it. I became embarrassed as he shook his own hand, like meeting someone for the first time. Could say the same, only she’s the lucky one that got away, innit.
He continued, “Th’ bed of mine’s out yonder, aye, but trouble you not wi’it. Be reyt if anyone touches it. So why ought you? An’ for your information, I’m a man o’ charity, me. Someone ’ere’s after resting their sorry little head.”
“What are you on about, Muff? Your damn bed is in the street and causing drama. I’m reyt pissed for it all. You’re lucky that we’ve got no better options.”
His eyes glimmered with chaos, as if he were egging me onto sommet. “Then call me a jack-arse fool wi’ few friends. Eeh by gum, dun’t hurt a’ pay your Sir Hattie a visit, now does it? Off wi’ ya.” He smiled an irritatingly toothy grin.
Like water under a bridge…
Haléy joined in then: “I like you, Muff.” He smiled at her. It was the kind of smile you use on an animal that eats from your hand; one of pity and mild apathy, and more to the point one that said to me: ain’t hard for her to be on my side.
My cheeks were hot, but I knew better than to conceal my blushing. It was an authorized sequel to any of the smaller bouts we’d had. My stomach had an unending knot.
Sir Samyuri Hattie. I could almost taste the smoke at the thought, and it was fresher than owt being said at the moment. If anyone would know what this all was about, I’d bet my money on him. I retreated to his room as Muff was mid-sentence about sommet useless.
“Nemeila,” he said, barely opening the door wide enough for his body. I ducked under his arm, collapsing on one of his chairs with a melodramatic sigh, flailing my legs over the side of the couch.
“Sir Hattie, did you see what he did?” It was a pointless question, because everyone had, but it felt better than talking to nobody.
He raised his eyebrows at me, did that thing I hated where he pressed his lips together in a smirk. Muff Diggins was his least favourite topic—an inconvenient truth, because it was almost exclusively how I began our conversations. Nonetheless, he nodded curtly for me to begin.
“His damned bed is out front. Says it’s for wayfarers or some shite like that. Everyone is talking about it, all hush-hush. He really can be such a bastard.”
Sir Hattie left a few moments of silence. Licked his lips. “I know. He does it every year around May Day; it is his personal ritual, the prodigal lantern of kinship. And every year, it is mana from heaven where gossip is concerned.”
I pressed my temple, sharp inhale. Yes, dear Sir Hattie, thank you for explaining what I never asked to be explained.”
He chuckled a little. “What? I just did…”
You too? I wished he’d get angrier. I needed someone to match my enthusiasm these days. Perhaps he’d be baited by my next ploy. One topic he loved to the next.
“Sir Hattie, I yelled at Haléy this morning. She cried. How am I meant to be the one handling things in such impossible company?”
“Good. She could use it,” he mused. Small cough. Big silence.
“What?” No scolding, no wise words, no ramifications?
“No scolding, nor wise words, nor ramifications. I think that girl is a step up from Lady Addams sometimes.”
I blinked and shorted my gaze. Now, I knew that Sir Hattie loved to leave me at a cliff-hanger, so I was more intrigued than concerned with his perpetual slandering of my baby sister. After he stopped talking, nigh poisonously, he glanced to see my reaction.
“Samyuri.”
“What?” he repeated, the corners of his mouth brimming up into a smile. “I thought you would not mind it if I agreed with you.” He peered out the window to Muff’s bed sat stupidly in the road; behind it in the distance was the Mulbury House, now completed. I craned my neck to see if there was owt else I ought be concerned with.
“If I am going to tell you this, Nemeila, I am going to need to smoke something other than my usual. And for the love of god, do not tell Muff.”
“Why would he—” and I realized he hadn’t meant about the smoking.
Muff Diggins was the best— and possibly only real— storyteller in the house, a title which came with his own account of anything that happened around here. To his credit, Sir Hattie didn’t force-feed Haléy and me stories, but his coyness was annoying.
Rolling his eyes at my stupid conjecture, Sir Hattie replied, “It isn’t that Diggins will plead the fifth, or care that you know in the first place. I simply do not wish him to know it was myself who imparted such things to you.” He put one of his special cigarettes to his lips, lit it, and moved my feet so he could open the window.
I was unconvinced. “I only have two avenues of gathering information; he’d know.”
He exhaled. “Not necessarily. I know he might guess, but you will have to deny it.”
I mumbled my agreement, eager for him to say sommet interesting. He nodded towards the single tree in the distance, shading the Mulbry House. “The experiment, that is what all this is.”
“If I seem confused it’s because I am.”
Sir Hattie seemed bemused, as earlier. He must’ve been having a good week to have all that patience. He was beating even Haléy. “Cripes. I cannot believe you have never heard of this before. With Patricia… Well, the Mulbury House has its own energy. It would be, shall we say, particularly strong at Carnival when we’re all here celebrating and they are—” His quick glance slid over me, registering his effect.
“What do you mean ‘they?’ No-one lives in that house.” It was just a shell, small and far-away and unbothersome until now.
“Well, the house has its… builders. And obviously everything has its own vibrations, I suppose. Think of it as energy that might affect things, like a drug.” He inhaled deeply. “Like, say… the Santa Ana winds.”
Took all the time in the world to figure out where that sentence was going.
Sir Hattie coughed, pushing out little puffs of smoke. He caught his breath, then inhaled slowly. His eyes were red now, and so was my patience.
I righted myself, prepared to argue. “What the hell’s all that damn buildup for?”
He dropped his chin to his chest, looked at me. “My affairs are equal parts wildly uninspiring and important.” He coughed again and shut the window, stubbed out his cigarette. For someone who smoked like a chimney, I found it curious that he coughed as much as he did.
As I tried to levy past him, he put his hands over my shoulders, planted a kiss like a punch on top of my head. I glared at him, swatting his arms. “As always, lovely seeing you Miss Nemeila. And notice I use your first name because I outrank you.”
“Fuck’s sake, what?”
“One more thing. Since I know where you are off to and all that.” He opened his cigarette case, held it in front of me. “Take one.”
“Does this mean I’ve got the black lung, Pa?” I jested in my American accent.
“Aye, the black lung. It is not for you, it is to give to that friend of yours, Muff. Also, in case you were wondering, it is gone now. The bed, I mean.”
I sprung up, but didn’t bother looking long. He was right. It was gone.
***
The piano had been tuned recently, but the keys still had a slightly tacky film in some places. I tried again to play Sir Hattie’s polonaise, but abandoned my prospects after about an hour. If my own perceptions were any inkling to the thoughts of everyone within earshot, my scrappy playing was wearing its welcome. Besides, the room was muggy with the last remnants of April.
Since Haléy hadn’t gone back to our room, I wasn’t sure where else to look. She also wasn’t in the gardens. Dazed— that described well enough my feelings towards our earlier bout. It was slightly worse, in a way, because now I was irritated at my practice session. And Sir Hattie. Now I thought about it, I had never given much thought to Muff and his relationship. I never saw them together, unless it was with everyone. In any case, I figured I was probably too new to be privy to their camaraderie.
Vibrations. The Good House’s vibrations were sticky, like pastry dough left uncovered on the counter for too long. Everyone was in pseudo-mourning; even I knew enough to surmise that the upcoming festivities wouldn’t displace Patricia. But I was left in the middle of it all, neither here nor there.
Where to find that blessed sister of mine… Even if I had been right and Sir Hattie had agreed with me, it wasn’t her fault. Two whole hours later, I still felt penitent, but she was still missing, so I couldn’t apologize. After my fruitless search, I sat with myself outside the front door. The electricity in the air was neutral. In the soil, barely perceptible, were notches from the legs of Muff Diggins’ bed.
***
I awoke alone the next morning. Haléy’s side of the bed was cold and undisturbed. It was early enough that barely discernible light was peaking through the curtains which I hadn’t bothered to close the night before. I walked down to Bay Room again. It was surreally quiet, almost as if there was a curfew for early risers. I liked to watch the sunrise from the stoops sometimes; sometimes we did it together to calm Haléy down after a bad night’s sleep, no doubt from dreaming about our parents.
My favourite part of the day was when the sun tipped over the flat land, the air softly moving the leaves on the trees. It was like a small nod from the sun: Cheating time, I see. Getting a few minutes past twenty-four hours, more than anyone else in the world.
Soon the periwinkle dawn faded to a milky blue, the sun warming everything like a bowl of honey poured over the sky. When the air turned golden and I could see the particles floating, I bit my lip; I was done biding time.
I walked up the staircase to the second floor, past the gauche mirror by Sir Hattie’s room. The clock downstairs struck six times. Sir Hattie didn’t smile when he opened his door. A bit of a quick response, too, considering the time of day. I walked straight past him, melting onto his couch. He sat beside me, sandwiching me between the arm and his body. His hand rested somewhere between my far shoulder and the back of the couch.
“She will turn up sometime. She doesn’t know how to fix breakfast.”
Suddenly I felt sleepy. I had a half-baked question I wanted him to formulate for me.
“Samyuri, how do you suppose Muff moves his bed without anyone seeing it?”
“Bit early to deprecate me, is it not?” He stretched and I heard his shoulders crack. “It’s back, you know,” he said. He nodded towards the window.
I sat bolt upright, sprung to the window. “How in the hell? I watched the sunrise this morning, only came up here two minutes ago! And I think I would’ve heard someone lugging a bed outside.”
“He is a surreptitious one, isn’t he?” He simpered.
I craned my neck back towards him ungracefully. That answer wasn’t an answer and he knew it. I cleared the morning creaks from my throat. “Sir Hattie, what did you get up to yesterday after kicking me out?”
He pinched a cigarette from its silver case. “Why don’t you go find Haléy?”
So there.
I hadn’t meant to let the conversation end there, but for once in my life I summoned self-control. Instead I watched the smoke blend with the morning mist as it swirled into nothingness.
***
Haléy had her hair plaited in a circle around her head. She sat on the steps near our room, like she was waiting for me to get back and open the door for her. Truthfully, I wanted to wring her neck, but she gave me a sheepish smile. In an effort to avoid our ordeal, I made a happy face and leaned down to hug her.
Softly, she observed, “May Day is coming.” Haléy had been excited for any sign of life since February. “They’s only two more days, Nettie. I want to bake sommet.”
Patting her knee, I rose to let us in the room. Today was humid as hell, so I cracked the window. Haléy busied herself drawing. She took after our mother in that you never knew when things were truly put to bed. But she took after Mother Theresa when it cam to patience, so I had hope.
“What’s that, then?”
She looked up with serious eyes and turned the paper toward me. The drawing resembled a purple artichoke.
“If I plan it all out, Muff says he’ll help me make it.”
“And how’s he going to do that? Or is sewing one of his many unobserved talents?
“He’s well good, actually.”
And so are we, I suppose… I opened my mouth to apologise right then, but she continued about the layers of fabric she needed and how it would all come together by the second week of June. As she spoke, the vibrations seemed calmer than before.
A Day in May
Just as we were entering the library for a game of backgammon, I heard clumsy, clunky footsteps. I pushed Haléy behind the doorframe, but not quickly enough.
“Ah, Nem la femme. An’ Haléy. Where you two off? Nowt in t’ world a’ literature be as compellin’ as what I’ll tell after.” He stood obnoxiously close. The lights from the library windows revealed an oily looking stain on his blue button-down.
Muff Diggins apparently decided that we didn’t spend enough time discussing the single day of the year that I couldn’t care less about. His bed had been making its regular appearances and disappearances in front of the house for the past week, but so far as I could tell, no one had seen him move it.
The moment he’d chosen was, of course, inconvenient. He gave me pleading eyes when Haléy stepped out into the corridor to give him a quick side hug.
“Hey, Muff,” she said.
He tilted his head inside the library. The four people inside paid him no mind.
“By gum, what is it?”
“Mhmm, yes, sure,” he mumbled cheerfully. “Lots to do what with— ” he whistled and rolled his eyes.
Haléy bit her lip and forced a little chirpy laugh. “What?”
“The bed, innit,” I frowned.
He twiddled his wrists as if shifting imaginary bracelets, like the kind Gypsy wore, looked suspiciously side to side as if scanning for trouble. Leaning in, he hissed, “Bollocks, the bed is right. Fear not, my good sisters, the sirs and ladies ain’t fully understand it either. But, ah, I reckon you need to know: May Day mayday is coming, be reyt.”
He wagged his finger, or rather waved it like he was air spelling. “That’s what, Nemeila,” he said, even though it was Haléy who had asked the question.
I knew this was probably only marginally irritating compared to what he had intended to say. Getting Muff riled up was not something I lived for, and I knew the likes of this conversation would become more irritating by the minute.
Disgusted at his childishness, I asked him what his big news was.
“Will the third floorers come down?” Haléy interjected. “For May Day, y’know. The Kennings and Renées and Saint Marcs never come down. I’ve never seen ’em,”
Muff pursed his lips, evocative of Sir Hattie. “If you ain’t seen ’em, how’re you knowing you never did? Hah!”
Haléy’s eyes widened as she put her thumb to her lips, as if such a complex thought had never entered that sweet thinking brain of hers. I kind of wanted to shoot her a look about it.
“Irrelevant.”
He looked indignant as he spat out two words: The Olymes.
“That’s who owns that there Mulbury House! I’ve figured it, an’ not a moment too soon—they’re after ruinin’ May Day if they come back ’ere!”
I felt my stomach give me a quiet nudge, but I couldn’t quite place why.
His pupils shrunk suddenly and his mouth made a small o. “Shit— my bed! Them bastards’ve only made me forget me damned bed! Ah, this lantern’s one ought a’ go out, be reyt… They’re after starting shit, believe you me. Them Olymes spewin’ codswallop, fuckin’ hell.”
I wished Haléy wasn’t beside me. Unlike Sir Hattie, he didn’t skip details to spare feelings, be they mine, hers, or anyone else’s. But in line with my better judgement, I decided not to press him— he was immune to that kind of manipulation, anyways.
He backed away slowly and nodded, then ran down the hall with his wrists awkwardly pressed to the small of his back. It was becoming an annoying pattern: his conversations began and ended in the same way—unsatisfyingly dry on the details.
Fucking looney.
I realised as we were setting up the board that he’d never mentioned exactly how he knew the Olymes owned the Mulbury House. I doubted he would be transparent. A damn shame, because Sir Hattie had a habit of disappearing when the winds of change came blowing, and I had no one left to ask. That evening, I tried to put into words how it all seemed, but it were fruitless: my dreamscape journal was a journal only by name; the pages were barely hanging on. Sommet would have to be done about that.
***
As it turned out, Haléy hadn’t been lying when she had said that Muff could sew.
Earlier, he’d given her a small green paper bag with some purple crumpled thing inside. She waited until our chicken and rice was nearly cooked to open in. Immediately, any and all traces of apathy vanished,
“Wow, Nettie Dee! Look, it’s just like what I’ve been drawing! Look!”
She was right. The fabric was plum-coloured, a dress with a hood and swathes of material bunched around the arms. A silver star was embroidered on the left sleeve, which made the whole thing untastefully asymmetric. Haléy held it to her chest and ran her fingers over each wrinkle, as if they were part of the pattern— and for all I knew, they might’ve been. It was hideous, but she was beaming.
Something in me melted. Like a parent on behalf of a child.
“Right-o, chicken is white now.” I spooned a heaping portion on each of two plates. Haléy made us each lemon barley water and we sat at the table overlooking the back gardens. While we munched, I told her the only bit of good news I’d had: about a month earlier, I’d written to my schoolmate, Natalie, about everything that had happened. I’d finally gotten her response in the morning post.
“What’s Nat sayin’?”
“Haven’t read it out yet, have I?” I wiped the corner of my mouth on a square of kitchen roll and tore open the flap in one clean sweep.
“It’s odd, innit, that you and Nat are friends.”
I gave her a semi-serious eyebrow raise. “Aye? Why’s that?”
“I dunno, ’cause she’s all shy like. But then that’s why she likes you— see, ’cause you don’t get fucked with, an’ she don’t get fucked with since she hangs out with you.”
I had to smile at that. “Well, let’s see what she says, then, shall we?” I read aloud, pausing occasionally to gain my composure:
“Dear Nem,
I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write back! I haven’t been busy with much, I just kind of had a list of things I wanted to say and then I never got around to writing it down! I’m sorry that the people are super weird. Muff sounds really fucked. Like I’d be careful just in case he ends up being a nonce or owt haha. Does he just talk about random shit? Or like does it have a purpose?
Also, your aunt is strange since she’s the one who’s like, I’ll take care of you, but then she’s basically just left you to your own devices—”
“Innit,” Haléy interrupted.
“Aye, I told her about her taking us into Whitby for the meeting and then not actually staying for said meeting. It’s a good job, I s’pose, she doesn’t know her properly. Lady Eia, I mean.” I scanned down further and steadily things became unsuitable for ten-year-old ears. “Right, let me finish this.”
Anyways, it sounds like you’re doing orite all things considered.. I’m well pleased that lad’s fit (sorry I’m writing in class and I forgot his name.) At least you and him can talk about normal shit. So from what you wrote, your Whitby lass is his girlfriend. If her mum called her a whore then at least you know he puts out hahaha. But anyways, the gardens and the scenery must be amazing, especially with spring coming. I’m sorry thing with your parents are so shocking. But I did find out what the attorneys’ names are, the ones going against them. Claude Diggins and Henriette Parker. I hope that helps!
Like I said, really nowt here except mocks, and you’re lucky to be missing them. English is hell without you. You’ll have to let me know how you get on! I’ll proper write in a timely fashion next time!!
x Natalie
“What does ‘put out’ mean?”
I swatted her reflexively and the blood poured to my cheeks. “It means fuck all to you! There’s a reason I didn’t read it out, fuck’s sake…”
Haléy protested that she’d only read a little bit, and judging by the state of her response, I figured she was telling the truth. I sighed and put my head in my hands, the paper wrinkling between my palm and cheek. I had gotten what I wanted out of her, at least. But that surname didn’t sit right with me. Just my luck, Muff would refuse to tell me sommet like that. I’d never been one for plotting, but I had to find out his father’s name if it was the last thing I did.
***
“Wait, so how does the knot not go right through the hole?”
Muff smacked his lips and gave me some strange look like I were mad. “Dun’t matter, does it. Long as it’s double-knotted, the paper will hold together fine.”
“Are you sure I can finish it before Nettie’s birthday?”
“Eeh by gum, have some faith in thissen! Ah, even if it i’n’t, say it’s for Carnival.”
***
Muff Diggins had a pleasant surprise when he greeted me as I cam downstairs that first morning of May: “Master Antonio Vivaldi’d want you a’ mark th’ occasion properly.”
I ran my fingers over the embossed silver lettering. The cover of Primavera was bottle green, like the foliage on the roses in the garden. The corners of my mouth slid up further than I’d thought they would.
“Ta, Muff. I’ll try to play it today. Are you going out just now? Haléy has decided to shatter eyes over the sewing business.”
“Ah, figured I’d take the trek. Them boats don’t get much use, best a’ cheer ’em on, hah!”
We walked outside together. My legs felt shaky at first, but when Muff suddenly broke into a sprint, hooting along the way, I followed suit until we were at the shore. The sailboats looked like little feathers on the water. I scanned the crowd of picnics and chatter and card games, feeling rather like a specimen in La Grande Jatte. Sir Chapley and his wife owned one of the boats, and Lady Kenning was probably a passenger with Sir Birches. The Morrises were missing, and I figured they were on the third sailboat.
Maybe Muff was onto sommet after all in his excitement.
I peeled off my socks and hitched up my skirt to wade in the frigid water. Muff did’t care that his trousers got wet when he joined me.
“She’s after makin’ sommet for you. An’ she wanted a’ finish it b’fore today, but she knows she wun’t be able at this rate.”
“Who?”
“Haléy, a’ course! Y’know, she takes after you in ways… Ah, maybe if you saw it for thissen, you’d get on better.”
I sighed and turned my face to the sun. I was surprised when I heard myself agreeing with him. We nattered about nothing for awhile, until the rum’n went and tripped over himself, drenching his clothes in the process. I extended my hand, but he swatted it away, his face contorted in embarrassment.
“Oh, don’t worry Muff. We’ll get you strung up on a clothesline.”
“Bollocks, I’ll be fine!”
He’d caught me in the spray somewhat, and I decided to leave before things got much more serious. I sat on the grass above the shore, scuffing my feet to get the sand off my soles. I wished that Haléy would come out and join me, but I weren’t about to walk all the way home to coax her. Sir Hattie startled me when he tapped my shoulder.
“Oh! I didn’t know if you were about. How’s things?”
“Much as they usually are, I’m afraid.” His pessimism confused me, mostly because I wasn’t sure if it was sincere. He didn’t ask after me, but I gave him a reply anyway.
“Have you ever been sailing?”
“Once, when I was a young’un. I don’t think Haléy was born yet. I remember being afraid of falling in so I think I were screaming a lot more than was necessary. Probably blew me Da’s ears off,” I admitted.
He chortled, but it seemed like a thinly veiled ploy to establish good humour. He was damned odd these days. Is consistency so hard to come by? I was proven correct when he steered the conversation to Patricia:
“She loved May Day, too. Maybe not quite as much as Muff, but she made an effort with May poles and all that a few times. It’s odd that she isn’t here.”
“Why does Muff like it so much? Is it an ‘any port in a storm’ sort of thing? The port being happiness, of course.”
“It… well, I am not sure it is my place to say.”
“Speculate. Go on.”
He took a drag off his cigarette. He would loose points with me if he left any butts in the grass, but knowing him, it were unlikely.
“Actually, I had a question for you. About that… locket that Haléy gave to Lady Patricia. Do you know how she came by it? Only I like to think that it pleased her before she, well…”
Bit morbid, Jaysus. There was a slight edge in his voice, but somehow I didn’t feel it was directed towards me.
“Erm, she just found it on the beach, actually.”
“Ah, of course she would have. Well, Miss Nemeila, love it as I would to stay longer, I must be off. The ledgers take not a moment’s rest, even for the delights of spring and workers’ rights.” With that, he stubbed his cigarette, crumpled it in his hand, and gave my shoulder a squeeze.
I turned my face to the sun again. The air felt colder than before, but I chalked it up to my clothes drying. It wasn’t until I was drifting off on a nap that I wondered how he knew that Haléy had given Patricia anything.
***
I walked by Bay Room with my cup of midnight tea. I almost went in, but the sound of tears persuaded me to be quiet. I listened for only a few seconds:
“I miss you, Mama. I’m sorry, but I do. I’m sorry I’m like this. An’ I know it dun’t mean owt, but I’ve tried my best to not bloody the cucumbers. I just miss you…”
iamnotoldfashioned 