The Illustrated Gormenghast Trilogy - Mervyn Peake [87]
Nannie received the box on which was written ‘Fuchsia. One teaspoonful to be taken 4 times a day.’
‘Master Steerpike,’ said the Doctor, ‘is that the reason you wanted to see me, to beard me in my den, and to melt my heart like tallow upon my own hearth-rug?’ He tilted his head at the youth.
‘That is so, sir,’ said Steerpike. ‘With Lady Fuchsia’s permission I accompanied her. I said to her: “Just let me see the Doctor, and put my case to him, and I am confident he will be impressed”.’
There was a pause. Then in a confidential voice Steerpike added: ‘In my less ambitious moments it is as a research scientist that I see myself, sir, and in my still less ambitious, as a dispenser.’
‘What knowledge of chemicals have you, if I may venture to remark?’ said the Doctor.
‘Under your initial guidance my powers would develop as rapidly as you could wish,’ said Steerpike.
‘You are a clever little monster,’ said the Doctor, tossing off another cognac and placing the glass upon the table with a click. ‘A diabolically clever little monster.’
‘That is what I hoped you would realize, Doctor,’ said Steerpike. ‘But haven’t all ambitious people something of the monstrous about them? You, sir, for instance, if you will forgive me, are a little bit monstrous.’
‘But, my pooryouth,’ said Prunesquallor, beginning to pace the room, ‘there is not the minutest molecule of ambition in my anatomy, monstrous though it may appear to you, ha, ha, ha!’
His laughter had not the spontaneous, uncontrollable quality that it usually possessed.
‘But, sir,’ said Steerpike, ‘there has been.’
‘And why do you think so?’
‘Because of this room. Because of the exquisite furnishings you possess; because of your calf-bound books; your glassware; your violin. You could not have collected together such things without ambition.’
‘That is not ambition, my poor confused boy,’ said the Doctor: ‘it is a union between those erstwhile incompatibles, ha, ha, ha! – taste and a hereditary income.’
‘Is not taste a cultivated luxury?’ said Steerpike.
‘But yes,’ said the Doctor. ‘But yes. One has the potentialities for taste; on finding this out about oneself, ha, ha! – after a little self-probing, it is a cultivated thing, as you remark.’
‘Which needs assiduous concentration and diligence, no doubt,’ said the youth.
‘But yes; but yes,’ answered the Doctor smiling, with a note in his voice that suggested it was only common politeness in him to keep amused.
‘Surely such diligence is the same thing as ambitiousness. Ambitiousness to perfect your taste. That is what I mean by “ambition”, Doctor, I believe you have it. I do not mean ambition for success, for “success” is a meaningless word – the successful, so I hear, being very often, to themselves, failures of the first water.’
‘You interest me,’ said Prunesquallor. ‘I would like to speak to Lady Fuchsia alone. We haven’t been paying very much attention to her, I am afraid. We have deserted her. She is alone in a desert of her own. Only watch her.’
Fuchsia’s eyes were shut as she leaned back in the chair, her knees curled up under her.
‘While I speak with her you will be so very, very good as to leave the room. There’s a chair in the hall, Master Steerpike. Thank you, dear youth. It would be a handsome gesture.’
Steerpike disappeared at once, taking his brandy with him.
Prunesquallor looked at the old woman and the girl. Mrs Slagg, with her little mouth wide open, was fast asleep. Fuchsia had opened her eyes at the sound of the door shutting behind Steerpike.