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By Root 398 0

men, one thin with long capable fingers and fingertips so large his hands looked like a waterbird’s feet, and one square with slow pale eyes, both former hand-carvers for cabinet makers and both untalkative. The square man flexed his hands, staring at them, and asked in a manner that indicated his disapproval about the lack of apprentices. Dr Allen reassured him that operating the Pyroglyph would not require training to that standard or, happily, the same amount of labour. Once the patterns had been carved, the work would be light and pleasant.The date of their first day of employment was agreed and Allen was left alone in his empty workshop, enjoying the taut convexity of its silence, regarding the as-yet-unfired Maudsley engine. So much was on the brink of occurring. He locked the premises and went home to draw up further advertisements.

Matthew Allen’s powers of immersion were prodigious. Like a sea mammal, he disappeared down into his new element for hours. He surfaced, was loud and cheerful and hungry, and then vanished again. Fulton tried to follow him - this was work he would share and inherit, after all - but he often couldn’t find him. Eliza was occasionally irked that this should be happening so close to the wedding, but she did not complain; she knew it wouldn’t avail and anyway she was more than capable herself.

William Stockdale’s imperturbable strength and slow-moving control encouraged Allen to give him more and more of the regular running of the asylum, particularly at Leopard’s Hill Lodge. He admired, for example, how Stockdale dealt with John Clare, who now walked towards them down the long corridor.

Stockdale looked down at the addled peasant who attempted to fix him with his pale eyes. He explained who he was - Shakespeare - and that he spoke seven languages. He boasted and then suddenly was angry. ‘Where’s Mary?’ he demanded. ‘What have you done to her? She came for me and now she’s gone.’

Matthew Allen interrupted him. ‘John, John, wait. Mary has not been here.You desire her so much that you’ve imagined it. Do you understand?’

John turned to him with no understanding in his expression. ‘I didn’t imagine it. It was too real. It was real. What have you done with her?’

‘We haven’t done anything with her,’ Stockdale said. ‘She hasn’t been here.’ He stood over the man, gripped his shoulder. ‘She hasn’t been here. Do you hear? Do you hear?’

‘Don’t . . .’

Stockdale shook him gently. ‘She has not been here. She has not been here. Do you hear?’

‘I . . .’

‘You see, you do understand.’

‘Let go.’

‘You do understand.’

‘I understand.’

Afterwards, Stockdale confided. ‘It’s not force, but a physical impression. It commands their attention, doctor.’

At home, Allen rushed upon little Abigail and grabbed her up into his arms, gnawing on her belly. She kicked and exulted. He dropped her down. ‘Oof,’ he said. ‘You’re growing too big for such things. Now, ladies,’ he addressed his wife and daughters.‘New dresses have been ordered, as requested.They will arrive tomorrow, I understand, easily in time for the wedding.’

‘Will they?’ Hannah swallowed against the pain in her throat. ‘What has been ordered?’

‘I’m sure they will satisfy. Your mother made the selection, from magazines.’

‘Indeed, I did,’ Eliza said.

Hannah fervently hoped that her dress would be of the right shade, something with twilight in it, with distance and poetry. She swallowed again. Her throat was sore. A scratching dryness kept tunnelling down inside and she had to swallow to soothe it. Her bones felt heavy, her vision heavy also. She looked around in slow swerves. She was falling ill. She would be ill for the wedding. The moment she admitted it, she sneezed and afterwards groaned, her head ringing.

Dora looked disapproving. ‘I hope you’re not planning to be ill for my wedding.You should leave, Hannah. We can’t any of us catch it from you.’

‘It might have been Arthur and Emily getting married. If you squint it almost looks like them. He has the same brow, I think.’

‘Declarations in the yellow drawing room,’ Septimus answered.