The Illustrated Gormenghast Trilogy

‘Affects me! How do you mean?’

‘It was the merest snippet, Irma, which I happened to read. What has reminded me of it is that it was all about veils and the modern woman. Now I, as a man, have always responded to the mysterious and provocative wherever it may be found. And if these qualities are evoked by anything on earth they are evoked by a woman’s veil. But O dear me, do you know what this creature in the Women’s column wrote?’

‘What did she write?’ said Irma.

‘She wrote that “although there may be those who will continue to wear their veils, just as there are those who still crawl through the jungle on all fours because no one has ever told them that it is the custom these days to walk upright, yet she (the writer) would know full well in what grade of society to place any woman who was continuing to wear a veil, after the twenty-second of the month. After all,” the writer continued, “some things are ‘done’ and some things are not done, and as far as the sartorial aristocracy was concerned, veils might as well never have been invented”.’

‘But what nonsense it all is,’ cried the Doctor. ‘As though women are so weak that they have to follow one another so closely as all that.’ And he gave a high-pitched laugh as though to imply that a mere male could see through all that kind of nonsense.

‘Did you say the twenty-second of this month?’ said Irma, after a few moments of thick silence.

‘That is so,’ said her brother.

‘And today is the …’

‘The thirtieth,’ said her brother – ‘but surely, surely, you wouldn’t …’

‘Alfred,’ said Irma. ‘Be quiet, please. There are some things which you do not understand and one of them is a woman’s mind.’ With a deft movement of her hand she freed her face of the veil and there was her nose again as sharp as ever.

‘Now I wonder if you’d do something for me, dear.’

‘What is it, Irma, my love?’

‘I wondered if you’d do something for me, dear?’

‘What is it, Irma, my love?’

‘I wondered if you’d take – O no, I’ll have to do it myself – and you might be shocked – but perhaps if you would shut your eyes, Alfred, I could …’

‘What in the name of darkness are you driving at?’

‘I wondered, dear, at first, whether you would take my bust to the bedroom and fill it with hot water. It has got very cold, Alfred, and I don’t want to catch a chill – or perhaps if you’d rather not do that for me, you could bring the kettle downstairs to my little writing room and I’ll do it myself – will you, dear will you?’

‘Irma,’ said her brother. ‘I will not do it for you. I have done and will continue to do a lot of things for you, pleasant and unpleasant, but I will not start running around, looking for water bottles to fill for my sister’s bosom. I will not even bring down the kettle for you. Have you no kind of modesty, my love? I know you are very excited, and really don’t know what you are doing or saying, but I must have it quite clear from the start that as far as your rubber bust is concerned, I am unable to help you. If you catch a chill, then I will dose you – but until then, I would be grateful if you would leave the subject alone. But enough of that! Enough of that! The magic hour approaches. Come, come! my tiger lily!’

‘Sometimes I despise you, Alfred,’ said Irma. ‘Who would have thought that you were such a prude.’

‘Ah no! my dear, you’re far too hard on me. Have mercy. Do you think it is easy to bear your scorn when you are looking so radiant?’

‘Am I, Alfred! O, am I? Am I?’

THIRTY- FOUR

It had been arranged that the staff should gather in the quadrangle outside the Doctor’s house at a few minutes past nine and wait for Bellgrove, who, as headmaster, had ignored the suggestion that he should be first on the spot and wait for them. Perch-Prism’s argument that it was a good deal more ludicrous for a horde of men to hang about as though they were hatching some kind of conspiracy than it would be for Bellgrove, even though he was headmaster, cut no ice with the old lion.

Bellgrove, in his present mood, was peculiarly dogged. He had glowered over his shoulder at them as though he were at bay. ‘Never let it be said in future years …’ he had ended, ‘that a headmaster of Gormenghast had once to wait the pleasure of his staff’s arrival – by night, in the South Quadrangle. Never let it be said that so responsible an office had sunk into such disrespect.’

And so it was that a few minutes after nine a great blot formed in the darkness of the quadrangle as though a section of the dusk had coagulated. Bellgrove, who had been hiding behind a pillar of the cloisters, had decided to keep his staff waiting for at least five minutes. But he was unable to contain his impatience. Not three minutes had passed since their arrival before his excitement propelled him forwards into the open gloom. When he was halfway across the quadrangle, and could hear the muttering of their voices, quite plainly, the moon slid out from behind a cloud. In the cold light that now laid bare the rendezvous, the red gowns of the professors burned darkly, the colour of wine. Not so Bellgrove’s. His ceremonial gown was of the finest white silk, embroidered across the back with a large ‘G’. It was a magnificent, voluminous affair, this gown, but the effect was a little startling by moonlight, and more than one of the waiting professors gave a start to see what appeared to be a ghost bearing down upon them.

The Professors had forgotten the ceremonial robe of leadership. Deadyawn had never worn it. For the smaller-minded of the staff there was something irritating about this sartorial discrepancy of their gowns which gave the old man so unique an advantage, both decoratively and socially. They had all been secretly rather pleased to have the opportunity of wearing their red robes in public, although the public consisted solely of the Doctor and his sister (for they didn’t count each other) – and now, Bellgrove, of all people, Bellgrove, their decrepit head had stolen with a single peal, as it were, the wealth of their red thunder.

He could feel their discontent, short-lived though it was, and the effect of this recognition was to excite him still further. He tossed his white mane of hair in the moonlight and gathered his arctic gown about him in a great sculptural swathe.