which he had taken for a cupboard. In she went, and after he followed, with suspicious caution.
A narrow staircase led down and down, through the whole height of the house, to a small enclosure in the basement— a mere light-well, really, to let a little day into the interior rooms on every storey. This light-well was capped, high overhead, with glass, to prevent litter and filth falling in, and at the bottom was a small structure, which testified to the antiquity of the renovated building: an actual well, tapping the water-table. It was ringed by a low wall, and boasted of no aesthetic charm beyond its quaintness, and the softening beauty that lunar illumination bestows. Nevertheless, Thamesis prized the place greatly, and had bought her penthouse on account of it alone.
Hers was the only entrance to this forgotten nook, but she was not surprised, on entering, to see a magnificent and ancient lady sat perched on the edge of the well, as though basking in the beams descending upon her, while she dipped her long fingers into the bright water. Her garment was all over embroidered with fishes in silver thread, and the reflections from the rippled surface touched and flickered the design, so that she seemed to shimmer in the pale light.
Thamesis sprang to her side, and impulsively swirled the water too— whereon the lady, regarding her expectantly, clutched her hand to stop its splashing, and asked, in a kind but firm tone: ‘When will you kill him?’
‘I’m not going to,’ she replied, almost bashfully, and then added, with more assertion: ‘I want him to live.’
‘Why?’ asked the lady, surprised.
‘I want him to stay with me. I want to keep him.’
‘A man, Thamesis? And a man like him?’
‘Yes,’ she answered eagerly, ‘a man like him, and just like him, alone. He’s different— in lots and lots of ways— but ways that are important, that make a difference to me.’
‘What ways, child?’
‘Those others who went before were easy to despise— they never forgot their arrogance, their selfishness. Even when I made them love me, they were petulant at it, all the more controlling for having no control. I was glad to put them down in the height of their pride. But he doesn’t struggle against me— he’s as strong, as powerful as they were— and in real terms— but he doesn’t flex his strength on me. He submits— he lets himself be weak. Oh, it’s so strange, so lovely, to have a wild animal, a malevolent beast, with blood on his claws and his teeth, lie down gently in my lap, and yield all his ferocity for me to soothe him.’
The old lady caressed her hair. ‘But what use is this beast to you?’
‘Use?’ Thamesis cried. ‘More use than money, than a commission from that woman to remove him! Look at me: have you ever seen me smile like this? Have I ever smiled without a fell motive?’
‘Thamesis, Thamesis,’ said the elder, shaking her head sadly. ‘You put yourself in danger. It’s foolish to trust. You’ve already confessed too much to him tonight.’
‘I haven’t confessed enough!’ she protested. ‘I haven’t told him a drop of how I feel for him— and I’ve a flood to tell.’
‘Don’t say this, Thamesis, don’t speak it, to him or yourself. And above all, don’t believe it. Trusting is foolish— trusting him, most foolish. Why does he retract his talons for you? Why doesn’t he draw your blood, if it’s his nature?’
‘Because he feels as I do— he loves me.’
‘If he does, it’s your doing— not his.’ She spoke with forbidding sternness. ‘Given his own will, he’d devour you— strip your bones clean. You’ve even let him know as much! How can you deceive yourself? How can you credit the illusion you yourself have created?’
‘It isn’t an illusion with him!’
‘It is— and the reason you don’t believe it is the worst reason— you are in love.’
‘I am— I don’t deny it— I couldn’t.’
‘Unlove him, Thamesis, as fast as you can.’
‘Why? Why?’ She turned away desperately.
‘You know why.’ The lady retorted coolly. ‘Remember the condition of your mother’s gift. It’s the same condition your father gave. Everything is equal with you, my dear: you will lose your power over death in dying, and your power over love in loving.’
‘But that doesn’t matter!’ Thamesis insisted, eagerly. ‘I don’t need power over him— he loves of his own accord. He’ll stay with me even if I release him!’
‘You’re more changing than you think, child. You’ve warped him, and without that pressure, he’ll right himself again.’
‘No— no. I’m not afraid. He won’t change.’
The ancient contemplated her in silence for some while, and each tried to compel the other with their eyes, one to belief, the other to reason. At length the elder responded: ‘You should fear the change in yourself, more than in him.’
‘I’m changed already,’ Thamesis returned delightedly. ‘Wonderfully changed.’
Her companion remained grim. ‘But what are you without your influence? Consider that. Why do you think your mother granted you sway over love? Because she herself has none. Yes, the tides are devoted to her, she turns them as she will— but she is a slave to orbit this place, to helplessly adore, though she’s eclipsed, obscured, outshone every day— yet she cannot escape it. Will you submit to that? Hopeless attachment to a man, begging for his attention, wracked by his carelessness, killed by his indifference?’
‘He won’t be indifferent.’
‘Why not? What will prevent it?’
‘I still have my character, my looks—’
‘Looks!’ she sneered. ‘How far will they carry you in this world?’
‘As far as they last.’
‘Not even so far as that, fool— not nearly so far. Men desire variety, and when you can’t keep him preternaturally constant anymore, he’ll revert to his natural fickleness. And don’t suppose your character will intrigue him for long— you forget how much you rely on confidence, the confidence your power lends you. What’s magnetic or alluring about a craven, besotted woman? What will attract him, make him keen, when your flirtations turn to accusations, your laughs to nags? Think, Thamesis! While you can manufacture love, its majesty is always yours, and flows from you— but when you must foster it, you grow stagnant every moment. Oh, Thamesis, don’t hide your face, look up, and attend me closely! I don’t say this to be cruel, but to save you. Weigh your love in the balance, against your self— Thamesis in love (bitter word), versus shining Thamesis in power— now choose.’
The poor creature continued to shield her anguished expression, however, and sighed heavily— at which outward distress her lover stepped forward from the shadow of the doorway, and caught her into his arms with a squeeze and a kiss. She was shocked and confused by his appearance, and glanced around her in bewilderment.
‘What are you doing here?’ she gasped.
‘Listening in,’ he smiled. ‘It was quite a heart-to-heart for a woman who claims not to have one.’
‘You overheard?’ she fretted.
‘Yes— I wondered who you were talking to. I was jealous. Tell me, was it your father the river, or your mother the moon?’
‘No,’ she replied, cautiously.
‘You have brothers and sisters, then— aunts and uncles? Who are they? The stars, the wind?’ He laughed, and bestowed more kisses.
‘You didn’t see?’ she frowned.
‘I saw you talking away to yourself, Thamesis— so I guess you’re as mad as I am. We’re both in love.’
‘You thought I was alone?’
‘Well, apart from your reflection in the water, of course, but she wouldn’t answer you.’
‘What— what did you hear me say?’
‘All about how desperate you are to keep me.’ He hugged her fondly. ‘What did your reflection think of that?’
She made no reply, and her continued confusion whetted his curiosity.
‘You were dreaming, weren’t you?’ he said. ‘How can you be so opposite to me, when we’re so sim
ilar? I look life in the face— in the eye, and don’t flinch, though I detest what I see— while you look aside, dazzle yourself with make-believe, and can only say what you feel in a dream. Nevermind. I’ll wake you up, and show you what’s really here.’
He pressed her against him again, and laid his head upon hers— and just then, as he did so, it occurred to him how easy it would be to slip his hands to her throat, close his fingers, and strangle her, then and there— and quietly leave, remove all traces of himself, and continue as he had always been. How inhuman that act would be in this tender instant— and yet, how familiar, how straightforward it felt. To resist it seemed rather perverse— he did not know why he should— and yet he allowed her to lead him back upstairs, patiently.
They retired to bed, but neither was inclined to rest. She lay for hours, perplexedly knotting and unknotting a corner of the sheet; he lay rigid and tense, clasping and unclasping his fists. At last she sat up, leaned over him, and smiled.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘I’ll draw us a hot bath— it’ll make us sleepy.’
He concurred, and she went to do it. Soon a breath of scented steam arose, and summoned him after her into the bathroom. She had scattered beneath the taps the dried flowers of lavender, camomile, hops and other herbs famed for their relaxing properties, and the balmy vapours clothed them both in these perfumes. He approached to kiss her slender neck above the collarbone, but stopped, and thought better of it. There seemed no need to give these marks of affection anymore. He would