The Apple by Michel Faber Read Free Book Online

another, is superior to yours, but it may not long remain so if it is burdened with unsolicited and mischievous piffle .
    Some respondents went to greater effort, quoting passages from the Bible apparently condoning slavery, and wishing Miss Curlew a measure of wisdom and tolerance of other folks’ customs as she grew older. One man in Port Hudson said that if she spent half an hour in the company of the niggers she spoke of so glowingly, the brutes would make her wish she’d never been born, and then most likely murder her. She even received one letter from a plantation-owner’s wife, threatening her with hellfire, hired assassins and savage dogs if ‘you damned English hussy’ dared to write to her husband again.
    May our Lord forgive you , Emmeline wrote back, for your unkind and, if I may say so, blasphemous words …
    One day, a most unusual item of mail was delivered. The bulk of the Curlews’ correspondence arrived at their house either in the first post, early in the morning, or in the last post, at evening. This item arrived at midday, while Emmeline and her father were being served luncheon. It was a handsomely wrapped box, on which the sender had affixed slightly insufficient postage. Dr Curlew had to pay the postman ninepence, and his brow was wrinkled as he carried the parcel into the parlour. He wasn’t acquainted with anyone in Chickamauga, Georgia.
    ‘It’s for you,’ he said, handing it over to his daughter.
    Emmeline laid the parcel in the lap of her skirts, and returned her attention to the cold galantine on her plate. She carved off another slice and conveyed it to her mouth, her big jaw swinging down as she did so.
    ‘Aren’t you curious to see what it is?’ said Dr Curlew.
    The girl chewed, swallowed. ‘Of course I’m curious.’
    ‘So am I. Would it be very presumptuous if I asked you to open it now?’
    ‘Yes, it would, Father,’ smiled Emmeline, ‘but I forgive you.’ And she fetched the package up onto the table and tore its layers of brown paper off. Inside were a letter, a photograph and a box of chocolates. The letter and photograph Emmeline laid unexamined behind the teapot. The chocolates she opened for her father’s inspection.
    ‘Very fancy,’ he commented, extracting, from under the powdered paper cups of dark, luxurious-smelling confectionery, a slip of paper detailing the varieties. The slip of paper itself was impregnated with a delicious aroma, and he sniffed it briefly before studying what it had to say. Terms like ‘delectable’, ‘exotic’, ‘rich’ and ‘luscious’ recurred throughout.
    ‘Who is this gentleman?’ enquired Dr Curlew, laying the paper over the glittering assortment of pralines and caramels.
    Emmeline fetched up the letter and frowned at the signature.
    ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘I have so many. I must have read about him in an article somewhere.’
    ‘The photograph – is it of him?’
    Emmeline picked up the thick rectangle of card.
    ‘I presume so. I can’t recall ever seeing this face before.’ After a moment’s hesitation she handed the photograph to her father. He studied it just as he had studied the fragrant slip of paper.
    ‘Presentable-looking chap,’ he conceded. ‘Upright carriage, broad shoulders. Firm jaw. Healthy, I expect. His trousers could use a press. But not a bad specimen.’ Dr Curlew was keeping his tone as calm and offhand as he could, but in truth he was already picturing the offspring of this union. A grandson, maybe even two. Fine, robust boys, calling him grandpa in barbarous accents.
    ‘A remarkably … amiable gesture on his part, sending you these chocolates,’ he observed.
    Emmeline gestured across the table. Her hand was, as always, somewhat ink-stained. ‘Do have one, Father.’
    ‘Thank you, I will.’ And he popped a hazelnut-encrusted globe into his mouth, allowing it to melt against his palate while his daughter read the letter in silence.
    Dear Miss Curlew ,
    Thank you for your