The legend of the seventh virgin

5

Death in the Abbas. A hushed atmosphere. The blinds drawn to shut out the sun. The servants creeping about on tiptoe, speaking in whispers.

In that bedroom where I had so often dressed her hair, Judith lay in her coffin. The servants hurried past the closed door, eyes averted. I was oddly moved to see her lying there, in the white frilled cap and the white nightdress, looking more at peace than she ever had in life.

Justin shut himself in his room and was seen by no one. Mrs. Rolt took trays up to his room but she brought them all down again, the food untouched. There was a grim look about her mouth. I guessed that in the kitchen she said: "It's on his conscience. Poor lady! Can you wonder at it?" And they would all agree because of their unwritten law that the dead were sanctified.

The events of that day stand out clearly in my mind. I remember running along the road in the hot sun, finding Dr. Hilliard asleep in his garden, a newspaper over his head to protect him from the sun, blurting out that there had been an accident, and going back to the Abbas with him. The house was still silent; the shoe lay on the stairs; but the elephant was in the nursery.

I stood there beside him as he touched her poor face.

"This is terrible," he murmured. "Terrible."

Then he looked up the stairs and at her shoe. "She'd been drinking," he went on.

I nodded.

He stood up. "There's nothing I can do for her."

"Would it have been instantaneous?" I asked.

He lifted his shoulders. "I should think so. No one heard her fall?"

I explained that the servants were all at the circus. It was the one occasion of the year when the house was empty.

"Where is Sir Justin?"

"I don't know. My husband has gone to Plymouth on estate duty and Lady St. Larnston is in the garden with my son."

He nodded. "You look shaken, Mrs. St. Larnston."

"It was a great shock."

"Exactly. Well, we must try and get hold of Sir Justin as soon as possible. Where would he be at this time of day?"

I knew where he was ... with Mellyora; and then the fear struck at me for the first time. He was free now ... free to marry Mellyora. In a year—which would be a respectable time—they would marry. Perhaps in another they would have a son. I had been so intent on arranging that Carlyon's toy should not be involved in the accident that I had not realized that what I dreaded might after all happen.

Dr. Hilliard was talking, giving instructions; but I merely stood still and it was as though the house itself were mocking me.

Later that day Judith's parents arrived at the Abbas. Her mother was very like Judith—statuesque with the same tortured eyes. They were indeed tortured on this occasion.

She went to the room where Judith lay on her bed, for they had not yet made her coffin. I heard her wild sobbing and her reproaches.

"What have you done to my daughter? Why did I ever let her come to this house?"

The servants heard. I met Mrs. Rolt on the stairs and she lowered her eyes so that I should not see the excitement there. This was a situation the servants loved. Scandal in high places. While they talked of the death of Judith, they would speak in the same breath of her unhappiness and that last scene when she had betrayed before them all her jealousy of Mellyora.

Jane Carwillen called at the Abbas, having arranged for one of the Der-rise grooms to drive her over. Doll received her and tried to prevent her from entering the house but she thrust the girl aside and demanded: "Where be my young lady? Take me to her."

I heard the commotion and came into the hall. As soon as I saw her I said: "Come with me, I will take you to her."

And I led the way to that room where Judith lay in her coffin.

Jane Carwillen stood beside it, looking down at Judith. She did not weep; she did not speak but I saw the grief in her face and I knew that a hundred little incidents of Judith's childhood were passing through her mind.

"And her so young," she said at last. "Why did it have to be?"

I whispered gently: "These things happen."

She turned on me fiercely. "There was no need. She were young. Her whole life were before her."

She turned away and as we left the room of death together we encountered Justin. The look of hatred Jane Carwillen flashed at him startled me.

Mrs. Rolt was waiting in the hall. She eyed Jane Carwillen eagerly. "I was thinking Miss Carwillen might take a glass of wine for comfort," she said.

"There hain't be no comfort you nor any can give me," answered Jane.

"There be always comfort in a sorrow shared," put in Mrs. Rolt. "You open your heart to us ... and we'll open ours to 'ee."

Was that a message? Did it mean we have something to tell you which we think you ought to know?

Perhaps Jane thought so because she agreed to go to the kitchen and take a glass of wine.

Half an hour later, knowing she had not left the house I made an excuse to go down to the kitchens.

I knew that the servants were telling Jane about that occasion when Judith had accused her husband and Mellyora of being lovers. For the first time it was being said Judith's death was not an accident.

The verdict at the inquest was accidental death. Judith it seemed, had been in a state of semi-intoxication; and thus had missed her footing on the stairs and plunged down to her death.

I gave evidence, since I had found her, explaining how I had come to the house to look for my son's toy; then I had seen Judith lying at the bottom of the staircase, her shoe on one of the lower stairs. No one doubted me, although I was afraid my nervousness would betray me. It was presumed that I was upset, which was natural.

Sir Justin seemed to have aged ten years. I could see how he was reproaching himself. As for Mellyora, she looked like a ghost. I knew that she hated meeting any of the servants. She had forgotten all about the interview which she was supposed to have had and was too numbed by what had happened even to think very clearly. How different she was from me! Had I been in her place, I assured myself, I should have been exulting now, seeing the future clear before me. I should have snapped my fingers at the servants' gossip. What was there to worry about when soon one would be mistress of the house, with the power to dismiss any of them. They would know this and adjust their attitude accordingly. But at the moment they were not sure which turn events would take.

But perhaps one of the most uneasy people in the house was myself. My son's future was at stake. He was everything to me now. I did not care to look too closely at my own life. My marriage was not satisfactory, and there were times when I disliked Johnny. I wanted children and that was the only reason I tolerated him. I did not love him; I had never loved him; but there was a bond of sensuality between us which served as love. I had often dreamed of a love which would give me all I wanted from life and more especially so now. I wanted a husband to whom I could turn; who would comfort me and make my life worth while, even if my ambitious dreams were thwarted. Never had I felt as lonely as I did at this time because I had been shown how by one thrust of fate dreams could be destroyed. I had felt myself to be powerful, able to will destiny to give me what I wanted; but had not Granny told me, time after time, that fate was more powerful than I. I felt weak and helpless; and feeling thus, I wanted a strong arm about me. I thought increasingly of Kim. That night in the woods had been significant in more ways than one. It had decided my future as well as Joe's.

In my strange and devious way I was in love with Kim, in love with an image perhaps; but because my desires always went deep, because when I wanted something I wanted it passionately and wholeheartedly, I knew that was how I should love a man, deeply, passionately. And that night when I was young and inexperienced so that I did not fully understand my feelings, I had chosen Kim; and I had gone on building his image. There was a belief in the back of my mind that one day Kim would come back and he would come back for me.

And now, because I believed I could lose all I had wanted for Carlyon, I wished that I had a strong man beside me to comfort me; and it saddened me to know that man was not my husband and that this marriage of mine was a sordid bargain—a marriage without love, a marriage of a desire on one side so fierce that it had forced this step, and on the other a desire as fierce, but in my case for power and position.

I waited uneasily for what would happen next; and then I began to see that fate was giving me another chance.

The rumors had begun.

I was aware of this when I overheard one single remark from the kitchen. Mrs. Rolt had a penetrating voice.

"One law for the rich, one for the poor. Accidental Death. Accidental ... if you please. And where was he? And where was she? Bessie Culturther did see them ... walking in Trecannon Woods ... horses tethered ... holding hands they were. That were days afore. Planning? Maybe? And where were they when her ladyship was having her accidental death. Well, don't do to ask, do it, because these be the gentry."

Rumors. Gossip. They could grow big.

They did grow. There was gossip, endless gossip. It was too fortuitous, said the whispers. Events could not work out so neatly. Justin in love with Mellyora! Mellyora about to go away! The sudden death of the one who stood between them! Was it natural to suppose that Lady St. Larnston had had an accident at precisely the right time to prevent her husband losing his mistress?

How obliging fate could be to some people? But why should this be so? Did fate say "Oh, but this is Sir Justin and he must have what he wants!" Fate must give events a little push to make everything come right for Sir Justin St. Larnston. A little push? Those were the well-chosen words!

Where had Sir Justin been at that moment when his wife had fallen down the stairs? At the inquest he had explained that he had been exercising one of his horses. They did not ask Mellyora where she had been. If they had, she would have had to reply that she too had been exercising one of the horses. I could imagine the big table in the servants' quarters; they would be sitting round it like so many detectives, piecing the story together.

The time had been cleverly chosen; the house quiet; the servants at the circus; Mr. Johnny away on business; Mrs. St. Larnston with her son and the old lady in the garden. Had Sir Justin come back to the house?

Had he led his wife along the corridor to the top of the stairs, had he thrown her from top to bottom?

The servants were saying it; they were saying it in the village. In the little post office Miss Penset knew that Miss Martin had been writing letters to addresses in various parts of the country; and in view of that little scene when one of the rooms had caught fire at the Abbas and she had been seen—in her night clothes—with Sir Justin, and her poor ladyship had said just what was in her mind, there was little doubt as to what her ladyship had insisted on. Miss Penset would have had an account of that scene from several quarters. There was always Mrs. Rolt and Mrs. Salt, as well as Mr. Haggety to lean over the counter and stare at Miss Penset's bosom beneath her black bombazine bodice; to smile knowingly, implying that she was a fine woman. She could worm any secret out of a man who admired her as much as Mr. Haggety did. Then there was Doll who was never very discreet, and Daisy who thought it so clever to imitate Doll. And hadn't the postman told her he'd taken a letter to Miss Martin with a postmark on it which showed it came from one of the addresses she'd written to?

Miss Penset had her finger on the pulse of the village; she could tell that a girl was pregnant almost before the girl herself knew. All the dramas of village life were of the utmost interest to her; and as postmistress she was in a special position to be aware of them.

So I knew that in the post office, people talked to Miss Penset; when I went in there would be a hushed silence. I was regarded with more favor than ever before. I was an upstart perhaps; but at least I was not wicked like some people. Moreover my affairs had become of secondary importance now.

It was the day of the funeral. Flowers kept arriving and the smell of lilies pervaded the house. It was like the smell of death.

We were all dreading the ordeal. As I put on my bonnet, the face which looked back at me from the mirror seemed scarcely like my own. Black didn't suit me; I had parted my hair in the center and wore a heavy knot on the nape of my neck, and long jet earrings in my ears and a necklace of jet about my throat.

My eyes looked enormous; my face thinner and more pale. I had been sleeping badly since Judith's death and I had bad dreams when I did sleep. I kept dreaming of the hiring platform at Trelinket Fair and Mellyora coming over to take my hand. I dreamed once that I looked down at my feet and saw that I had grown a cloven hoof.

Johnny in his black top hat and black jacket looked more dignified than he usually did. He came and stood beside me by the mirror.

"You look ... regal," he said, and bending, so that he did not disturb my bonnet, kissed the tip of my nose.

He laughed suddenly. "By God," he said, "there's talk in the neighborhood."

I shivered. I hated his look of complacence.

"He was always held up as an example ... my holy brother. Do you know what they're calling him now?"

"I don't want to."

He raised his eyebrows. "That's not like you, my sweet wife. You usually like to pry into everything. There can only be one reason why you don't want me to tell you. You know already. Yes, my love, they are saying that my sainted brother murdered his wife."

"I hope you told them how absurd this was."

"Do you think my words would have carried any weight?"

"Who's saying this? The postmistress? Scandalmongers like her?"

"I've no doubt the answer to that is yes. That old vixen would repeat any scandal she could get her filthy tongue round. That's to be expected. But it's in higher places. My brother is going to find it hard to live this one down."

"But everyone knew she was drinking."

"Everyone knew that he wanted to be rid of her."

"But she was his wife."

He repeated my words mockingly. "What has come over my clever little wife? Now, Kerensa, what do you think?"

"That he is innocent."

"You have a pure mind. You're the only one who thinks that."

"But the verdict ..."

"Accidental death. That covers a lot. I can tell you this; no one will ever forget, and when Justin marries Mellyora Martin, which he will after a respectable interval, that rumor will persist. You know how it is in these parts. Stories are handed down from generation to generation. It'll be there forever ... the skeleton in the cupboard and no one will ever be sure when some mischievous person is going to open the cupboard door."

He was right. I must tell the truth.

I shivered. I had not told all the truth at the inquest. How could I come forward now? Yet how could I not do so when even his own brother believed Justin might well be a murderer.

Johnny sat on the edge of the bed, studying the tips of his boots.

"I don't see how they can ever marry," he said. "The only way to kill this rumor is for them not to."

How my eyes shone—unnaturally so. If they did not marry—if Justin never married—there could be no threat to Carlyon's future.

The bell from the church began to toll.

"It's time we were going," said Johnny. He took my hand. "How cold you are! Cheer up. It's not my funeral."

I hated him. He didn't care for his brother s trouble. He was only smug and complacent because he could no longer suffer by comparison, for no one could ever hold Justin up as an example again.

What sort of man had I married? I asked myself; and that question was immediately replaced by another and more disquieting one.

What sort of a woman was I?

It was an even greater ordeal than we had feared. Not only St. Larnston village but the entire neighborhood for miles round seemed to have come out to see the burial of Judith.

It was stifling in the church; the scent of lilies was overpowering, and the Reverend James Hemphill seemed as though he would go on forever.

Justin with his mother and Judith's parents sat in the first of the St Larnston pews, Johnny and I in the second row. I kept staring at Justin's shoulders and I wondered what he would do. I could not bear to look at the coffin, weighed down by flowers and set up on trestles; I couldn't keep my mind on what the Reverend James Hemphill was saying; I could only look at the parsonage pew in which Mrs. Hemphill and her three daughters were now sitting, and think of sitting there with Mellyora and how proud I was because she had given me a gingham dress and straw hat to wear.

My mind would keep wandering back to the past, reminding me of all Mellyora had done for me.

Now the service was over; now we would go out to the vault in the graveyard. The Reverend James Hemphill was coming down from the pulpit. Oh, that funeral scent!

Then I saw Jane Carwillen. It was an extraordinary sight—this old woman, bent almost double, slowly making her way to the coffin. We all sat so still that the sound of her stick tapping in the aisle echoed through the church. Everyone was so surprised that no one attempted to stop her.

She stood by the coffin; then she lifted her stick and pointed it towards the St. Larnston pews.

"Her's gone, my little lady," she said quietly; then, raising her voice: "I curse them as harmed her."

Mrs. Hemphill—always the efficient parson's wife, had moved swiftly from her pew and put an arm through Jane's.

I heard her voice cool, clipped. "Now, come along. We know how upset you are... ."

But Jane had come to the church to make a public protest and was not so easily disposed of.

She stood for some seconds staring at the St. Larnston pews. Then she shook her stick menacingly.

As Mrs. Hemphill drew her away to the back of the church the sound of loud sobbing was heard and I saw Judith's mother bury her face in her hands.

"Why did I let her marry... ." The words must have been audible to many; and in that moment it seemed as though everyone was waiting for some sign from Heaven, some denunciation from above, some vengeance on those they believed to be Judith's murderers.

Judith's father put an arm about his wife; Justin was moving out of his pew when from behind me, where the Abbas servants were seated, there came a new disturbance.

I heard the words: "She's fainted."

I knew who before I turned.

It was I who went to her; it was I who loosened the neck of her bodice. She lay there on the floor of the church, her hat falling back, her fair lashes still against her pale skin.

I wanted to cry out: "Mellyora. I don't forget. But there's Carlyon ..."

The servants were watching. I knew what their expressions meant.

Guilty in a holy place!

Back in the Abbas. Thank heaven, the bells had ceased their dismal tolling! Thank heaven the blinds were drawn up to let in the light!

We drank the sherry and ate the food which had been prepared for the funeral. Justin was calm and remote. Already he was gaining his composure. But how unhappy he looked—stricken, as a bereaved husband should look.

Judith's mother had been taken home. It was feared that there would be a hysterical scene if she remained. We tried to talk of anything but the funeral. The rising prices; the state of the government; the virtues of young Mr. Disraeli; the shortcomings of Peel and Gladstone. There were problems more especially our own. Was the Fedder mine really going to close down and what effect would this have on the community?

I was the hostess. Had Judith been here I should still have been, but now I was accepted as such, and should be until Justin had a wife.

But Justin must never have a wife!

There, I had faced it. The determination in my heart. Justin should never have a legitimate son and before he could, he must have a wife.

Justin must never have a son who could take Carlyon's place.

But he would marry Mellyora. Could he? Only if they were prepared to face perpetual scandal.

Would Justin face that?

As soon as I could I went to Mellyora's room which was in semidarkness, for no one had drawn up her blinds.

Her fair hair was unbound and she was lying on the bed, looking young and helpless, reminding me so much of the days of our childhood.

"Oh, Mellyora," I said; and there was a break in my voice.

She held out her hand to me and I took it. I felt like Judas.

"What now?" I asked.

"It's the end," she answered.

I hated myself. I whispered; "But why? Now ... you are free."

"Free?" she laughed bitterly. "We have never been less free."

"This is ridiculous. She no longer stands between you. Mellyora, we can speak frankly together."

"Never did she stand more firmly between us."

"But she is gone."

"You know what they are saying."

"That he—perhaps with your help—killed her."

She raised herself on her elbows and her eyes were wild. "How dare they! How can they say such things of Justin."

"It seemed as though she died just at that moment when... ."

"Don't say it, Kerensa. You don't believe it."

"Of course I don't. I know he had nothing to do with it."

"I knew I could trust you."

Oh, don't Mellyora, don't, I wanted to cry; I couldn't speak for a moment because I was afraid that if I did, I should blurt out the truth.

She went on: "We have talked together. It is the end, Kerensa. We both know it."

"But "

"You must understand. I couldn't marry him. Don't you see that would confirm everything ... at least, so they would think. There is only one way of proving that Justin is innocent."

"You will go away?" I asked.

"He won't let me go. He wants me to stay here with you. He says you are strong and my friend. He trusts you to look after me."

I buried my face in my hands. I couldn't hide the sneer which played about my mouth. I was sneering at myself and she must not know that. She, who had once known me so well, might know me now.

"He says life would be too hard for me ... away from here. He says he knows what a wretched existence a governess or a companion can have. He wants me to stay here ... to look after Carlyon as I am doing now ... to keep you for my friend."

"And in time ... when they have forgotten ... he will marry you?"

"Oh no. We shall never marry, Kerensa. He is going away."

"Justin going away!" There was a lilt in my voice. Justin resigning his rights. The field clear ahead for me and mine.

"It's the only way. He thinks it's best. He will go to the East... China and India."

"He cannot mean it."

"He does, Kerensa. He cannot bear to stay here and that we should remain apart. Yet he would not marry me to submit to the insults which he knows would be levied at me. He wants me to stay with you ... and in time perhaps... ."

"You will go to him?"

"Who shall say."

"And he is determined to do this? He can t mean it. He will change his mind."

"There is only one thing that could make him change it, Kerensa."

"What could do that?"

"If something could be proved. If someone had seen... . But we know no one did. You see, there is no way of proving that we are innocent except this one way ... by going away from each other, by renouncing what they believe we committed this crime for."

Now was the time. I must confess to her. Judith tripped over Carlyon's toy. He had left it there near the top stair. She didn't see it. It is obvious what happened because her shoe was caught in the cloth. I took the toy away because I didn't want Carlyon's action to have caused her death. I didn't want any shadow to touch my son.

But there was a new issue.

I could clear Justin and Mellyora; they could marry; they could have a son.

No, I could not. That Abbas was for Carlyon. Sir Carlyon. How proud I should be on the day the title was his. I had made a loveless marriage; I had fought hard for what I wanted; I had endured much. Was I going to throw it away for the sake of Mellyora?

I was fond of Mellyora. But what sort of love was hers and Justin's? Had I been Mellyora, would I have allowed my lover to leave me? Would I have loved a man who could so easily accept defeat?

No, a love such as theirs was not worth the sacrifice.

I must keep on reminding myself of that.

If they really loved, they would be ready to face anything for each other.

I was fighting for my son's future and nothing must stand in the way.