Legend of the Seventh Virgin (28 page)

“Bring me some coffee please, Doll. Quickly,” I ordered.

“Coffee … er, Ma’am?”

“I said coffee, Doll. I have a fancy for it.”

She went away then and I imagined them discussing my fancies in the kitchen. Well, a pregnant woman was supposed to have fancies.

She came back with it and left it in my room. When she had gone I hurried along with it to Judith. It was unfortunate that as I went in, Mrs. Rolt should suddenly appear in the corridor.

If they suspected then for what purpose I wanted the coffee, they already knew that Judith was drinking. It was very likely that they did, for how could she take whiskey from the house supplies without Haggety’s knowing? He would eventually have to tell Justin if only to protect himself. It seemed, therefore, that she had only just begun drinking. In which case it might be possible to stop her.

As I poured out the coffee, as I made Judith drink it, I asked myself: How much do the servants know of our lives? How can we keep any secrets from them?

May was hot that year, a beautiful month as was fitting, I thought, for the entry of my child into the world. The hedgerows were ablaze with wild flowers and the blossom everywhere was wonderful.

Mine was not an easy labor, but I stoically welcomed the excruciating pain. I welcomed it because it meant that my child would soon be born.

Dr. Hilliard and the midwife were at my bedside while it seemed to me that the entire house was tense, waiting for the cry of a child.

I remember thinking that the agony of the walled-up nun could not have been greater than mine. Yet I exulted in my agony. How different it was from hers which was the pain of defeat, while mine was that of glory.

At last, it came. The long-awaited cry of a child.

I saw my mother-in-law with my baby in her arms; she was crying, that proud woman. I saw the tears glistening on her cheeks and I was afraid that something was wrong. My baby was crippled, a monster, dead.

But they were tears of pride and joy; she came to the bed and hers was the first voice I heard proclaiming the glad news.

“A boy, Kerensa, a lovely healthy boy!”

Nothing can go wrong, I thought. I have but to make my plans and my dreams become realities.

I am Kerensa St. Larnston and I have borne a son. There is no other male child to replace him. He is the heir of St. Larnston.

But I could be defeated in small matters.

I was lying in bed, my hair falling about my shoulders, wearing a white lacy jacket with green ribbons — a present from my mother-in-law.

The baby was in his cradle and she was bending over him, her face so soft with love that she was like a different woman.

“We’ll have to think of a name for him, Kerensa.”

She came to the bed and sat down, smiling at me.

I said: “I thought of Justin.”

She turned to me in some surprise. “But that’s out of the question.”

“Why? I like Justin. There have always been Justin St. Larnstons.”

“If Justin has a son he will be Justin. We must save that name for him.”

“Justin … have a son!”

“I pray every night that he and Judith will be blessed as you and Johnny have been.”

I forced myself to smile. “Of course. I merely thought that there ought to be a Justin in the family.”

“So there should. But the son of the eldest son.”

“They have been married some time.”

“Oh yes, but there are years ahead of them. I hope to see a house full of children before I die.”

I felt deflated. Then I assured myself that the name wasn’t important.

“What other name did you have in mind?” she asked.

I was thoughtful. I had been so sure that my son would be Justin that I had not considered another name for him.

She was watching me and knowing her to be a shrewd old woman, I did not want her to understand how my thoughts ran.

I said spontaneously: “Carlyon.”

“Carlyon?” she repeated.

No sooner had I said it than I knew that was the name I wanted for my son if I could not have Justin. Carlyon. It held a significance for me. I saw myself mounting the steps to the portico in my red velvet gown. It was the first occasion when I had been absolutely certain that dreams could come true.

“It’s a good name,” I said. “I like it.”

She repeated it, rolling it over on her tongue. “Yes,” she said. “I like it. Carlyon John — the last after his father. How’s that?”

Johnny for his father. Carlyon for his mother.

Yes, since he could not be Justin, that was what he should be.

I was a different woman. For the first time in my life I loved someone better than I loved myself. The only thing that mattered was my son. I have often made excuses for the wicked things I did by telling myself: They were for Carlyon. I kept assuring myself that to sin for the sake of one you love is not the same as sinning for yourself. Yet deep in my heart I knew that Carlyon’s glory was mine; and that my love for him was so fierce because he was part of
me
, bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, as the saying goes.

He was a beautiful child, big for his age, and the only feature he had inherited from me were his enormous dark eyes; yet there was a look of serenity in them which mine had never had. And why, I asked myself, should they not be serene, with a mother such as I to fight for him? He was a contented baby; he would lie in his cradle accepting the homage of the family as his right — yet not imperiously; he was just happy to be loved. Carlyon loved everybody and everybody loved Carlyon; but, I assured myself, there was a special contentment in his lovely face when I picked him up.

Lady St. Larnston discussed the question of a nanny for him. She enumerated a few of the likely village girls, but I rejected them all. A sense of guilt had come to me because of the absurd fear which I had — almost a premonition — that something might happen to Judith and enable Justin and Mellyora to marry. I did not want that to happen. I wanted Judith to live and remain Justin’s barren wife, for only thus could my son become Sir Carlyon and inherit the Abbas. I pictured the dreary waste Mellyora’s life must be, but I shrugged aside my guilt. Was it not a choice between my friend and my son; and what mother would not always choose her son to a friend, however close?

All the same I wanted to help Mellyora and I had conceived a plan for doing so.

“I do not want him speaking with a village accent,” I told my mother-in-law.

“But we have all had these girls for nurses,” she reminded me.

“I want the best for Carlyon.”

“My dear Kerensa, so do we all.”

“I had thought of Mellyora Martin.” I saw the astonishment beginning to dawn on my mother-in-law’s face, and I hurried on: “She is a lady. She is fond of him and I believe she would be good with children. She could teach him as he grows older; she could be his governess until he is ready to go to school.”

She was considering the inconvenience of relinquishing Mellyora. She would miss her; and yet she realized the good sense of what I was saying. It would be difficult to find a nurse of the caliber of the parson’s daughter.

That day I discovered that the imperious old lady was ready to make sacrifices for her grandson.

I went along to Mellyora’s room; she was very tired, having had an exhausting afternoon with Lady St. Larnston. She was lying on her bed, and I thought she looked like a daffodil which has been left too long out of water.

Poor Mellyora, the strain of her life was becoming too much for her!

I sat on the edge of her bed and studied her intently.

“Has it been a very tiring day?” I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders.

“I’ll be back,” I told her; and I went to my room and returned with some of the eau de Cologne which I had used during my pregnancy and which I had learned from Judith could soothe a headache.

I patted it on Mellyora’s forehead with a pad of cotton wool.

“What luxury to be waited on!” she murmured.

“Poor Mellyora! My mother-in-law is a tyrant. But life is going to be better in future.”

She opened wide her lovely blue eyes in which a hint of sadness was beginning to be apparent.

“You are to have a new employer, a new job.”

She struggled up, fear coming into her eyes. I thought: Don’t fret. You are not to be taken away from Justin, never fear. And that devil in me whispered: No, while you are here and there is this hopeless love between you and Justin he is even less inclined for his wife’s company. And the less he is inclined towards her the less likelihood there is of their having a child who could replace my Carlyon.

When such thoughts came to me I always wanted to be especially kind to Mellyora, so I said quickly, “
I
am going to be your employer, Mellyora. You are going to be Carlyon’s nurse.”

We were hugging each other and for a few moments we were like those two young girls in the parsonage.

“You will be as his aunt,” I said. “There will be no question of anything else. We are sisters, are we not?”

We were silent for a while and then she said: “Life is awe-inspiring sometimes, Kerensa. Do you see a pattern in ours?”

“Yes,” I answered, “a pattern.”

“First I help you … then you help me.”

“There are invisible cords binding our lives together. Nothing will ever break them, Mellyora. We couldn’t, even if we tried.”

“We will never try,” she assured me. “Kerensa, when I knew my mother was going to have a child I prayed for a sister. I prayed fiercely, not just at night, but all through the day, every waking moment! My life was a prayer. I created a sister in my imagination, and her name was Kerensa. She was like you … stronger than I, always there to help me, although there were times when I helped her too. Do you think God was so sorry to have to take my sister from me that he gave me you?”

“Yes,” I said, “I think it was meant that we should be together.”

“Then you believe as I do. You always used to say that if you want something, pray for it, live for it … it comes.”

“My Granny says it comes but there are so many forces which we cannot understand. Perhaps your dream is fulfilled but you must pay for it … Perhaps you will get your sister but she may not be all you hope she is.”