Legend of the Seventh Virgin (31 page)

Her back was bent and she walked with the aid of a stick; her face was as wrinkled as the skin of a stored apple, and she peered up at me through overhanging unkempt brows.

“Forgive my calling,” I said. “I’m Mrs. St. Larnston from the Abbas.”

She nodded. “I know. You be Kerensa Bee’s girl.”

“I am Judith’s sister-in-law,” I said coolly.

“What do you want with me?” she demanded.

“To talk to you. I’m anxious about Judith.”

“Come in, then,” she said, becoming slightly more hospitable.

I stepped down into the room and she led me to the high-backed settle in front of a turf fire. The fireplace was like a cave in the wall, and there were no bars to keep in the fire. It reminded me of the fireplace in Granny’s cottage.

I sat down beside her and she said: “What be wrong with Miss Judith?”

I decided that she was a forthright woman, so I must pretend to be forthright too. I said bluntly: “She’s drinking too much.”

That remark shocked her. I saw her lips twitch; then she pulled thoughtfully at the long stiff hair which grew out of a wart on her chin.

“I’ve come because I’m so anxious about her, and I thought you might be able to advise me.”

“How so?”

“If,” I said, “she could have a child, I believe it would help her, and if she would not drink so much, her health would improve. I’ve spoken to her about it. She seems to despair and think it isn’t possible for her to have a child. You know the family well …”

“They’m a barren family,” she answered, “and there have always been this trouble. They don’t get children easy. There’s some as is cursed that way.”

I dared not look at her; I was afraid the shrewd old woman would read the satisfaction in my eyes and understand the reason.

“I’ve heard there’s a curse on the family,” I ventured. “I’ve heard it said that long ago a Derrise gave birth to a monster.”

She blew with her lips. “There be wild tales in all these old families. The curse be no monster. It be this barrenness and … the drink. The one do go with the other. ’Tis a sort of despair in them like. They say ’tis in the family not to bear sons … and ’tis like they’ve made up their minds to be barren, and they be so. They say … there be some on us as can’t resist the drink … Then they don’t resist it.”

“So that’s the family curse,” I said. And after a short pause, “You think it’s unlikely that Judith can have a child?”

“Who can say? But her have been married some time and far as I know there be no sign. Her grandmother did have two — reared one and lost the other. He were a boy, but not strong. My young lady’s mother were a Derrise. Her husband took the name when he did marry her — to keep the family alive, you see. It gets harder for them, it do seem. My young lady were so much in love. I remember how excited she were when he rode over. We said, ‘Surely love like that will be fruitful.’ But it don’t look like it.”

No, I thought, she will have no sons. Her relationship with Justin has turned sour now. It will be my Carlyon who will have the Abbas.

I was glad I had ridden over to see Jane Carwillen. No one could say definitely that Judith and Justin would not have a son; but my spirits were high because I knew it was unlikely that they would.

“And this drinking …” murmured the old woman shaking her head. “It don’t do no good.”

“It’s been worse since Fanny Paunton came to her.”

“Fanny Paunton’s with her?”

“Yes. She came as lady’s maid. Didn’t you know?”

She shook her head sadly. “I don’t like that. I never could abide Fanny Paunton.”

“Nor I. I am certain that she smuggles spirits into the house.”

“Why didn’t her come to me? I would have told her. ’Tis long since I have seen her. Tell her I be missing her. There was a time when she’d ride over regular. But lately …”

“It may be since Fanny has come. I should like to send her away. Judith won’t hear of it though.”

“She were always loyal to them that served her. And you do say she have been worse since Fanny came! That ain’t to be wondered at, seeing as how …”

“Yes?” I prompted.

Jane Carwillen leaned nearer. “That Fanny Paunton be a secret drinker,” she said.

My eyes sparkled. Let me find her the worse for drink and I should have my excuse.

“’Tain’t often you’d find her drunk like,” went on Jane. “Though there be times when her do let go. I could always see ’un coming. A slyness … A look in the eye. A slackness … Oh, I did know it. I tried to catch her at it, but I were always too late. She’d shut herself in her room … saying her wasn’t well. Then her’d drink herself silly, I do believe. But in the morning, she’d be up and right as rain. A sly one, Fanny Paunton … and bad … bad for my young lady. For there be a way these drinkers do have. They want everyone to be like ’em.”

“If I found her drunk I should dismiss her,” I said.

The old woman gripped my hand; her fingers scraped my skin lightly; she was like a repulsive bird, I thought.

“You watch for the signs,” she whispered. “If you be smart, you may catch ’un. You be on the watch.”

“How often do these drinking bouts take place?”

“I don’t believe she’d hold out longer than a month or six weeks.”

“I shall keep watch. I know it will be the best thing possible for my sister-in-law if I can rid her of this woman.”

The old woman said she would give me a glass of her elderberry wine.

I was about to refuse but I could see that would be unwise. We were sealing a pact. We were in agreement about the undesirability of Fanny.

I took the glass and drank the stuff. It was warming and, I was sure, very potent. That and the turf fire made my face burn; and I knew the old woman was watching me closely, Kerensa Bee’s girl, who must have given the neighborhood even as far as Derrise something to talk about.

“And ask my young lady to come and see old Jane,” she begged me as I left.

I said I would; and as I rode back to the Abbas I was pleased with my journey. I felt certain that Judith could not bear a son and that very shortly I should find a reason for dismissing Fanny.

As I came past Larnston Barton I saw Reuben Pengaster. He was standing leaning against a gate and in his hands he held a pigeon.

I called good day to him as I rode past.

“Why,” he said, “it be Mrs. St. Larnston. A very good day to ’ee, Ma’am.”

He came loping towards me so that I had to stop.

“What do ’ee think of ’un?” he asked, holding up the bird which was docile in his hands; the sun shone on the iridescent wing and I was struck by the contrast of that sleek beauty and Reuben’s spatulate black-rimmed fingers.

“She looks like a show bird to me.”

Proudly he showed me the silver-colored ring about her leg. “She be a homing bird.”

“Wonderful.”

He peered up at me and his jaw wagged slightly as though he were overcome by secret silent laughter.

“No matter where this bird do fly to, ’er’ll come home.”

“I’ve often wondered how they find their way.”

The thick fingers tenderly touched the bird’s wing, all gentleness, all softness. I thought of those fingers about the throat of the cat.

“This be a miracle,” he said. “Do ’ee believe in miracles, Mrs. St. Larnston, Ma’am?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, there be miracles. Pigeons is one of them.” His face darkened suddenly. “Our Hetty went away,” he said, “but ’er’ll come back. Our Hetty be a homing bird, I reckon.”

“I hope so,” I answered.

His face creased pathetically. “’Er went away. ’Er didn’t tell I. ’Er ought to have told I.” Then he was smiling again. “But ’er’ll be back. I know it. Same as I know when I sends out a bird. ’Er’ll come back, I says. ’Er be a homing bird. Our Hetty were a homing bird.”

Lightly I touched my horse’s flanks. “Well, good day Reuben. I hope you’re right.”

“Oh, I be right, Miss. I do know. Piskey-mazed, they say I be, but I do have a little more in some ways to make up for it. Our Hetty won’t stay away forever.”

That June, Mr. Pollent had an accident when out riding; Joe took over the practice completely and there seemed to be no reason why his marriage to Essie should be delayed.

This might have been a little awkward had I allowed it to be. If Joe had done as I wished and become a doctor, the awkward situation would never have arisen; and I could not quite forgive Joe for being the one person to stand out against me. But for him I could have achieved all I set out to do. Joe however was clearly very happy and imagined himself to be the luckiest man alive and when I was with him I always softened towards him. The sight of him dragging his left leg slightly as he walked, brought back memories of that terrible night and how Kim had helped me; that softened me always and set me thinking of Kim and wondering whether he would ever come back.

On the wedding day Mellyora and I drove to the church in one of the Abbas carriages. Granny had been staying at the Pollents’ house for the night. The respectability of her grandchildren was even having its effect on Granny, and I believed that before long I should have her living the life of a genteel old lady in some small house on the St. Larnston estate.

As we drove along I noticed that Mellyora looked pale but I did not mention the fact. I could imagine the strain she was undergoing and I promised myself that before long I should have Fanny out of the house.

The church had been decorated for the wedding because the Pollents were a highly respected family. There was a little stir when I took my place with Mellyora for it was rarely that a St. Larnston was a guest at such a wedding. Would they be reminding themselves, I wondered, that I was only Kerensa Bee’s granddaughter after all. I fancied, too, that many covert glances were directed towards Mellyora, the parson’s daughter who was now nurse to my son.

The wedding ceremony, performed by the Reverend Mr. Hemphill, was soon concluded; and Essie and Joe came out to the vet’s carriage which was to take them back to the Pollents’ where a feast was waiting for them and the guests.

The traditional rice was flung and the old pair of shoes attached to the carriage. Essie, blushing and giggling, clung to Joe’s arm. As for Joe he managed to look both sheepish and proud.

I shrugged my shoulders impatiently, imagining how different this could have been if Joe had been marrying the doctor’s daughter.

As we drove back, Mellyora watched me quizzically and asked me of what I was thinking.

“Of the night Joe was caught in the trap,” I replied. “He might have died. This wedding would never have taken place but for Kim.”

“Dear old Kim!” murmured Mellyora. “How long ago it seems since he was with us.”

“Do you never hear from him, Mellyora?” I asked wistfully.

“I’ve told you that he never writes letters.”

“If he ever did … you would let me know?”

“Of course. But he never will.”

The reception was typical of such occasions. The guests filled the Pollent parlor, the living room, and the kitchen. The kitchen table was laden with food which the Pollent girls must have been preparing for weeks: cakes and pies — hams, beef, and pork; there were homemade wines — blackberry, elder, gillyflower, parsnip, cowslip, and sloe gin.

The party would be very merry before it was over. There were the usual sly jokes; the expected comments; and several of the men whispered their intention to begin the shallal — without which few weddings in our part of Cornwall were celebrated. This was a so-called band, the sole object of which was to create as much noise as possible. Pans, kettles, tea trays — any implement on which hands could be laid, and with which the maximum noise could be made was brought into use. This was to proclaim to the neighborhood for miles round that two people had married that day.

Joe and Essie accepted all this fuss with pleasure. Essie, threatened with the usual horseplay when it was time to retire, giggled with feigned horror.

At least
I
should not be present when they dragged her and Joe from their bed and beat them with a stocking filled with sand.
I
should not be one of those who thought it such a great joke to put a furze bush in the bed.

It was while I sat with Granny and Mellyora and ate the food which the Pollent girls carried round to the guests that I learned of the growing concern in the neighborhood.