Legend of the Seventh Virgin (36 page)

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.

O
ne can forget the unpleasant episodes of life for days, weeks, months at a stretch and then some incident occurs to revive them in all their disturbing clarity. I was the kind of person who could make excuses for my sins, who could force myself to see the excuses as the truth. I was becoming more and more that kind of person. But truth is like a specter which will haunt you all your life and appear suddenly when you are off your guard to disturb you, to remind you that no matter how many pleasantly colored wrappings you can put over the truth, they can be discarded in a moment by one rude gesture.

There was I sitting at my bureau planning the dinner party of that evening. The Fedders were coming. They had business to discuss with Johnny. Johnny was not pleased, but he had to invite them. I knew very well that Johnny and business did not suit each other.

There was no denying the fact that estate matters were not managed so skillfully as they had been when Justin was at the Abbas. I knew that if Johnny received letters which he found disagreeable he thrust them into a drawer and tried to forget about them. There were complaints from several sources. The farmers said that in Sir Justin’s day this and that, which was neglected now, had been carried out. Repairs of cottages which should have been done were left undone; and the fact that Johnny was prepared to promise anything that was asked did not help matters, since he had no intention of keeping his promises. In the beginning he had been very popular, now they knew they couldn’t trust him.

It was two years since Justin had gone away. He was in Italy now and wrote rarely. I was always expecting that one day there would be a letter for Mellyora asking her to join him there.

When you have wronged someone deeply your feelings towards them must change. There were times when I almost hated Mellyora; I was really hating myself, but as it is always difficult for a person of my nature to do that, the only outlet is to hate the one who has made you hate yourself. When these moods were on me I tried to be more gentle with her. She would be Carlyon’s nurse and governess, until he was old enough to go to school, but I had insisted that she should be treated like a member of the family, taking meals with us, and even coming to dinner parties; people met her as Miss Martin, the daughter of the late parson, rather than the nursery governess at the Abbas. I had taught Carlyon to call her Aunt Mellyora. There were times when there was little I wouldn’t have done for Mellyora.

She had changed; she looked older; she was quieter. It was strange, but as I grew more flamboyant she seemed to grow more colorless. She wore her lovely yellow hair in smooth braids about her head; mine was coiled high and elaborately so as not to lose one bit of its beauty. She wore quiet grays and blacks — which were becoming to her fair skin — but so quiet. I wore black rarely; it did not suit me and when I did, I would always have with it a touch of flaming color — scarlet or my favorite jade green. I had evening dresses of scarlet chiffon and jade silk; sometimes I wore lavender and a combination of dark blue dominated by pink.

I was the lady of the Abbas now; there was no one to stand in my way and in the two years since Justin had gone away I had stabilized my position. The disaffection of Justin had helped me considerably. I almost believed that Haggety and Mrs. Rolt forgot for long periods at a time that I was not born and bred to the role which I played so perfectly.

Lady St. Larnston had died the previous year, quietly in her sleep, so there had been another funeral at the Abbas. But how different this one from that of Judith! Calmly and conventionally as she had lived her life, so the old lady passed out of it.

And since her going, my position had become even more secure.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I said, with the proper touch of authority, not arrogant, not condescending, merely giving an order naturally. Mrs. Rolt and Mrs. Salt entered.

“Oh Ma’am, it’s about the dinner tonight,” said Mrs. Salt.

“I have been thinking of it.” I looked up at them, conscious of myself — white hands on the table, the pen held lightly; my wedding ring and the square-cut emerald above — the one which was a St. Larnston ring and which Lady St. Larnston had given me after Justin had gone away. My feet in black leather slippers showing beneath the skirt of my mauve morning gown which was trimmed with satin ribbons; my hair in a chignon on the top of my head — simply and elegantly clad in the morning attire of a great lady.