Legend of the Seventh Virgin (30 page)

I glanced at Mellyora, remembering how she had fought for me when she had brought me to the parsonage from Trelinket. Mellyora could fight when the need arose. She would fight now. Any slur on the relationship between her and Justin was a slur on Justin. That was how she would see it. I knew there had been no consummation of this love between her and Justin, that there never would be while Judith was alive to stand between them.

Mellyora went on: “I said to her ‘You are insolent.’ And she lay there laughing at me. ‘You give yourself airs, Miss Martin,’ she said. ‘You might be your ladyship by the way you act. But you ain’t that … not by a long chalk you ain’t.’ I had to stop her because I was afraid she was going to say something dreadful, something which I wouldn’t be able to ignore, so I said quickly: ‘Someone is supplying Lady St. Larnston with whiskey and I believe it is you.’ She jeered again and as she did so, her eyes went to the cupboard. I went over and opened it and I saw them … bottles and bottles … some full, some empty. She is getting them for Judith when … Justin has tried to stop her drinking.”

“What can you do about it, Mellyora?”

“I don’t know. It worried me.”

“These sneers about you and Justin make me more anxious than Judith’s drinking.”

“We are innocent,” she said proudly, “and the innocent have nothing to fear.”

I did not answer and she turned to me fiercely. “You do not believe me,” she accused.

“I believe what you tell me always, Mellyora. I was thinking of your words: ‘The innocent have nothing to fear.’ I was wondering how true they were.”

The next day Johnny went to Plymouth on the family business. It was strange how he had seemed to have become respectable since our marriage; I could believe that in twenty years’ time he would have lived down his reputation. Life was extraordinary. Justin, who had made the marriage his parents had chosen for him, was losing his reputation, for there was no doubt that the main interest in the servants’ hall was now the affair of Justin, Judith, and Mellyora. Johnny, who had disgraced the family by marrying the servant, was proving himself to have chosen wisely. It was indeed an ironic turn of events.

I wondered whether Johnny was unfaithful to me. I didn’t greatly care. My position was assured. I had had all I wanted from Johnny.

When he returned he brought with him the elephant. It was made of gray cloth and there were wheels on its feet so that it could be pulled along. I have seen bigger and better elephants since, but at the time it seemed magnificent. It stood about twelve inches from the ground; it had two boot buttons for eyes, a magnificent trunk, a correspondingly grand tail, and a pair of soft ears. About its neck was a thin red leather band and to this was attached a red cord.

Johnny came into the nursery calling for Carlyon. Solemnly our son undid the wrappings about the box which seemed as big as himself; his little hands pulled at the tissue-paper wrapping and there, revealed in all its glory, was the elephant.

Carlyon stared at it, touched the gray cloth, put his finger on the boot-button eyes.

Then he looked from me to Johnny.

“It’s an elephant, darling,” I said.

“Nellyphant,” he repeated, wondering.

Johnny took it out of its box and put the string into our son’s hand. He showed him how to pull it along. Silently Carlyon pulled the toy round the room; then he knelt down and put his arms about its neck.

“Nellyphant,” he whispered wonderingly. “My Nellyphant.”

I was conscious of a momentary jealousy because Johnny had given him something that he liked so much. I wanted always to be first in his affections. It was a trait I deplored, but I couldn’t help it.

Carlyon loved his elephant. The toy stood by his bed at night; he pulled it along wherever he went. He continued to call it his Nellyphant and it was natural that this was shortened to Nelly. He talked to Nelly; he sang to Nelly; it was a joy to see his delight in the thing.

My only regret was that it had not been my gift.

There were disturbing undercurrents at the Abbas that summer. The situation had worsened since the coming of Fanny who was not only supplying Judith with drink but was working on her suspicions. She hated Mellyora and between them, she and Judith were trying to make Mellyora’s position at the Abbas intolerable.

Mellyora did not tell me of all the insults she had to endure, but there were occasions when she was so upset that she could not keep them to herself.

I had never liked Justin because I knew he had never liked me. He believed I had tricked Johnny into marrying me and he was too much of a patrician to accept me willingly into the family; while he was always coolly polite he never showed the least friendliness towards me, and I was inclined to think that he did not entirely approve of Mellyora’s friendship with me.

For him I had little sympathy; but I loved Mellyora and I did not want to see her humiliated. Moreover, she loved Carlyon and he was fond of her; she was an excellent nurse and would be a good governess for him. I think really what I wanted was for things to go on as they were, with myself virtually mistress of the Abbas; Mellyora in a position which she owed to me and which put her in continual need of my protection; Justin, melancholy, in love with a woman who was forbidden to him, the victim of a loveless marriage; Johnny my husband fascinated by me still, realizing that there was a great deal about me which he did not understand, admiring me more than any woman he had ever known; myself powerful, in possession of the strings which jerked my puppets.

But Judith and the odious Fanny were planning to get rid of Mellyora.

People in love are apt to play the ostrich. They bury their heads and think because they see no one, no one sees them. Even such a cold-blooded man as Justin could fall in love and be foolish. He and Mellyora decided they must meet in some place where they could be alone and occasionally they would ride out — not together — and meet, though never twice in the same place. I pictured them walking their horses, talking earnestly before they parted to come home separately. But of course it was noticed that they both disappeared on the same afternoons.

This was their only indulgence. I was as certain as I was of anything that they had never been lovers in fact. Mellyora might have been tempted had her lover been of a more fiery temperament. The restraint would be on Justin’s part.

But such a situation, however determined the chief actors were to preserve their honor and do their duty, was like sitting on top of a barrel of gunpowder. At any moment there could be an explosion and Fanny — perhaps Judith too — was determined that there would be.

One morning when I went down to the kitchens to give orders for the day I overheard a remark which disturbed me. It was Haggety who made it and Mrs. Rolt tittered her appreciation. Fanny had seen them together. Fanny knew. Parsons’ daughters were the same as any village sluts given half the chance. Fanny was going to find out the truth, and when she had, someone was going to be sorry. You could trust Fanny. There wasn’t much she missed.

There was silence when I walked into the kitchen; and mingled with my apprehension for Mellyora was my pride in the manner in which my presence could subdue them.

I gave no hint that I had heard what they were saying, but merely proceeded to give orders.

But when I went upstairs I was thoughtful. If Fanny did not go soon, there was going to be trouble which might result in Mellyora’s being obliged to leave the Abbas. What would happen then? Would Justin let her go? Often a decision could be forced and when it was, how could one be sure in what way people would act? Fanny must go; but how could
I
dismiss Judith’s maid?

I went to Judith’s room. It was early afternoon and I knew that after luncheon she retired to her room to drink herself drowsy.

I knocked lightly at the door and when there was no answer knocked again more loudly. I heard the clink of glass and the shutting of a cupboard door. She still kept up the pretense that she was not drinking.

“Oh,” she said, “it’s you.”

“I came in for a chat.”

As I came close to her I could smell the spirits on her breath and noted the glazed look in her eyes; her hair was untidy.

She shrugged her shoulders and I set a chair before the mirror. “Let me dress your hair, Judith,” I said. “I always liked doing it. It’s what I call good-tempered hair. It does what you want it to.”

She sat down obediently and as I took out the pins and her hair fell about her shoulders, I thought how vulnerable she looked.

I massaged her head as I used to and she closed her eyes.

“There’s magic in your fingers,” she said in a soft slurred voice.

“Judith,” I said softly, “you’re very unhappy.”

She did not answer, but I saw that her mouth drooped.

“I wish there was something I could do.”

“I like you to do my hair.”

I laughed. “I mean something to help you to be happier.”

She shook her head.

“Is it wise … all this drinking?” I went on. “Fanny gets it for you, I know. It’s wrong of her. You’ve been worse since she came.”

“I want Fanny here. She’s my friend.” Her mouth was obstinate.

“A friend? Who smuggles drink to you when Justin is so anxious that you shouldn’t drink, when he wants to see your health improved?”

She opened her eyes and they flashed momentarily. “Does he? Perhaps he would rather I were dead.”

“What nonsense. He wants you to be well. Get rid of Fanny. I know she is bad for you. Get well … and strong. If your health were better you might have a child which would give Justin so much pleasure.”

She turned round and gripped my arm. Her fingers burned my skin.

“You don’t understand. You think you do. Everybody thinks they do. They think it is my fault there are no children. What if I were to tell you that it is Justin’s?”

“Justin’s. You mean … ?”

She released me and, shrugging her shoulders, turned back to the mirror. “What does it matter? Just brush it for me, Kerensa. That soothes me. Then tie it back and I’ll lie down and sleep awhile.”

I picked up the comb. What did she mean? Was she suggesting that Justin was impotent?

I felt a great excitement. If this were so, there could never be any danger of anyone’s displacing Carlyon. The problems of Mellyora and Justin were forgotten before such an important issue.

But how much trust could I put into Judith’s wild statements? I considered Justin — so cool and aloof; the love for Mellyora which I was certain had never been consummated. Was this due to inability rather than morality?

I had to find out.

Then I remembered the history of the Derrise family; the story of the monster and the curse. I wanted to know more about that family.

“Judith …” I began.

But her eyes were closed and she was already half asleep. I could get little out of her now, and then I should not be sure how true it was.

I remembered that, when I had been her maid, she had often talked of her old nurse, Jane Carwillen, who had been with her family for years, and had been nurse to Judith’s mother. I had heard Judith say that she had left the family now but lived in a cottage on the Derrise estate. I made up my mind that if I rode over to Derrise and had a talk with Jane Carwillen, I might learn something of importance.

The next day I left Carlyon with Mellyora and rode out to the moor.

At Derrise Tor I paused to look down at the house — a magnificent mansion built in Cornish stone, surrounded by its park in which I caught a glint of sunshine on the fishponds. I could not help comparing myself with Judith who had been born to all that luxury and was now one of the most miserable women on earth, while I, born to poverty in a fisherman’s cottage, had become Mrs. St. Larnston. I was continually making comparisons, continually congratulating myself on my achievements. I told myself that my character was strengthening; and if it was hardening too, well, hardness was strength.

I rode down towards the Derrise estate and on my way met some workmen whom I asked to direct me to Miss Carwillen’s cottage. In a short time I found it.

I tied my horse to a fence and knocked at the door. There was a short silence before I heard slow footsteps; then the door was opened by a little woman.