Legend of the Seventh Virgin (37 page)

“A clear soup to begin with, Mrs. Salt. Then I think sole with a sauce which I shall leave to you. Partridge … or chicken … and the roast beef. We must keep it simple because I gather from Mrs. Fedder that Mr. Fedder’s digestion is giving him a little trouble.”

“It’s not to be wondered at, Ma’am,” said Mrs. Rolt. “It’s all this talk about the mine. Not that I suppose they’m got much to worry about — them Fedders. Reckon they’ve been feathering their nests all this time. But have you heard, Ma’am, if it be true the mine be closing down?”

“I have heard nothing,” I said coolly and turned to Mrs. Salt. “A souffle, I think, and let us have apple pie with cream.”

“Very good, Ma’am,” said Mrs. Salt.

Mrs. Rolt put in: “And Haggety were wondering about the wines, Ma’am.”

“He should see Mr. St. Larnston about the wines,” I replied.

“Well, Ma’am …” began Mrs. Rolt.

I inclined my head. This was one of those mornings when they were becoming too talkative. On most occasions I could subdue them completely.

I haughtily inclined my head and picked up my pen. They exchanged glances and murmuring: “Thank you, Ma’am!” went out; I heard their voices, low, whispering as the door closed.

I frowned. It was as though their prying fingers had opened a cupboard door which I preferred to keep shut. What was it Johnny had once said about skeletons in cupboards? Justin’s and Mellyora’s? Well, I was ready to admit I had my skeletons too.

I tried to dismiss the memory of those two mischievous old faces, as I picked up my pen and started going through the last month’s account which Haggety had put on my desk a few days before in accordance with my orders.

Another knock.

“Come in.”

This time it was Haggety himself.

A curse on memories! I thought of his foot touching mine under the table. That little light in his eyes which meant: We must understand each other. I pay lip service to Mrs. Rolt but you’re the one I really fancy.

I hated him when I remembered; and I must force myself to regard him as the butler merely, quite efficient if one shut one’s eyes to his shortcomings — too much freedom with the women servants, a little bribery to suppliers, a little adjustment of accounts so that they came out in his favor. The sort of failings one might have with any butler.

“Well, Haggety?” I went on writing just because I had remembered.

He coughed. “Er, Ma’am … er …”

Now I must look up. There was no disrespect in his face, only embarrassment. I waited patiently.

“It’s about the wine, Ma’am.”

“For tonight, yes. You must see Mr. St. Larnston about it.”

“Er … Ma’am. It’s that we’ll just about have enough for tonight Ma’am and then …”

I looked at him in astonishment. “Why haven’t you seen that the cellar is well stocked?”

“Ma’am. The merchant, Ma’am … he wants a settlement.”

I felt a faint color in my cheeks. “This is extraordinary,” I said.

“No, Ma’am. There’s a large amount outstanding … and …”

“You had better let me see the account, Haggety.”

A smile of relief touched his face. “Well, Ma’am, I’ve what you might say anticipated that. ’Tis here. If Ma’am, you’ll settle it, there’ll be no trouble, I do assure you.”

I did not look at the statement he handed me.

I said: “Such treatment is most disrespectful. Perhaps we should change our wine merchant.”

Haggety fumbled and brought out another bill. “Well, Ma’am in a manner of speaking we have two … and things is the same with the both.”

It had always been a tradition at the Abbas that wine bills were the affair of the man of the house. Although I dealt with other expenditure, since the departure of Justin, the cellar had been a matter between Haggety and Johnny.

“I will see that this has Mr. St. Larnston’s immediate attention,” I said, and I added: “I do not think he will be pleased with these merchants. It may be necessary to find others. But the cellars, of course, should not be allowed to be depleted. You should have brought this matter to light before this.”

Haggety’s face puckered as though he were about to cry.

“Ma’am, I have told Mr. Johnny … Mr. St. Larnston … nigh on a dozen times.”

“Very well, Haggety, I understand. It has slipped his memory. I see that you are not to blame.”

Haggety went out and immediately I looked down at the wine merchants’ accounts. To my horror I saw that between the two we owed some five hundred pounds.

Five hundred pounds! No wonder they refused to supply us with more until we paid. How could Johnny have been so careless.

A sudden fear had come to me. What was Johnny doing with the money which was coming in from the estate? I had my allowance with which I settled household accounts and bought what I needed. Why did Johnny go so often to Plymouth — far more often than Sir Justin had gone? Why were there continual complaints about the estate?

It was time I had a talk with Johnny.

That was an uneasy day.

I carefully put away the wine bills but I couldn’t forget them. Those figures kept dancing before my eyes and I thought of my life with Johnny.

What did we know of each other? He still admired me; I still attracted him, not with the same passionate fire as in the beginning, not with that abandonment which had made him risk his family’s displeasure to make me his wife; but there was physical passion there. He still found me different from other women. He told me so again and again. What other women? I asked once, wondering what other women there were in Johnny’s life. “All other women in the world,” he answered. And I didn’t care enough to pursue that point. I always felt I must repay Johnny for my position, the fulfillment of a dream, all that he had given to me. And most of all he had given me Carlyon, my blessed son, who, thanks to Johnny was a St. Larnston and could one day be Sir Carlyon. For this I must be grateful. I remembered this always and tried to repay him by being the sort of wife he needed. I believed I was. I shared his bed; I ran his house; I was a credit to him when people could forget my origins which were like a shadow, visible on some days when the bright sun discovered it, but often out of sight and out of mind. I never asked questions about his life. I suspected that there might be other women. The St. Larnstons — with the exception of Justin — were like that; his father had been, and there was his Grandfather who had played his part in Granny’s story.

Johnny could lead his own private life, but the management of the estate was something he could not keep to himself. If there were debts I must know.

I suddenly realized how lax I had been. The St. Larnston estate was important because one day it was going to be Carlyon’s.

What had I heard about the days of uneasiness, years ago when the Abbas and all its lands had almost passed into other hands. Then tin had been discovered in the meadow near the Six Virgins and that tin had saved the family fortunes. I remembered how, at Joe’s wedding, there had been talk of our mine. Perhaps I could speak to Johnny. I must discover whether the wine bills had been left unpaid through carelessness or for other more alarming reasons.

Those figures continued to dance before my eyes, jerking me out of my complacence. I had been too content with my life. For the last year it had run too smoothly. I even believed that Mellyora had become resigned and was not yearning so much for Justin; once or twice I had heard her laugh as she used to when we were both together at the parsonage.

I had seen everything turning out as I had planned it should. I was reconciled to Joe’s lack of ambition; Granny had left her cottage and lived with the Pollents now. I knew that it was the most satisfactory arrangement and yet I was sad in a way because she must live with Joe instead of with me. Granny would never have fitted in at the Abbas with her potions and cures and her Cornish accent; but at the Pollents’ she was very welcome. There was Joe working on his cures for animals and Granny continuing with her work. It fitted somehow. But it wasn’t quite what I had wanted for her; and I often felt sad when I visited her there. When we talked together I knew that our relationship had not changed and I was as important to her — and she to me — as we had ever been.

Yes, indeed I had been too complacent; I must not remain any longer in ignorance of our financial position.

I put away my papers and shut the desk. I would go to the nursery to see Carlyon who could always soothe me. He was growing up fast and was advanced for his age. He was not a bit like Johnny, nor like me; I often marveled that we could have had such a child. He was already reading and Mellyora said that he had practically taught himself; his attempts at drawing seemed to me astonishing; and he had his own little pony because I had wanted him to ride at an early age. I never allowed him to ride without me — I wouldn’t trust anyone else, not even Mellyora; and I myself would lead him round the meadow. He had a natural aptitude and was quickly at home in the saddle.

There was only one characteristic in him which I should have liked to change. He could be reduced to tears very quickly when he thought something was hurt. There had been one occasion more than a year earlier during the very hot weather when he had come in crying because there was a crack in the brown earth and he thought it was broken. “Poor,
poor
ground! Mend it, Mamma,” he said, looking at me with tear-filled eyes as though he had thought me an omnipotent being. So it was with animals — a mouse in a trap, a dead hare he had seen hung in the kitchen, a cat who had been hurt in a fight. He suffered acutely because his heart was too tender and I often used to fear that when he grew older he would be too easily hurt.

On that morning I hurried along to the nursery, guessing that Mellyora would be getting him ready to take out and thinking that we would go together.

I could shelve all disturbing fears while I was with Carlyon. I threw open the nursery door. It was empty. When old Lady St. Larnston was alive I had had the nurseries redecorated and she and I had become very friendly while that operation was in progress. We had chosen the wallpaper together — a wonderful wallpaper, blue and white with the willow-pattern story repeated over and over again. Everything was blue and white; a white pattern on blue curtains, a blue carpet. The room was full of sunshine, but there was no sign of Carlyon or Mellyora.

“Where are you?” I called.

My eyes went to the window seat where propped up against the window was Nelly. I could never look at the thing without a shock. I had said to Carlyon: “This is a baby’s toy. Do you want to keep it? Let’s find some big boy’s toys.”

He had taken it firmly from me, his face puckered in grief; I believe he fancied that the thing could hear my words and be hurt.

“It’s Nelly,” he said, with dignity, and opening a cupboard door he put it inside as though he feared for its safety.

Now I picked it up. The torn cloth had been neatly mended by Mellyora. But it was visible like a scar. If she had known …

This was an unpleasant morning because too much that should be forgotten was coming back to leer at me.

I put Nelly back on the window seat and opened the door into the adjoining room where Carlyon had his meals.

As I did so I came face to face with Mellyora.

“You’ve seen him?” she said and I noticed how anxious she was.

“What?”

“Carlyon? He’s with you?”

“No …”

“Then where … ?”

We stared at each other in dismay and I was conscious of that feeling of sickness, numbness, and desperation which the thought of any harm overtaking Carlyon could give me.

“I thought he must be with you,” she said.

“You mean … he’s not here?”

“I’ve been looking for him for the last ten minutes.”

“How long have you missed him?”

“I left him here … after breakfast. He was making a drawing of his pony …”

“We must find him,” I commanded. “He must be here somewhere.”

I went roughly past her. I wanted to upbraid her, to accuse her of carelessness. That was because seeing the toy elephant on the window seat had reminded me vividly how I had wronged her. I called sharply: “Carlyon. Where are you?”

She joined me; and we had soon made sure that he was nowhere in the nursery.

Now the dreadful sick fear was a certainty. Carlyon was lost. In a short time I had the whole household searching for him. Every nook of the Abbas must be searched, every servant questioned. But I was not satisfied that they would search properly. I must search myself, so I went through the house … through every room, calling for my son to come out if he were hiding, begging him not to frighten me any more.

I thought of all the things that could have harmed him. I pictured him trampled to death by galloping horses, kidnaped by gypsies, caught in a trap … maimed as poor Joe had been. And there I was in the old part of the house where the nuns had lived, meditated, and prayed; and I seemed to feel despair close in on me and that I was shut in with grief. A horrible suspicion came to me then that some harm had befallen my child. It was as though the spirit of the nun was beside me, that she identified herself with me, that her grief was my grief; and I knew then that if my son were taken from me it would be as though I were walled in by grief which would be as enduring as stone walls.

I fought to throw off the spell of evil which seemed to wrap itself about me.

“No,” I cried out aloud. “Carlyon, my son. Where are you? Come out of your hiding place and stop frightening me.”

As I ran out of the house, I met Mellyora and glanced hopefully at her but she shook her head.

“He’s not in the house,” she said.

We began searching the grounds, calling his name.

Near the stables I saw Polore.

“The little master be lost?” he asked.

“Have you seen him?” I demanded.

“Just about an hour ago, Ma’am. He were talking to me about his pony. Took sick it were, in the night, and I were telling him.”

“Was he upset?”

“Well, Ma’am. He were always fond of that pony. Talked to ’er he did. Said to never mind. ’Er’d soon be better. Then he did go back to the house. I watched ’un.”