Legend of the Seventh Virgin (47 page)

He was watching me as I talked but he said: “Oh, I do see, Ma’am.”

“We’ll build up and on. I don’t see why we shouldn’t have a nice little house here. It’ll mean cutting some of the trees down. That’s a pity but we shall need extra ground.”

“Oh yes, Ma’am,” he said. He didn’t move but stood still, looking at me.

“Well,” I went on, “shall we take a look round while there is some daylight? There’s not much left, I’m afraid.”

“There’s none left for our Hetty,” he said.

I turned and glanced at him sharply. His face was puckered and he looked as if he were about to weep. “’Tis long since her have seen the light of day,” he went on.

“I’m sorry,” I said gently. “It was terrible. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“I be going to tell ye how sorry I be, Ma’am.”

“We must make the most of the light. It’ll soon be dark.”

“Ay,” he said, “it’ll soon be dark for ’ee like it is for our Hetty.”

Something in his voice, something in the manner in which he kept looking at me, began to alarm me. I remembered that Reuben was unbalanced; I remembered that occasion when I had seen him exchange a glance with Hetty in the Pengaster kitchen after he had killed a cat. I remembered too that the cottage was lonely, that no one knew I was here; and I remembered that other occasion when I had been alone and frightened in this cottage and I wondered if it were Reuben who had followed me here then.

“Now the roof?” I said briskly. “What do you think of the roof?”

For a second he looked up. “Reckon something’d have to be done to the roof.”

“Look here, Reuben,” I said. “It was a mistake to come at this time. It’s not even a bright day which would have helped. What I am going to do is give you the key of the cottage and I want you to come one morning and make a thorough examination of the place. When you have done that, you can give me a report and I’ll decide what we can do. Is that all right?”

He nodded.

“I’m afraid it’s too dark to do anything now. There was never much light here on the sunniest day. But morning will be best.”

“Oh no,” said Reuben. “Now is the best. The hour have struck. This be the time.”

I tried to ignore that and moved towards the door. “Well, Reuben?” I murmured.

But he was before me, barring my way.

“I do want to tell ’ee,” he began.

“Yes, Reuben.”

“I do want to tell ’ee about our Hetty.”

“Some other time, Reuben.”

His eyes were suddenly angry. “Now,” he said.

“What then?”

“Her be cold and dead, our Hetty.” His face puckered. “She were pretty … like a little bird, our Hetty were. ’Tweren’t right. He did belong to marry her, and you made him marry you instead. Can’t do naught about that. Saul took care of ’em.”

“It’s over now, Reuben,” I whispered soothingly and I tried to pass him; but still he stopped me.

“I mind,” he said, “when the wall did fall. I did see her. There one minute she were … and the next no more. She reminded me of someone.”

“Perhaps you didn’t really see anything, Reuben,” I said, glad that he had stopped talking of Hetty and spoke instead of the Seventh Virgin.

“She were there one minute,” he muttered, “and she were gone the next. If I hadn’t taken away the stones her’d be there to this day. Walled up her were, all on account of her terrible sin. Her did lie with a man, and her taken holy vows! And she’d be there now … but for I!”

“It was no fault of yours, Reuben. And she was dead. It didn’t matter that she was disturbed when she was dead.”

“All along a me,” he said. “She had a look of someone …”

“Who?” I asked faintly.

His crazy eyes looked full into my face. “She had a look of you,” he said.

“No, Reuben, you imagined it.”

He shook his head. “Her sinned,” he said. “
You
sinned. Our Hetty sinned. She paid … but you didn’t.”

“You mustn’t worry, Reuben,” I urged, trying to speak calmly, “you must try and forget all about that. It’s over. Now I must go.”

“No,” he said, “bain’t over yet. ’Twill be … but not yet.”

“Well, don’t worry any more, Reuben.”

“I bain’t worried,” he answered, “for ’twill soon be done.”

“That’s all right then. I’ll say good night. You can keep the key. It’s on the table there.”

I tried to smile, straining every effort. I must dash past him; I must run. I would go to Kim and tell him that what we had always feared about Reuben was happening. The tragedy of his sister’s disappearance and the discovery of her body had sent his poor brain tottering. Reuben was no longer slightly, but completely mad.

“I’ll take the key,” he said and as he glanced at the table I took a step to the door. But he was beside me and when I felt his fingers on my arm, I was immediately aware of his strength.

“Don’t ’ee go,” he commanded.

“I must, Reuben. They’ll be waiting for me … expecting me …”

“Others be waiting,” he said. “Others be expecting.”

“Who?”

“They,” he said. “Hetty and her … her in the wall.”

“Reuben, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do know what I have to do. I’ve promised ’un.”

“Who? When?”

“I’ve said, Hetty don’t ’ee worry my little ’un. You’ve been done wrong. He’d have married you stead of murdering you, but there was ’er you see … She’d come out of the wall and she’d done you harm and I were the one as let her out. She be bad … she do belong to be back in the wall. Don’t ’ee worry. You’ll be at peace.”

“Reuben, I’m going now …”

He shook his head. “You’m going where you belong to be. I’m taking ’ee.”

“Where’s that?”

He put his face close to mine and began to laugh that horrible laughter which would haunt me for the rest of my life. “You do know, m’dear, where you belong to be.”

“Reuben,” I said, “you followed me here to the cottage before this.”

“Aye,” he said. “You did lock yourself in. But ’twouldn’t have done. I weren’t ready. I had to be ready. I be ready now …”

“Ready for what?”

He smiled and again that laughter filled the cottage.

“Let me go, Reuben,” I pleaded.

“I’ll let ’ee go, my little lady. I’ll let ’ee go to where ’ee do belong to be. ’Tain’t here … in this cottage. ’Tain’t on this earth. I be going to put ’ee back where you was when I disturbed ’ee.”

“Reuben, listen to me, please. You’ve misunderstood. You didn’t see anyone in the wall. You imagined it because of the stories … and if you did, she had nothing to do with us.”

“I let ’ee out,” he said. “It were a terrible thing to do. Look what ’ee did to our Hetty.”

“I did nothing to Hetty. Whatever happened to her was due to what she did herself.”

“She were like a little bird … a little homing pigeon.”

“Listen, Reuben …”

“’Tain’t time for listening. I have your little nest all awaiting for ’ee. There you’ll rest, cozy like you was till I disturbed ’ee. And then you can’t hurt no one no more … and I can tell Hetty what I done.”

“Hetty’s dead. You can’t tell her anything.”

His face puckered suddenly. “Our Hetty’s dead,” he murmured. “Our little homing bird be dead. And he’s dead. Saul see to that. Saul always said there be one law for them and one for the likes of we … and he was one to see justice done. Well, so be I. ’Tis for you, Hetty. Don’t ’ee fret no more. She be going back where she do belong.”

As he released me, I moved towards the door but there was no escape. I heard his laughter filling the cottage and I saw his hands — his strong capable hands; I felt them about my throat … pressing out the life.

The cold night air revived me. I felt sick and ill and there was a pain in my throat. My limbs were cramped and I was fighting for my breath.

Enveloped in darkness as I was, I became aware of jolting uncomfortably; I tried to cry out but no sound came. I knew I was being carried somewhere, for every now and then a pain would jerk through my body. I tried to move my arms but I could not and the sudden understanding came to me that they were tied behind my back.

Memory returned. The sound of Reuben’s laughter; the sight of his half-crazed face near my own; the gloom of the cottage which had for so long been my home and my refuge; the horror that had turned it into a sinister place.

I was being taken somewhere and Reuben was taking me. I was trussed up and helpless like an animal being taken to the slaughterhouse.

Where am I going? I asked myself.

But I knew.

I must shout for help. I must let Kim know that I was in the hands of a madman. I knew what he was going to do. In his crazy mind he had identified me with a vision — real or imaginary, who could say? — and to him I
was
the Seventh Virgin of St. Larnston.

This could not be so. I had imagined it. This could not happen to me.

I tried to call Kim, but there was only a strangled sound and I realized that my body was covered by a piece of rough substance, probably sacking.

We had come to a halt. The covering was removed and I was looking up at the stars. So it was night and I knew where I was, for now I could see the walled garden, and the wall … as it had been on that day when we had all been there together, Mellyora, Johnny, Justin, Kim and me. And now I was here alone … alone with a madman.

I heard his low laughter, that horrible laughter which would always be with me.

He had wheeled me close to the wall. What had happened to it? There was the hole as there had been on that other occasion; there was the hollow.

He had dragged me out of the wheelbarrow in which he had brought me from the cottage; I could hear his heavy breathing as he forced me into the hollow.

“Reuben … !” I breathed. “No … for God’s sake, Reuben …”

“I feared ’ee’d be dead,” he said. “’Twouldn’t have been right. I be powerful glad you be alive still.”

I tried to speak, to plead with him. I tried to call. My bruised throat felt constricted and although I exerted all my will I could not produce a sound.

I was there … standing there as I had stood that day. He was but a dark shadow and as though from far off I heard him laugh. I saw the brick in his hand and I knew what he was going to do.

As I fainted I thought suddenly: All that I have done has brought me to this, just as all that she did brought her to this same spot. We had trod a similar path, but I had not known it. I had thought I could make life go as I wanted it … but so perhaps had she.

Through a haze of pain and doubt I heard a voice, a well-loved voice.

“Good God!” it said. And then: “Kerensa, Kerensa!”

I was lifted in a pair of arms, tenderly, compassionately.

“My poor, poor Kerensa …”

It was Kim who had come for me. Kim who had saved; Kim who was carrying me in his arms from the darkness of death into the Abbas.

I was ill for several weeks. They kept me at the Abbas and Mellyora was there to look after me.

It had been a terrible ordeal, far worse than at first I realized; each night I would wake in a sweat dreaming I was standing within the hollowed wall while devils feverishly worked to build me in.

Mellyora came over to nurse me, and was with me night and day.

One night I woke and sobbed in her arms.

“Mellyora,” I said, “I deserved to die for I have sinned.”