The Beloved (18 page)

A week has passed since I found Beth bleeding on the floor. She is back to work now, and back in our bed. Although quieter than usual, she seems much herself, and we are back to how we were before with each other. I have allowed myself to forgive her, for in my heart I know that it was me who wished it all upon her. But I do not feel any guilt this time. For if it was truly the Devil's child inside her then Our Beloved would have wished for it to be out of her too.

We never speak of it, but at night, when all is quiet and Beth is breathing steadily next to me, I think of the Devil child I saw in my dream, all slippery with Beth's blood, and I am filled with a breathtaking terror. I pull the blanket tightly around my shoulders, close my eyes and search desperately for my meadow.

It is not easy to find. There are too many thoughts and feelings blocking my way. All the ordinary nonsense: the pile of mending still to be done, the eggs to be gathered, the last slice of apple pie hidden behind a pitcher in the scullery. And the darker thoughts too; of Mama and Eli and Papa, now rotting in his grave. I have to pick through them all and toss them to one side. But eventually, I stumble into it, my beautiful meadow, hidden in a deep, dusty corner of my mind. It is the same as always. It is wild and green and peaceful and I am free to run in any direction I care to. Except now there is someone to run to. I see him in the distance, waiting for me, his white gown fluttering in the breeze. He is smiling his beautiful, calm smile; the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes. He reaches out to me and I run like the wind. Only when his arms have folded around me and I am safe in his embrace, do I allow myself to go to sleep.

A strange thing happened today as me and Our Beloved and Agatha were on our way back from Minehead. The light was just fading as we came into Spaxton. I was sitting as usual, on the dickey box next to Agatha, and I was looking forward to a hot drink and the plate of warming supper I knew would be waiting for us on our return. As we passed by the little row of cottages just down from the Lamb Inn, I saw a girl opening the gate to one of the front gardens. She was carrying a jug in her hands and I thought perhaps she had just fetched some ale from the inn. She stopped to close the gate and watched us as we drove by. There was something very familiar about her, so I turned my head to see her all the better. She dropped the jug then. It crashed to the ground and she cried out as it shattered into pieces. Her hand flew to her mouth. But she did not look down at the ruined jug or the spilled contents. She stared straight at me with eyes as round as peeled eggs.

It was Sarah.

I looked away quickly, my heart thrumming hard against my ribs. For a brief moment, I felt a surge of anger towards her. What was she doing here, spying on me? I glanced back and saw an old man had joined her at the gate. Her father. I remembered then, how she had told me that her father lived in Spaxton.

The carriage turned into the gates of the Abode, and the hairs on the back of my neck crisped as I imagined her running after me. Only when the gates were closed and locked again, did I dare to breathe easily. ‘You look like you've seen a ghost,' Agatha said to me as we climbed down from the carriage.

And I thought that perhaps she was right. It was a ghost I had seen. Just a ghost from the past. And it was left outside the gates now. Where it belonged.

It was a cold, wet afternoon. Eli sat in the dust and gloom of the study listening to the muffled sounds of his mother on the rampage again. The study was the only place he could get away from her and hide behind the pretence of work. She had started on him first thing, at breakfast. ‘Do you have to make such a noise chewing your food?' she had begun with. ‘Have you no manners? Perhaps you had better eat with the servants in future.'

‘I am sorry, Mama,' Eli said. ‘I didn't mean to offend you.' He had pushed his plate away, thinking it would be better if he didn't eat at all.

‘I see!' Temperance had said, throwing her napkin onto her own plate, ‘Even the food in this house isn't good enough for you any more. Or are you just a wastrel? Like your father was.'

‘Don't be silly, Mama. I have just had my fill. That is all.'

‘Had your fill?' Temperance had said. ‘Just as you've had your fill of me? That's right, isn't it? You've had enough of me, just as your father had.'

‘Oh, Mama.' Eli could see her colour rising and the edges of her nostrils beginning to quiver dangerously. ‘You know that's not true. Papa loved you and so do I.'

‘Pah!' Temperance spat. ‘You are a liar. A pathetic liar. Look at you. You are not even man enough to fill your suit. At least your father knew how to run the business and provide for us. You are just a useless little boy, Eli. Do you hear me? A useless little boy.' She picked up her napkin and wiped the flecks of spit from the corners of her mouth. Then she pierced a chunk of devilled kidney with her fork and placed it in her mouth with a satisfied sigh.

Eli had sat for a moment watching the precise way his mother's jaws worked the offal in her mouth to a paste. He had never noticed before how fragile his mother's beauty was. As her jaws clenched and unclenched, he saw that from a certain angle and with the mottled light of the morning catching on the powdered mask of her face, she was actually quite ugly.

She glanced up at him. ‘Are you still here?' she asked quite pleasantly. And before Eli could answer, ‘Please leave me. You are disturbing my appetite.'

Eli had been only too glad to slink away. But from inside the safety of the study he could hear the hurried footsteps of servants skittering this way and that and knew his mother was making their lives a misery too.

He sighed and put his head in his hands. At once, Alice came to mind, as she always did. In the month since Eli had returned from Bath, he had been unable to forget the girl he had seen outside the Abbey, or the strange man with the jet-black ringlets. For a time, he managed to convince himself that it had been the wine skewing his vision. With a skinful of alcohol was it not likely that his imagination had run away with him?

However much he tried not to think of her, Alice's face kept creeping into his dreams and into his waking hours. He saw, over and over again, the hood fall from her head to reveal her black hair and the familiar line of her nose and jaw.

Wraith had told him the little he knew about the man he called Henry Prince. ‘I have seen him once, preaching in Bridgwater,' he had said. ‘He proclaims himself to be the Messiah. Belongs in the madhouse if you ask me. But somehow he has managed to persuade a good many wealthy women to believe him,
and
to pay for the building of his
Abode of Love
.' Wraith pursed his lips in disgust. ‘They say,' he had whispered, ‘that he has fathered a child with at least a dozen of them. There is always some piece of scandal written about him in the newspapers.'

Eli decided he needed to find out more about this Henry Prince. He couldn't imagine for one instant that Alice would be caught up with someone like that, but his curiosity was piqued. And any chance to find Alice would be a chance worth taking. If he could just bring her home, how much better things would be. He would be free to travel; Wraith would take care of the business, and Alice? Well, Alice would be back where she belonged.

He looked at the pile of newspapers mouldering by the side of fire; the ones his father had kept to roll into spills. There must have been dozens there. Arthur Angel had never thrown anything away.

Eli picked up an armful of the newspapers and spread them out on the desk. He blew the soot and dust from the covers and settled down to read. Most of the papers were copies of the
Bridgwater Gazette
, but there were a few copies of
The Times
, which Arthur Angel used to send out to London for.

Eli idly flicked through the pages. He wasn't interested in current affairs or foreign affairs or the court circular and soon his mind began to wander. So much for Wraith's assertion that Henry Prince was always in the newspapers. An hour passed, and Eli was about to give up, when his eye caught upon an unusual word.
Agapemonites.
He quickly scanned the article below, and there at last, he found the name, Henry Prince.

It was a strange story indeed, thought Eli. And that it should be happening just a few miles away. It was odd that he had never heard any whisperings about it before. But then, why should he have? It was a scandal, he reminded himself, and as such, did not concern the likes of him.

There was knock on the door. Eli sighed. He knew already who it would be, and he knew what the rest of his day would entail. He straightened up the rifled newspapers into a neat pile on the desk. The knock came again. Eli clenched his fists and banged them hard on the desk. He couldn't carry on like this for much longer. With a heavy heart he opened the door to Jane. ‘Your mother wishes to see you,' she said.

‘Yes, yes,' said Eli. ‘Tell her I will be with her in a moment.' He went to the window and looked out at the dismal afternoon. He could be sitting outside a café in Rome right now, he thought, or strolling through a park in Prague. But instead, he would have to spend the rest of the day enveloped in the lavender fog of his mother's chamber, dodging her criticisms and put-downs and spiteful words.

He turned from the window. But before he left the room, he swiped at the pile of newspapers so the pages flew from the desk into the air and landed scattered about the floor like a flock of angry birds.

They waited until morning to tell Master Eli. The evening before had been too full of questions and disbelief for a decision to be made. When Sarah had run into the kitchen in a flap after returning from her monthly visit to her father in Spaxton, Jane and William had been sent for. ‘Are you sure it was her?' they had asked Sarah. ‘Are you sure it was Miss Alice?'

Sarah's cheeks had been as pink as the slices of ham sitting on the table waiting to be eaten. ‘I have seen her!' she had squealed. ‘I have seen Miss Alice!'

They had asked her the same questions over and over again. Maybe it was someone who just resembled Miss Alice, they suggested. Maybe the light played tricks with your eyes? Poor Sarah was reduced to tears.

‘Why would I make it up?' she sobbed. ‘I tell you. It was Miss Alice. I saw her. Clear as day. And she saw me too.'

‘It is late now,' William had said. ‘We will sleep on it, and I will decide what to do in the morning.'

And so it was, that along with his morning tea and jug of wash water, Eli received the news that his sister had been seen riding atop a carriage in Spaxton. And that the carriage had entered the grounds of the mysterious Abode of Love.

Eli, his head still foggy with sleep, thanked William for the news and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. ‘Oh  …  But say nothing to my mother!' he shouted, as the old valet closed his chamber door. Eli sat propped up against his pillows until his tea grew cold in its cup.

So, I have found her at last
, he thought. And she was never that far away. It had been Alice he had seen in Bath. It
had
been her, and not some wine-induced apparition after all. But the Alice he had seen that day was being dragged through the streets. Had she been taken to this Abode place by force then? He didn't like to think that. He didn't like to think what she might have been doing to survive out on the streets by herself all this time.

What should he do? He rubbed the sleep from his face. He would have to get her out. That much was certain. He needed her back at Lions House. He had had more than enough of Mama. It was Alice's turn now. He would have to go about it discreetly though, tell the servants to keep quiet. He couldn't let Mama know yet. God only knows what she would say or do.

He would ride out to Spaxton today, he decided. Have a look at the place. Go to the inn he'd read about in
The Times
. Talk to a few people. Make some plans. He rang for more tea. Then he jumped out of bed, suddenly full of something much better than the gloom and drudgery of the last few weeks.

He whipped the curtains open and saw it was a perfect day for riding out. A little misty perhaps, but that would soon lift, and if he hurried, he could be out of the house before Mama finished her morning toilet and began to demand his attentions.