The Beloved (19 page)

It was good to be back in the saddle. Eli had missed the freedom and the heady scents of polished leather and hay-sweet horse breath. He rode hard, avoiding the roads and lanes and choosing instead to gallop through fields and over farmland until the pulse in his neck beat in rhythm to the pounding hooves of his horse and the wind blew his skin tight across his face.

If he hadn't taken directions, Eli was certain he would never have found Spaxton. It was tucked away in the back of beyond. Only one lane led to it, and it wound around so narrowly and for so long that Eli began to imagine it would never end. But then, as if out of nowhere, a cottage appeared and then another and soon Eli found himself staring at the entrance to the Lamb Inn, wondering what on earth he was going to say. How did you go about admitting to anyone that you had lost your sister?

It was warm and inviting inside the inn. A fire was burning and the low hum of voices filled the air. Some men, farmer types, were gathered around the bar. They gave him a cursory glance before turning back to their drinks and conversation. Eli walked to the bar, pulling nervously at the cuffs of his riding jacket.

The landlord greeted him blithely, as though he were used to strangers walking into his inn. He poured Eli a jar of frothing beer. Eli swallowed a mouthful. It was warm and yeasty and he tried not to grimace. After a few more mouthfuls, Eli found his nerve. He cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me,' he ventured. ‘Could you tell me something of the Abode of Love and the man they call Henry Prince?'

The landlord sighed. ‘You look a bit young to be a journalist,' he said.

‘I'm  …  I'm not a journalist,' said Eli. ‘Only I did read about this place in
The Times
, and I wanted to come and see it for myself.'

‘And why might that be, young sir? You looking to join his flock?' The landlord laughed and winked at the gathered men. They sniggered into their beers and Eli felt his face grow hot.

He took another gulp of beer. ‘No,' he said. ‘But I should like to know where I can find him, this Henry Prince.'

‘You have found him,' said the landlord. ‘The Abode is next door, behind the walls. But actually seeing him is another matter.'

‘Does he not receive visitors?' asked Eli.

Again the landlord laughed. ‘Not unless you are a woman,' he said. ‘And a rich one or a good-looking one at that.' He poured himself a beer and leaned his elbow on the bar. ‘Why are you so interested anyway?'

Eli looked at the landlord, grinning away as if it was all a great joke. He didn't want to tell him. But he couldn't think of any other way. Eli took a deep breath. ‘It is my sister,' he said. ‘I think she is inside the Abode. I think Henry Prince has kidnapped her.'

The grin dropped from the landlord's face. He looked into his beer for a moment, then lifted his eyes back to Eli. ‘I'll tell you one thing,' he said. ‘All the women and girls in there, are there because they want to be. He tells them he is God, you see. And they all believe him. They're a strange lot to be sure. But they keep themselves to themselves. They don't bother us. Most bother we get is from folk like you, and journalists, of course. They can't get enough of it.'

‘My sister doesn't want to be in there,' insisted Eli. ‘She was kidnapped. I'm telling you.'

‘That's what they all say,' said the landlord. ‘People like you, who come looking for their wives or mothers or sisters.' He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘But I'm telling you, none of them want to leave. Only one, I remember, was ever taken away. And she weren't ever right in the head again. Had to put her in the madhouse, they did.'

‘I don't believe you,' said Eli, although he remembered the newspaper article he had read, only the day before, that spoke of a young lady and a lunatic asylum.

‘Suit yourself,' said the landlord and he turned to his other customers.

‘No, wait!' said Eli. ‘Please. There must be a way I can get in there. Just to see her. To see that she is well, and happy.'

The landlord turned back. ‘Listen,' he said. ‘You could climb the walls if you wish. Or break down the gates. But they'll throw you out as soon as you step foot inside.' His face lit up for a moment. ‘Or,' he said. ‘You could wait outside the gates. They ride out most days. You might be lucky and catch sight of her then.' His eyes glinted. ‘I can do you a good rate on a room.'

I am sitting in the red room with Our Beloved. I brought him a tray of tea and he asked me to stay and share it with him. He is sitting at his desk with his cup by his side and I am in a chair by the fire. It is peaceful in the room with only the scratching of Our Beloved's pen and the spit of the fire to break the silence. I sip my tea, content to be in his presence and away from the daily chores for a while.

I watch as his shoulders shift beneath the fabric of his coat as he moves his pen across the page. I have never felt such love for anyone. Not even Papa. But that is how it should be, I tell myself. Shouldn't everyone love the Lord above all else?

I place my cup back in its saucer and fold my hands in my lap. I would be happy to sit here like this for always as long as he is next to me.

It is a fine day today. One of those rare autumn days when the sun shines bright and lifts the gloom of decay from the world. A ray of sun is slanting through the window now. It strikes the top of Our Beloved's head, lighting the blackness of his hair with a golden halo. It is just a small miracle, but a miracle nonetheless.

He leans away from his work then, and as he does, a grey cloud rolls across the sky and sends its shadow into the room.

He rises from his chair and comes to sit next to me. My heart swells to bursting, as it always does, and I try to swallow the dryness from my mouth. He takes my hand in his. ‘Alice,' he says. ‘I have some wonderful news for you.' He pushes a stray thread of hair from my forehead. ‘It has been decided that you are ready now. Ready to receive the greatest honour of all.'

He pauses and looks at me intently. I try to hold his gaze, but there is such power there that I weaken and lower my eyes.

‘You are ready, aren't you, Alice?' he asks. ‘I am not wrong about you, am I?'

I lick my lips. ‘I am ready, Beloved,' I reply. ‘I am ready to do whatever you ask of me.'

He laughs then, and the brightness of the sound chases the shadows from the room. ‘It is agreed then! You are to be my Queen! My spirit bride!' He pulls me from my chair and spins me about the room. ‘A drink!' he shouts. ‘A drink to the Lamb of God and his bride!'

I am breathless and dizzy, my thoughts a tangle of knots that I cannot unpick. He hands me a glass of amber liquid and I drink it one gulp. It burns my throat and stings my eyes, but the warmth of it spreads out from my belly and trickles through my arms and legs until even my fingers and toes are tingling.
His queen. His bride
. I fall back into a chair.

I would never have dared to wish for this moment. I would never have dared to wish to be so happy. But it has happened anyway, without any wishes at all. And perhaps that is how all good things should happen.

I leave the mansion in a daze. The ceremony is to be tomorrow. Tonight will be my last night in the cottage. Then I will move into a room at the mansion. ‘It is fitting,' Our Beloved told me, ‘that the bride of the Lord should be by his side both day and night.'

By the time I get back to the cottage, the news has spread throughout the Abode. I hear it being spoken of softly, with bated breath. The women of the Parlour look at me differently. There is respect in their eyes and a certain deference. They tiptoe around me and nod at each other knowingly. I soak it all up. It is the best feeling in the world to know, at long last, that I am truly special. I have been chosen by the Lord to be his spirit bride!

How I would laugh at Mama, if she were here. Look at me, I would say. What do you see now? A wicked and troublesome child that belongs in a lunatic asylum? Or a young woman whose soul has been washed so clean that she is betrothed to the Lord himself? I would spit at her feet if I could. For I know now, that it is she who is vulgar and unworthy and I know that she too will perish, along with the rest of the outsiders, when the Day of Reckoning comes.

And Eli too, I think. How weak he was to have never stood up to her, to have been blind to all her faults. He deserves to perish too.

Only Papa ever understood. Only Papa ever accepted me and loved me for who I was. But he is already saved. He is already in Paradise. And I am thankful for that.

I want the day to pass quickly so tomorrow will come all the sooner. I busy myself with chores to keep my mind from racing. What seemed like drudgery before is nothing – now that I know that today is my last day in the Parlour. I take a basket of wet linen out to the gardens and peg the pieces on the line. It will dry beautifully in the autumn sun. I watch the breeze fill the sheets and set them sailing into the sky. I feel as though I am sailing with them, growing lighter and lighter and flying higher and higher towards Heaven. I stand in the midst of the billowing whiteness and throw my arms in the air. I twirl around, this way and that, and let the wind catch my hair. And then I am laughing, bubbles and bubbles of joy bursting from my mouth.

I see Beth staring at me from across the lawns, her arms folded tightly across her chest. I stop my twirling and lift my hand to wave. She starts, as though I have woken her from some deep dream. Then she turns on her heels and walks away.

It is quiet at supper. The women of the Parlour talk gently to each other and pass around the dishes politely. Every now and then, I catch one of them looking at me from under lowered eyelids. I will miss them all. They have been kindness itself to me. But I was never truly one of them. I always belonged with the others.

Beth is sitting at the end of the table, as far away from me as she can get. I notice that she barely touches her food. She is the first to leave the table and she is quick to take the dirty plates out to the scullery. Her envy has surfaced again, I think, and it pains me that she cannot bring herself to be happy for me.

Beth does not come back to the kitchen, but the rest of us sit awhile by the fire. Lizzie stitches the hem of a nightgown while Agatha dozes gently in her chair. Polly and May split a deck of cards at the table and Ruth sits and stares into the fire, braiding and un-braiding the skein of hair that falls over her shoulder.

I look down at my worn linsey frock. I will have no need of it any more, nor the scuffed boots that have seen better days.
I will need new gowns
, I think,
and petticoats and slippers and all manner of beautiful things. A new cloak too, for when we ride out in the carriage. I will no longer have to sit on the dickey box. Next time, I will be inside with him, sitting comfortably on velvet seats
.

One by one, the women of the Parlour take their candles and bid each other a goodnight. They take special care to kiss me on both cheeks, and I am sure that Polly almost curtsies. For the last time, I climb the stairs and prepare for sleep, next to the still and silent form of Beth. Tomorrow night there will be feather pillows and a thick quilt, and maybe even hangings of rich damask around the bed. And Beth will be glad to be rid of me. I won't be glad to be rid of her though. My heart aches to know that I will soon lose the only friend I have ever had.

I blow out the candle and I lie down next to her. The faint reek of smoking tallow fills the air. But I can smell Beth's hotness too, the anger of her, seeping from her skin. I can tell she is still awake. She is too quiet and her breathing is too shallow for sleep. ‘Why do you hate me?' I ask. ‘Is it because he has chosen me and not you?'

She sucks in her breath. So I know she has heard me.

‘Beth?' I nudge her hard, so the bed rocks. ‘Beth?' I will keep her awake all night until she answers me. I nudge her again and push against her legs with my feet until she grunts.

At last, I hear her sigh in defeat and she whispers something that sounds like, ‘Come away with me, Alice.'

‘What did you say?' I whisper back.

She shifts then and turns over, onto her back. ‘Will you come with me?' she whispers. ‘I have to leave here, and I think you should come with me.'

It is my turn to be silent. I am confused. ‘What do you mean?' I finally ask. ‘Why would I want to leave here?'

‘You don't know anything, Alice,' she says. ‘But you have to trust me. You have to get away from here. Before it's too late.'

‘Too late for what?' I ask.

‘Just trust me, Alice. Please,' she says. ‘We can go tonight. The dogs know me. They won't bark and alert anyone.'

‘But go where, Beth? What are you talking about?' I think maybe she is half asleep and doesn't know what she is saying.

‘We could be in Bridgwater by morning  …  or Taunton,' she says quickly. ‘You have family in Bridgwater, don't you? You could go there. You could tell them this was all a mistake. You didn't know what you were doing. They would have you back, wouldn't they, Alice? They would, wouldn't they?'

She is not making any sense, but she is talking to me at least and I am curious. ‘What about you?' I ask carefully. ‘If you do leave here, where will you go?'

‘To Taunton,' she says. ‘I have a sister there.' She pauses. ‘At least, that is where she was living when I first came here.'

‘When
did
you first come here, Beth?' I ask gently.

‘Years ago,' she says. ‘I can't remember exactly.' She turns to face me. ‘My mother brought me here after my father died. I was only young so I had no choice. She gave everything we owned to Our Beloved and my sister swore she'd never speak to her again. And the thing is, she never did get to speak to her again.' Beth sighs deeply. ‘You see, my mother died not long after we came here.'

‘Why have you never told me this before?' I ask.

She shrugs. ‘There was no need,' she says. ‘I had everything I could wish for here. I never wanted to think of what went before.' She is silent for a moment. ‘But now  … ' she says, her voice suddenly strong again. ‘Now, Alice, things have changed. I have to leave and you must come with me.' She puts her hands on my shoulders. ‘Please, Alice. Please. You must listen to me. You can't stay here.'

I push her hands away. She is beginning to annoy me. Her words are stabbing inside my head like prodding fingers. She is confusing me and spoiling all the joy of the day. ‘I don't want to go anywhere, Beth,' I tell her. ‘My place is here. Tomorrow is the most important day of my whole life. What is wrong with you? Why are you talking like this? And after the way you have treated me, why should I believe anything that comes out of your mouth?'

‘I know I have treated you badly, Alice,' she says. ‘And I am so very sorry for that. I thought you were taking him away from me, but now I know how wrong I was. But you can't do it, Alice,' she presses. ‘You don't understand. You can't become his bride. Please listen to me!'

But I do understand. I understand very well. And I am furious that her envy has wormed its way so deeply inside her. ‘I am sorry, Beth,' I say. ‘I am sorry he didn't choose you.'

‘It's not about me, Alice,' she says, sharp and bitter. ‘Open your eyes  … ' Suddenly her voice breaks and she tugs at the blanket to wipe her eyes. ‘It's too late for me, Alice. But it's not too late for you. Please come with me. We can help each other.'

I know what she is doing, and I won't let her carry on. ‘I am sorry, Beth,' I say, ‘that you have lost your way. Our Beloved would have chosen you, if it was meant to be. But it wasn't meant to be. He chose me instead, and if you love him as you should, you would not say such things or question his decisions.' I pull the blanket aside and climb from the bed.

‘Where are you going?' I hear the panic in her voice.

‘It doesn't matter,' I say. ‘But don't worry, I won't tell Our Beloved how you have betrayed him.' I pull the small carpet bag, which still holds my old mourning gown with Papa's gold locket hidden inside its folds, out from under the bed. Then I take my frock and shawl from the hook by the bed, pick up my boots and walk to the door.

‘Don't do it, Alice,' she whispers desperately. ‘Please, listen to me.'

‘Goodnight, Beth,' I say. I open the door and walk out.

‘Alice!' I hear her pleading. ‘Alice! Come back!'

I close the door on her poisonous words. I do not need to hear these things.

It is still warm in the kitchen. I poke at the fire to wake the dying embers and throw a few more sticks on. I pull my frock over my nightgown and wrap my shawl tight around my shoulders. Then I settle in a chair and wait for morning to come.