Legend of the Seventh Virgin (19 page)

What she be! I thought, smoothing my hands over my hips. Each day, each hour I was becoming more and more reconciled to my life. Humiliations, yes, but life in the Abbas would always be more exciting than anywhere else. And I lived here.

Seated at table in the servants’ hall gave me an opportunity to study the members of the household who lived below-stairs. Mr. Haggety at the head of the table — little piggy eyes, lips inclined to slackness at the sight of a succulent dish or female, ruling the roost — the king of the kitchen, the Abbas butler. Next in importance Mrs. Rolt, the housekeeper, self-styled widow but very likely using Mrs. as a courtesy title, hoping that one day Mr. Haggety would put the question and the Mrs. be hers by right when she had changed her name from Rolt to Haggety. Mean, sly, determined to keep her position — head of staff under Mr. Haggety. Then Mrs. Salt the cook, plump as became a cook, devoted to food and gossip; her disposition was a mournful one; she had suffered in her married life and had left her husband whom she talked of whenever possible as “him”; she had left him when she came to the Abbas from the very tip of Cornwall, west of St. Ives; and she expressed great fear that one day he would catch up with her. There was Jane Salt her daughter; a woman of about thirty who was a parlormaid, quiet, self-possessed, devoted to her mother. Then Doll, daughter of a miner, twenty or so, with crimped fair hair and a taste for electric blue which she wore when she had an hour or so off to go courting as she said. Simple-minded Daisy who worked with her in the kitchens, followed her round, imitated her and longed to be courting, and their conversation seemed to be confined to this subject. These servants all lived in the house, but there were also the outside servants who came in for meals. Polore and Mrs. Polore, and their son Willy. Polore and Willy were attached to the stables while Mrs. Polore did housework in the Abbas. There were two mews cottages and the other was occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Trelance and their daughter Florrie. The opinion seemed to be that Florrie and Willy should marry; everyone but the couple concerned thought it an excellent idea; only Willy and Florrie held back. But as Mrs. Rolt said: “They’ll come to it in time.”

So it was a large party who sat round the great refectory table for meals, after the family had eaten. Mrs. Rolt and Mrs. Salt together saw that we lacked for nothing; and, if anything, we ate better than those who sat down in the stately dining room.

I began to enjoy the conversation which was very revealing, for there was little that remained unknown to these people, whether it concerned the house or village affairs.

Doll could always enliven the table with stories of her family’s adventures in the mines. Mrs. Rolt declared that some of her talk fair gave her the creeps, and she would shiver and take the opportunity to move closer to Mr. Haggety for protection. Mr. Haggety was not very responsive; he was usually busy prodding my foot under the table, which he seemed to think was a way of letting me know he approved of me.

Mrs. Salt would tell hair-raising stories of her life with “him.” And the Polores and Trelances would tell us how the new vicar was settling in and that Mrs. Hemphill was a real Nosy Parker and no mistake — prying here and prying there. She had a nose in the kitchen afore you had time to dust a chair for her to sit on. It was that very first night round the servants’ table that I learned that Johnny was at his University and wouldn’t be at the Abbas for some weeks. I was pleased. His absence would give me a chance to establish my position in the house.

I had fitted in to the rhythm of the days. My mistress was by no means unkind, indeed she was generous; during those first days she gave me a green dress of which she had tired; my duties were not arduous. I took pleasure in dressing her hair which was of a much finer texture than mine; I was interested in her clothes. I had long periods of freedom, and then I would go to the library, take a book and spend hours in my room reading while I waited for her bell to ring.

Mellyora’s life was not so easy. Lady St. Larnston had determined to make the fullest use of
her
services. She must read to her for several hours a day; she must make tea for her often during the night; she must massage her head when she had a headache — which was frequent; she must deal with Lady St. Larnston’s correspondence, take messages for her, accompany her when she went visiting in her carriage; in fact she was rarely free. Before the first week was out Lady St. Larnston decided that Mellyora, who had nursed her father, might be useful with Sir Justin. So that when Mellyora was not in attendance on Lady St. Larnston she was in the sickroom.

Poor Mellyora! In spite of meals in her room and being treated as though she were almost a lady, her lot was much harder than mine.

It was I who visited her in her room. As soon as my mistress went out — she had a habit of going for long rides, often alone — I would go to Mellyora’s room in the hope of finding her there. We rarely had long together before the bell would ring and she had to leave me. Then I would read until she returned.

“Mellyora,” I said to her one day, “how can you endure this?”

“How can you?” she reiterated.

“It’s different for me, I haven’t been used to much. Besides, I don’t have to work as hard as you do.”

“It has to be,” she answered philosophically.

I looked at her; yes, it was satisfaction that I saw in her face. I marveled that she, the daughter of the parson, who had had her own way, who had been pampered and adored, should slip so easily into this life of servitude. Mellyora is a saint, I thought.

I liked to lie on her bed watching her, while she sat in a chair, ready to jump up at the first tinkle of the bell.

“Mellyora,” I said, one early evening, “what do you think of this place?”

“Of the Abbas? Well, it’s the most marvelous old house!”

“You can’t help being excited about it?” I insisted.

“No. Nor can you, can you?”

“What do you think about when that old woman bullies you?”

“I try to make my mind a blank and not care.”

“I don’t think I could hide my feelings as you do. I’m lucky. Judith is not so bad.”

“Judith …” said Mellyora slowly.

“All right: Mrs. Justin St. Larnston. She’s a strange woman. She always seems overexcited as though life is terribly tragic … as though she’s afraid … There! I’m talking in that breathless way — as she does.”

“Justin’s not happy with her,” said Mellyora slowly.

“I reckon he’s as happy as he could be with anyone.”

“What do you know about it?”

“I know that he’s as cold as … a fish and she’s as hot as a fiery furnace.”

“You talk nonsense, Kerensa.”

“Do I? I see more of them than you do. Don’t forget my room is next to theirs.”

“Do they quarrel?”

“He wouldn’t quarrel. He’s too cold. He doesn’t care about anything and she cares … too much. I don’t dislike her. After all, if he doesn’t care about her why did he marry her?”

“Stop it. You don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t understand.”

“I know of course he’s the bright and shining knight. You always felt like that about him.”

“Justin’s a good man. You don’t understand him. I’ve known Justin all my life …”

The door of Mellyora’s room was suddenly thrown open and Judith stood on the threshold, her eyes wild, her nostrils flaring. She looked at me lying on the bed and at Mellyora who had started up from her chair.

“Oh …” she said. “I didn’t expect …”

I rose from the bed and said: “Did you want me, Madam?”

The passion had died out of her face and I saw an immense relief there.

“Were you looking for me?” I went on helpfully.

Now there was a flash of gratitude. “Oh yes, Carlee. I … I er thought you’d be here.”

I went to the door. She hesitated. “I … I shall want you to come a little earlier this evening. Five or ten minutes before seven.”

“Yes, Madam,” I said.

She inclined her head and went out.

Mellyora looked at me in astonishment. “What did that mean?” she whispered.

“I think I know,” I answered. “She was surprised, wasn’t she? Do you know why? It was because she found me here when she was expecting to find …”

“Who?”

“Justin.”

“She must be mad.”

“Well, she’s a Derrise. Remember that day when we were on the moors and you told me their story?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“You said there was madness in the family. Well, Judith is mad … mad about her husband. She thought he was here with you. That was why she burst in like that. Didn’t you see how pleased she was to find that I was the one you were talking to, not him.”

“It’s madness.”

“Of a sort.”

“You mean to say she’s jealous of me and of Justin!”

“She’s jealous of every attractive woman who comes within his vision.”

I looked at Mellyora. She couldn’t hide the truth from me. She was in love with Justin St. Larnston; she always had been.

I felt very uneasy.

There were no longer baskets of food to be taken for Granny. I could well imagine Mrs. Rolt or Mrs. Salt raising shocked voices if I had suggested doing so. But I still found time to visit her now and then; and it was on one of these occasions that she asked me if, on my way back to the Abbas, I would deliver some herbs to Hetty Pengaster. Hetty was waiting for them and Hetty, I knew, was one of Granny’s best customers, so I agreed to go.

That was how I found myself one hot afternoon, making my way from Granny’s cottage towards Larnston Barton, the Pengaster farm.

I saw Tom Pengaster at work in the fields and I wondered if it were true that he was courting Doll, as she had hinted to Daisy. It would be a good match for Doll. The Barton was a prosperous farm and Tom — not his piskey-mazed brother Reuben who did odd jobs — would inherit it one day.

I passed under the tall trees in which the rooks nested. Every May the shooting of rooks at Larnston Barton was quite a ceremony; and the rook pies, which were made by Mrs. Pengallon who was cook at the Barton, were considered a delicacy. A pie was always sent up to the Abbas and graciously accepted. Mrs. Salt had mentioned it recently — how she had served it with clotted cream and how Mrs. Rolt had eaten too much and suffered accordingly.

I reached the stables — there was stabling for about eight horses and two loose-boxes — and went on to the outbuildings. I could see the pigeon loft and hear the cooing of the birds with their monotonous phrase which we said sounded like “Take two cows, Taffy.”

As I was passing the mounting block, I saw Reuben Pengaster coming round by the pigeon loft holding a bird in his hands. Reuben walked in a queer, loping way. There must always have been something strange about Reuben. In Cornwall they say that in a litter there is often a “winnick,” which means one not quite up to the standard of the others; and Reuben was the Pengaster winnick. I have always felt repulsed by the subnormal and although it was broad daylight with the sun shining brightly, I could not suppress a slight shiver as Reuben came towards me with that peculiar gait of his. His face was unlined like a very young person’s; his eyes were porcelain blue and his hair was flaxen; it was the set of his jaw and the way in which his slack lips parted that betrayed him as piskey-mazed.

“Hello there,” he called. “Where be to then?”

As he spoke he caressed the bird’s head and I could see that he was far more aware of it than he was of me.

“I’ve brought some herbs for Hetty,” I told him.

“Herbs for Hetty!” He laughed. He had high-pitched innocent laughter. “What ’er be wanting they for? To make her pretty?” His expression became bellicose. “Reckon our Hetty be pretty enough without.” For a second his jaw was thrust forwards as though he were ready to attack me for suggesting she wasn’t.

“It’s for Hetty to say if she wants the herbs,” I retorted sharply.

That innocent laughter rang out again. “Ay reckon so,” he said. “Though Saul Cundy do think she be a rare fine ’un.”

“I dare say.”

“You might say she be spoke for,” he went on almost shyly; and there was no mistaking his love for, and pride in, his sister.

“I hope they’ll be happy.”

“They’ll be happy. Saul’s a big fine man. Cap’en Saul … they miners have to mind their manners, eh … with Saul. If Saul do say go, they do go; and if Saul do say come, they do come. Mr. Fedder ain’t no more important, I do reckon, than Cap’en Saul Cundy.”

I was ready to let that point pass for I was anxious to deliver the herbs and be gone.

“Where is Hetty now?” I asked.

“Reckon her’ll be in the kitchen with old Mother Pengallon.”

I hesitated, wondering whether to give him the packet and ask him to take it to Hetty, but I decided against that.

“I’ll go and find her,” I said.

“I’ll take ’ee to her,” he promised and walked beside me. “Coop-coop, coooop, coop-coop,” he murmured to the pigeon, and I was momentarily reminded of Joe, lying on the talfat mending a pigeon’s leg. I noticed how big his hands were, and how gently they held the bird.

He led me to the back of the farmhouse and directed my gaze to the ridge tile which served as a decoration. There was a ladder propped up against the wall; he was doing a job on the farmhouse.

“Some of they tiles loose,” he said confirming this. “’Twould never do. What if the Little People came a-footing it at midnight.”

Again that high-pitched laughter which was beginning to irritate me. So much so that I wished Reuben would go.

I knew he was referring to what we called the piskey-pow — that ridge tile on which the piskeys were supposed to come and dance after midnight. If it was in a bad state of repair it was said this angered them and the piskeys’ anger could bring bad luck on a house. It was natural, I suppose, that one who was said to be piskey-mazed should believe these legends.

“’Tis all right now,” said Reuben. “I see to that. Then I thought I’d take a look at my little birds.”

He led me through a stone-floored washhouse into a flagged passage, where he threw open a door to show me an enormous kitchen with two large windows, an open fireplace as well as the cloam oven, red tiles, and huge refectory table; on the oak beams hung a ham, sides of bacon and bundles of herbs.