Legend of the Seventh Virgin (44 page)

“We’ve always been like sisters.”

“I’m glad of it.” He looked into his glass and I thought: If I only knew that I was free. When he knows that I am free he will tell me he loves me.

He wanted to talk of the past. He made me tell him about the day I had stood up to be hired at Trelinket Fair and how Mellyora had come along and hired me. I went on to explain how sadly the Reverend Charles Martin had died and how we had found ourselves penniless.

“Neither Mellyora nor I could be separated, so I became the lady’s maid and Mellyora the lady’s drudge.”

“Poor Mellyora!”

“Life was hard for both of us.”

“But you would always be able to take care of yourself.”

We laughed together.

It was his turn to talk. He spoke of the lonely life in the Dower House. He had been fond of his father but the fact that he was always away at sea had meant that he was left to the care of the servants.

“I never felt I had a real
home
, Kerensa.”

“And you wanted a home?”

“I didn’t know it, but I did. Who doesn’t? The servants were kind to me … but it wasn’t the same. I was at the Abbas a great deal. I was fascinated by the place. I know how you felt about it … because in a way I felt the same. There’s something about it. Perhaps it’s the legends that attach themselves to such houses that intrigue us? I used to say to myself, when I grow up I’m going to make a fortune, I’m going to live in a house like the Abbas. It wasn’t so much that I wanted the house as all that went with it. I longed to be a member of a big family. You see, I’m a lonely man, Kerensa. Always have been, and my dream was to have a big family … that would grow in all directions.”

“You mean that you want to marry, have children, and be a grand old man … with grandchildren and great-grandchildren always near you?”

I smiled for was this not my dream? Did I not see myself, the grand old lady of the Abbas? Now I pictured us together; Kim and myself, grown old. Serene and happy, we would watch our grandchildren at play. Then instead of looking forward I would be looking back … back on a life which had given me all I had asked of it.

“It’s not a bad ambition,” he said almost sheepishly.

Then he told me how lonely it had been on the station; how he had longed for home. “And home, Kerensa, was all this … the Abbas … the people I had known.”

I understood. I told myself his dream was mine.

We were interrupted by the return of Mellyora and Carlyon. Carlyon was laughing and shouting to her as they came across the lawn.

We both went to the window to watch them. I saw the smile on Kim’s lips and I believed that he envied me my son.

It was later that day that Kim came riding over to the Dower House.

I saw him coming, and noticed the bewildered expression on his face. As he came into the hall I was waiting there for him.

“Kerensa.” He strode towards me, took my hands and looked long into my face.

“Yes, Kim.”

“I’ve bad news. Come into the drawing room and sit down.”

“Tell me quickly, Kim. I can bear it.”

“Where’s Mellyora?”

“Never mind. Tell me now.”

“Kerensa …” He put his arm about me and I leaned against him, conscious of playing the weak woman, eager to lean on him because his concern for me was so sweet.

“Kim, you’re keeping me in suspense. It’s the mine, isn’t it? It’s no good.”

He shook his head.

“Kerensa, you’re going to be shocked …”

“I must know, Kim. Don’t you see …”

He gripped my hands tightly. “They’ve made a discovery in the mine. They’ve found …”

I lifted my eyes to his, trying to read the triumph behind the anxiety. I could see nothing but his concern for me.

“It’s Johnny,” he went on. “They’ve found Johnny.”

I lowered my eyes. I gave a little cry. He led me to a sofa and sat there supporting me. I leaned against him; I wanted to cry out in triumph: I’m free!

Never had there been such excitement in St. Larnston. The bodies of Johnny and of Hetty Pengaster were found in the mine; and it was recalled that there had been whispers lately that Hetty Pengaster had been seen in Plymouth and even nearer to St. Larnston. People remembered that Johnny had once been sweet on her and that he had often gone to Plymouth. Hetty had left St. Larnston suddenly when he had married me. Well, what more natural than that Johnny should set her up in Plymouth to get her out of the way when he married?

It all seemed so simple. Saul Cundy had suspected, had lain in wait, had found Johnny and Hetty together, and had taken his revenge. Saul had always been one for justice, and he had made sure of it this time by taking the law into his own hands. Knowing there was no tin in the mine, because he was the one who had been down to see, he had felt it safe to throw his victims’ bodies down there.

Hetty’s body was only recognizable by a locket she was wearing and which the Pengasters identified as one Saul Cundy had given her; Johnny’s was in a better state of preservation which was baffling for a while. Then a story was put forward that in falling, Johnny’s body could have dislodged some earth which it had carried to the bottom of the shaft with it and thus could have become partially sealed off. This was generally accepted and the difference thus explained.

The investigations went on. The police wanted to interview Saul Cundy and went to St. Agnes to look for him, but when he could not be traced and it seemed he had left the country, his destination unknown, this strengthened the conjecture, and the story the villagers had pieced together was accepted as the true one.

It was an anxious period while the search for Saul went on; but as time went by it seemed more and more certain that he would never be found.

No one would ever know the truth — although Granny and I could make a fair guess at it. But even we did not know whether or not Johnny had killed Hetty. Indirectly, I suppose he was responsible, but we could not say whether he had actually sent her to her death. We were certain that Saul had killed Johnny. His discovery of Hetty’s body and his flight both pointed to it.

But the secret was safe. My Carlyon could never be called the son of a murderer.

There was not enough tin in the mine to make the working of it a profitable proposition; but the mine had given me what I wanted. It had proved that I was a widow and free to marry the man I loved.

On the day Granny heard the news she seemed to grow suddenly weaker. It was as though she had done her work, had seen the results she looked for, and was ready to go in peace.

A terrible sadness came to me, for no matter what joy or happiness was mine I believed it could never be complete for me if I lost her.

I spent the last days with her. Essie made me very welcome and Joe was glad to have me there too. Carlyon was with him, and as I did not wish him to be in the sickroom he spent all his time with Joe.

I remember the last afternoon of Granny’s life.

I sat by her bed and the tears were on my cheeks — I, who could not remember crying, except in anger.

“Don’t grieve, my sweet Granddaughter,” she said. “Don’t mourn for me when I am gone. For I’d as lief you forgot me for evermore than remembering me should make you grieve.”

“Oh, Granny,” I cried, “how could I ever forget you?”

“Then remember the happy times, child.”

“Happy times. What happy times can there be for me when you are gone?”

“You’re too young to want your life linked with an old woman’s. I’ve had my day and you’ll have yours. There’ll be happiness and pleasure ahead of you, Kerensa. ’Tis yours. Take it. Keep it. You’ve had your lesson, girl. Learn it well.”

“Granny,” I said, “don’t leave me. How can I get along without you?”

“Is this my Kerensa speaking? My Kerensa, who be ready to fight the world?”

“With you, Granny — not alone. We’ve always been together. You can’t leave me now.”

“Listen, lovey. You ain’t got no need of me. You love a man and that’s how it should be. There’s a time when the birds leave the nest. They fly alone. Ye’ve a strong pair of wings, Kerensa. I bain’t feared for you. You’ve flown high but you’ll fly higher. You’ll do what’s good and right now. Your life be all before you. Don’t fret, my sweetheart, I be glad to go. I’ll be with my Pedro, for some says as we live on after death. I didn’t always believe it but I want to believe it now … and, like most, I believes as I wants. Now don’t ’ee weep, my sweet one. I must go and you must stay, but I leave ’ee happy. You’re free, my love. There’s the man of your heart awaiting for ’ee. Never ’ee mind where you be, as long as you be together. Don’t fret for poor old Granny Bee when you have the man you love.”

“Granny, I want you to live and be with us. I want you to know our children. I can’t lose you … because something tells me it’ll never be the same without you.”

“Ah, there was a time when you were so proud and happy when you was first Mrs. St. Larnston … Then I don’t think ’ee had a thought in the world save playing the lady. Well, lovey, now, you’ll be the same again, only this time it won’t be for a house and the sake of being a fine lady, it’ll be for love of your man — and there bain’t no happiness in the world to compare with that. Now, my dear, there be little time left to us, so we should say what should be said. Unbind my hair, Kerensa.”

“It would disturb you, Granny.”

“Nay, unbind it, I say. I want to feel it round my shoulders.”

I obeyed.

“Still black it be. Though I’ve been too tired of late for the treatment. Yours must stay the same, Kerensa. You must stay beautiful, for he loves you partly for that. The cottage be just as I left it, bain’t it?”

“Yes, Granny,” I said, for it was true. When she had gone to live with Essie and Joe, she had been anxious to keep her cottage. In the beginning she had gone there often and still used her herbs there to make her concoctions. Later she had sent Essie to get what she wanted or sometimes she had asked me to call in for it.

I had never liked going to the cottage. I had hated my memories of the old days because one of my greatest desires had been to forget I had ever lived in humble conditions. It had been necessary, I had told myself, if I were to play my role of great lady with success.

“Then go there, my dear, and in the corner cupboard you will find my comb and mantilla which be yours and there’ll be, too, the recipe for your hair that’ll keep it black and glossy all the days of your life. ’Tis easy to make, with the proper herbs; look, my love, there’s never a gray hair, old as I be! Promise me you’ll go there, lovey?”

“I promise.”

“And I want ye to promise something else, my darling child. Not to grieve. Remember what I said. There comes a time when the leaves wither on the trees; and I be but a poor brown leaf about to fall.”

I buried my face in her pillow and began to sob.

She stroked my hair and like a child I implored her to comfort me.

But death was in the room and it had come for Granny Bee; and there was no power in her, no ready potion to hold off death.

She died that night; and when I went to her the next morning she looked so peaceful lying there, her face grown younger, her black hair neatly braided, like a woman who is ready to go in peace because her work is done.