Legend of the Seventh Virgin (7 page)

I asked: “Is it all right?”

“What?”

“For you to hire me?”

“It’ll be all right.”

“But …”

“We’ll manage,” she said; she was very pretty when she smiled and the sparkle and defiance in her eyes made her prettier.

People turned to look at us as we went through the crowds, past the cheap-Jack who was shouting the merits of his wares, how a bottle of this or that would cure all the ills in the world; past the roasting goose and the stall of fairings. We were such a contrast — she so fair, myself so dark; she so neat, and myself, though clean, for I had washed my smock and my hair the day before, so poorly dressed; she in her black shining shoes, myself barefoot. And it wouldn’t occur to anyone that she had hired me.

She led me to the edge of the field in which the fair was set up and there was the pony and trap which I knew belonged to the parsonage: in the driving seat was the middle-aged governess whom I had seen often in Mellyora’s company.

She turned as we approached and said: “Good gracious, Mellyora! What does this mean?”

I presumed the “this” referred to me, so my head shot up and I gave the governess my haughtiest stare.

“Oh, Miss Kellow, I must explain …” began Mellyora in an embarrassed flutter.

“Indeed you must,” was the answer. “Pray do.”

“This is Kerensa Carlee. I’ve hired her.”

“You’ve … what?”

I turned to Mellyora, reproach in my eyes. If she had been wasting my time … if she had been playing some game of pretense … if this was supposed to be some amusing sort of game …

She shook her head. Again that disturbing habit of reading my thoughts.

“It’s all right, Kerensa,” she said. “Leave this to me.”

She talked to me as though I were a friend, not a hired girl; I could have liked Mellyora if I could only rid myself of this bitter envy. I had imagined her foolish, meek, quite dull. It wasn’t true though. There was a great deal of spirit in Mellyora, as I was to discover.

Now it was her turn to be haughty, and she managed this very well. “Get in, Kerensa. Miss Kellow, pray drive us home.”

“Now, Mellyora …” She was a dragon, this Miss Kellow; I judged her to be in her early forties, her lips were tight, her eyes alert. I felt an extraordinary sympathy for her because she, in her superior way, was after all only a servant.

“This,” retorted Mellyora, still the haughty young lady, “is a matter between myself and my father.”

We clop-clopped along the road back to St. Larnston, and none of us spoke as we passed the cottages and the blacksmiths’ shops and came to the gray church with its tall tower and the graveyard with its toppling tombstones. Beyond was the parsonage.

Miss Kellow drew up at the door and Mellyora said: “Come along, Kerensa.”

I alighted with her and Miss Kellow drove the trap to the stables.

I said: “You hadn’t any right to hire me, had you?”

“Of course I had a right,” she retorted. “If I hadn’t you would have gone to the Abbas, and you would have hated that.”

“How did you know?”

She smiled. “I guessed.”

“How do you know I won’t hate it here?”

“Of course, you won’t. My father is the best man in the world. Anyone would be happy in this house. I have to explain to him, though.” She hesitated, uncertain what to do with me. Then she said: “Come with me.”

She pushed open the door and we went into a large hall in which was a bowl of daffodils and anemones standing on an oak chest. A grandfather clock ticked in a corner and facing the door was a wide staircase.

Mellyora signed to me to follow her and we mounted the staircase. On the landing she threw open a door.

“Wait in my bedroom,” she said, “until I call you.”

The door shut on me and I was alone. I had never been in such a room before. There were soft blue curtains at the big window and a blue coverlet on the bed. There were pictures on the wall and pale-blue lover’s knots on the pink wallpaper. What struck me most, though, was the little bookcase near the bed. The books Mellyora read! They brought home to me the gulf between us, so I turned my back on them and looked out of the window. Below me was the parsonage garden; about half an acre, with lawns and flowerbeds. And working in the garden was the Reverend Charles Martin, Mellyora’s father. As I watched, I saw Mellyora appear; she ran straight to him and began talking earnestly. I watched intently, knowing that my fate was being discussed.

The Reverend Charles was looking startled. Mellyora was being emphatic. They were arguing; she took his hand and went on talking vehemently. She was pleading for me. I wondered why she cared so much.

I could see she was winning; he couldn’t refuse anything to his lovely daughter.

He nodded resignedly and they started to walk towards the house. In a few minutes the door opened, and there stood Mellyora, smiling the smile of triumph.

The Reverend Charles came towards me; he said in the voice he used for the pulpit, “So you are coming to work with us, Kerensa. I hope you will be happy here.”

I
soon began to realize what a great opportunity Mellyora had given me, and although later strange things were to happen about me and to me, that first year at the parsonage seemed to me, while I lived it, the most exciting time of my life. I suppose it was because that was when the realization came to me that I could begin to climb into another world.

Mellyora
was
my opportunity. I understood that she was attracted by me in the same way that I was by her. She had discovered in me this tremendous urge to escape from an environment which I hated; and she was fascinated.

I had my enemies in the house, naturally. The most formidable of these was Miss Kellow. Prim, a parson’s daughter herself, she was constantly on her dignity, eager to prove that only misfortune had forced her to earn her living. She had an affection for Mellyora, but she was an ambitious woman and I, who possessed that quality in excess, was quick to observe it in others. Like myself, she was dissatisfied with her lot and planned to improve it. There was Mrs. Yeo, the cook-housekeeper who looked upon herself as head of the staff, including Miss Kellow. There was a feud between those two which worked to my advantage, for although Mrs. Yeo couldn’t, as she said, for the life of her see why I had been brought into the house, she didn’t resent me quite as much as Miss Kellow did, and was inclined, at times, to take my part, simply because to do so was to be in opposition to Miss Kellow. There was the groom, Tom Belter, and the stableboy, Billy Toms; they were inclined to view me more favorably, but I would have none of the familiarities they gave to Kit and Bess, the two maids, and I quickly made this clear; even so, they bore me no grudge and they were inclined to respect me for it. Kit and Bess regarded me with awe; this was because I was Granny Bee’s granddaughter; they would sometimes ask me questions about Granny, they wanted her advice in their love affairs, or some herb that would improve their complexions. I was able to help them, and this made life more comfortable for me, because in exchange they would do some of the tasks which had been allotted to me.

For the first few days in the parsonage I saw little of Mellyora; I thought then that she had done her good deed and left it at that. I was handed over to Mrs. Yeo, who, when she had done complaining about my unnecessary presence, found jobs for me to do. I did them uncomplainingly for those first days.

When Mellyora had brought the parson to her bedroom on that first day, I had asked if I might run and tell my Granny where I was going to be and permission was readily granted. Mellyora had come with me to the kitchen and herself packed a basket of dainty food which I was to take for my poor brother who had fallen off the tree. So I was in a rather exalted state when I arrived at the cottage to tell the result of my standing for hire at Trelinket Fair.

Granny held me in her arms, nearer to tears than I had ever seen her. “The parson’s a good man,” she declared. “There’s no better in the whole of St. Larnston. And his girl’s a good girl. You’ll do well there, my love.”

I told her about Haggety and Mrs. Rolt and how they had nearly hired me, and she laughed with me when I told her how flabbergasted they were to see me walk off with Mellyora.

We unpacked the basket but I wouldn’t eat a thing. It was for them, I said. I should eat very well at the parsonage.

This in itself was like a dream coming true because hadn’t I imagined myself playing the lady bountiful?

The elation faded during those first few days when I didn’t see Mellyora and was set to scouring pots and pans or turning the spit or preparing vegetables and swabbing floors. But there was the compensation of eating well. No sky blue and sinkers here. But I remember during those first days hearing a remark that astonished me. I was cleaning the slate floor of the cooling house where the butter, cheeses, and milk were kept, when Belter came into the kitchen to talk to Mrs. Yeo. I heard him give her a noisy kiss and that made me more alert. “You give over, young man,” said Mrs. Yeo, giggling. He didn’t give over and there were sounds of scuffling and heavy breathing. Then she said: “Sit down then, and stop it. Them maidens’ll be seeing you. ’Twouldn’t do for they to get to know what sort of man you be, Master Belter.”

“Nay, that be our secret, eh, Mrs. Yeo?”

“Give over. Give over.” Then: “We’ve got that Granny Bee’s girl here, did you know?”

“Ay, I’ve seen ’un. Sharp as a wagon-load of monkeys, I reckon.”

“Ay, I’ve seen ’un. Sharp enough. What beats me … why do we have her here then? Parson finds it hard enough, lord to you know, to feed us all. Then they brings this one in — and she can give a pretty good account on herself when it comes to the table. Better she be at that than doing her work, I can tell ’ee.”

“So things be bad then?”

“Oh, you do know, if parson has a halfpenny, he’ll give away a penny.”

They quickly found something of more interest to them than the parson’s affairs or my arrival; but I went on thinking as I swabbed the floor. Everything had seemed luxurious in the parsonage; it was astonishing to consider that in this house they found it difficult to make ends meet.

I didn’t really believe it. It was just the servants’ gossip.

I hadn’t been a week at the parsonage when I realized my great good fortune. I had been sent to clean Mellyora’s room while she was having her lesson in the library with Miss Kellow, and as soon as I was alone in the room I went to the bookcase and opened one of the books. It had pictures in it with captions underneath. I stared at these, trying to understand what they were. I felt angry and frustrated, like someone shut up in a prison while the most exciting things in the world are happening just outside.

I wondered if I could teach myself to read if I took one of the books and looked at it, learned the shape of the letters, copied them, remembered them. I forgot all about cleaning the room. I sat on the floor, took one book after another, tried to make comparisons of letters to give me a clue as to what they meant. I was still sitting there when Mellyora came into the room.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

I shut the book hastily and said: “I’m cleaning your room.”

She laughed. “Nonsense. You were sitting on the floor reading. What were you reading, Kerensa? I didn’t know you could read.”

“You’re laughing at me,” I cried. “Stop it. Don’t think because you hired me at a fair you bought me!”

“Kerensa!” she said haughtily as she had spoken to Miss Kellow.

Then I felt my lips tremble and her face changed at once.

“Why were you looking at the books?” she asked gently. “Tell me, please. I want to know.”

It was the “please” which made me blurt out the truth. “It’s not fair,” I said. “I could read if someone would show me.”

“So you want to read?”

“Of course I want to read and write. More than anything in the world I want to.”

She sat on the bed, crossed her pretty feet, and looked at her shiny shoes. “Well, that’s easy enough,” she said. “You must be taught.”

“Who’ll teach me?”

“I will, of course.”

That was the beginning. She did teach me, although she admitted afterwards that she thought I would soon tire of learning. Tire! I was indefatigable. In the attic which I shared with Bess and Kit, I would wake with the dawn and write the letters, copying those Mellyora had set for me; I would steal candles from Mrs. Yeo’s store cupboard and burn them half the night. I threatened Bess and Kit with horrible misfortunes if they should tell on me, and because I was Granny Bee’s granddaughter, they meekly agreed to keep my secret.

Mellyora was astounded by my progress and on the day I wrote my name unaided, she was quite overcome by emotion.

“It’s a shame,” she said, “that you have to do this other work. You ought to be in the schoolroom.”

A few days later the Reverend Charles summoned me to his study. He was very thin, with kind eyes and a skin that seemed to grow more and more yellow every day. His clothes were too big for him and his light-brown hair was always ruffled and untidy. He didn’t care much about himself; he cared a great deal about the poor and people’s souls; and more than anything in the world he cared for Mellyora. You could see that he thought of her as one of the angels he was always preaching about. She could do exactly what she liked with him, so it was lucky for me that one thing she had inherited from him was this caring about other people. He always looked rather worried. I had thought that this was because he was thinking of all the people who would go to hell, but after I overheard the conversation between Mrs. Yeo and Belter, it occurred to me that he might be worried about all the food being eaten in this house and how he was going to pay for it.