I have learned, by listening to Beth’s continuous chatter, that the Parlour is responsible for the smooth running of the Abode. Although we have our own cottage, we must also attend to the other cottages and the mansion. ‘The work is shared equally,’ Beth explained between grunts, as we beat one of the larger rugs together. ‘Some of us do the household chores and others attend to the gardens and the animals.’
‘And what of the others?’ I ask her. ‘The ones who do not belong to the Parlour. What work do they do?’
‘They have done their work already,’ she tells me. ‘They have given up all they own to the Abode and to Our Beloved.’
I do not understand. I have seen a few of the others, strolling around the gardens, sitting in easy chairs with books on their laps, or clustered in small groups taking tea and cake. They are all dressed as Glory had been, in fine gowns and jewels, and would not look out of place in Mama’s drawing room. But before I can question Beth further, a bell tolls loudly and she beams at me. ‘Tis time for chapel,’ she says.
Twenty-seven
It is not like being in a church at all. Although the air is as solemn as it was at St Mary’s, and although a brilliant stained glass window throws rainbows of colour upon us, everything else is peculiar. The chairs are not the hard wooden ones I am used to, lined up in regimental rows, instead there is a gathering of wing-backed chairs, covered in velvet and chintz, and a few equally comfortable-looking sofas. There is also, strangest of all, a billiard table standing next to the altar.
I take a seat next to Beth, near to the back, and watch as the rest of the Parlour and at least thirty other finely dressed women, and a dozen children of all ages, stroll in to take their seats, all the while gossiping and laughing gaily. One of the others, a haughty-looking creature with lips pulled tight as a buttonhole, seats herself at the organ and begins to thump out a tune. It is no hymn that I recognise, but I stand with everyone else and listen as the whole congregation sings as heartily as factory workers clocking off after a hard week of labour.
As the final notes die away, there is some coughing and clearing of throats. Then a gold velvet curtain hanging behind the altar is pulled aside, and Henry Prince emerges. I am surprised to see Glory too, with her arm hooked through his.
The chapel stills. It seems even the flies that were buzzing around the ceiling beams have frozen their wings mid-flight. I hold my breath and the moment stretches as taut as piano wire. Then Glory drops her arm from his and moves to sit in a chair by his side.
He is wearing a long white gown which pools at his feet and unfurls like giant wings when he slowly, slowly spreads his arms wide.
‘MY FLOCK!’
His words hover in the air above us and then float down and settle on each and every shoulder. I imagine the words to be white feathers, soft and pure. I look around and see that every eye is upon him and every face is flushed with pleasure. I look back to him and my skin prickles with heat as his eyes lock with mine.
‘OUR NUMBERS HAVE SWELLED!’
He scoops an armful of air and throws it in my direction. Every eye is upon me now, and my skin is on fire. I want to shrink into the floor and melt into the flagstones. Then I feel fingers reaching for mine. Beth curls her hand around my hand and squeezes.
‘ANOTHER HAS JOINED US. ANOTHER WHO, COME THE DAY OF JUDGEMENT, WILL NOW BE SAVED. ANOTHER WHO WILL BOW DOWN BEFORE GOD HIMSELF AND BE MADE CLEAN IN THIS LIFE.’
My arms goose pimple. I wish they would all stop staring at me. Suddenly, Henry Prince drops his head to his chest and holds out his arms. There is silence again, thick and expectant. Beth nudges me. ‘Go to him,’ she whispers. ‘He is waiting for you.’
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.
‘Go on,’ urges Beth.
I move slowly. The others, standing alongside me, move back to let me pass. Some of them smile and nod at me encouragingly. My footsteps echo on the flagstones as I walk towards the altar. I bow my head as I stand in front of him because it seems the natural thing to do. He moves close to me, so close that I can feel the heat of him, and I can taste the bitter aroma of stale cigar smoke. For a moment I am back in Papa’s study. I am doing this for you, I say to him. So you will forgive me.
Then Henry Prince lays his hand on the top of my head.
‘Are you ready to give yourself up to the worship of your Lord?’
The heavy warmth of his hand seeps through my skull and coats my mind. ‘I am ready,’ I whisper.
Henry Prince sighs deeply, and his hand trembles and presses harder on my head, so I sink to my knees. He begins to talk, to pray. His words are long and flowery and complicated and they drift away from me. I try to catch them, like butterflies in a net. But the ones I do catch do not make sense on their own.
‘Immortal’
‘Judgement’
‘Salvation’
‘Lamb of God’
‘Reckoning’
‘Anointed’
Then the whole chapel is filled with voices and the organ starts up again.
‘You may get up now, my child.’
I look up and he is smiling down at me with eyes that are soft and sparkling. He offers me his hand and helps me to my feet. I feel as though I have done something wonderful, but I don’t know what. The feeling stays with me as I walk back to my seat and it carries me out of the chapel with Beth and all the others.
‘You are truly one of us, now,’ Beth says, and she hugs me tight to her chest. I think she is right – I already feel the weight of guilt being lifted from me. I hope that wherever Papa is, he will begin to forgive me for my selfish wishes and I hope that one day too, Mama will be able to love me.
Twenty-eight
It is night now, dense, black, muffled night. Beth blew the candle out an age ago, but I cannot sleep. I lie here next to her in the scratchy nightgown that she found for me, and although every part of me feels like a dead weight, sleep just won’t come.
I listen for a while to Beth’s shallow breaths, envious that she could drift away like that, as soon as her head touched the pillow. It is a strange sensation to have someone lying next to me in bed. I dare not move, in case I wake her. I think it is almost as bad as being tethered to the bed with Mama’s leather straps.
I try listening to the night. But here in the thick of the countryside, there is nothing. Just heavy silence. Not even a wind to rattle the windows. At Lions House something always made my ears prick: a late-night carriage rumbling down the street, the whistle of the lamp-lighter, the distant hum of the mill. I try to picture Eli and Mama tucked into their beds. Eli, still reading a book by candlelight, perhaps, Mama in the depths of sleep, her face and lashes shining with a slick of castor oil. Are they wondering where I am? For surely they know I never made it to the asylum. I think of Papa’s bed, empty and cold. I think of my bed too, cold and empty. Has Sarah stripped it of sheets? Has she washed the smell of me from them? Has she covered the furniture in my chamber with dust sheets? I think of my gowns hanging in the wardrobe. Will Sarah remember to check for moths? Or has Mama already ordered them to be sent to the poorhouse? Is my journal still lying open on my desk? Has Mama read my most private words?
Questions slither through my mind. Endless questions, slipping and sliding in and out of my thoughts. I feel as though my head might burst.
Beth stirs in her sleep. She turns on her side and her arm flips across my chest. I let it lie there. It is comforting. I wonder where she came from. How did Beth end up here? I realise that despite all her chatter, I have not learned a thing about her.
I decide that I have two choices. I can carry on fighting the night, or I can wake Beth and ask her. I lift her arm away from me and turn onto my side. We are face to face now. Her steady breath warms my cheek. ‘Beth,’ I whisper. ‘Beth. Wake up.’
She stirs again and mumbles. I touch her shoulder and gently shake it.
‘What … what?’ Her voice is thick with sleep.
‘I’m sorry, Beth,�
� I say. ‘I’m sorry for waking you.’
‘What is it?’ she says. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I can’t sleep,’ I tell her. ‘Would you mind … would you mind if we talk for a while?’
She groans. ‘Seeing as it’s your first night. But I’m telling you, you’d best not be making a habit of this.’ She yawns loudly. ‘So, what do you want to talk about then?’
‘Tell me about you, Beth,’ I whisper. ‘How did you come to be here?’
She tugs the blanket over her shoulder and wriggles her head into the pillow. ‘Nothing much to tell,’ she says. ‘What went before doesn’t matter now.’
‘But you must have come from somewhere,’ I say. ‘Where are your parents?’
She is silent for a while. ‘We have no need of parents here, Alice,’ she says eventually. ‘Only of Our Beloved. He is father to us all.’
‘But your real parents,’ I press. ‘You must have a mother somewhere, who gave birth to you. And a father.’
‘I told you,’ she says, impatiently. ‘Our Beloved is my father. My true father. I don’t need any other.’ She turns over, onto her back, and yawns again. ‘What else did you want to talk about?’
I am sorry that I woke her now, but I try again, nonetheless. ‘Glory,’ I say. ‘Tell me about Glory. She is Our Beloved’s wife?’
‘No,’ says Beth, her voice heavy with sleep now. ‘Our Beloved has no need of a wife. Not a mortal wife. Glory is his new spirit bride.’
‘New?’ I exclaim. ‘Have there been others then?’
‘Many others,’ she says. ‘But please don’t ask me to remember them all.’
‘But I don’t understand,’ I say. ‘Glory must be his wife if she is with child.’
Beth laughs softly. ‘You have to learn not to question so much, Alice. You’ll see in time how it is here. Our Beloved is God Himself made flesh and you are lucky to be one of the chosen.’ She turns over again, and this time she has her back to me. ‘Sleep now,’ she says. ‘You will be glad of it come morning.’
But I am more awake than ever. For a thought has just struck me: a strange thing that I had not considered until this moment. We are all women here, women and girls. I have not seen one man, save for Henry Prince, the whole day I have been here. I think of the dozen or so children that were there in the chapel; children of all ages, from a babe in arms to a girl of about ten. Where are their fathers?
He is father to us all, Beth said. I shiver and pull the blanket around me. Children of God, I think. Are they all children of God?
I must sleep, eventually, for the next thing I know, Beth is shaking me awake. I see by the sliver of moon framed in the window that it is barely morning, and as I pull the grey linsey frock over my head, there is a heaviness in my chest and a quiet longing for the comforts of Lions House and the tray of morning tea that always came unbidden to my chamber.
Twenty-nine
‘Where is she? You must find her!’ Temperance Angel screamed. Eli stood white-faced in the doorway of her bedchamber. He had spent three days looking for Alice. Three days searching the back alleys, the lodging houses and the poorhouses of Bridgwater. He had ridden out to the place where Alice had jumped from the carriage and searched barns and ditches and village inns. But there was no sign of her. No one had seen a thing. She must have headed to Bristol, Eli decided. And if she had been swallowed up in that city, there was little chance of him ever seeing her again.
Eli had never seen his mother like this. She was shaking with rage. Her face had twisted and contorted like some demon. His beautiful, composed mother had gone, and he didn’t know how to deal with the creature that had taken her place.
‘I will find her, Mama,’ he said. ‘I will keep on looking until I do.’
‘The disgrace! The disgrace! If someone should see her!’ Temperance ranted.
‘But it would be good news if someone were to see her,’ said Eli, trying to soothe her. ‘We would know where to find her then.’
‘It would be better if she were dead!’ screamed Temperance. ‘Already they are shunning me. I am the woman whose daughter jumped into a grave! They only come now to mock me and to scorn and to walk away all high and mighty. They do not come to pay their respects. They come to gawp! If they knew she was walking the streets … ’ Temperance collapsed into her chair, the thought too terrible to contemplate.
Eli tried again. ‘It is Alice we must think of now, Mama. She is all alone out there, and unwell. She has no money … nothing. If you would agree to put a notice in the Bristol Gazette, I think we might have a chance of finding her … ’
Temperance glared at him; sinews throbbed in her neck, the skin stretched tight across her face and for a brief moment, Eli glimpsed the hard outline of her skull and the gaping holes of her eye sockets. She bent suddenly and pulled the slipper off her foot. ‘Get out!’ she screamed. ‘Get out!’ And the slipper flew across the room and hit Eli squarely on the jaw.
He stumbled into the corridor and stopped to catch his breath. His jaw throbbed, but his pride hurt even more. He’d always been Mama’s favourite, and although he’d felt sorry for Alice, he had secretly relished being the one Mama loved. Eli rubbed his jaw. Was this what it had been like for Alice? And would Mama truly wish her dead rather than it become known that she had run away? No. Surely not. It was grief talking. That was all.
Eli made his way slowly down the stairs. What would Papa do? he wondered. The answer was easy. He would be out there now, still searching. He would be doing everything in his power to find Alice.
Eli hovered outside the study. It was time, he decided. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He took a deep breath and opened the door. It was dark inside, the curtains drawn, and just as he had feared, there were shadows of his father everywhere – hovering over the leather chair, brushing against the bookshelves and whispering in the corners of the room.
Eli strode quickly to the windows and tugged the curtains open. Daylight flooded in and helped to ease the ache in his chest. It was only a room, he told himself; it was only a desk and a chair and a pile of papers.
He moved to the chair and sat down. The leather creaked and settled, adjusting itself to a new occupant. Eli placed his hands palms down on the desktop and saw how they left imprints in the dust. He picked up a glass, sticky with the remains of brandy, and put it to one side. Then he gathered the strewn papers and put them in a neat pile next to the ledgers that he knew were filled with neat rows of figures and letters. With the space in front of him clear now, he selected a clean sheet of paper and picked up his father’s pen.
I’ll do my best, Papa. I’ll do all that I can.
Then he dipped the pen in the ink pot and began to write.
Personal Notices
INFORMATION concerning whereabouts of Alice Elizabeth Angel, missing since July 27th, 16 years of age, 5 feet 2 inches, dark hair, dark eyes, fair complexion, will be thankfully received. E. Angel, Lions House, Bridgwater.
He blotted the ink and blew it dry. Then he reached over and rang the servant’s bell.
Thirty
It is September now. I cannot believe I have been here for over a month already. The heat of the summer has passed and the days have taken on a steady pattern. Beth and I wake early, before the sun has quite risen, and we stumble down the stairs by the grey light of dawn. The first task of the day is to clear the ashes and sweep the grates clean, before we lay the fires in the cottages and the mansion. Then we fetch water from the well to fill all the coppers, and the kettles are put to boil. We lay out the breakfasts for the others, who rise much later than we do, and then, after all these things have been attended to, we go to the kitchen with the rest of the Parlour to eat our own breakfast.
I cannot imagine life without Beth now. If I had ever wished for a sister, I would have wished for one exactly like Beth. It is such a comfort to lie next to her every night and fall asleep to the sound of her steady breaths.
The work is hard and I have done things I
would never have thought possible. The worst of these is the black leading of the grates. It is a task I loathe; the hours on my knees, the aches in my fingers and wrists as I rub and rub and rub. The black lead stains my hands and I have to scrub them raw to clean it off. I have hands like Beth now. They are cracked and bleeding. Sometimes I look at them, turning them over and over in wonder. It is strange to think they belong to me. But I am proud of them all the same. They make me feel even closer to Beth; it is something else for us to share. Sometimes, if a goose has been slaughtered for Our Beloved, Beth will bring some of the fat with her to our room and we will rub it into each other’s hands. It soothes our chapped skin, but we have to laugh and wrinkle our noses at the terrible stink.
Of all the things I have learned to do, it is the bread making I like best. Beth has taught me well. Every evening after chapel we dust the kitchen table with flour and thump and stretch piles of billowing dough, before shaping it into loaves and pressing it into tins. I imagine the flour comes from Papa’s mill, and I am glad to think that maybe Eli has kept it running. I mentioned this to Beth one evening as we clapped our hands together and sent clouds of flour flying into the air.
‘You should not think such things,’ she said. ‘The world outside these walls should not concern you. Everything we have in here is given to us by Our Beloved. We are the chosen ones, Alice. Have you not understood that yet? When the day of reckoning comes, we are the only ones who will be saved. Our Beloved has blessed us with this flour, no one else.’
She said all this with a smudge of flour on her nose and a smile on her lips. But I knew at once that I had done something wrong. I bit my lower lip and carried on pummelling the dough. It was the first time since coming to the Abode that I had put a foot out of place. I did not want the old Alice to come back and ruin anything. So I promised myself I would not speak of those things again. I would shut my words away in a box inside my head. I would not talk of Eli or Papa, or even Mama. They were part of before, they belonged to the outside and as Our Beloved told us every night in chapel, those who were outsiders and did not believe in him were destined for the Devil.
The Beloved Page 13
