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.
Forty-three
‘Alice! Alice!’ Somebody is calling my name. ‘Wake up, Alice. It is time.’ I open my eyes and groan at the stiffness in my neck. Agatha is standing in front of me, looking at me quizzically.
‘Have you been here all night?’ she asks.
I nod and rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. ‘I couldn’t wait for morning to come.’
She smiles at me understandingly. ‘Well, Alice Angel,’ she says. ‘It is your day now. You must go to the mansion to prepare.’
‘This minute?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘They are waiting for you.’
‘Should I not wash first?’ I ask in a panic. I can smell the sour night sweat rising from my clothes.
Agatha laughs softly. ‘There is no need. They will do all that is required at the mansion. Now hurry. It’s not every day Our Beloved takes a new bride.’
I jump from the chair and fling my arms around her neck. ‘Thank you, Agatha. Thank you!’
‘Go on with you,’ she says and a blush reddens the long scar on her face. ‘I’ll see you later, in chapel.’
I take up the old carpet bag and run from the cottage, although I feel as though I could fly. The morning chill washes across my face and wakes me as well as a jug of cold water. It is misty outside and there is no one about yet. I run across the lawns and only then do I realise that I left my boots in the cottage kitchen. I laugh out loud as my feet fly through the wet grass. I have a vision then. That I am in my meadow running free. My clothes are loose around me and my hair sails behind. I am running to him, and everything is as it should be. Only this time it is not a vision at all. This time it is real.
The bloodhounds are prowling around by the door to the mansion. They growl low in their throats as I climb the steps. I swallow hard and look straight ahead. It is their yellow eyes that frighten me the most. But if I don’t look, then they won’t see my fear. They will know me better when I am here every day, I think, to calm myself. I enter the hallway and close the door behind me. It is all quiet and muffled inside. But someone has already lit the candles. My feet leave wet prints on the wooden floor as I walk further in, wondering where to go. I cannot go to the red room, surely? It is bad luck for a bride to see her intended on the morning before their union.
‘Hello?’ My voice echoes above my head and the candle flames flicker. ‘Hello? It is Alice.’ A door slams somewhere. I shout louder. ‘Hello!’
‘Alice.’
I look up and see there is someone at the top of the stairs.
‘Come on up, Alice. We have been waiting for you.’
I start up the stairs and see it is Mrs Holloway, with her buttonhole mouth stretched into a smile.
‘Follow me,’ she says. ‘We are all here.’
She leads me along the landing, past at least a dozen doors. Up here, there is soft carpet on the floor and rich tapestries on the walls. The air is light and perfumed and I feel as though I should whisper. I hear a small cry from behind one of the doors. ‘That is Power,’ says Mrs Holloway. ‘He is blessed with a strong voice.’
‘And is Glory well?’ I ask out of politeness.
‘Oh, yes,’ says Mrs Holloway. ‘She couldn’t be better. There is no pain or illness in Paradise, is there?’
She opens a door and beckons me into a chamber that would make Mama’s chin drop to her feet. There is a magnificent four-poster bed that looks like a ship in full sail, with its hangings of jewel-coloured silks and golden threads. The wardrobes, chests and mahogany arms of the sofa shine with beeswax, and the marble fireplace would not look out of place in the grandest of drawing rooms. The fire is blazing and there is a bath pulled up in front of it.
‘Alice!’ There are four other women in the room and they clap their hands together and greet me with delight. Although I see them most days in chapel, I am not sure of their names and I hope I do not embarrass myself. They are all dressed in costly gowns and are seated around a table drinking tea. ‘Come and join us,’ they say. ‘You will take some tea, won’t you?’
It is a world away from the cottage kitchen and I feel a sight in my old frock with my nightgown bunched underneath and nothing on my feet. But they do not seem to notice. I put my bag on the floor and soon the women are chattering away, deciding which gown I should wear; which, of all the gowns they own between them, is the richest and costliest and would suit my colouring the most.
It is decided that I will try them all on, and every piece of jewellery too. ‘You must look like a queen,’ I am told. ‘A queen that is fit for the King.’
But first I am to bathe. I am shy at first to strip in front of them, but they are so kind to me, and so excited to help, that soon I put myself in their hands and begin to enjoy myself. The bath water is deliciously hot and scented with oils. It slips over my skin like a silk gown. They wash my hair with perfumed soap and rinse it with jugs of clean water. They wash my body too, with soft cloths and gentle strokes. All the while, they tell me how beautiful I am. How they have never seen such skin as mine, nor hair as strong and thick. ‘You will make Our Beloved the most perfect bride,’ they say.
They wrap me in warm towels and I sit by the fire to dry my hair. They come in and out of the room, bringing with them armfuls of gowns and petticoats which they pile on the bed, and handfuls of jewels which they scatter across the table.
They dress me layer by layer. First a chemise and drawers and then some stays. I begin to protest at the stays. They bring dark memories to the edge of my thoughts and I do not want anything to spoil this day. But the women brush aside my protests. ‘Our Beloved would have you properly attired on this day,’ they insist. Then come the petticoats, frothing about my ankles, layers and layers of the finest linen and lace. Then, at last, the gown. I step in and out of one concoction and then another, until finally it is decided that the rose-pink silk taffeta complements my complexion the most and fits me beautifully.
Next, they dress my hair. They brush it until my scalp aches, then they coil it and pin it and twist it, and decorate it with silk flowers and pearls. Then they hang my ears with diamonds and my neck with pink coral. Finally, they pin a veil of milky lace to my hair and lead me to a mirror.
I do not recognise the woman I see in the glass. For it is a woman and not a girl. She is shapely and elegant with slender shoulders and a pair of bosoms that bloom softly at her décolletage. Her lips are pink and full and her eyes shine with contentment.
The women crowd around me, cooing like proud mothers. Mrs Holloway crosses her arms over her chest in satisfaction and nods her approval. ‘Now we will leave you for a while,’ she says, ‘so you can contemplate your good fortune and so that we can ready ourselves for the ceremony.’ They flutter from the room like a flight of fancy doves and a delicious silence settles upon me.
I look to the mirror again, turning this way and that, trying to see every bit of this stranger. I can’t get enough of the vision. When, eventually, I have looked a dozen times upon every inch that I can, I sit myself carefully in a chair by the window. It is hard to stay still though. I twist my hands in my lap and tap my feet, now shod in embroidered satin. I wonder if this is how every bride feels, this turmoil of terror and bliss and nerves.
I pull the curtains aside and peer out. The mist has lifted, leaving behind another fine day. I watch the clouds skitter across the pale blue sky and the children chasing one another across the lawns. The mansion is built much higher than the cottages and from up here I can see over the wall to the lane beyond. I see a cart driving by and, further away, the rooftops of the village cottages. It is strange to think of that other world out there, of all the people going about their business, eating and sleeping and fighting, and none of them having any idea of how soon it will all be over for them when the Day of Reckoning arrives. But if they choose not to listen, I think, then how will they ever hear?
I wonder if I will ever see Mama and Eli again. A tiny part of me would like them to be here now, to witness me dressed as a queen, all ready to wed the King of Kings. How Mama’s eyes would bulge. How she would regret all her cruelties. And how Eli would regret his blindness. But I would not forgive them, no matter how much they asked me to. I would let them taste just a small drop of Paradise, then I would send them away, back to the outside, to their horses and their Lady Egertons and to the fates that they deserve.
Suddenly the door opens. It is Mrs Holloway, with a small glass of ruby wine balanced on a silver tray. I uncurl my fingers from where they have been clenched into fists. ‘Alice,’ she says. ‘It
is nearly time.’ She places the tray next to me. ‘I have brought you a little sherry,’ she says, ‘to calm your nerves and help you relax. Drink up, now.’
‘Thank you,’ I reply. I am grateful for her thoughtfulness, for my stomach is indeed jumping about like a sack of frightened rabbits. I take a mouthful of the sherry. It is not as sweet as I thought it would be and I shudder as it burns a trail down my throat.
‘All of it,’ says Mrs Holloway. ‘You will need every drop.’
I take a breath and swallow the rest of it. It coats my tongue with a bitter aftertaste.
‘Good,’ says Mrs Holloway, with a satisfied smile. ‘Now, Alice. Are you ready?’
The chapel bells begin to ring out across the Abode as Mrs Holloway leads me from the mansion. I feel like I am floating on air. As if angels are somehow carrying me over the lawns and along the pathway to the chapel. We enter through a side door, into a room that is separated from the main chapel by a pair of gold velvet curtains. It is murky in the room. The only light comes from a slit of a window high above our heads.
I sense his presence before I see him. I can taste the promise of him in the air.
‘She is ready,’ Mrs Holloway states. She nods to me then, and leaves the room.
I grow hot, all of a sudden, my whole body covered in pinpricks of heat. It is the cursed stays, I am sure. I have grown used to not wearing them, and with the heaviness of my gown and the layers of petticoats, my bridal outfit is proving a burden to bear.
‘Come, Alice,’ he says, as he appears from the shadows. ‘Let me feast my eyes on you.’
The Beloved Page 19
