Mr Wroe's Virgins

by Jane Rogers

  ‘But you cannot simply sit back and watch …’

  Slowly, she nods. Then a small frown, creasing the skin of her broad clear brow. ‘Sister Hannah. You cannot change this. It is done. You must learn … you must learn to accept His will. Come, pray with me.’

  I cannot. I cannot reach her; I will not pray with her; and I shall accept nothing. For myself I could leave tomorrow (and shall, as soon as the trial is over, no matter what the outcome. William has added his voice to Catherine’s offer of accommodation, and I may scrape together enough to live upon, through my teaching and through helping in their druggist’s). I have a world to move on to, and would rather hurl myself off a cliff into a dark abyss, than offer it up to Mr Wroe’s greedy despair. My decision to contradict Leah’s accusations is based solely upon a desire to see justice done.

  *

  Sanctuary has become a court room. The twelve elders of the tribes sit as jury, in the choir stalls; we, the witnesses, are ranged on the front two pews, and interested members of the church packed in behind us. Mr Wroe, black hat on his head, rod in hand, sits on a lone chair to the left of the pulpit.

  Tobias is leader of the jury, and after a prayer, leads the proceedings by reading out the charges.

  ‘That John Wroe, also known as the Prophet, Yaakov, did abuse his position in the church of the Christian Israelites, by lustful and licentious living. That he frequently drank wine and strong spirits, and that he adulterously suggested, and performed, acts not fit to be mentioned, with two of the females of his household.’

  Wroe stares up at the organ pipes behind our heads. He has adopted the estranged, passive face of a victim, withdrawing his great power and magnetism as a snail draws head and horns into its shell. Till we see such a man before us as may indeed have stooped to lust and licentiousness, been unable to govern the small greeds of the body, and thus lost a great spiritual mission.

  We are called to give evidence in order of seniority, Joanna first.

  ‘Let us take the charges in order. It is alleged that Mr Wroe indulged – over-indulged – in wine. Have you seen any evidence to support this accusation?’

  ‘Yes. I have seen him drinking. After his Bible reading in the evening, I have seen him drink a full bottle of wine.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘In my company. But I did not drink.’

  ‘It was not offered to you?’

  ‘I never drink wine. The Prophet knows this, and so he did not offer.’

  ‘Did he become drunk? Lose control of his faculties in any way?’

  Pause. ‘No.’

  ‘Would you say he drank to excess?’

  ‘He habitually drained a full bottle in the evening after his reading.’

  Did he drink a full bottle each evening? I remember the first time he offered me wine – I had not noticed its presence before that night. But it is impossible that Joanna should tell a lie.

  ‘And now to the second charge. Has the Prophet ever behaved in a licentious way towards you in person?’

  Joanna crimsons at the very thought, as do a couple of the elders. It is less easy to imagine than that a dish of plain milk could set the table afire. No, he has never behaved in such a way.

  ‘Have you ever had any reason to suspect the Prophet of impure intentions either toward yourself or any of your sisters?’

  ‘No.’ Each of his questions is followed by a calm and negative reply. Up until,

  ‘Has the Prophet ever appeared before you in a state of undress?’

  This meets with silence.

  ‘Sister Joanna. Has the Prophet ever appeared before you in a state of undress?’

  Still no reply. One by one we look up at her: her red flush has drained to a yellowish-grey. The colour of an old person’s teeth.

  ‘Sister Joanna. I must remind you you are on your oath before God to tell the truth. Pray answer the question, sister.’

  ‘Yes.’ Spoken so softly he must ask her to repeat it: then digested with a gasp of amazement that runs around Sanctuary like a flame. Tobias bends to confer in a whisper with the other elders.

  ‘In what place did the Prophet appear in a state of undress, sister?’

  Joanna is looking straight out ahead of her, her grey face is puckered with a puzzled little frown. ‘My bedchamber.’

  ‘Your bedchamber?’

  ‘The room I share with Sister Hannah.’

  So profound is the silence, that it seems it could suck in Sanctuary’s thick walls and make the building collapse. A few heads turn to peer at me.

  ‘Was Sister Hannah present at this time?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You were alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Please tell us what happened.’

  Sister Joanna’s smooth forehead is ruckled and ridged, like Albert’s when he is labouring to read. She turns her head this way and that, seeking escape. ‘I cannot.’

  ‘Sister, you can and will. We are here in God’s house to discover the truth of a number of serious allegations. As God loves the truth, and hates lies, it is our sacred duty to discover the truth; to aid the repentance of those who have sinned, and to cleanse this impurity from our church.’

  ‘But this was not a sin.’

  ‘Then you need have no fear in telling us of it, Sister Joanna. Praise be to God.’

  ‘I – it was on account of my dream.’

  ‘Your dream, sister.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell us your dream.’

  Again she twists her head, and wrings her hands in her lap. I see her look to the back of Wroe’s head for assistance; she cannot see his face from where she is sitting, and he does not turn to look at her. But when she begins to speak, her voice is no longer agitated; it is as calm, and melodiously dove-like as it has ever been. ‘If it is God’s will,’ she says. ‘This great trial of my strength was sent by Him and if it is His will I should reveal it, then –’ Here she momentarily closes her eyes and lapses into silence.

  ‘Sister Joanna,’ Tobias reminds her.

  Turning to face the elders, she begins to relate a dream, in which she rescued a boy child from a scene of devastation. Her role of protector to the child afforded a mysterious protection to herself. The child inspired extraordinary love and care, while all around them fell wounded and dying. She told the Prophet her dream, and he gave her the interpretation; ‘That she was to mother a second Christ child, to save the world; this child should be fathered on her by the Prophet.’

  One of the elders, I cannot see whom, begins to choke, and has to be patted and given water before he can get his breath. Joanna falls silent.

  ‘Did you agree with the Prophet’s interpretation?’

  ‘I did. At first I was unsure, but I prayed and sought God’s guidance. The dream was certainly a message from God, and I could find no other interpretation.’

  ‘Why did you not seek advice from the Elders, since there was such a difficult question of morality in the case?’

  ‘I do not know.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘We – at an agreed time – we did as God desired.’

  ‘Be precise, Sister Joanna.’

  ‘We performed the act of procreation.’

  Tobias as incredulous – and as incapable of concealing it – as the rest of us. ‘You and the Prophet?’

  She inclines her head, once.

  ‘Are you sure of this, Sister Joanna?’

  ‘I am sure.’

  There is a silence, then whispering between several of the elders. I glance at Leah’s stunned face, and at the others. Rachel is quietly weeping; Rebekah, her face set grimly, clasps her by the arm. Joanna must be mistaken. She is innocent of what ‘the act’ is. Tobias and the elders think like me.

  ‘Sister Joanna: for the sake of clarity, I am afraid we must ask a few details … When did this – act – take place?’

  ‘In the summer. July.’

  ‘At what time?’

  ‘The Sabbath. Du
ring service.’

  The strained credulity of the gathered people snaps under the burden of this detail. The elders shake their heads; a ripple of disbelief runs around the building.

  ‘You are overwrought, Sister Joanna. You are – this cannot be possible.’

  But she does not look overwrought. Her face is as still and pale as dead ash in the morning grate.

  ‘May I question her?’ It is Elder Moses. He paces up and down a few times before he starts questioning Joanna, with the air of a man sharpening a knife. ‘These events took place in July, Sister Joanna?’

  She nods.

  ‘It is now almost December: and even now you only admitted them as a result of close questioning under oath.’ It is not a question, and she does not reply.

  ‘Is this true?’ he bullies.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why have you attempted to conceal these facts from the eye of the church?’

  ‘Because – I thought it possible the Prophet’s behaviour could be misinterpreted. I did not wish to bring any scandal to the church.’ She hesitates then quotes softly, almost to herself, ‘The Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.’

  ‘Is your pride so great that you think it is within your power to make or mar the name of our church?’

  ‘I hope not. No.’

  ‘You speak of misinterpreting the Prophet’s behaviour. Have you considered the interpretations that may be made of your part in this adultery?’

  She blanches at the word. But she continues steady. ‘I acted in good faith, as my Lord and Master knows.’

  ‘Sister Leah has told us she makes her allegations against the Prophet in the hopes of protecting her sisters in God from his debaucheries. If you had felt a similar sisterly care, you could have brought your story to the Elders four months ago.’

  ‘But the Prophet was not debauched or sinful …’ Her voice is faltering.

  ‘Sister Joanna, your wilful blindness is an embarrassment, in a woman of your years.’ (Tobias here attempts to interrupt him. It is hard to believe anyone is speaking to Joanna in this way.) Moses continues remorselessly. ‘It is perhaps necessary to spell out to you, without the protection afforded by your self-justifications, what you have done. You, an unmarried female, whose life is supposedly devoted to the service of God, have committed fornication – secretly – with a married man, during the hallowed time of a Sabbath service. Do not imagine that all the penance in the world could clear your own name; for what can be more foul, in a woman, than impurity?’

  Joanna begins to sob.

  ‘That you have attempted to justify your wickedness with concealing lies, with prattle of dreams and interpretations, makes it even more unspeakable in the sight of God: for you have taken His holy name in vain, as a cloak for your own base lusts. Even at the very best your actions are motivated by sinful pride, for what makes you think that you, of all the women on earth, are most fit to bear God’s son?’

  Joanna shakes her head as she cries; a gout of snot drops from her nostril and she wipes it quickly on the back of her gloved hand.

  ‘Complacent as a beast wallowing in its own filth, you have hugged your sin to your heart, nor admitted it to be a sin: and that it is indeed a sin, is most conclusively proved by the absence of that result for which you say you hoped. There is no child. You are barren. I call upon all members of the church to join with me in condemning Sister Joanna for a sinner of the blackest dye. Let us condemn her so that she can turn to the Lord with a truly contrite heart – for her suffering here is as nothing, to the eternal suffering He has made ready for the souls of such as she.’

  ‘Moses’ call to condemnation meets with a baffled silence; he is drawing breath to continue when Elder Tobias pulls him back.

  ‘It is enough,’ I hear him begin – but the rest is lost in the hubbub that breaks out around the room. Joanna, slumped on her chair, is weeping, oblivious to all. The sight of her wrings my heart. I leave my seat to go to her side. I hear Tobias say to Moses, ‘– and even if it were true, it is not she who is standing trial –’

  ‘May I take her out?’ I ask. Tobias nods; and after some persuasion I get her to her feet and lead her, stumbling like a blind old woman, to the door. My poor Joanna. My poor, sweet, innocent, hurt sister Joanna.

  But this thing happened. I believe her now. He planned and executed it: she, in fear and trembling, but in utter conviction that it was the will of God, played her part. This thing happened.

  Her aunt joins us as I struggle with her down the aisle.

  ‘She must come home with me. Bring her home to my house, pray, do not take her back there.’ Of course. Of course she will not come back to Southgate. I help her up into the carriage, and her aunt climbs up beside her.

  ‘Joanna. Dear Sister Joanna. I will – may I come and talk with you? Tonight?’ She is incapable of response, and her aunt wishes me gone. I kiss her poor wet cheek and climb down; they rattle away around the corner.

  Joanna. Mr Wroe. Mr Wroe. Joanna. He did this.

  Soon everyone begins to crowd out of Sanctuary. The elders are to come back to Southgate for dinner, before the trial continues. Mr Wroe is to remain in Inner Sanctum, watched over by Tobias and William Lees. Rebekah, Rachel, Leah and I are handed into his carriage. We are all silent until the horses start to move.

  Then Leah: ‘She is crazed. No one could believe that tale.’

  Rebekah shakes her head. ‘It is as if – I wonder if she dreamed the whole thing. But Moses – they should not have let Moses –’

  Rachel is still crying, and sniffles through her tears, ‘It was very cruel. I cannot think how they let him behave so. If he is set to question me I shall not answer at all. I never saw such hatefulness.’

  ‘Do you think it possible?’ Leah asks me directly, now.

  ‘Yes.’

  She stares at me curiously for a moment. ‘Well I do not. Why should he go to such lengths of deception – for a woman like Joanna? It is a part of her own mystical invention. She has lost sight of what is real.’

  ‘There was no harm in it, till Moses started,’ adds Rebekah. ‘No one believed it, we all know it is impossible. But now look how he has upset her – for a dream!’

  Maybe Mr Wroe believed the dream, I tell myself. I do not think it likely.

  Rachel and Rebekah’s father comes to Southgate while we are dining. He asks to speak with the elders, and when he has done so he comes in to the kitchen.

  ‘Rachel, Rebekah, you are to pack your things. You will come home with me, after the session this afternoon.’ They stare at him in appalled silence; it is Leah who asks him, ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? I am surprised that you, above all people, would need to ask. Are you not the one who has brought this depravity to light? My daughters will not stay a night longer under this fiend’s roof – nor would I advise any of you to. The contamination of his sins with that woman are set like a black mark on all who have been blind enough to follow him.’

  There are others, then, who believe Joanna’s story. I am not alone.

  Rachel and Rebekah do as they are told. Leah follows them upstairs, and when she comes down again, she also brings a bundle of clothes.

  ‘I shall go back to my parents,’ she tells me, and throws a contemptuous look at myself and Martha. ‘I wish you two joy of him!’

  Joanna is not in Sanctuary in the afternoon. Otherwise, we are as in the morning. But there is a different feeling in the air. A fear; the foul taste in our mouths of the spectacle of Joanna’s humiliation; a fear of hearing more. I am called to the stand. Not by Moses, but by Tobias. His questions follow the pattern he used with Joanna, only I am able to answer every one in the negative. I am not angry. I am not afraid. I am – blank. What I had prepared to say in his defence is dried up in my mouth. I have nothing to say, my questioning is quickly done.

  Next Martha. She also answers ‘no’ to every question; rather too quickly after it has been
asked, like a child with the responses.

  ‘Has he ever made any improper suggestions?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you ever seen him in a state of undress?’

  ‘No.’

  She will be done even more quickly than I. But when he asks if she has anything to add, she replies, ‘Yes.’

  The history I asked her for. When I wanted him to be defended. In her flat, expressionless voice, with no more emotion on her face than any of us have ever seen there – a mask, with moving lips – she tells her early life.

  Ironically, it has the effect I desired. The silence in Sanctuary, which was of fear and a species of horror, is now pitying; Mr Wroe, her saviour, is looked upon with grateful relief. When she is done a few are weeping; others fall to their knees to thank God for His goodness. It is a fine note on which to end our afternoon. Martha and I travel back in silence. Only two of us now. No one has told me whether Mr Wroe will return to Southgate tonight. In the kitchen I prepare the customary basket of food for Albert’s family, and for Annie’s.

  Joanna and Mr Wroe. Mr Wroe and Joanna. Still a fact, lodged like a lump of food in my gullet; it winds me, but I can neither choke it up to taste, nor swallow it down to digest it.

  Nor can I go and speak to Joanna tonight. A lethargic weariness has dropped on to my limbs, I can scarcely move. What could I say to her? I am sorry, Joanna? Why did you not talk to me? Was my friendship so worthless?

  I make up two platefuls of the remains of the elders’ dinner, and set them out on the kitchen table, then I go to call Martha to her supper.

  She is not in her room. The house is dark; I have not bothered to make a light anywhere save the kitchen and corridor. Mr Wroe is not here, the houseplace stands bare and empty as if it were midnight instead of six o’clock. In the dining room the fire is out. I make a round of the rooms, guarding my candle from the fierce draughts; she is not indoors. In the kitchen the burning peat smells like smokey bacon, suddenly memory imprints itself upon my vision, and the template of past loss fits so exactly upon the present (ironic that it should be bacon, peat – the latter unknown in my previous existence, the former unknown in my present) that I cannot move. I cannot continue this pretence of volition, control. We are no more than toys. And I am alone in this great house. This is the change a day has made.