The Beloved

by Alison Rattle

  ‘Pah!’ Temperance spat. ‘You are a liar. A pathetic liar. Look at you. You are not even man enough to fill your suit. At least your father knew how to run the business and provide for us. You are just a useless little boy, Eli. Do you hear me? A useless little boy.’ She picked up her napkin and wiped the flecks of spit from the corners of her mouth. Then she pierced a chunk of devilled kidney with her fork and placed it in her mouth with a satisfied sigh.

  Eli had sat for a moment watching the precise way his mother’s jaws worked the offal in her mouth to a paste. He had never noticed before how fragile his mother’s beauty was. As her jaws clenched and unclenched, he saw that from a certain angle and with the mottled light of the morning catching on the powdered mask of her face, she was actually quite ugly.

  She glanced up at him. ‘Are you still here?’ she asked quite pleasantly. And before Eli could answer, ‘Please leave me. You are disturbing my appetite.’

  Eli had been only too glad to slink away. But from inside the safety of the study he could hear the hurried footsteps of servants skittering this way and that and knew his mother was making their lives a misery too.

  He sighed and put his head in his hands. At once, Alice came to mind, as she always did. In the month since Eli had returned from Bath, he had been unable to forget the girl he had seen outside the Abbey, or the strange man with the jet-black ringlets. For a time, he managed to convince himself that it had been the wine skewing his vision. With a skinful of alcohol was it not likely that his imagination had run away with him?

  However much he tried not to think of her, Alice’s face kept creeping into his dreams and into his waking hours. He saw, over and over again, the hood fall from her head to reveal her black hair and the familiar line of her nose and jaw.

  Wraith had told him the little he knew about the man he called Henry Prince. ‘I have seen him once, preaching in Bridgwater,’ he had said. ‘He proclaims himself to be the Messiah. Belongs in the madhouse if you ask me. But somehow he has managed to persuade a good many wealthy women to believe him, and to pay for the building of his Abode of Love.’ Wraith pursed his lips in disgust. ‘They say,’ he had whispered, ‘that he has fathered a child with at least a dozen of them. There is always some piece of scandal written about him in the newspapers.’

  Eli decided he needed to find out more about this Henry Prince. He couldn’t imagine for one instant that Alice would be caught up with someone like that, but his curiosity was piqued. And any chance to find Alice would be a chance worth taking. If he could just bring her home, how much better things would be. He would be free to travel; Wraith would take care of the business, and Alice? Well, Alice would be back where she belonged.

  He looked at the pile of newspapers mouldering by the side of fire; the ones his father had kept to roll into spills. There must have been dozens there. Arthur Angel had never thrown anything away.

  Eli picked up an armful of the newspapers and spread them out on the desk. He blew the soot and dust from the covers and settled down to read. Most of the papers were copies of the Bridgwater Gazette, but there were a few copies of The Times, which Arthur Angel used to send out to London for.

  Eli idly flicked through the pages. He wasn’t interested in current affairs or foreign affairs or the court circular and soon his mind began to wander. So much for Wraith’s assertion that Henry Prince was always in the newspapers. An hour passed, and Eli was about to give up, when his eye caught upon an unusual word. Agapemonites. He quickly scanned the article below, and there at last, he found the name, Henry Prince.

  It has been reported that on Tuesday last, a certain Mr Lewis James of Charlinch, Bridgwater, staged an attempt to rescue his wife from the clutches of the self-styled ‘Messiah’, Henry Prince of the notorious Abode of Love in Spaxton, near Bridgwater. Determined not to lose her and her fortune of £5,000 without a struggle, he travelled to Spaxton the night preceding the adventure in the company of three assistants, there to protect him from the fury of the Agapemonites. He slept at the Lamb Inn, which adjoins the institution, and early in the morning he scaled the gates, entered the grounds and secreted himself behind a conservatory to await a sighting of his wife.

  Time wore on and nothing particular transpired till about nine o’clock, when his three assistants heard James exclaim, ‘I will have you, Harriet!’ This was followed by a piercing shriek of ‘Murder!’ uttered by a female voice. The trio immediately jumped over the gates into the grounds of the Agapemone where they were met by some 30 or 40 women and children. In a few minutes Mr James himself was forcibly ejected and the four invaders had to come away crestfallen, their enterprise having failed. But Mr James remains undeterred. He is convinced that if he can release his wife from the influence of Henry Prince, he can shake her belief in the delusion she now credits.

  It will be remembered that the relatives of another inmate of the Abode of Love, a certain Louisa Jane Nottidge, tried every means to disabuse her mind of the monstrous notion that Prince was God Almighty, and had eventually to place her in a lunatic asylum, for the two-fold purpose of dissipating her mad belief and keeping her out of his clutches. They were unsuccessful.

  It was a strange story indeed, thought Eli. And that it should be happening just a few miles away. It was odd that he had never heard any whisperings about it before. But then, why should he have? It was a scandal, he reminded himself, and as such, did not concern the likes of him.

  There was knock on the door. Eli sighed. He knew already who it would be, and he knew what the rest of his day would entail. He straightened up the rifled newspapers into a neat pile on the desk. The knock came again. Eli clenched his fists and banged them hard on the desk. He couldn’t carry on like this for much longer. With a heavy heart he opened the door to Jane. ‘Your mother wishes to see you,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Eli. ‘Tell her I will be with her in a moment.’ He went to the window and looked out at the dismal afternoon. He could be sitting outside a café in Rome right now, he thought, or strolling through a park in Prague. But instead, he would have to spend the rest of the day enveloped in the lavender fog of his mother’s chamber, dodging her criticisms and put-downs and spiteful words.

  He turned from the window. But before he left the room, he swiped at the pile of newspapers so the pages flew from the desk into the air and landed scattered about the floor like a flock of angry birds.

  Forty

  They waited until morning to tell Master Eli. The evening before had been too full of questions and disbelief for a decision to be made. When Sarah had run into the kitchen in a flap after returning from her monthly visit to her father in Spaxton, Jane and William had been sent for. ‘Are you sure it was her?’ they had asked Sarah. ‘Are you sure it was Miss Alice?’

  Sarah’s cheeks had been as pink as the slices of ham sitting on the table waiting to be eaten. ‘I have seen her!’ she had squealed. ‘I have seen Miss Alice!’

  They had asked her the same questions over and over again. Maybe it was someone who just resembled Miss Alice, they suggested. Maybe the light played tricks with your eyes? Poor Sarah was reduced to tears.

  ‘Why would I make it up?’ she sobbed. ‘I tell you. It was Miss Alice. I saw her. Clear as day. And she saw me too.’

  ‘It is late now,’ William had said. ‘We will sleep on it, and I will decide what to do in the morning.’

  And so it was, that along with his morning tea and jug of wash water, Eli received the news that his sister had been seen riding atop a carriage in Spaxton. And that the carriage had entered the grounds of the mysterious Abode of Love.

  Eli, his head still foggy with sleep, thanked William for the news and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. ‘Oh … But say nothing to my mother!’ he shouted, as the old valet closed his chamber door. Eli sat propped up against his pillows until his tea grew cold in its cup.

  So, I have found her at last, he thought. And she was never that far away. It had been Alice he had seen in Bath. It had
been her, and not some wine-induced apparition after all. But the Alice he had seen that day was being dragged through the streets. Had she been taken to this Abode place by force then? He didn’t like to think that. He didn’t like to think what she might have been doing to survive out on the streets by herself all this time.

  What should he do? He rubbed the sleep from his face. He would have to get her out. That much was certain. He needed her back at Lions House. He had had more than enough of Mama. It was Alice’s turn now. He would have to go about it discreetly though, tell the servants to keep quiet. He couldn’t let Mama know yet. God only knows what she would say or do.

  He would ride out to Spaxton today, he decided. Have a look at the place. Go to the inn he’d read about in The Times. Talk to a few people. Make some plans. He rang for more tea. Then he jumped out of bed, suddenly full of something much better than the gloom and drudgery of the last few weeks.

  He whipped the curtains open and saw it was a perfect day for riding out. A little misty perhaps, but that would soon lift, and if he hurried, he could be out of the house before Mama finished her morning toilet and began to demand his attentions.

  Forty-one

  It was good to be back in the saddle. Eli had missed the freedom and the heady scents of polished leather and hay-sweet horse breath. He rode hard, avoiding the roads and lanes and choosing instead to gallop through fields and over farmland until the pulse in his neck beat in rhythm to the pounding hooves of his horse and the wind blew his skin tight across his face.

  If he hadn’t taken directions, Eli was certain he would never have found Spaxton. It was tucked away in the back of beyond. Only one lane led to it, and it wound around so narrowly and for so long that Eli began to imagine it would never end. But then, as if out of nowhere, a cottage appeared and then another and soon Eli found himself staring at the entrance to the Lamb Inn, wondering what on earth he was going to say. How did you go about admitting to anyone that you had lost your sister?

  It was warm and inviting inside the inn. A fire was burning and the low hum of voices filled the air. Some men, farmer types, were gathered around the bar. They gave him a cursory glance before turning back to their drinks and conversation. Eli walked to the bar, pulling nervously at the cuffs of his riding jacket.

  The landlord greeted him blithely, as though he were used to strangers walking into his inn. He poured Eli a jar of frothing beer. Eli swallowed a mouthful. It was warm and yeasty and he tried not to grimace. After a few more mouthfuls, Eli found his nerve. He cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me,’ he ventured. ‘Could you tell me something of the Abode of Love and the man they call Henry Prince?’

  The landlord sighed. ‘You look a bit young to be a journalist,’ he said.

  ‘I’m … I’m not a journalist,’ said Eli. ‘Only I did read about this place in The Times, and I wanted to come and see it for myself.’

  ‘And why might that be, young sir? You looking to join his flock?’ The landlord laughed and winked at the gathered men. They sniggered into their beers and Eli felt his face grow hot.

  He took another gulp of beer. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But I should like to know where I can find him, this Henry Prince.’

  ‘You have found him,’ said the landlord. ‘The Abode is next door, behind the walls. But actually seeing him is another matter.’

  ‘Does he not receive visitors?’ asked Eli.

  Again the landlord laughed. ‘Not unless you are a woman,’ he said. ‘And a rich one or a good-looking one at that.’ He poured himself a beer and leaned his elbow on the bar. ‘Why are you so interested anyway?’

  Eli looked at the landlord, grinning away as if it was all a great joke. He didn’t want to tell him. But he couldn’t think of any other way. Eli took a deep breath. ‘It is my sister,’ he said. ‘I think she is inside the Abode. I think Henry Prince has kidnapped her.’

  The grin dropped from the landlord’s face. He looked into his beer for a moment, then lifted his eyes back to Eli. ‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ he said. ‘All the women and girls in there, are there because they want to be. He tells them he is God, you see. And they all believe him. They’re a strange lot to be sure. But they keep themselves to themselves. They don’t bother us. Most bother we get is from folk like you, and journalists, of course. They can’t get enough of it.’

  ‘My sister doesn’t want to be in there,’ insisted Eli. ‘She was kidnapped. I’m telling you.’

  ‘That’s what they all say,’ said the landlord. ‘People like you, who come looking for their wives or mothers or sisters.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘But I’m telling you, none of them want to leave. Only one, I remember, was ever taken away. And she weren’t ever right in the head again. Had to put her in the madhouse, they did.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ said Eli, although he remembered the newspaper article he had read, only the day before, that spoke of a young lady and a lunatic asylum.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ said the landlord and he turned to his other customers.

  ‘No, wait!’ said Eli. ‘Please. There must be a way I can get in there. Just to see her. To see that she is well, and happy.’

  The landlord turned back. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘You could climb the walls if you wish. Or break down the gates. But they’ll throw you out as soon as you step foot inside.’ His face lit up for a moment. ‘Or,’ he said. ‘You could wait outside the gates. They ride out most days. You might be lucky and catch sight of her then.’ His eyes glinted. ‘I can do you a good rate on a room.’

  Forty-two

  I am sitting in the red room with Our Beloved. I brought him a tray of tea and he asked me to stay and share it with him. He is sitting at his desk with his cup by his side and I am in a chair by the fire. It is peaceful in the room with only the scratching of Our Beloved’s pen and the spit of the fire to break the silence. I sip my tea, content to be in his presence and away from the daily chores for a while.

  I watch as his shoulders shift beneath the fabric of his coat as he moves his pen across the page. I have never felt such love for anyone. Not even Papa. But that is how it should be, I tell myself. Shouldn’t everyone love the Lord above all else?

  I place my cup back in its saucer and fold my hands in my lap. I would be happy to sit here like this for always as long as he is next to me.

  It is a fine day today. One of those rare autumn days when the sun shines bright and lifts the gloom of decay from the world. A ray of sun is slanting through the window now. It strikes the top of Our Beloved’s head, lighting the blackness of his hair with a golden halo. It is just a small miracle, but a miracle nonetheless.

  He leans away from his work then, and as he does, a grey cloud rolls across the sky and sends its shadow into the room.

  He rises from his chair and comes to sit next to me. My heart swells to bursting, as it always does, and I try to swallow the dryness from my mouth. He takes my hand in his. ‘Alice,’ he says. ‘I have some wonderful news for you.’ He pushes a stray thread of hair from my forehead. ‘It has been decided that you are ready now. Ready to receive the greatest honour of all.’

  He pauses and looks at me intently. I try to hold his gaze, but there is such power there that I weaken and lower my eyes.

  ‘You are ready, aren’t you, Alice?’ he asks. ‘I am not wrong about you, am I?’

  I lick my lips. ‘I am ready, Beloved,’ I reply. ‘I am ready to do whatever you ask of me.’

  He laughs then, and the brightness of the sound chases the shadows from the room. ‘It is agreed then! You are to be my Queen! My spirit bride!’ He pulls me from my chair and spins me about the room. ‘A drink!’ he shouts. ‘A drink to the Lamb of God and his bride!’

  I am breathless and dizzy, my thoughts a tangle of knots that I cannot unpick. He hands me a glass of amber liquid and I drink it one gulp. It burns my throat and stings my eyes, but the warmth of it spreads out from my belly and trickles through my arms and legs until even my fingers and toes are tinglin
g. His queen. His bride. I fall back into a chair.

  I would never have dared to wish for this moment. I would never have dared to wish to be so happy. But it has happened anyway, without any wishes at all. And perhaps that is how all good things should happen.

  I leave the mansion in a daze. The ceremony is to be tomorrow. Tonight will be my last night in the cottage. Then I will move into a room at the mansion. ‘It is fitting,’ Our Beloved told me, ‘that the bride of the Lord should be by his side both day and night.’

  By the time I get back to the cottage, the news has spread throughout the Abode. I hear it being spoken of softly, with bated breath. The women of the Parlour look at me differently. There is respect in their eyes and a certain deference. They tiptoe around me and nod at each other knowingly. I soak it all up. It is the best feeling in the world to know, at long last, that I am truly special. I have been chosen by the Lord to be his spirit bride!

  How I would laugh at Mama, if she were here. Look at me, I would say. What do you see now? A wicked and troublesome child that belongs in a lunatic asylum? Or a young woman whose soul has been washed so clean that she is betrothed to the Lord himself? I would spit at her feet if I could. For I know now, that it is she who is vulgar and unworthy and I know that she too will perish, along with the rest of the outsiders, when the Day of Reckoning comes.

  And Eli too, I think. How weak he was to have never stood up to her, to have been blind to all her faults. He deserves to perish too.

  Only Papa ever understood. Only Papa ever accepted me and loved me for who I was. But he is already saved. He is already in Paradise. And I am thankful for that.

  I want the day to pass quickly so tomorrow will come all the sooner. I busy myself with chores to keep my mind from racing. What seemed like drudgery before is nothing – now that I know that today is my last day in the Parlour. I take a basket of wet linen out to the gardens and peg the pieces on the line. It will dry beautifully in the autumn sun. I watch the breeze fill the sheets and set them sailing into the sky. I feel as though I am sailing with them, growing lighter and lighter and flying higher and higher towards Heaven. I stand in the midst of the billowing whiteness and throw my arms in the air. I twirl around, this way and that, and let the wind catch my hair. And then I am laughing, bubbles and bubbles of joy bursting from my mouth.