I walk towards him, but my feet are unsteady, and for one dreadful moment I fear I will swoon. He holds his arm out to me and I take it gratefully. ‘You are a vision indeed,’ he says. ‘A bride truly fit for the Lord himself.’
I try to smile at him, but my mouth doesn’t seem to belong to my face.
‘Come now,’ he says. ‘It is time.’
The thin pipes of the organ strike up and I imagine Mrs Holloway sitting primly before it, with her lips pursed in concentration. Our Beloved pulls the gold curtains to one side, and we walk arm in arm into the chapel. Every member of the Abode is out there. I see them all; the richly dressed ladies and the plainer women of the Parlour and all the children dotted in between. Even Beth is there. After all her talk last night of leaving, she is out there, sitting at the back, with her eyes locked onto Our Beloved.
In front of the altar there are two gilt thrones with velvet and gold-braided seats. Our Beloved directs me to sit in one of them and he takes his place in the other. The sound of the organ swells then. Mrs Holloway is red-faced with fervour. The congregation get to their feet and soon the whole chapel is echoing to the voices of angels. Or so it seems to me. My head has grown light and I have to swallow the urge to giggle.
The voices die away and an expectant silence fills the great space. I want to close my eyes and sleep, but I am also horrified that I should think that. Our Beloved rises to his feet. He turns and bows to me, then he takes my hand and raises me from my throne. I hold his hand tight, because the dizziness has worsened now. The edges of my vision has blurred into soft clouds.
Our Beloved begins to speak and I want so much to hear his words; the most important words that will ever be spoken to me. But he sounds so far away, as though he is in another room and not standing right beside me. His words echo in and out of my hearing.
I take Alice Angel as my spirit bride.
Divine purification.
The Holy Ghost shall take flesh in the presence of flesh.
Flesh upon flesh.
Flesh upon flesh.
Mrs Holloway is beside me now too. I didn’t notice her leave the organ. But the congregation are still singing; a strange chanting hymn that makes the inside of my skin tremble. Our Beloved and Mrs Holloway lead me to a table covered in a white cloth. No. It is not a table. It is the altar. Am I to say my vows?
There is a set of small steps next to the altar. Mrs Holloway wants me to climb them. She wants me to lie down on the altar. Am I to go to sleep now? It would be most welcome. No, Alice, I tell myself. You cannot sleep on an altar. But I am lying down. I am so heavy. I can barely keep my eyes open. The singing-chanting slides over me like a thick blanket. I close my eyes.
Just for a moment …
My arms are being held down. Something tight around my wrists. Someone is leaning over me and I catch the sickly sweet scent of lavender. Mama? I retch. The bitter sherry rises in my throat. My eyes snap open. Mrs Holloway? Why is she holding me down?
I try to move, to wriggle out of her grasp. But there is no strength left in me. What is happening? I open my mouth. But before I can scream, there is a hand clamped over it. I can feel rough callouses against my squashed lips. Mrs Holloway’s face is red and contorted. She is breathing hard through her nostrils
I look around, frantically. The congregation are still singing. Can they not see what is happening? There’s Beth. She is not singing. She is the only one not singing. She is crying.
I turn my head again. Our Beloved is standing at the end of the altar by my feet. He is looking to Heaven with his arms outstretched. He moves closer to me. At last. He is going to stop Mrs Holloway.
But he doesn’t. His head is bowed. He is pushing up my petticoats. He is pressing himself against me. He is doing unspeakable things under my skirts.
And then there is pain.
Red hot.
Splitting.
Inside me.
I scream through tight fingers.
Then there is only darkness.
Forty-four
I am dreaming. But it is a terrible dream. I cannot move. I am tied to the bed. With Mama’s leather straps. But it is Mrs Holloway leaning over me. She has stolen Mama’s smell. The stink of lavender is suffocating me. I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. But then I am floating. I am gliding down the aisle of the chapel in all my bridal glory. Our Beloved is waiting for me with outstretched arms. I am desperate to reach him, but he keeps moving further and further away. The women of the Parlour are there and all the other ladies and children. They are pointing at me and laughing. I look down into my arms and I am carrying a newborn child, a bloodied, squirming thing with bony horns pushing through its skull. There is blood all over me. My skirts are soaked, my petticoats too. And my thighs are sticky with it. I throw the child to the ground and I look to Our Beloved. I need him to save me. But he has his back to me. He is walking away. ‘No!’ Suddenly I am screaming. ‘No! No! No!’
I wake with a start.
Someone is in the room. They pull back the curtains and the sudden light blinds me. The back of my eyes ache, my head too. I groan and try to sit up. ‘Where am I?’ I ask, as much to myself as to the person in the room. I hold my head in my hands.
‘It’s all right, Alice. You’re just in your chamber. Your new chamber.’
I lift my head and slowly take my hands away. Beth is standing looking at me, her arms folded across her chest. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asks.
‘I … I … terrible,’ I say. ‘I feel terrible.’ I press my fingers to my eyes to try and push away the ache. ‘What happened?’ I ask. ‘Why do I feel like this?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Beth says. ‘I did try to warn you. You’ll remember soon enough though.’ She looks down at the floor. ‘It’s what he does to all the chosen ones.’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You should have come away with me last night.’ She turns to go. ‘When you remember what happened, come and find me.’
I watch her leave the room, then I look around and try to make sense of things. I am in the four-poster bed, with its high mattress and rich hangings. The bed I hoped would be mine. The hip bath is still sitting in front of the fireplace. There are teacups still on the table by the window. I remember the sweet perfume of the oil in the bath and the chink of teacups as we all sat at the table together. I liked it, I remember. I liked it a lot.
Then there were the gowns. Oh, yes. I remember the gowns. The rose-pink taffeta that rustled when I walked. The bodice that scooped up my bosoms and held me tight at the waist. And the veil. The bridal veil.
I remember the chapel, the thrones, the music and the singing. Our Beloved leading me to the altar.
Mrs Holloway. Her face looms up before me. Her buttonhole mouth stretched wide. A sudden shudder runs through me and my stomach lurches painfully.
I remember.
I remember what he did to me. What Mrs Holloway helped him do to me.
I remember what I felt him doing beneath my skirts.
My breath comes fast and shallow. I don’t want it to be true. It was just a nightmare wasn’t it? Just a nightmare? I push the bed covers down. I am wearing a thin cotton nightgown. I don’t remember who undressed me. Where is the rose-pink gown now? I swing my legs out of the bed. It is then that I feel it. Stickiness between my thighs. My heart stops. I reach my hand down to touch myself and when I bring it back towards my face, my fingers are red with fresh blood. I fall to the floor.
It is true.
It all happened.
He did those things to me in front of everyone.
I curl into a ball and rock backwards and forwards. My insides ache unbearably. What happens now? I can’t let anybody see me. I am so ashamed. So ashamed.
There are footsteps on the other side of the bed. My heart stops for a moment.
Beth? Please let it be Beth.
The footsteps stop behind me. ‘What are you doing down there?’ I recogni
se the thin tones of Mrs Holloway.
I pull my knees tight to my chest and pray for her to leave.
‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Get up from there. It is a new day. Your first day as Our Beloved’s new bride.’
I turn my head slowly. She looks as she always has done. There is no evil on her face, just a creased concern. ‘Come,’ she says again. ‘He would like you to breakfast with him this morning.’
‘No,’ I say, shaking my head vigorously. ‘I cannot. I cannot go anywhere.’
‘Nonsense,’ she says. ‘I will help you dress. We must please Our Beloved in all ways. You know that. He has blessed us with eternal life in return for our love.’
I shake my head again. ‘But I am bleeding,’ I whisper. ‘I am bleeding from inside.’
Mrs Holloway bends down and pulls me to my feet. ‘Hush, now,’ she says. ‘That is only to be expected. It is nothing to be concerned about. The first time, blood has to be sacrificed. You will feel better in a while, I promise you.’ She pulls me to her and rests my head on her breast. The lavender again. I can smell the lavender. I don’t want her near me, with her false kindnesses. Does she think I don’t remember what she did?
I twist out of her embrace. ‘Can you leave me for a while?’ I say, my heart thudding fearfully. ‘I will be fine now. And I will dress myself.’
She looks at me closely. ‘Very well,’ she says. ‘But do not take long. He is expecting you in the red room.’
After she has gone, I sit for a long while. It is because he loves me that he did what he did, I try to tell myself. He is God after all. It must be right. But the spasms of fear and loathing that turn my legs to trembling jelly and my heart to a mess of beaten meat, tell me otherwise. Why did he do that to me? Why did he have to spoil everything? I thought he had forgiven me my sins. So why did he have to punish me in such an unspeakable way?
I will find Beth. She will know what to do. She can help me to make sense of it all. Maybe she can put everything back in the right place.
There is water in the jug on the washstand. I pour some into the bowl and begin to wash myself. I wipe my thighs slowly and move the cloth tentatively between them, to the soft hidden part of me. The water in the bowl turns pink when I rinse the cloth. I catch my breath at the horror of it all. I cannot imagine the wound will ever heal. He might as well have ripped my heart out too.
I find my old grey frock tossed over the back of a chair and I pull it over my head. I will not dress as his new bride and I will not go to him. I am too scared to look him in the face. I am afraid that if I see him in the flesh, he will make me think things I don’t want to any more.
Forty-five
Beth is in the scullery at the cottage. ‘You have remembered then?’ she asks as she scrubs the dirt from a bowl of potatoes.
I nod and brush an unbidden tear from my cheek.
‘I’m sorry it had to happen,’ she says. ‘I tried to tell you. But I don’t blame you for not listening.’
‘How did you know?’ I ask. ‘How did you know he was going to do that to me?’
She shrugs. ‘You are not the first and you won’t be the last.’ She turns from the bowl and wipes her hands on her apron. ‘I have begun to question it all of late,’ she says. ‘Why he does the things he does. I loved him so much, you see. He is the only one I have ever loved.’ She takes a knife and begins to cut the cleaned potatoes into chunks.
‘He takes who he wants,’ she continues. ‘He took me too,’ she says. ‘As he took you, only not as a bride. He has taken many of us. They are all his children out there. Every one of them.’
I am frightened by what she is telling me, but I know I have to keep listening.
‘But when I lost my child, he rejected me. He said it was the Devil’s child. But I knew it wasn’t. It was his child. It could only be his child.’ Beth lifts her apron to wipe at her eyes. ‘That’s when I knew,’ she says. ‘That’s when I knew he was lying. That’s when I knew it was all a lie. I am only glad I didn’t die, like poor Glory.’
My mouth falls open. ‘Glory is dead?’
She nods. ‘She is in Paradise.’ She gives a fierce little laugh. ‘It is strange, don’t you think? She was promised eternal life, but died in childbirth.’
My temples are throbbing. I don’t want to hear any more. It is like a wall in my head is being knocked down, stone by stone. But I don’t move. My feet are frozen to the floor.
I suck in my breath. ‘What are you saying, Beth?’
‘He is not God,’ she says. ‘It’s as simple as that.’
Forty-six
Lions House was full of whispers. No one dared speak out loud in case the mistress got to hear. But the servants huddled in corners when they could, and asked each other what might happen. It was a scandal to be sure. That Miss Alice had been found was a miracle, but to think she was in that place in Spaxton where the unspeakable happened, where a charlatan ruled over a band of heathen women, where illegitimate children ran wild – it was unthinkable. If the mistress were ever to get a whiff of the truth … well, it didn’t bear thinking about.
Eli returned from Spaxton with his head in a spin. Could he do it? Could he really rescue Alice and bring her home? He would need help for certain. But who could he ask? Who could he trust? It was a tricky situation, and how he would ever explain it to his mother, he didn’t know. Would she accept Alice back when she couldn’t even bring herself to speak her name?
Eli stopped outside Alice’s chamber on the way to his own room. He opened the door and stepped inside. It was a sad sight. The bed had been stripped bare and the furniture was covered in dust sheets. He wondered if Alice’s clothes were still hanging in the wardrobe and folded in her drawers, or had his mother tried to erase every trace of her?
If she had, it hadn’t worked because he could still see and smell Alice everywhere. The mattress still held the shape of her and every corner of the room vibrated with the memory of her defiant voice. She was always good at standing up to Mama, he thought. Much better than I am.
Then as though he had conjured her up just by thinking about her, Temperance appeared in the room. ‘What are you doing in here?’ she demanded. ‘You have no business in here. Get out.’
‘Oh, Mama. I was just remembering Alice. That’s all. Don’t you miss her? Wouldn’t you like her to come home?’
Temperance put her hand to her throat, as though she might choke. Then in a sudden movement she reached out and slapped Eli across the face. ‘Where have you been all day?’ she shouted. ‘I know you haven’t been at the mill.’
She followed Eli as he left Alice’s chamber.
‘Where have you been? I demand to know. Where have you been sneaking off to? I will not allow it. Do you hear me?’
Her voice vibrated inside Eli’s head and poked at his brain. He was desperate to get inside his chamber and shut the door in her face. Why couldn’t she just leave him alone?
‘Don’t forget, Eli,’ she said, her voice suddenly calm. ‘This is my house. The money is all mine too. Just you remember that.’
Eli turned and looked at her. She reached out her hand and he flinched. But this time she just rested her hand gently on the side of his face. ‘My son,’ she said. ‘Now be good for your mother. You are all I have left now.’
As Eli retreated to the sanctuary of his chamber, he felt sick to the stomach. He had to bring Alice home. There could be no doubt now. He couldn’t bear it any longer. Now, he didn’t care how his mother would react. With Alice back in the house his mother would surely return to her old ways and leave him in peace. And it would be all right, because Alice would know how to deal with her. She had had a lifetime of practice, after all.
He would speak to Wraith, he decided. He wouldn’t refuse to help. Not if he knew what was good for him.
Forty-seven
‘Alice?’ Mrs Holloway marches into the scullery. She looks me up and down and frowns with annoyance. ‘What are you doing?’ she barks. ‘Why are you dressed l
ike that? And why are you not with Our Beloved?’
Before I can think of an answer, she grabs me by the wrist and pulls me out of the scullery. I glance desperately to Beth. She quickly puts her finger to her lips and then mouths, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll come for you later.’
Then I am being dragged away, out of the cottage, across the lawns and through the doors of the mansion. Mrs Holloway stops outside the red room and releases my wrist from her grip. She folds her arms across her washboard bosom and nods towards the door of the red room. She is leaving nothing to chance, and although every part of me has turned as cold and as stiff as the skin of a plucked goose, I am forced to lift my hand and knock on the heavily varnished wood.
‘Come,’ says his voice from inside.
I swallow hard and open the door.
‘Alice,’ he says as I walk into the room. ‘Where were you? I sent for you, but you could not be found.’
‘I am sorry,’ I manage to say. My tongue is thick in my mouth. ‘I … I was unwell. I came as soon as I could.’
‘Unwell, you say? We cannot have that, can we?’ He comes to me and catches my chin in his hand. He lifts my face and the blood drains to my feet as I look into his eyes. ‘You are a bride of the Lord,’ he says. ‘And as such you do not suffer from sickness or grief. Are you sure it was not all in your mind?’
My heart smashes noisily against my ribs and I am terrified he will hear it. ‘It … it may have been in my mind,’ I stammer. ‘I had a restless night.’ I lower my eyes then, so he will not see the flash of hatred in them. ‘But I am better now,’ I finish.
‘Good,’ he says. He slides his hand from my chin and lets his fingertips travel down my neck and over my bosom. My skin shrinks from his touch, as though a spider has crawled into my bodice. I shudder.
‘Do you write well?’ he asks me suddenly, removing his hand.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I … I believe that I do.’
‘Excellent!’ He rubs his hands together. ‘I am publishing my sermons and I should like you to copy them out for me.’ He sits me at his desk with a pile of notes and a sheaf of fresh paper, then he settles himself in a chair by the fire and lights a cigar. ‘I shall inspect your work in a while,’ he says, ‘when the clock strikes one. And I hope you will absorb my teachings as you write.’
The Beloved Page 20