by Lulu Taylor
The hand seems to be channelling warmth. It feels like a golden light that contains radiance and heat, passing from that hand into me. It cannot penetrate my frozen core but the warmth forms a layer all over me, with an invisible vibration. I’m comforted, just a little. The voice goes on. It’s that man, Archer. He continues murmuring his incantation, and I think about healing and about souls meeting again, and just for a second the hideous sadness is leavened with a moment of hope.
I sigh deeply.
‘We’re here for you, Rachel. You’re all right. You’re with us now. You’re one of us.’
For a brief moment I feel safe again. I wonder if this will make the pain go away, and free me from the knowledge of what I’ve lost, and how I lost it and . . . and the other awful thing.
But I mustn’t think about that.
My mind is still obedient in some ways. It cannot protect me from losing Heather anymore, but it can hold back the last, darkest things. At least, I hope it can.
They bring me meals in my room, bowls of soup mostly, and take turns in feeding me. Sometimes it’s Sophia or Agnes. Once I wake to find a strange woman with me; she’s examining me, feeling my forehead and pressing a stethoscope to my chest where my top has been pushed down.
‘Who are you?’ I ask, breathless with surprise and shock.
‘I’m Dora. Don’t worry, please. I’m a doctor. Well . . . a medical student.’ She smiles at me. I can hardly make out her features in the murk of the darkened room, but I can see brown eyes behind a pair of rimless glasses, and brown hair pulled back. ‘The good news is you seem physically okay. But you’ve had a shock, haven’t you? Do you want to talk about it?’
I shake my head. I wouldn’t know where to start.
‘Do you have any family or friends? Is anyone worried about you?’
‘No.’ My lips are dry and the word comes out as a whisper. ‘No one.’
‘Okay. Good.’ Dora smiles. ‘That always makes it easier. Now, you need to rest.’
The man, Archer, never tends to me as the women do. They are the ones who feed me, take me carefully to the bathroom, hold me up while the bedding is changed and the bed remade. They bring me tea and water, check my temperature and open the windows to air the room. But Archer comes in the afternoon and I begin to particularly look forward to his visits. He holds his hands over me, and every time I feel that nourishing warmth penetrate my skin and soak through to my bones. He murmurs prayers, calling on a greater power to heal my grief, and offers me the promise I long to hear: that I will see Heather again.
‘You can be with us now, Rachel,’ he says with a smile. ‘You’ve been brought to the right place. It’s the will of the Lamb that you should be protected at the end of days. It’s not long now. Bliss is at hand.’
What is bliss? Perhaps it’s death, and being with Heather. A longing for this bliss fills me up. It is the only thing that can defeat the sadness that holds me in its painful grip whenever I’m alone. I turn to him. ‘Do you promise?’
‘Oh yes,’ Archer says. He smiles. ‘You’re safe here. I promise.’
Chapter Sixteen
Once the great influx is complete, there are thirty followers living in the house. To Letty’s surprise, this number soon seems quite normal, and the house appears to absorb them easily.
‘Of course it does,’ Arabella says happily. ‘The Beloved would not suggest anything that isn’t possible. He makes it possible.’
‘Yes,’ Letty answers. It is true enough, but the success of the whole thing has really depended on the willingness of the followers to do as they are told and to accept that within the house is a mirroring of the hierarchies that govern them in the outside world. The poorer women, with their shapeless coats and battered suitcases, have brought nothing to the communal pot except their labour, so they are housed in the attics, in the old servants’ rooms, plentiful from the days when there were lots of staff, and they fulfil that role now, each given duties to ensure the smooth running of the house. They clean, wash, cook and tend to the gentlefolk so that they and, of course, most particularly the Beloved, live in comfort. Although it is clear to all that they are unpaid servants, they are not called by such a term. Instead they are called the Angels, which Letty finds rather funny considering that most of them are over forty and with the rough hands of working women. Perhaps it makes it easier, if you’re called such a pretty name. The bedrooms on the upper floors are distributed depending on what level of donation has been made to the community. Arabella, of course, is in a position of magnificence, and retains her well-appointed room overlooking the front drive. Letty has kept her, smaller, bedroom and tiny dressing room. Other ladies, who’ve signed over their incomes from stocks and shares or trusts, occupy the nicer rooms, but the grandest suite is saved for the Beloved and Sarah, where they are able to retire to relative privacy if they desire. But for the most part, life is lived communally.
‘Letty, come with me, I must talk to you.’ Arabella beckons Letty from the drawing room, where she is sewing while listening to Maud Digby playing the piano. It’s Chopin, and the music is wonderfully relaxing. One of the things I’m enjoying about the new arrangements, she reflects. In fact, the house seems to have come to life with its many occupants. She looks up at the sound of her sister’s voice.
‘Hurry up, Letty!’ Arabella says.
‘What is it?’ Letty follows her out. ‘Is there trouble?’ She wonders if it is anything to do with Cecily and Edward, who have taken their expulsion from the house with great bitterness. Their initial acceptance, it has turned out, was a bluff, a way to gain time to see what they could do to stop Arabella’s schemes. Angry letters have been exchanged. Cecily cut Arabella dead when they passed in the street and could hardly bring herself to nod to Letty. And from the looks that the villagers are giving anyone from the big house, the rumours must be in overdrive. Letty fears that evil gossip is being spread and suspects her sister is behind it.
Arabella says, ‘No, no, no trouble. But I must talk to you. Come on, the library’s empty.’ She pulls open the door and leads Letty inside. The light from the garden is obscured by the heavy red velvet curtains and as a result the library is swathed in gloom. Arabella goes and sits on the desk, swinging her legs underneath it like a schoolgirl. This is where the Beloved sits to do his correspondence and read great tomes of biblical study. Arabella is showing her power. Despite having given the house to the community, she considers it her fiefdom still. She is wearing the white dress stipulated by the reverend, but hers is not the long skirt and buttoned-up blouse that the older ladies wear. She has a white silk dress with a drop waist and a neckline that shows a small but noticeable expanse of smooth pale skin. A long pearl necklace is twisted several times around her neck. In a community of unadorned ladies, Arabella’s appearance makes quite an impact.
‘So?’ asks Letty. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to give up your rooms.’
‘What?’ She suddenly sees herself banished up to the servants’ quarters in the attic, given chores, turned into an Angel rather than a lady. ‘But why?’
‘They’re needed. Not for long. The Beloved is expecting some special guests who intend to join us. A family. Mr and Mrs Kendall and their son. We must have your room because it has a dressing room, where the son can sleep. It’s only until one of the cottages has been made suitable for them.’
‘The Beloved doesn’t want them to live in the house?’
‘Oh no. That would be quite unsuitable, considering they are a married couple and they have an unmarried son. They’ll move out when the cottage is ready. Mr Kendall is a most distinguished lawyer. His joining us has been incredibly important for the Beloved’s mission.’
‘And where will I sleep?’
‘You can move into my dressing room. I’ll ask one of the Angels to set up a bed for you. I’m sure you can make this one small sacrifice, when you think of what others have given up to be here.’
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��Of course.’ But Arabella barely waits to hear the reply. She knows Letty will be malleable. When has Letty ever said no to anything? She has accepted all the many changes that life has brought. Well, Arabella has brought, really.
Arabella goes on. ‘Anyway, you ought to think about the fact that you haven’t made your income over to the Beloved yet. It has been noticed. You ought to get around to it soon. Will you think about it?’
‘Of course.’ Letty knows it’s a condition of staying here. They’ve all done it, and she must too.
Arabella gets down from the desk and straightens her white dress. ‘Now, I must go to the Beloved. He needs me.’
Letty has noticed that the Beloved leans on Arabella more than any other woman here. He asks for her to be with him when he prays, because her spiritual gifts allow him greater access to the Divine. Letty wonders what Sarah makes of that, and whether he used to be content just with her spiritual gifts, before Arabella appeared on the scene. Sarah is never ruffled, though. She radiates a kind of goodness and serenity that draws people to her. She seems to float above them all on a cloud of holiness and the Angels adore her and minister to her whenever they can, as though by being close to her, some of her qualities might rub off on them. Letty can’t help thinking, in her heart, that it’s hard to understand how Arabella is considered of a greater spiritual merit than Sarah. But the Beloved must know what he’s doing.
As Arabella makes for the door, Letty says absently, ‘It will be strange to have men around the place, won’t it?’ Apart from the gardener, the odd-job boy and the groom, there are two aged priests, the Reverend Silas and the Reverend Gilbert, who have taken up residence in the lodge by the eastern gates, and a few doddery old fellows from the Army of the Redeemed, who are living in the lodgings over the garages and who like playing their brass instruments and marching around the grounds. Everyone else is a woman. Letty laughs. ‘So many females. It’s rather like a harem here!’
Arabella stops and turns back, her face flushing violently. ‘How dare you say that, Letty! How dare you! The Beloved is above – way, way above – such thoughts, such things! He has fewer male followers because not many of those brutes can accept the strictures of our life.’
‘Strictures?’ Letty thinks of the almost pleasant idleness in which the days are passed. She thinks of the piano tinkling music, the Angels labouring away to keep the house comfortable, the tea served every day at four in the drawing room, and the plentiful meals. Arabella has shown her plans for new electricity, heating and water systems so that the house can be made yet more luxurious. ‘What strictures?’
Arabella opens her mouth and closes it again. ‘I can’t say. But it will all become clear. The Beloved is about to reveal everything.’
The change in sleeping arrangements is made within a few days. Arabella’s dressing room is rearranged and a small bed put up by the door. Once inside, Letty can only leave by going through Arabella’s bedroom, which isn’t too much of a problem but it is unlike her previous independence. She has nowhere she particularly wants to go, but knowing she cannot come and go without being seen is strangely confining.
Letty clears her drawers, puts some things into boxes to be stored and others into piles for one of the Angels to move. In the event, it is Kitty who comes. Letty likes Kitty; she is thirty-four but looks younger with a round face and a button nose, and cheerful eyes.
‘Thank you, Kitty,’ Lettice says, when the other woman loads up a basket of clothing to take to Arabella’s.
‘It’s no bother to me,’ Kitty announces. ‘Everything here is part of the plan.’ She grins. ‘I’ve never been so cheerful to do work before in my whole life. In fact, I like it. As long as the Beloved wants it done, I know it’s the Divine Will, and that makes it a pleasure.’
‘Yes, Kitty,’ Lettice says warmly. ‘You’ve got it exactly right. The Beloved can’t do wrong.’
She believes that more and more. It is hard not to, when she spends her days among others who believe it so fervently. Surrounded by the utterly convinced, she too is convinced. The Beloved is wise. He is an incarnation. To think that she should be so lucky as to be able to spend her life close to a man like that.
When she leaves her room, Kitty is setting up the bed in the dressing room for the Kendalls’ son – a canvas strip with metal legs laboriously threaded through the sides. Letty wonders about the person who will be sleeping there, and what he will make of the small room with its walnut burr wardrobe, dressing table and mirror.
In the other dressing room, her own canvas bed awaits. Kitty has done her best to make it comfortable, with large cushions as a mattress and the best bedlinen.
Really, I don’t suffer, Letty tells herself. Imagine what the Angels are putting up with, two or three to a room in the attic.
Arabella is in the bedroom when Letty emerges from the dressing room, looking at herself in the mirror on her dressing table. She has wrapped a white silk shawl around her shoulders, with long, soft tassels falling over her arms. She turns as Letty comes in. Behind her in the mirror is the reflection of Arabella’s four-poster bed, hung with blue silk and trimmed in gold braid.
‘There you are,’ she says. ‘Is everything ready for the Kendalls?’
‘Yes, Kitty has seen to it.’
‘Good.’ Arabella goes back to examining her reflection. Her dark looks aren’t beautiful but they are dramatic, and she doesn’t need any enhancements to give her face character. Her lips are naturally red, her dark eyelashes give her eyes a strong frame. ‘They must be well looked after.’
‘Why are they so important?’ asks Letty.
‘They’re important to the plan, that’s all. You’ll understand in time.’ Arabella can’t conceal her pride at knowing the Beloved’s secrets.
‘When do they arrive?’
‘On Friday. Just at the time the church will be opened to us all for the first time.’ Arabella smiles happily. ‘It’s almost ready.’
Letty, like everyone else but the Beloved and Arabella, has not been allowed to see the progress on the church. She knows that windows were commissioned at great expense and have been installed over the last fortnight. The interior remains mysterious but she is excited to see what the final result is, and to hear what the Beloved says when he addresses them all for the first time as the leader of their flock. There is an atmosphere of anticipation and barely repressed excitement; all of them know that they are the chosen ones, with the good fortune to be allowed to exist alongside a great and holy man.
‘Many are called,’ the ladies murmur to each other, and reply, ‘But few are chosen.’
We are the chosen ones, Letty thinks now. The thought brings great comfort.
As the end of the week approaches, there is a festival air in the house. The church is almost ready and preparations are being made for its opening, and the feast that will follow it. But Tuesday brings a letter for the Beloved, the envelope bearing the address of the Bishop’s Palace and an engraved mitre on the front. It is brought to the Beloved at breakfast, where the Angels lay out bacon, eggs, mushrooms, kippers and porridge, and hot coffee in a silver urn. He picks it up and laughs as he notices the symbol. All eyes are on him as he opens it and reads the letter inside. The Beloved stares at the letter for some time, reading it over several times, and then throws back his head to laugh again, even more heartily.
‘As I thought,’ he says when his laughter has subsided. ‘The fools don’t realise how much they play the Devil’s game. They do his work for him! Isn’t it as I said, Sarah?’
‘Yes, my love,’ his wife returns from her end of the table. She is, as usual, utterly calm and unflappable.
‘Well, if he wants to see me, I shall certainly go. But we can be sure that whatever is said will make no difference to the plan.’
‘You’re going to see the bishop?’ Arabella asks. She always sits next to the Beloved, and she cranes to see what is written on the letter, but the Beloved smooths it away from her sight.
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sp; ‘It is as I prophesied,’ the Beloved says to her, with a smile. ‘It is as I have foreseen.’
Other ladies around the table murmur, ‘Amen.’
‘When do you go?’ Arabella asks, buttering a slice of toast.
‘We shall leave tomorrow and return on Friday.’
‘Friday?’ Arabella looks dismayed. ‘But the service! The church!’
‘I shall be back in time. Everything will go ahead as planned.’
The following day, the Beloved and Sarah leave, collected in the motor and driven to the station. Sarah wears a fur-trimmed coat and black felt hat with a diamond brooch pinned at the front. The Beloved looks magnificent as usual in a black great-coat, gloves and a top hat. He carries his cane with the ivory head. As soon as they are gone with their luggage, the house feels desolate. The mood sinks and the ladies wander about all day with miserable expressions. Even the Angels seem to flag in their work and afternoon tea is served late. It’s as though the heart of the community, the source of its energy and purpose, has gone.
Letty is astounded by how low she is. She had not realised how vital the Beloved has become to her. She’s sometimes wondered what it would be like if Arabella decided to change her mind about the house, and everything went back to the way it was. Now she knows. It would be horrible. The Beloved brings with him so much of value, but most of all he brings his precious self.
The hunger for the Beloved’s presence grows as the time of his return draws closer. There was excitement before, but now the celebration of his return adds a new thrilling flavour to the preparations. The Angels start to plan the feast that will be served, reinvigorated with the task ahead. The tea arrives in the drawing room on time. The kitchen fills with food and the reception rooms are vigorously cleaned. Arabella wanders about, giving orders and going to the church to ensure that all is well. The organ, ordered from a famous company in Somerset, is having its final checks ready for its inauguration. Maud Digby teaches the ladies the new hymns she has written for the community’s songbook, and they spend hours trilling them out until they are as familiar as the old ones.