‘The paths of all that forget God and the hope of the hypocrite shall perish,’ Emily says. ‘For it is but a spider’s house; he shall lean upon it, but it shall not stand; he shall hold it fast, but it shall not endure.’ She shudders, imagining perhaps the footsteps of a spider on her skin.
‘An enemy is among us who is weaving his web,’ says Octavia. ‘But we shall destroy it. We shall take a duster and knock it down. Take a brush and sweep it away.’ She takes her seat. ‘I am sorry to have to share with you the news that the Devil is among us. As soon as I showed the spider to Emily she knew at once. Edgar has been sent by Satan himself to infiltrate us. He has been questioning the Truth and trying to persuade others to join his rebellion.’
To talk, but also to listen.
‘Emily was trying to keep the painful truth from me until she had proved her case against him. But the time has come. I command you all now, in the Lord’s name, to share what you know of his treason.’ She nods at Emily who produces a notebook from under the table and opens a blank page, cracking its spine.
Peter is first to speak, projecting his voice like an actor reciting lines: ‘He has talked before of the place of man, that the male carries the seed of life.’
‘Thank you, Peter, and tell us, have you ever heard him question Octavia, or Her teachings?’ Emily asks gently.
‘He thinks he has a calling,’ Peter says, adopting the upright posture of a witness in the stand. ‘That he has been chosen by God and that Octavia refuses to recognise it.’
‘Yes, he said as much one night at supper. Anything else, Peter?’
There’s a click when he parts his lips; his mouth sticky with apprehension. He pauses, then his words rush out. ‘He has been holding meetings with Donald.’
Emily looks up from her notepad. ‘Meetings that they would not permit you to join. Isn’t that right, Peter?’
‘No. I mean, yes. That is, they wouldn’t permit me to join. They know that I am loyal to you, Octavia …’ He glances up at Her, then looks down at his hands, which sit clasped together on his lap.
‘Indeed you are,’ nods Emily. ‘Go on …’
‘Edgar believes that the Lord has a role for us too,’ continues Peter. ‘For men. He believes that he has been chosen.’
‘Yes. So he tells me,’ Octavia says. ‘But Edgar believes himself to have powers he does not possess.’
The nib of Emily’s pen scratches across the page of her notebook, interrupted only by the occasional flap from Sir Jack who has taken the opportunity to sneak back up onto the table and creep closer to the jar.
‘Peter, have you ever met with Edgar in private?’ Octavia asks.
‘No.’
‘Never?’
‘No, Octavia.’
‘But you tried to?’
Peter swallows slowly as though his throat is inflamed, as though he can taste the rancid smack of infection. ‘Only to—’
‘We thought it might be useful,’ Emily cuts in, ‘for Peter to hear what they were saying.’
Octavia steeples Her fingers. ‘But they would not let him join. And that deepened your suspicions.’
‘Yes,’ Emily says, looking at Peter and widening her eyes to prompt him to go on.
‘I have seen Edgar and Donald in town together numerous times,’ he says. ‘And deep in conversation in the Garden. They always fall silent when I approach them. I’ve written down every occasion …’ He begins to search his jacket for his pocketbook. ‘Every occasion—’
‘Well done, Peter,’ says Octavia. ‘Diligent as always. Why don’t you run along and find Donald? So we can ask him ourselves. He has taken up lodgings in the same house as Edgar for the summer.’ Peter’s body slackens in relief, then he takes his cue, standing and dipping his head in a solemn bow before leaving the room. I stand up to follow him, but Emily makes it clear, with a wave of her hand, that I will be required to give evidence of my own.
‘Dilys,’ she says. ‘Is there anything you can report about Edgar? Anything you have failed to report in the past? Anything you should have told us?’ There’s an edge to her voice. She wants me to think she knows already. Perhaps she does.
‘Possibly,’ I say. ‘I’m not sure I can prove anything.’
‘But you have witnessed suspicious behaviour?’
‘I’m not sure about suspicious. He came to Castleside one day while I was working. He was with Donald then.’
‘And what were they doing?’
‘They offered to help. It seemed like something and nothing.’
‘But it can’t have been both, Dilys. Either something was going on. Or nothing was. Was that the first time they had been in Castleside?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘And what about the broken window?’
She does know. She has known all this time.
‘In the pantry?’
‘Yes,’ she says, making a note in her book. I can’t bear the noise of that pen. I want to snatch it off her and stab the nib into her eye.
‘I found the window like that,’ I say. ‘It could have been broken for days …’
‘But it’s possible it was Edgar.’
‘Well, I suppose so, yes.’
With the satisfaction of a barrister who has forced a confession from the stand, Emily lifts her pen. And her eyes.
‘Anything else you think could be relevant?’ If she has been watching him she’ll know he came to see me today.
‘He was at Castleside earlier. He seemed anxious.’
‘About what?’
‘He said he wanted the best for Octavia and it was up to us to protect Her.’
I watch Emily start to write again. I don’t notice Octavia reaching out for the jar and by the time I turn to Her She has unscrewed the lid and tipped its contents onto the table. The spider is still for a moment and then he starts to move, his two front legs tapping the cloth ahead to make sure all is safe for the other six to follow: a blind man with two canes. Perhaps he doesn’t see the flash of black. Perhaps he only feels it, as Sir Jack springs forward and catches him in his beak. I see the briefest twitch from the tangle of legs as Sir Jack drops them next to a posy of embroidered forget-me-nots. And with that the bird throws his head back and thanks Octavia with a grateful ‘chyak chyak’.
The Opening Room
I close my eyes but I can hear every detail. Sir Jack pins the tangled mess of spider under the claws of his foot, then sets about devouring his meal. He isn’t going to rush it, picking each morsel with the tip of his beak and swallowing it with a snap. In my blindness I can still see the twisted angles of broken legs. Sickness rising as though I am being force-fed the brittle pieces of death myself; imagining the crunch between my teeth, a frantic crawling as the creature comes to life again and tries to escape the confines of my stomach. I jerk my chair back, knocking into the table as I rush out of the room, hands covering my mouth.
‘Dilys!’ Octavia calls after me but I do not stop. By the time I run past the kitchen I am heaving. At the back door, fresh air floods into my chest and sweeps the rising nausea back down into my stomach.
I look up and see Grace rushing out of the kitchen towards me.
‘I need a walk. Some air,’ I say. I have to get away in case Octavia comes out to find me. I start to move but my legs give way. Grace grabs my arm and I let her take my weight. ‘Come on,’ she says, leading me down the passageway at the side of the kitchen and out onto the lawn. We stop when the sickness threatens to overwhelm me again. ‘Deep breaths, Dilys.’ I’m not sure whether it is her voice or mine I hear. But I have to keep walking. They’ll be watching from the windows. We reach the back door of Castleside. I grip the door handle but I don’t have the strength to push it down.
‘Here, let me,’ Grace says. As soon as we are through the door I lean against the wall, pressing my cheek against the cool plaster.
‘Dilys, try to breathe,’ she says. ‘What happened?’
I need to calm my thoughts but I can’t c
atch them. There are too many scuttling inside my head, and when I close my eyes I hear the snap of a beak. The crunch of legs.
‘I’m going to be …’ My body lurches but nothing comes. I can’t remember the last time I ate anything.
‘There was a spider …’ I say. ‘Octavia had a spider.’
‘A spider?’ She is looking at me as if I am delirious. ‘You aren’t making any sense.’
‘She found it on Her Bible. She said it was a sign that Edgar is against Her. Emily knew,’ I say. ‘Emily knew about the broken window. Kate must have told her.’
‘Kate? How do you know? What did Emily say?’
‘She asked about the broken glass. But I don’t understand – if she has known all this time why did she wait until now to ask me about it?’
‘Emily likes to keep secrets,’ Grace says, her eyes avoiding mine. ‘She wants everyone to think she can see into their thoughts. But she can’t. You know that, don’t you?’
I’m not sure I do know. Sometimes I’m not certain of anything. What if Emily has been watching me? Listening at my door? My body heaves again.
‘Dilys,’ she says. ‘I think you should sit down.’ She takes my arm and leads me to the first doorway in the corridor.
‘We can’t go in there. That’s the Opening Room. Octavia doesn’t want anyone to see inside until—’
‘I know which room it is,’ she says. Her voice is harder now, determined. ‘We need to talk. No one will think to look for us in there.’
I surrender. I haven’t got the energy to fight her.
I don’t think I could say no to anything she asked of me.
*
‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ I say. But shouldn’t doesn’t mean what it used to.
I lock the door behind us as we step into the Opening Room, greeted by the scent of beeswax. Twenty-four wooden chairs, heavy like thrones, line the walls of the room. In front of them stands a table and on it lies one of Octavia’s Bibles. Everything is ready.
‘So this is it,’ Grace says. ‘The stage is set.’ She runs her hand along the oak panelling, and I stand and watch the way she moves, the way stray strands of hair fall onto the back of her neck. I breathe slowly, deeply. And I have only one thought now: we are locked inside this room together and no one can find us, no one else has got a key. The only other set is hidden in the desk. She reaches the table and places her fingers on the top.
‘That’s where the box will be opened when the bishops come,’ I say.
‘On here?’ She turns to face me, her back against the table, and then she lifts herself on top of it, legs swinging beneath her like a child.
‘What are you doing? That’s for the box.’
‘But the box isn’t here yet. Nor are the bishops. Without them it is just a table,’ she says, sliding Octavia’s Bible out of the way and then patting the space beside her. ‘Come and sit with me.’ She falls silent and falls still, her legs no longer swinging. ‘Come on.’
Not on there. We mustn’t sit on there. But mustn’t is another word that’s lost its meaning lately.
She presses on, agitated by my hesitation. ‘For goodness’ sake, Dilys. How will the bishops know? And what will they care anyway? That’s if they ever come.’ As soon as she says the words she looks as though she regrets them. ‘I’m sorry, Dilys, it’s just—’
‘They will come. Octavia has promised.’
‘But what if they don’t?’ she says, gently. ‘I’ve been thinking about it since the night I was sealed. Do you never wonder, Dilys? Harry Price says he has got the box and Octavia can’t be sure he hasn’t, not when She has never seen it Herself. She never leaves the house. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But you believe?’
‘I have faith.’
‘Dilys, I’m not sure I do. If you are so sure, then tell me.’
God brought her here to save me and now she is trying to lead me away from the Truth. She is wrong. The bishops will come, they will open the box, they have to. Because I can’t live with the torment of feeling like this much longer.
But what if they don’t come? What if they don’t?
‘Dilys, have you really nothing to say? That’s what we do, isn’t it? Do not question, do not argue, only obey. Octavia would be proud of you.’
When she looks at me I feel the longing in her: the fury and the fear. I watch her chest rising and falling. She leans back on her arms and lifts her head and I can see her neck, her collarbone.
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I want you to come and sit with me. On here. I want us to talk about what’s been going on.’
But I don’t want to listen to this. I want to drag her off that table, shut that mouth of hers. Do not argue, do not question, only obey. I’ll wrap my arms around her, make her stop. I need her lips on mine so I don’t have to talk. So I don’t have to think.
I walk towards her and she leans back on the table.
I shouldn’t be doing this. But shouldn’t doesn’t mean what it used to. Not any more.
The Confession
As soon as we step through the back door of Number 12 we hear it: sobbing coming from the sitting room. It sounds like a child, the cry of an abandoned infant, gasping as his body tries to catch its breath.
From the hallway we hear Peter: ‘Donald, please—’
‘Don’t touch me. Get your hands off me!’
There’s a scuffle, the muted thud of a body knocked against a wall, then Octavia’s voice: ‘Peter, I think it is best if you go. Donald is understandably uncomfortable in the presence of a man. And after everything we have discovered—’
‘Octavia, I was only trying to help—’
‘Of course, Peter, but I think it is time for you to attend to that errand we discussed.’
I hear the scrape of chair-legs on the floor. ‘And Peter – do be careful,’ She says. ‘Don’t forget we are dealing with Satan himself.’
I grab Grace’s hand and pull her behind the door of the dining room before Peter steps into the hallway and leaves the house.
Through the double doors that separate our room from theirs we hear only snatches of what is being said. Disjointed words: ‘Repent’ and ‘the Devil’ and ‘sin’.
‘What are they doing?’ Grace forms the words silently, with exaggerated movements of her lips. I put my eyes to the crack where the two doors meet, but it is too narrow to see, so I put my ear to it instead.
‘You have confessed to committing sin, here in the Garden of Eden,’ Octavia says, with unnerving calm. What is She talking about? Perhaps Donald has admitted that they broke into Castleside. Perhaps it was them after all. ‘Now there is nothing for you to do but repent, Donald. To tell the Lord every detail of your sin. Get onto your knees,’ She says.
Donald takes a gulp of air; he is not sobbing now, but crying out in fear. ‘Please, Octavia! Don’t make me say it.’
‘I said get down on your knees.’ She spits the words at him.
There is another voice, Emily’s voice. She must be in there with them. ‘Octavia does this for your own good,’ she says. ‘She is the one who suffers most. She must stand and hear of your betrayal. She asked you to get down on your knees. Do you refuse to obey Her?’
Donald cries out: ‘All right. All right!’
There’s a brief moment of silence and when Octavia speaks again Her voice has changed: softer in volume and gentler in tone, like a nurse explaining a painful procedure.
‘Very good, Donald. Now that you are prostrate before me, you must confess. You were meeting with Edgar, in secret …’
‘He said he had work to do, that You did not understand. He said that what we did … He said it was a covenant for the glory of God—’
She interrupts him with a cruel laugh. ‘A covenant? Donald, it was the worst of sins, an abomination in the eyes of the Lord, and in the eyes of the law.’
An abomination. She can’t be talking about the bro
ken window.
‘I can see nothing else than for you to be handed over to the police to be punished—’
‘No, please, Octavia. Please!’
‘But it is judgement in the next life you should fear. You have given yourself over to Lucifer, committed this unholy act of Satan—’
She is interrupted by the sound of knocking on the front door. Fists banging as though they mean to smash it down. Keeping my body hidden, I peer into the hallway in time to see Emily rushing out to open it.
‘Where is She?’ says Edgar, through clenched teeth. ‘Where’s Octavia? I have just returned to my lodgings to find Peter rummaging in my room—’
‘You’ll have to come back later, Edgar.’ She has her back to me but I can hear the satisfaction on her lips. ‘Octavia is busy at the moment. She is busy talking to Donald. He has rather a lot to say.’
‘Where are they?’ he says, barging his way in. Emily reaches out to try to hold him back, but he shoves her with such force that she falls into the wall.
‘Octavia, he is coming!’ she shouts. ‘Someone help! He means to kill Her!’
Instinctively I step forward into the hallway, to try to block his path, but I am too late, and he pushes past me. ‘Octavia,’ he says. ‘I need to speak with you. I can explain.’ As he turns into the sitting room he stops dead. Through the open doorway I can see Donald trembling at Octavia’s feet. He lifts his eyes to Edgar with a look that communicates what he has done, what he has said.
An abomination.
Suddenly I understand, they have been sinning together, performing the acts that men will try to force upon us if we are not vigilant. See, the Devil says, even the slightest touch can lead to sin. I look around to see if they have heard him, but he speaks only to me, only in my head. Just like you and Grace, he says. But this is not the same. This is fornication, vile depravity; violent acts where bodies are defiled and innocence stolen. Acts devoid of love and tenderness. That’s what the Bible says. This is not the same. It’s nothing like the way I feel for Grace.
The Rapture Page 18