The Rapture

by Claire McGlasson

  ‘Octavia!’ Edgar shouts. ‘What have you done to him?’

  He steps forward and Octavia cries out, lifting Her hands up to protect Her face.

  ‘Get away, Edgar,’ She says. ‘Get away from me.’

  Emily pushes past us into the room, putting herself between them.

  ‘I can explain,’ he says. ‘Just let me explain.’

  ‘I trusted you,’ Octavia says, Her voice breaking. ‘The words of the scripture have come to pass: Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly are ravening wolves.’ She gasps and grabs onto the back of a chair to steady Herself. ‘Mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lifted up his heel against me.’

  There’s the creak of a wooden drawer; Emily has reached out to Octavia’s desk and is looking for something inside. ‘Get back, Edgar,’ she says. ‘I will not let you torment Her any more.’ She brings her hand out of the drawer and I see it: a blade. It is Octavia’s letter-opener. A gift from my father.

  ‘Get out,’ she says in a whisper. Over and over again. Get out, get out. And then she shouts, a voice so loud she startles even herself: ‘Get out!’ She has finally gone too far. Octavia will stop this, She will take the knife away before someone gets hurt. I look to Her but She does not move, She does not speak, She is staring at the knife as if Her eyes are trying to focus on it.

  Edgar cries out and something in him is woken, he darts for the door, knocking into me as he turns down the hallway. With the paperknife lifted above her head, Emily chases after him. ‘In the Lord’s name I command this devil to get out.’

  What right has she to speak in the Lord’s name? What right to issue commandments?

  ‘Dilys …’ I hear a crash and turn to see Octavia holding onto the edge of the sideboard. There are pieces of broken vase behind Her. ‘Dilys … I …’ Her legs start to fold and I rush to catch Her.

  ‘The knife,’ She whispers. ‘Do you remember?’ She is studying my face as if she hasn’t seen me for years. ‘It has “Jerusalem” inscribed on the handle. When I saw it I knew. The Lord called Emily to deliver me from evil, to banish Edgar from the Garden.’

  JUDICIAL STATEMENT TAKEN DOWN FROM DONALD RICKETTS

  (i) Donald Ricketts and Edgar Peissart were alone after lunch. The latter reached out his hand and caught D by the arm and he pulled him down to sit on his knee. He took his hand and put it into his own against his head, then he kissed him. D sat there some time and thought it was only demonstration of affection.

  (ii) EP asked D to go to his room and he sat on a chair and EP on another. He made him lie down on the bed with him and EP laid down on top of him. Nothing else transpired. EP asked him to come up again to his room at night and D said ‘no, he didn’t think he could’.

  (iii) EP asked D to go up to his room with him. He kissed D incessantly! The same practices on the bed. D went to his room after supper and stayed the night with him, they undressed straight away and went to bed. E told D that the covenant David and Jonathan made together was the exchange of ‘seed’. That night he gave his seed to D and D gave his to EP. Then he put his seed into D’s mouth. […]

  (iv) EP told him that he wasn’t to tell ‘these women’ and that if he were asked he was to say only that certain friendly relations had passed between them.

  The Divine Mother

  The wind is picking up. As I cross the Garden to visit Ellen, I see a billowing sail: Grace is struggling to tame a picnic blanket that has been lifted by a gust. I could walk across and talk to her but I won’t. Not here. Not in full view. Octavia and Emily will be out here any moment; they plan to take their lunch outside today, though I think the weather may have other ideas.

  They are very rarely seen apart now: Octavia is so grateful that Emily was there to protect Her from Edgar’s fury. ‘Thank goodness the Lord guided her hand to the knife,’ She said when Peter returned and asked what had happened. ‘She gave no thought to her own safety.’

  ‘Any one of us would have sacrificed ourselves for the Daughter of God,’ said Emily, with rehearsed humility. Then she looked at me. She didn’t mention the fact that I failed to raise my hand, or voice, to Edgar.

  She didn’t have to.

  I am not invited to their picnic, which is a relief to me. There will be only one topic of conversation: the wickedness that Edgar has brought into the Garden, the acts that he pressed Donald to commit. They have spoken of little else, poring over the repulsive details of his perversion, like a scab to be picked. Octavia says you have to call a sin by its proper name and she does not shy away from the details, the abhorrent mechanics of their sodomy. ‘Like animals,’ She says, ‘rutting like animals out in the fields. Two men unhindered by the tenderness of a woman’s touch, unfettered in their lust.’

  I can’t bear to hear it, can’t bear to think about the nakedness, the violence. The way Octavia describes their sin makes it sound like an act of war. I imagine the thrust of bayonets, the piercing of flesh; desire consuming them like the red mist of rage. Men are blinded by the urge to overpower and conquer. Perhaps this was violation by mutual consent.

  Passing under Yggdrasil’s branches I think about the day that Edgar sat waiting for me on the bench. ‘I hope you don’t misunderstand what you heard us say … Sometimes we just crave peace and quiet.’ He must have thought me such a fool. Since I heard Donald’s confessions I have not been able to bring myself to visit Castleside. It feels like occupied territory, tainted by the fantasies of victory and surrender played out within. Did they climb the stairs to my favourite bedroom, committing their sins beneath the painting of the Sea of Galilee? Perhaps they laughed at me as they undressed and threw their clothes on the fuchsia armchair in the corner, laid their bodies on the bedspread embroidered with blue-green ivy. Poor Dilys. She has no idea. I can’t bear the thought that they met in the rooms where Grace and I have sat together. Castleside was our place. It was mine. But they have taken it from me. Tainted it. Tangled up their story with ours. And now the way I feel for Grace is stained, sullied by their sin.

  When they broke the pantry window they let the Devil in and he has tormented me ever since. Tricked me. He has made me dream things I shouldn’t dream. And do things I shouldn’t do.

  *

  Ellen’s door is unlocked, and I find her sleeping, her tiny frame bolstered by a pile of pillows. I sit at the foot of the bed and study her: eyes sunken, cheeks severe. Perhaps Death cannot accept that the Lord will not let him take her. He lingers in this bedroom, gnawing at her a little every day, snatching away a piece at a time. Is this what eternal life will mean: kept alive but still ravaged by time? Soon enough there will be nothing left of Ellen but her bones.

  ‘Dilys, is that you?’ Her eyes are slow to open. It takes her longer to wake these days. ‘How lovely,’ she says. ‘How are you?’ We have an unspoken rule that I don’t ask her the same question in return. Because neither of us will like the answer.

  ‘I’m all right. I think. Soldiering on.’ She motions for me to pass her the glass on her bedside table.

  ‘Still incarcerated?’ she says. Her smile is just as it always was, but now the rest of her has shrunk it looks oversized, too big for her face.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Still confined to the Garden.’ I long to get out and take a walk by the river, but we both know I wouldn’t get away with it. Emily will have told the others to be vigilant. I wouldn’t get further than the street corner before one of them raised the alarm.

  ‘It’s for your own good,’ she says.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘You seem a little downcast today …’ She pauses as if deciding whether to say more.

  ‘Oh no, I’m fine. I just need to get out and stretch my legs, that’s all.’ I stand up and walk to the window. ‘It was such a beautiful morning. Though it looks like it has turned.’ The wind that snatched Grace’s picnic blanket has been busy sweeping the dark clouds towards us. ‘It’s starting to rain.’ />
  I watch the drops hit the window, each trying desperately to cling on before taking the inevitable slide. Some weaving a weary path, others speeding to their fate: a few heady moments of freedom before they are lost in the puddle that is forming on the windowsill. The rain is really coming down now. The heavens have opened: that’s what my father used to say. I used to run outside in the hope I’d meet a falling angel. But my mother warned I should be careful what I wished for: there are angels of darkness as well as of light.

  ‘Quite a storm,’ I say.

  ‘So it’s just as well that we are both confined,’ says Ellen. ‘Come. Sit. Tell me what I have missed. There must be some intrigue.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is rather more serious than that. Has anyone been to see you?’ I perch beside her.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Edgar.’

  ‘Well, I know Octavia was starting to have doubts about him. He was insisting the Lord had singled him out for a special role.’ She shuffles on her pillows. ‘Help me sit up, would you?’ I give her my arm, and she pulls herself forward while I rearrange them.

  ‘Better?’

  She nods and I lower her down, gently.

  ‘Octavia was not convinced, but he had rather more luck persuading others. He recruited one of the young men, Donald.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘He was holding meetings in secret, meetings where they performed …’ I’m blushing. Octavia would never blush to say it. ‘They performed certain unnatural practices.’

  Ellen is not easily shocked, but I can tell this was the last thing she expected to hear. She brings her hand to her mouth as though the thought of it has made her nauseous.

  ‘Men, laying with men,’ she gasps, ‘here, in the society? That is … oh, poor Octavia!’

  ‘I’m afraid there is no doubt,’ I say. ‘Donald Ricketts gave a full confession. Edgar stormed into the house and I thought he meant to attack Octavia. Emily chased him out with a paperknife.’

  ‘A paperknife? Dilys, slow down. I’m having trouble taking all this in.’

  ‘Emily was … I’ve never seen her like that before. If he hadn’t run I really think she might have stabbed him.’

  ‘I’m sure you are mistaken, Dilys,’ she says kindly, putting her hand on top of mine. ‘Emily would never do such a thing. She was probably terrified!’

  ‘Typical Ellen,’ I say with a smile. ‘Always seeing the best in everyone.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You weren’t there. You didn’t see. Emily wasn’t terrified, she was enjoying every second of it.’

  Ellen squeezes my hand, then moves it back to be beside her other, on top of the covers. ‘So what is being done about it?’ she asks. ‘Something will have to be done.’

  ‘Donald Ricketts has gone back to Cambridge to finish his final year. Octavia told him She quite understands that he won’t be back – that it would be too distressing for him to return to the place where it all happened.’

  ‘And Edgar?’

  ‘There’s to be a hearing. He sent a note begging for Her forgiveness, said he could explain. She is going to call for him when She is ready. Until then he is forbidden from contacting any of us. And we are forbidden from speaking to him.’

  ‘But he is living in a Panacea house …’

  ‘Yes, he lodges with Mrs Jenson. She has been instructed to leave his meals outside his bedroom door. Though she hasn’t been told why.’

  ‘I suppose it’s not as if he’ll be going anywhere,’ Ellen says, looking to the window. ‘How fortunate that he donated his savings to the society when he joined. Just imagine if he had the means to run before he had repented.’ She pauses and holds her head completely still. ‘Can you hear something?’

  I can. Footsteps, and voices. She reaches down and smooths her covers.

  ‘You are not expecting anyone, Ellen?’

  ‘No.’

  I open the door to find Octavia on the landing. ‘Dilys,’ She says. ‘We are quite giddy. We had intended to take our lunch on the lawn but the rain – it came upon us so quickly!’ She is out of breath; Her voice loud and Her cheeks flushed. ‘We thought we’d come and see Ellen instead. Is she awake?’

  Before I get a chance to answer, She leads the charge into the bedroom. ‘Ellen, dear, please excuse our interruption. We seek shelter from the storm. Surely Noah himself did not see rain as heavy as this.’

  ‘Come in, Octavia,’ says Ellen. ‘You are very welcome. Dilys, can you call Betty to bring tea?’

  Octavia takes a seat without waiting to be asked. Emily does the same: she likes to emulate Octavia in all things.

  ‘Ellen,’ Octavia says. ‘I have decided you need to get well again. I need you, the society needs you. There is so much to do and I simply can’t spare you to lie around in this gloomy room any longer.’ Ellen tries to force a laugh but the result is a prolonged bout of coughing.

  ‘This illness can be nothing serious. The Lord has made us all a promise: eternal life for those who dwell here in the Garden of Eden. I have been praying, Ellen, and the Lord and I both agree that the time has come for you to recover.’

  Ellen turns to me. ‘Dilys?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘That tea.’

  ‘Yes of course.’

  I am reluctant to leave her, but I make my way to give Betty the instructions. On the bottom stair I hear the back door open. Grace is struggling in, arms full of plates and packages. She is soaked to the skin, strands of hair stuck to her face, rain dripping from the tip of her nose. She is grumbling under her breath: too much to hold, not enough arms.

  At the sight of her, I laugh. I can’t help it. For a second she glares at me but then she surrenders with a smile.

  ‘Wet out there?’ I say. ‘That pork pie is sodden.’

  ‘The pork pie?’ she says. ‘Is that all you can worry about?’

  ‘Yes. Unless … oh no … please don’t say the Victoria sandwich has perished in the flood.’ With her arms full she uses her elbow to nudge me, and almost drops a plate of sandwiches.

  ‘I was just setting everything out when the rain began,’ she says. ‘Octavia and Emily just upped sticks and ran. And I was left picking up the pieces …’

  ‘Of pie.’

  She rolls her eyes. ‘Yes, very good. What are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to see Ellen,’ I say, nodding towards the stairs. ‘Do you mind if I leave you to sort this out with Betty? Ellen sent me down to ask for tea but I don’t want to leave her too long.’

  ‘I understand,’ she says.

  By the time I get back to Ellen’s bedroom, the door is opening and Octavia’s head appears. ‘Dilys, just in time,’ She says, pushing back a stray hair from Her forehead. ‘Help us to get Ellen downstairs.’

  ‘Downstairs? Do you think that’s a good idea?’

  She answers with a look intended to silence me. But it doesn’t.

  ‘She is still very weak,’ I say.

  ‘Dilys, it is settled. It will be a very relaxed affair. We haven’t insisted she change for lunch.’

  We help her out of bed, pulling back the covers to reveal a frail body in a floral nightdress. It pains me to see how thin she has become, and I realise I haven’t seen her legs these past few weeks. I’ve not seen her out of bed at all; she’s been tucked up and slowly disappearing. I lift her feet down to the floor and Emily and I take an arm each, expecting her to take her own weight when she stands. But she is too weak and we end up near-enough carrying her. When we turn the tight corner from the landing to the top of the stairs I feel her body stiffen in pain.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I whisper.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she says, brightly. ‘Octavia is right. It’s time I got up and stopped feeling sorry for myself.’

  Grace serves the picnic on Ellen’s dining table and, bolstered by the fruit cake Betty conjures from the pantry, it stretches out to feed four of us. I manage a cucumber sandwich, but Ellen doesn’t take a single
bite. She looks like she is struggling just to sit up straight.

  ‘Has Dilys told you about Edgar?’ Octavia asks her.

  ‘Yes, she started to—’

  ‘A wicked business,’ She says. ‘He burst in like a man possessed.’

  ‘He is a man possessed,’ Emily corrects Her. ‘There can be no doubt of that after the evidence brought before us.’

  ‘If it wasn’t for Emily, I could have been murdered in my own sitting room,’ Octavia says. ‘The Lord would not let the Devil prevail. Emily was His instrument. She was my protector.’

  ‘It sounds terrifying,’ Ellen says. ‘Dilys tells me Emily had a knife.’

  ‘She did,’ Octavia says. ‘My paper knife. Inscribed with the word “Jerusalem”. It was God’s hand that led her.’

  Ellen is expected to react with excitement, but I can tell she is struggling to muster the energy. Under the table I can see her hands screwed into fists; pain gripping her like the jaws of a dog, then tossing her aside. She snatches a breath before it comes to bite again. But Octavia seems unaware that Ellen’s gasps might be prompted by anything other than shock and concern.

  ‘I’m afraid it doesn’t end there,’ She says. ‘Peter went to Edgar’s lodgings and found documents in his room, letters that incriminate him. It’s beyond any doubt … Satan led this man to us. He is the serpent in our Garden, sent to tempt and to corrupt. He always was rather reptilian in manner.’

  ‘How you must suffer,’ Ellen says. She always finds exactly the right words, but then she has had a lot of practice.