All through his young days and well into his twenties, Ward had watched Parson Tracey climb the steps of this pulpit, and now here he was, standing in it, gazing on the sea of faces and gaping mouths. All the week he had known what he was going to do, and at times he had wondered whether he would falter in his purpose; of how he might react when he was forced to speak of his daughter and of her ordeal. But now, he found he was possessed of a strange calmness, albeit a smouldering calmness, for he must go beyond telling them, he must drive home into the minds of these staring faces something they would never in their lives forget.
For a while he allowed his gaze to roam over them; then he spoke, and quietly. ‘Some of you may not know why I am standing in this pulpit, here in place of your hypocrite of a vicar. Well, I shall tell you. I am standing here because there are three men, all churchgoing, God-fearing citizens, who are so vile that they do not deserve to live.
‘As you all know, I have two daughters, and I have tried to protect them since that madwoman, Daisy Mason, killed my wife; but although she was put away, the threat hanging over myself and the children did not abate. Your opinion, as a whole, was that I deserved all I had got because I dared to marry someone other than that mad bitch, to whom I had never offered marriage in the first place. The girl I married…the woman I married was superior in all ways to anyone I am looking on now. She was an intelligent, cultured woman. Yes, she was a dancer; but that was her career, as it had been that of her parents before her. They were artists, of which profession you, neither the high nor the low among you, would know anything.’
He now passed his glance over the front rows as he went on, ‘It should happen that last Monday night I allowed my daughters to attend Parson Noble’s lantern show. I had them escorted there, and my man was on his way to fetch them, but it being a bright moonlight night, they did not wait for him, they dared’—and now he leaned over the pulpit—‘they dared to walk alone on the outskirts of this village. Do you hear me? They dared to walk alone. And the first time they walked alone they were confronted by three men.’ He drew himself up now and took in a deep breath before going on. ‘My daughter, Angela, a replica of her mother, but even smaller—’ his voice now faltered a little as he said, ‘has just turned fifteen, and therefore had already reached her womanhood.’ Now he again bent over the pulpit, but further this time and, his head swinging from side to side, he allowed his gaze to rest on different women, and he repeated, ‘She had just come into her womanhood. Well…she was torn from her elder sister and dragged into a field while her sister was also being attacked and the clothes torn off her back. She, thankfully, managed to escape. But what of my little Angela? Many of you, in fact, all of you, have seen her at some time or other. She is tiny, fragile, no semblance of a fifteen-year-old village girl about her. She was from another sphere, as was her mother.’ He stopped now, and there wasn’t a murmur in the church, not a cough, not a movement. And then, his voice became so loud, so high-pitched, almost a scream, so that many of the faces were screwed up against it as he cried, ‘She was raped by three men! Not one…not two, but three!’ His head was now bowed and he was gripping each side of the pulpit. When he raised his head he wasn’t a little surprised to hear women crying. But it did not touch him in the least; and he went on. ‘She was found by a young man who was so shocked at the sight of her that he said he will never forget it to his dying day. And this young man helped to carry her home.’ He now looked down to where Gerald, his face white, his lower lip drawn tight between his teeth, was staring at him. And he went on, ‘She did not open her eyes for two days, and from the moment she was laid on the bed until this very morning she has not spoken a word, and Doctor Patten can give me no hope that she will ever recover normality. What is more, she is terrified to death of the sight of a man…even of me’—he now thrust his finger into his chest—‘I who love her as I did her mother daren’t go near her.’
Again bending forward, and in a rising voice he said, ‘But this is not the end, is it, ladies? This is not the end. We will not know for two, or perhaps three months, will we, what her body holds, if anything but the feeling of torture.’
A man now stood up and cried at him, ‘Enough! Enough!’ then looked down on his wife who was bent double: and Ward answered him, ‘No, not yet,’ and when after a moment he added, ‘I have only just begun,’ an actual shiver passed through all those present.
He now took one step back as if he were about to leave the pulpit, but then stopped and said, ‘I would advise you, every one of you, not to make any move at all,’ and he pointed now to the man at the church door, then to the one standing by the screen. And then he did turn and descend the steps of the pulpit.
Having walked across the front of the screens, he knocked on the vestry door, all eyes having followed him. When it opened and there stepped out another man with a gun and, following him and almost tottering on his feet, there came Parson Tracey, the whole congregation gasped when it could be seen that his hands were bound behind his back and that he was gagged. Behind him came four servers. They were all young boys, and they cast pleading glances towards their parents in the congregation, bringing forth cries of, ‘Oh! Oh!’ from here and there. Then followed seven members of the choir, and the lady organist.
The men looked sheepish, but it was noted that she held herself straight and looked defiant. Lastly came the bell-ringer. He was an oldish man and he was actually smiling as if he considered the whole thing a joke; that was until a few minutes later, after they had been lined up along the steps at the foot of the uncovered right-hand side of the screen when, as did everyone else, he watched two of the men go behind the screen.
It soon became evident that they had loosened something, for the great heavy sheet began to slip, together with the poles that had prevented it from hanging straight down and close to the front of the screen. The men quickly reappeared and were just in time to gather up the sheet and the poles as they fell. These they laid aside in a tumbled heap …
What was revealed now caused, first of all, a horrified, blank, utter silence, then a great combined gasp, followed by cries of loud protest; and here and there a moan. Some women actually collapsed in their seats or onto the floor, for there, strapped to the screen by their ankles, their arms, waists and their necks, and their mouths gagged, were three naked men. Their heads could not hang in shame, so tight were they held against the ornamental ironwork, but their eyes roamed, wild with fear.
Great shouts and cries now came from different parts of the church, some calling on God, others, mostly from men, shouting that enough was enough. But when the latter cries came to Ward’s ears he yelled back at them, ‘Not yet! Not quite,’ and with this he leapt up the steps and put his hand behind the screen, and when he brought it forth he was holding a splay tailed whip, and on the sight of which a great roar came from the colonel. But when he stepped into the aisle with the intention of making for Ward, Mike Riley’s voice rose into a shout above the mêlée, crying, ‘Stay where you are!’ He too had stepped forward, with his gun at shoulder level; and fixing his gaze on the colonel, he said, ‘Another step, Colonel, an’ I’ll splatter your knees with so many pellets you’ll be pickin’ ’em out for months.’
Whether or not he was deterred by this, or by Lady Lydia preventing his further movement by putting her arms around him and pulling his wavering body back into the pew, it did not prevent him from yelling at Ward, ‘You’ll pay for this, my man! I’ll see to that.’
‘No doubt. No doubt, Colonel. As I always have done, I’ll pay for this but I’ll do it gladly.’
He now motioned towards Mike, indicating he should step back; then he went and stood before the verger; and he looked into the man’s fear-filled and cringing face for a number of seconds before he brought the whip viciously twice across the bloated loins, and the fat repulsive-looking body jerked within its tight bounds, and the screen seemed to shudder.
Seemingly taking no heed of the cries of the women and screaming ch
ildren, he now stood in front of Pete Mason, and his gaze remained longer on the hate-filled eyes before he meted out the medicine again, with three lashes this time.
He did not hesitate when he came to the third man, for this one had offered no fight when he was trapped: he was a cringing individual, trying to put the blame on the other two; and so he did what he had to do. Then he walked to the opening in the screen again, before turning and looking at the congregation, some crying, some shouting, others just standing utterly mute. He went now to where a man and woman were undoing the vicar’s bonds. They had taken the gag from his mouth, and he was gasping for breath as Ward addressed him, saying, ‘It’s all in your hands now, Vicar. When the police come they know where to find me; so we’ll take it from there, shall we?’
The vicar’s response was to cry out: ‘You’ll…you’ll pay for this day, Ward Gibson. God…God’s house will not be mocked.’
Ward’s reaction to this was to motion to the man standing at the back of the church, and to the one who was still holding the gun at the ready. Two other men then emerged from behind the screen and rolled up the sheet that had covered it. And then they all followed Ward into the vestry.
When the door had banged closed behind the men the hubbub in the church died away for a moment, but there was no immediate rush to release the men from the screen. But then, as if of one mind, a number of men rushed forward, some to stand in front of the trussed figures in order to hide their nakedness, while others went behind the screen and endeavoured to undo the knots of the ropes binding the men firmly to the framework.
When a lone voice cried, ‘They’d better have a doctor,’ another drowned it by screaming, ‘It’s the polis we want, and now, for it’s no use trying to explain what has happened; they’ll want to see it for themselves. I’ll ride in this minute.’
‘No. No.’
It was the vicar now, clinging to the lectern for support, and he repeated loudly now, ‘No! No! I say. Listen…listen, all of you. That is what he wants. Don’t you see? He wants the polis brought here. He wants this to be taken to court and blazoned in every paper in the country, because he’s out to defame this village. Don’t you see? Don’t you see?’ His arms stretched wide, he was swinging his body from one side to the other in an endeavour to influence them all.
It had its effect, for, apart from the continued moaning of some women and the crying of children, the commotion died down, and the vicar again shouted his warning: ‘If this is blazoned in the papers, this village will never again be able to lift up its head; but what will happen? It will become notorious: people will even come from a distance to see the screen that has been defiled by these men, who themselves have defiled nature. God forgive them, because I never can. My…your church, God’s house, will become a peep-show. I can see it all as clearly as if it is happening now. This place would attract young hooligans from the city because a maniac of a man has taken justice into his own hands and tied three naked men on a holy screen before scourging them. Can’t you see? Can’t you see the headlines?’ He paused again; then, dropping his arms and joining his hands together, he pressed them outwards, beseeching his congregation now, ‘Let us suffer this together. Let us not even discuss it among ourselves. The three men who have committed this outrage will suffer from it for the rest of their lives; they will be ostracised by all good folk.’ And now his voice rose as he ended, ‘As will the perpetrator who has dared to commit sacrilege in the house of God this day. That man has been a bane on this village for years, and has wrought havoc on a good-living family; he has been the means of incarcerating one of that household, and through sorrow causing the early death of the mother. Ward Gibson is an evil man and…’
Suddenly, not only the minister was now startled but also the occupants of the first rows of the select pews, as young Gerald Ramsmore almost sprang into the aisle and, facing the parson, cried, ‘He is not an evil man; he is a man who has been wronged. Your narrow-mindedness, sir, has helped to turn the villagers against him. Yes, you’re afraid of bringing in the police because it would show up your hypocrisy and that of many more who attend this church. And why do they attend? Let me tell you: not for the love of God, but for the fear of where you might place them in the so-called society of this community.’
A voice suddenly barked, ‘Be quiet! Hold your tongue, sir! I order you. Come here this minute!’
Gerald Ramsmore turned and looked at his father’s florid face, and to him he said, ‘I am going to speak my mind. Remember, Father, I was the one who came across that child after she had been savaged by those three evil individuals.’ He pointed towards the men now being led into the vestry, and then flinging wide an arm, went on, ‘If anyone here had seen the state they left her in, they would never…as I shall never forget the sight till the day I die.’
He looked at his father again and cried, ‘I’ll tell you this, sir: I only wish I had been asked to take a hand in what has transpired this morning. Yes, right up to the use of the whip.’
Gerald was drawn now to look at his mother, whose eyes and voice were beseeching him; her arms were about his father, steadying him, and for a moment he lowered his head. He knew he had gone too far: his father was an old man. But anyway, he had said what in justice had to be said; and now, bringing up his head again, he marched past his people and up the aisle and out of the church, leaving behind him another kind of amazement.
Those of the congregation who were now moving out of the pews, many women being helped by their menfolk, turned once more as the vicar addressed them.
In a shaken voice, he said, ‘There is confirmation of my words for you: evil has the power to bring discord into the best of families. And you know from where this particular evil springs.’
Six
‘How could you do such a thing, Gerald! And to your father. And in front of the whole village—to defy him like that! Oh, I know, I know that poor man has had a lot to put up with; and now his poor little girl. And those men deserved to be punished. Oh, yes. Oh, yes. And I would have gone along with him, all the way, no matter what your father said; but I would have had the sense to keep it to myself. What came over you?’
Gerald looked at this woman whom he loved, she whom he could never understand having married his father. What on earth had she seen in this stiff-necked, narrow, ageing, opinionated man who thought that the Army was the beginning and the middle and the end of life. Although they had been married for twenty years, he couldn’t imagine he had ever been much different from what he was now.
He said gently, ‘I’m sorry if I upset him so much, but it had to be said. Mr Gibson is a good man—you yourself have always said so—also that he had been misjudged from the time he married his pretty little wife.’
‘Oh yes, I know…I know.’ She flapped her hands at him. ‘Personally, I like the man, but you cannot get away from the fact that it was because he married that pretty little wife, and having rejected a young woman with whom he had been friendly for years; and really, the truth is he must have deceived not only her but her parents into thinking his attentions were other than serious, and that was very wrong of him, and consequently he has wrought havoc in the Mason household. And now, Gerald, whether you want to believe it or not, he is causing havoc in this house. And your career is at stake now, for your father says he will no longer support you at Oxford, and you must know, in any case, he has found this difficult, for our finances are stretched to the very limit. He has already had to sell a cottage and another stretch of land in order to meet your expenses. Just think, too, how I have had to cut down on the household, and in the yard also.’
She turned from him now, saying tearfully, ‘It was inexcusable of you, Gerald, inexcusable.’ And with this, she turned from him and hurried out of the breakfast room, along the corridor and into the small drawing room. And after closing the door, she stood just within the room and put her hands over her face.
Her whole body was shivering, not only from the coldness of the room, but also
with anxiety and fear of what was now going to happen to her son, for she knew that unless he went into the Army his father would wash his hands of him. And she also knew in her heart that there was no threat strong enough to drive her son into the Army.
She now walked further into the room and sat on the edge of a chair, asking herself just what was the matter with her son, her beloved son, her only son, her only child. Why was he so different?
She would never forget the night, which was the forerunner of what had happened in the church today. She had left her husband in the billiard room. She liked a game of billiards; but having been brought up in the diplomatic world, she knew it was policy to give way to the other side more often than one would normally do, and she did this often when playing her husband at billiards, for now neither his hand nor his eye were as steady as they once were. She had found out very early in their married life that he had to win in most everything he undertook: if battles were lost it must never be his fault; and that evening she had left him happy again as he knocked the balls here and there on the table, and as she entered the hall she had said to Roberts, ‘Has Mr Gerald come in yet?’ And he, looking up the broad staircase, had answered, ‘Yes, madam. Just a few minutes ago. And—’ he paused before adding, ‘he seemed in some distress, madam.’
At this she had hurried up the stairs and, after knocking on his door and receiving no reply, she had pushed it gently open, there to see her son sprawled across the bed, his shoulders heaving.
She had hurried to him, saying, ‘What is it, Gerald?’
The Maltese Angel Page 25