The legend of the seventh virgin

8

There are children at the Abbas now—Mellyora's and Kim's. The eldest —called Dick, after his father—is ten years old and so like Kim that when I see them together my bitterness is almost unendurable.

I live at the Dower House and every day or so I walk across the meadow, past the ring of stones to the house. All sign of the mine has now been removed. Kim says that the St. Larnstons needed to know it was there, but the Kimbers have no need of it because they will love the place and work for it so that it will always prosper while there are Kimbers at St. Larnston.

Mellyora is a wonderful chatelaine. I have never known anyone as capable of happiness. She is able to forget the hardship she endured under old Lady St. Larnston, the unhappiness she suffered through Justin; she once told me that she looks on the past as a steppingstone to the future.

I wish that I could.

If only Granny were with me! If only I could talk to her! If only I could draw on her wisdom!

Carlyon is growing up. He is tall, bearing scarcely any resemblance to Johnny, but he's a St. Larnston for all that. He is sixteen and spends more time with Joe than with me. He is like Joe—the same gentleness, the same absorption with animals. Sometimes I think he wishes that Joe were his father; and as Joe has no son of his own he can't help being delighted by their relationship.

The other day I was talking to Carlyon of his future and, his eyes shining with enthusiasm, he said: "I want to go in with Uncle Joe."

I was indignant. I reminded him that he would be Sir Carlyon one day and tried to make him see the future I had in mind for him. St. Larnston couldn't be his, naturally, but I wanted him to be master of a big estate as, I pointed out, his ancestors had been for generations.

He was sad because he didn't want to hurt me, and he believed I was going to be disappointed in him, for gentle as he is, he has a will of his own. How could I expect otherwise in my son?

This has put a gulf between us and it grows wider every day. Joe knows of it, and feels the boy should choose for himself. Joe is fond of me, although I sometimes think he is afraid of me. Only once or twice has he referred to that night when Kim and I brought him out of the woods; but he will never forget it. It moves him deeply to think what he owes to Kim and me; and although his outlook on life is different from mine, he understands me a little; he knows about my ambition for Carlyon. After all, I was once ambitious for Joe.

He talks to the boy; he has tried to persuade him that the life of a country vet, while pleasant enough for uneducated Uncle Joe, is not the life for Sir Carlyon.

But Carlyon remains firm; and so do I. I notice that he avoids being alone with me. To know this, and to be forced to watch the family at Abbas makes me ask myself: What happiness did all my scheming bring to me?

David Killigrew writes to me frequently. He is still a curate and his mother lives on. I should write to David and tell him I will never marry again. But I avoid it. It gives me pleasure to think of David waiting and hoping. It makes me feel important to someone.

Kim and Mellyora tell me I am important to them. Mellyora calls me her sister—Kim calls me his. Kim, whom my heart and body calls out for! We were meant for each other; sometimes I almost tell him so, but he is unaware.

He told me once that he loved Mellyora first when he heard that she had taken me home from Trelinket Fair. "She seemed so gentle," he said, "and yet she was capable of such an act. Gentleness and strength, Kerensa. A perfect combination and the strength was all for someone else! That's my Mellyora! And then when she brought you to the ball! Never be deceived by my Mellyora's gentleness; it's the gentleness of strength."

I have to see them together and I have to pretend. I was at the birth of the children. Two boys and two girls. There will be more. The eldest will inherit the Abbas. He is being brought up to love it and work for it.

Why should this happen to me when I planned and worked ... and came so far?

But I still have Carlyon and constantly I remind myself that he will be Sir Carlyon one day, for Justin cannot live much longer. He is a sick man. Sir Carlyon! He must have a future worthy of himself. I still have Carlyon to work for. I shall never allow him to be the village vet.

Sometimes I sit at my window looking out on the towers of the Abbas and weep silently. No one must know how I suffered. No one must know how I failed.

Sometimes I go and stand in the ring of stones and it seems to me that my fate is more wretched than theirs. They were turned to stone while they were dancing defiance. I wish I could have been.