Виктория Холт - The legend of the seventh virgin

"Oh, Granny, how I hate the St. Larnstons!" I repeated.

"Nay, he is dead and gone long since. Don't hate the children for the parents' sins. As lief blame yourself for what I did. Ah, but it was a happy life. And there came the day of sorrow. Pedro had gone off for his first shift of the day. I knew they'd be blasting down in the mine and he were one of the trammers who'd go in when the fuses had been blown and load the ore into trucks. I don't know what happened down there—no one can ever truly know, but all that day I waited at the top of the shaft for them to bring him out. Twelve long hours I waited, and when they brought him—he weren't my gay and loving Pedro no more. He were alive though ... for a few minutes—just time to say good-bye afore he went. 'Bless you,' he did say to me. Thank you for my life.' And what could he have said better than that? I tell myself even if there hadn't been a Sir Justin, even if I'd given him healthy sons, he couldn't have said better than that."

She stood up abruptly, and we went into the cottage.

Joe had gone out with Squab, and she took me into the storehouse. There was an old wooden box there which was always kept locked and she opened this and showed me what was inside. There were two Spanish combs and mantillas. She put one of the combs in her hair and covered her hair with the mantilla.

"There," she said, "that was how he liked me to look. He said when he made his fortune he would take me to Spain, and I'd sit on a balcony and fan myself while the world went by."

"You look lovely, Granny."

"One of these is for you when you're older," she said. "And when I die, they are both for you."

Then she put the second comb and mantilla on my head and as we stood side by side it was surprising how much alike we were.

I was glad that she had confided in me something which I knew she had told to no other living person.

I shall never forget that moment when we stood side by side in our combs and mantillas, incongruous among the pans and the herbs. And outside the sound of the guns.

I awoke to moonlight, although not much of it came into our cottage. There was a silence about me which was unusual, I sat up on the talfat and wondered what was wrong. No sound of anything. Not Joe's breathing nor Granny's. I remembered that Granny had gone out to help at a childbirth. She often did and then we never knew when she would be coming home, so it was not surprising that she was absent. But where was Joe?

"Joe!" I said. "Joe, where are you?"

I peered to his end of the talfat. He wasn't there.

"Squab!" I called. There was no answer.

I descended the ladder; it did not take more than a second or two to explore the cottage. I went through to the storehouse but Joe wasn't there either and I suddenly thought of the last time I had been in here when Granny had dressed my hair and decked me out in Spanish comb and mantilla; I remembered the sound of the guns.

Was it possible that Joe had been such a fool as to go into the woods to look for wounded birds? Was he mad? If he went into the woods he would be trespassing, and if he were caught... . This was the time of year when trespassing was considered doubly criminal.

I wondered how long he had been gone. I opened the cottage door and looked out, sensing it to be just after midnight.

I went back to the cottage and sat down, not knowing what to do. I wished Granny would come in. We would have to speak to Joe, make him understand the danger he ran in doing such a reckless thing.

I waited and waited and still Granny did not come—nor did Joe. I reckoned that I had sat there for an hour when I could endure it no longer, so I dressed and, leaving the cottage, made my way towards the Abbas woods.

It was a still and beautiful night. Everything seemed slightly weird but enchanting, touched by moonlight. I thought of the Six Virgins and wished that I were making that trip to see the stones, which I had promised myself, instead of coming out to look for Joe.

There was a chill in the air but I was glad of it and I ran all the way to the woods. I stood on the edge of them wondering what to do next. I daren't call Joe, for if any of the gamekeepers should be about, that would attract their attention. Yet if Joe had gone into the woods, it would not be easy for me to find him.

Joe, I thought, you fool! Why do you have to have this obsession, when it makes you do things like this which could bring trouble ... great trouble?

I stood by the board which I knew said private, and told people that if they trespassed they would be prosecuted. These boards were all over the woods as a warning.

"Joe!" I whispered, then wondered if I had spoken too loudly. I went a little way into the woods and thought how silly I was. It was better to go home. He might be there by now.

Horrible pictures kept flashing in and out of my mind. Suppose he found a wounded bird? Suppose he were caught with the bird. But if he were foolish, there was no need for me to be. I should go back to the cottage, climb to the talfat, and go to sleep. There was nothing I could do.

But I found it difficult to leave the woods because Joe was my charge, and I must look after him. I should never forgive myself if I failed him.

I prayed, there in the woods that night, that nothing bad should happen to my brother. The only time I thought of praying was when I wanted something. Then I prayed with all my being, desperately and earnestly, and waited for God to answer.

Nothing happened, but I still stood, hoping. I was delaying returning, because something told me that Joe wouldn't be back at the cottage if I did go back, when I heard a sound. I was alert, listening; it was the whine of a dog.

"Squab!" I whispered, and I seemed to have spoken louder than I thought, for my voice echoed through the woods. A rustling of undergrowth and then, there he was, thrusting against me, making low whining noises, looking up at me as though he wanted to tell me something.

I knelt down. "Squab, where is he, Squab? Where's Joe?"

When he ran a little distance from me, stopped and looked back at me, I knew he was trying to tell me that Joe was somewhere in the woods and he could take me to him. I followed Squab.

When I saw Joe, I was numb with horror. I could only stand still, staring at him and that hideous contraption in which he was held. I could think of nothing, so great was my despair. Joe, caught in the prohibited woods-caught in a mantrap.

I tried to pull at the cruel steel but it would not yield to my puny strength.

"Joe!" I whispered. Squab whined and rubbed against me, looking up at me, imploring me to help, but Joe did not answer me.

Frantically I pulled at those hideous teeth but I could not pry them apart. Panic took hold of me; I had to release my brother before he was found in that trap. If he were alive, they would take him before the magistrates. Sir Justin would have no mercy. If he were alive! He must be alive.

One thing I could not bear was that Joe should be dead. Anything but that, for while he lived I could always do something to save him. I would do something.

You could always do what you wanted to ... provided you tried enough, was one of Granny's maxims and I believed everything she told me. And now when I was confronted by something difficult... the most important task that I had ever had to perform ... I couldn't do it.

My hands were bleeding. I did not know how to prize open this frightful thing. I was putting all my strength into it and I couldn't do it. There must be another way. One person alone could not open a mantrap. I must get help. Granny must come back with me. But Granny for all her wisdom was an old woman. Would she be able to open the trap? She could do anything, I assured myself. Yes, I mustn't waste any more time. I must go back to Granny.