Виктория Холт - The legend of the seventh virgin

Squab was looking up at me with expectant eyes. I touched him and said: "Stay by him." Then I sped away.

I ran more quickly than I ever had before and yet how long it seemed to take me to reach the road! All the time I was listening for the sound of voices. If Sir Justin's gamekeepers found Joe before I could save him it would be disastrous. I imagined my brother cruelly treated, whipped, enslaved.

My breathing sounded as though I were sobbing as I flung myself across the road; perhaps that was why I was not aware of the ring of footsteps until they were almost upon me.

"Hi," said a voice. "What's wrong?"

I knew the voice; it was that of an enemy, the one they had called Kim.

He mustn't catch me; he mustn't know, I told myself; but he had started to run and he had longer legs than I.

He caught my arm and pulled me round to look at him.

He whistled. "Kerensa of the well!"

"Let me go."

"Why do you fly through the countryside at midnight? Are you a witch? Yes, you are. You threw away your broomstick when you heard me coming.

I tried to twist my arm free, but he wouldn't let me go. He brought his face close to mine.

"You're frightened," he said. "Of me?"

I tried to kick him. "I'm not frightened of you."

Then I thought of Joe lying in that trap and I was so miserable and felt so helpless that the tears came into my eyes.

His manner changed suddenly. He said: "Look, I'm not going to hurt you!" And I felt there must be something kind about someone who could speak in a voice like that.

He was young, strong, and towered above me; and in that moment a thought came to me: he might know how to open the trap.

I hesitated. I knew we had to act quickly, I wanted Joe to live more than anything; if he was going to live he had to be rescued quickly.

I took a chance and the moment I had taken it, regretted it; but it was done and there was no turning back.

"It's my little brother," I said.

"Where?"

I looked towards the woods. "In ... a trap."

"Good God!" he cried. Then: "Show me."

When I led him there, Squab came running to meet us. Kim was very serious now. But he knew how to set about opening the trap.

"Though I don't know if we can manage it," he warned me.

"We must." I spoke fiercely and his mouth turned up slightly at the comers.

"We will," he assured me; and I knew then that we could.

He told me what to do and we worked together but the cruel spring was reluctant to release its prisoner. I was glad—so glad—that I had asked his help because I knew that Granny and I could never have done it.

"Press with all your might," he commanded. I put all my weight on the wicked steel, as, slowly, Kim released the spring. He gave a deep sigh of triumph. We had freed Joe.

"Joey," I whispered, just as I used to when he was a baby. "Don't be dead. You mustn't be."

A dead pheasant had fallen to the ground as we had pulled my brother out of the trap. I saw Kim's quick glance at it but he did not comment on it.

"I think his leg's broken," he said. "We'll have to be careful. It'll be easier if I carry him." He lifted Joe gently in his arms and I loved Kim at that moment, because he was quiet and gentle and he seemed to care what became of us.

Squab and I walked beside him while he carried Joe, and I felt triumphant. But when we reached the road I remembered that, as well as being gentry, Kim was also a friend of the St. Larnstons'. He might well have been a member of this afternoon's shooting party; and to these people the preservation of the birds was more important than the lives of people like us.

I said anxiously: "Where are you going?"

"To Dr. Hilliard. He needs immediate attention."

"No," I said in panic.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you see? He'll ask where we found him. They'll know someone's been in the trap. They'll know. Don't you see?"

"Stealing pheasants," said Kim.

"No ... no. He never stole. He wanted to help the birds. He cares about birds and animals. You can't take him to the doctor. Please ... please... ."

I caught at his coat and looked up at him.

"Where then?" he asked.

"To our cottage. My Granny's as good as a doctor. Then no one will know... ."

He paused and I thought he would ignore my plea. Then he said, "All right. But I think he needs a doctor."

"He needs to be home with me and his Granny."

"You're determined to have your way. It's wrong, though!"

"He's my brother. You know what they would do to him."

"Show me the way," he said; and I led him to the cottage.

Granny was at the door, frightened, wondering what had become of us. While I told her in breathless jerks what had happened, Kim didn't say anything; he carried Joe into our cottage and laid him on the floor where Granny had spread out a blanket. Joe looked very small.

"I think he's broken his leg," said Kim.

Granny nodded.

Together they bound his leg to a stick; it seemed like a dream to see Kim there in our cottage taking orders from Granny. He stood by while she bathed Joe's wounds and rubbed ointment into them.

When she had finished, Kim said: "I still think he ought to see a doctor."

"It's better this way," Granny answered firmly, because I had told her where we had found him.

So Kim shrugged his shoulders and went away.

We watched over Joe all that night, Granny and I, and we knew in the morning that he would live.

We were frightened. Joe lay on his blankets too sick to care; but we cared. Every time we heard a step, we started up in terror, afraid that it was someone come to take Joe.

We talked about it in whispers.

"Granny," I pleaded, "did I do wrong? He was there and he was big and strong, and I thought he would know how to open the trap. I was afraid. Granny, afraid you and I wouldn't get Joe out."

"You did right," Granny Bee soothed me. "A night in the trap would have killed our Joe."

Then we fell into silence, watching Joe, listening for footsteps.

"Granny," I said, "do you think he'll ... ?"

"I couldn't say."

"He seemed kind. Granny. Different from some."

"He did seem kind," agreed Granny.

"But he's a friend of the St. Larnstons', Granny. That day I was in the wall he were there. He mocked like the rest."

Granny nodded.

Footsteps near the cottage. A rap on the door.

Granny and I were there simultaneously.

Mellyora Martin stood smiling at us. She looked very pretty in a mauve and white gingham dress, white stockings and her black, buckled shoes. On her arm she carried a wicker basket which was covered by a white cloth.

"Good afternoon," said Mellyora in her sweet high voice.

Neither Granny nor I answered; we were both too relieved to show anything but our relief.

"I heard," went on Mellyora, "so I brought this along for the invalid."

She held out the wicker basket.

Granny took it and said, "For Joe ... ?"

Mellyora nodded. "I saw Mr. Kimber this morning. He told me how the boy had had an accident climbing a tree. I thought he might like these... ."

Granny said in a voice meeker than I'd ever heard her use before: "Thank 'ee. Miss."

Mellyora smiled. "I hope he will soon be well," she said. "Good afternoon."

We stood at the door watching her as she walked away; then without speaking we carried the basket inside. Under the cloth were eggs, butter, half a roast chicken, and a loaf of homemade bread.

Granny and I looked at each other. Kim wasn't going to tell. We had nothing to fear from the law.

I was silent thinking about my prayer in the woods and how, providentially, it seemed, I had received help. I had snatched the opportunity given; I had taken a great risk; but I had won.

I had rarely felt as happy as I did in that moment; and later when I thought what I owed to Kim, I told myself that I would always remember.