Miss Penset had her finger on the pulse of the village; she could tell that a girl was pregnant almost before the girl herself knew. All the dramas of village life were of the utmost interest to her; and as postmistress she was in a special position to be aware of them.
So I knew that in the post office, people talked to Miss Penset; when I went in there would be a hushed silence. I was regarded with more favor than ever before. I was an upstart perhaps; but at least I was not wicked like some people. Moreover my affairs had become of secondary importance now.
It was the day of the funeral. Flowers kept arriving and the smell of lilies pervaded the house. It was like the smell of death.
We were all dreading the ordeal. As I put on my bonnet, the face which looked back at me from the mirror seemed scarcely like my own. Black didn't suit me; I had parted my hair in the center and wore a heavy knot on the nape of my neck, and long jet earrings in my ears and a necklace of jet about my throat.
My eyes looked enormous; my face thinner and more pale. I had been sleeping badly since Judith's death and I had bad dreams when I did sleep. I kept dreaming of the hiring platform at Trelinket Fair and Mellyora coming over to take my hand. I dreamed once that I looked down at my feet and saw that I had grown a cloven hoof.
Johnny in his black top hat and black jacket looked more dignified than he usually did. He came and stood beside me by the mirror.
"You look ... regal," he said, and bending, so that he did not disturb my bonnet, kissed the tip of my nose.
He laughed suddenly. "By God," he said, "there's talk in the neighborhood."
I shivered. I hated his look of complacence.
"He was always held up as an example ... my holy brother. Do you know what they're calling him now?"
"I don't want to."
He raised his eyebrows. "That's not like you, my sweet wife. You usually like to pry into everything. There can only be one reason why you don't want me to tell you. You know already. Yes, my love, they are saying that my sainted brother murdered his wife."
"I hope you told them how absurd this was."
"Do you think my words would have carried any weight?"
"Who's saying this? The postmistress? Scandalmongers like her?"
"I've no doubt the answer to that is yes. That old vixen would repeat any scandal she could get her filthy tongue round. That's to be expected. But it's in higher places. My brother is going to find it hard to live this one down."
"But everyone knew she was drinking."
"Everyone knew that he wanted to be rid of her."
"But she was his wife."
He repeated my words mockingly. "What has come over my clever little wife? Now, Kerensa, what do you think?"
"That he is innocent."
"You have a pure mind. You're the only one who thinks that."
"But the verdict ..."
"Accidental death. That covers a lot. I can tell you this; no one will ever forget, and when Justin marries Mellyora Martin, which he will after a respectable interval, that rumor will persist. You know how it is in these parts. Stories are handed down from generation to generation. It'll be there forever ... the skeleton in the cupboard and no one will ever be sure when some mischievous person is going to open the cupboard door."
He was right. I must tell the truth.
I shivered. I had not told all the truth at the inquest. How could I come forward now? Yet how could I not do so when even his own brother believed Justin might well be a murderer.
Johnny sat on the edge of the bed, studying the tips of his boots.
"I don't see how they can ever marry," he said. "The only way to kill this rumor is for them not to."
How my eyes shone—unnaturally so. If they did not marry—if Justin never married—there could be no threat to Carlyon's future.
The bell from the church began to toll.
"It's time we were going," said Johnny. He took my hand. "How cold you are! Cheer up. It's not my funeral."
I hated him. He didn't care for his brother s trouble. He was only smug and complacent because he could no longer suffer by comparison, for no one could ever hold Justin up as an example again.
What sort of man had I married? I asked myself; and that question was immediately replaced by another and more disquieting one.
What sort of a woman was I?
It was an even greater ordeal than we had feared. Not only St. Larnston village but the entire neighborhood for miles round seemed to have come out to see the burial of Judith.
It was stifling in the church; the scent of lilies was overpowering, and the Reverend James Hemphill seemed as though he would go on forever.
Justin with his mother and Judith's parents sat in the first of the St Larnston pews, Johnny and I in the second row. I kept staring at Justin's shoulders and I wondered what he would do. I could not bear to look at the coffin, weighed down by flowers and set up on trestles; I couldn't keep my mind on what the Reverend James Hemphill was saying; I could only look at the parsonage pew in which Mrs. Hemphill and her three daughters were now sitting, and think of sitting there with Mellyora and how proud I was because she had given me a gingham dress and straw hat to wear.
My mind would keep wandering back to the past, reminding me of all Mellyora had done for me.
Now the service was over; now we would go out to the vault in the graveyard. The Reverend James Hemphill was coming down from the pulpit. Oh, that funeral scent!
Then I saw Jane Carwillen. It was an extraordinary sight—this old woman, bent almost double, slowly making her way to the coffin. We all sat so still that the sound of her stick tapping in the aisle echoed through the church. Everyone was so surprised that no one attempted to stop her.
She stood by the coffin; then she lifted her stick and pointed it towards the St. Larnston pews.
"Her's gone, my little lady," she said quietly; then, raising her voice: "I curse them as harmed her."
Mrs. Hemphill—always the efficient parson's wife, had moved swiftly from her pew and put an arm through Jane's.
I heard her voice cool, clipped. "Now, come along. We know how upset you are... ."
But Jane had come to the church to make a public protest and was not so easily disposed of.
She stood for some seconds staring at the St. Larnston pews. Then she shook her stick menacingly.
As Mrs. Hemphill drew her away to the back of the church the sound of loud sobbing was heard and I saw Judith's mother bury her face in her hands.
"Why did I let her marry... ." The words must have been audible to many; and in that moment it seemed as though everyone was waiting for some sign from Heaven, some denunciation from above, some vengeance on those they believed to be Judith's murderers.
Judith's father put an arm about his wife; Justin was moving out of his pew when from behind me, where the Abbas servants were seated, there came a new disturbance.
I heard the words: "She's fainted."
I knew who before I turned.
It was I who went to her; it was I who loosened the neck of her bodice. She lay there on the floor of the church, her hat falling back, her fair lashes still against her pale skin.