"We're never, never going to leave each other, are we?" I asked fearfully.
"Never," she said vehemently. "Only death can part us. But who wants to talk about death? Here is life. Don't you feel it, Suewellyn? It's teeming with life here. You only have to lift a stone and there it is... ." She grimaced. "Mind you, I could do without the ants and termites and suchlike... . But there's life here ... and it's our life ... the three of us together. Be patient, my dearest child. Be happy. Let's live for each day as it comes along. Can you do that?"
I nodded vigorously, and we walked together through the palm trees to where the warm tropical water rippled onto the sandy beach.
Anabel's Story
Jessamy had played a big part in my life. She had always been there. She was rich, petted and the only child of doting parents. I never envied her her pretty clothes and her jewelry. I am not, I believe, envious by nature. It is one of my virtues, and as I have few others it is advisable to record it. In any case I always believed I had so much more than she did.
It was true I did not live in a mansion surrounded by servants. I did not have several ponies which I could ride as the fancy took me. I lived in a rambling vicarage with my widowed father —my mother had died giving birth to me—and we had two servants only, Janet and Amelia. Neither of them exactly doted on me, but I think Janet was fond of me in her way, though she would never admit it. They were both quick and eager to tell me of my faults. But I was happier, I think, yes, a great deal happier than Jessamy.
The fact was that Jessamy was decidedly what kind people call "homely" and those uncomfortable people like Janet, who could never tell a lie however much it might save someone's feelings being hurt, called downright plain.
"Never mind," Janet used to say. "Her father will buy a nice husband for her. You, Miss Anabel, will have to find your own."
Janet pursed her lips when she said this as though she was certain that my hopes of finding one were very frail. Dear Janet, she was the best soul in the world but she was obsessed by her own unshakable veracity from which she would never diverge.
"It's a good thing you're not brought up before the Inquisition, Janet," I said to her once. "You'd still stick out for the silliest little truth in face of the stake."
"Now what are you talking about, Miss Anabel?" she replied. "I never knew anyone who took such flights of fancy. And, mark my words, you'll come a cropper one of these days."
She had seen that prophecy come true; but that was later.
So there I was in my vicarage home with my absent-minded father, down-to-earth honest Janet and Amelia, who was every bit as virtuous as Janet and even more aware of it.
Some people might wonder how I could enjoy life thoroughly but I did. There was so much to do. There was interest all around me. I helped my father quite a bit. I even wrote a sermon for him once and he was halfway through it before he realized it was not the kind of sermon his parishioners wanted to hear. It was all about what constituted a good person and I had unwittingly illustrated my meaning by describing some of the failings of the people who were sitting in the pews listening. Fortunately Father changed to one he kept in a drawer about God's gifts to the land, which was really one for the harvest festival, but as he changed over before my revolutionary words had aroused the congregation from its usual slumber, no one noticed.
I was not allowed to write sermons after that. It was a pity. I should have liked to.
I remember Sundays well. The Seton family were always there in the family pew right in the front under the lectern. They were the big family who lived in the manor and it was to them my father owed his living. They were related to us. Lady Seton was my aunt, for she and my mother had been sisters. Amy Jane had married "well" when she took Sir Timothy Seton, for he was a rich man owning a great deal of land and, I believe, had many possessions as well. It was a very satisfactory match apart from one thing. They had no son to carry on the illustrious Seton name and their hopes rested on their only daughter, Jessamy. Jessamy was constantly indulged, but oddly enough that did not spoil her. She was a rather timid child and I always got the better of her when we were alone. Of course when we were not and there were adults present, they always saw fair play, which meant putting Jessamy in the ascendant.
When we were young and before Jessamy had a governess, she came to the vicarage for lessons because then my father had a curate who used to teach us.
Let me start at the beginning though. There were two sisters-Amy Jane and Susan Ellen. They were the daughters of a parson and when they grew up the younger of the two, Susan Ellen, fell in love with the curate who came to assist her father. He was poor and not in a position to marry but Susan Ellen had never been one to consider the practical side of life. Acting against the advice of her father, the entire village community and her forceful sister, she eloped with the curate. They were very poor because he had no living and they opened a little school and taught in it for a while. Meanwhile Amy Jane, the wise virgin, had made the acquaintance of the wealthy Sir Timothy Seton. He was a widower with no children and he desperately wanted them. Amy Jane was a good-looking, very capable young lady. Why should they not marry? He needed a mistress for his house and children for his nurseries. Amy Jane seemed well equipped to provide them both.
Amy Jane believed she was a suitable wife for him and, what was more important, that he would be the right husband for her. Riches, standing, security—they were three very desirable goals in Amy Jane's eyes. And after the disastrous marriage of her sister there must be someone to reinstate the family fortunes.
So Amy Jane married and in her forceful way set about performing the tasks she had undertaken. In a short while Sir Timothy's household was managed with the utmost skill, to his delight and to slightly less of that of the domestics, for those whom Amy Jane considered not worth their salt were dismissed, and the rest, realizing their fate lay in their ability to please Amy Jane, proceeded to do just that.
It was not long before a living was found for the curate and his reckless bride; and they were to live right under the shadow of Seton Manor.
Amy Jane then set about the next project, which was to fill the nurseries at Seton Manor.
In this she was less successful. She had one miscarriage, which she believed to be an oversight on the part of the Almighty as she had prayed, and set the whole village praying, for a son. But she was almost immediately pregnant and this time that pregnancy was brought to a conclusion and, although it might not be entirely satisfactory, it was at least a start.
Sir Timothy was delighted with the puling infant who, Nurse Abbott declared, had needed an extra smart slap on the posterior to start its breathing. "The next will be a boy," stated Amy Jane, in a voice before which Heaven itself would have quailed. Opposition came from the doctor; Amy Jane would risk her life by trying again. Let her rest content with her girl. The child was responding to treatment and was going to survive. "Don't risk it again," said the doctor. "I could not answer for the consequences." And as neither Amy Jane nor Sir Timothy wished to face such a disaster, there were no more children; and Jessamy, after clinging to life somewhat precariously for a few weeks, suddenly began to clamor for food and to kick and cry the same as other children.
A few months after the birth of Jessamy, life and death came to the vicarage hand in hand. Amy Jane was shocked. My mother had always been a great disappointment to her. Not only had she made a disastrous marriage, but just when her capable sister was putting her on her feet in a very pleasant living which Sir Timothy had secured with some effort, for there were others who were in fact more deserving than my father, she had given birth to a child and died doing it. A small baby in a vicarage with a man who was more than usually helpless was inconvenient to say the least, but a woman of Amy Jane's caliber was not to be deterred. She found Janet and installed her. Henceforth I was cared for, and Amy Jane, as my mother's closest relative, would of course keep an eye on me.