Виктория Холт - The Judas kiss

"I had to come," I said. "I would not have stayed away for anything."

"You are so vehement. I like it. In fact, Miss Philippa, there is so much I like about you. I feel I know very little, though, and there is so much more to know. It would be a glorious voyage of discovery."

"I am afraid you would find it rather dull."

"What a woman for contradictions you are! One minute you are raging against me for not having a high opinion of your mental powers and then next you are telling me how unworthy you are for study. Now what am I to make of your

"I should give up the study if I were you."

"But I am so intrigued."

"Do you think we have finished now?"

"Such impatience!" he murmured.

We went out to the trap and I could scarcely contain my impatience as we approached Birley Church.

"We'll go first to the vicarage and find that charming vicar," he said. "He was so helpful to me. I shall have to give a large donation to the upkeep of the church."

We went to the vicarage which was almost as old as the church. A woman who was obviously the vicar's wife came to the door and said we were lucky. The vicar had just come in.

We went into a drawing room—shabby but cosy. The vicar greeted Conrad warmly.

"It is a pleasure to see you again," he said.

"I have another request," replied Conrad. "We want to look at that register again."

"That's no problem. Did you have the wrong date?"

My heart was beating fast. I knew there had been a mistake somewhere and I believed I was on the verge of discovering what it was.

"I'm not sure," said Conrad. "It might have been. This is Miss Ewell, who is particularly interested. She has been here before."

"I didn't see you then," I said to the vicar. "You were away. I saw your churchwarden."

"Oh yes, Thomas Borton. I was away for a while. That is not so long ago. Well, if you come into the church you can see what you want."

We made our way to the church. There was the familiar smell of damp, old hymn books and that unusual furniture polish.

We went into the vestry and when the register was produced eagerly I turned the pages. I stared. It was not there. There had been no wedding on that date.

I stammered: "There is a mistake ..."

Conrad was beside me. He had slipped his arm through mine but I threw him off impatiently. I looked from him to the vicar.

"But I saw it," I went on. "It was here. ... It was in the book—"

"No," said the vicar. "That could not be. There is a mistake in the date, I think. Are you sure you have the right year?"

"I know I have. I know when it happened. The bride was my sister."

The vicar looked shaken.

I went on: "You must remember it. It would have been a rather hasty wedding—"

"I was not here at the time. I took over the living only two years ago."

"It was here," I could only insist. "I saw it. ... It was there ... plainly ... for anyone to read."

"There must be some mistake. You will find you have the wrong date."

"Yes," said Conrad, close to me. "It's a mistake. I'm sorry. But you insisted on seeing for yourself."

"The churchwarden brought us here," I cried. "He would remember. He showed us the book. He was here while we found it. Where is the churchwarden? I must see him. He will remember."

"There's no need for that," said Conrad. "It's not here. It was a mistake. You thought you saw it..."

"One does not think one sees things! I saw it, I tell you. I want to see the churchwarden."

"I am sure that is possible," the vicar told us. "He lives in the village. His house is number six, the Street. There is only one street worthy of the name in the village."

"We will go and see him at once," I said.

Conrad turned to the vicar. "You have been most helpful," he said.

"I am sorry there has been this upset."

I turned back to the register and looked again. I was trying to conjure up what I had seen on that day with Miss Elton. It was no good. It was simply not there.

Conrad put two sovereigns into the offertory box in the porch as we went out and the vicar was most grateful.

"You'll find Tom Borton in his garden, I daresay. He's a great gardener."

It was not difficult to find him. He came out to see us, looking mildly curious.

"The vicar gave us your address," Conrad told him. "Miss Ewell here is very anxious to see you."

As he turned to me there was no recognition in his eyes.

I said, "You remember I came to see you not long ago. There was a lady with me."

He wrinkled his eyes and flicked a fly off the sleeve of his coat.

"You must remember," I persisted. "We looked at the. records in the vestry. You showed us ... and I found what I wanted."

"We get people now and then to look at the records... . Not often ... but now and then."

"So you do remember. The vicar was away ... and we saw you in the church ..."

He shook his head. "I can't say as how I remember."

"But you must. You were there. You must remember."

"I'm afraid I can't remember anything about it."

"I recognized you at once."

He smiled. "I can't say as I remember ever seeing you before Miss ... er, Ewell, did you say?"                              

"Well," put in Conrad, "we're sorry we troubled you."

"Oh, that's all right sir. Sorry I couldn't have been better help. I think the young lady's thinking of something else. I reckon I never saw her before in all my life."

I was led away feeling bewildered. I felt that I was living in some sort of nightmare from which I must soon wake up.

"Come, we must get our train," said Conrad.

With five minutes to spare, we sat in the station. He had taken my arm and was holding it tightly. "You mustn't be too upset," he said.

"I am upset. How can I help it? I saw it clearly and that man was lying. Why? He must have remembered seeing me.

He said himself that not many people come to look at the registers."

"Listen, Philippa, strange things happen to us all at times. What happened to you was a sort of hallucination."

"How dare you say that?"

"What other explanation is there?"

"I don't know. But I'm going to find out."

The train came in and we got into it. We had a carriage to ourselves for which I was grateful. I felt exhausted with emotion and a certain fear. I was almost beginning to believe that I had imagined the whole thing. Miss Elton had gone, so I could not ask her. She had looked at the register with me. But had she actually seen the entry? I wasn't sure. All I remembered was seeing it myself and calling out in triumph. I tried to reconstruct the scene. I could not remember her actually standing beside me and looking at the book.

But the churchwarden had said he had never seen me before, yet he showed the register rarely. Surely he must have remembered.

Conrad came and sat beside me and put an arm about me. I was amazed that I could find some comfort from the action.

He said, "Listen to me, Philippa. The entry is not there. It's all over now. Your sister is dead. If you had found that entry it would not have brought her back to life. It is a sad episode, but it is over now. You have your own life to live."

I was not listening to him. I just felt the comfort of his being near me and I did not want to move away.

When we left the station he brought me as far as the woods. I would not let him come any nearer. There would be a great deal of explaining to do if I were seen with a man.

As I went into the Manor, Mrs. Greaves was standing at the top of the staircase.

"Is that you, Miss Philippa?" she said. "You are back. What a relief. Your grandmother was taken very ill this afternoon."

She was looking at me steadily.

I said, "She's dead, isn't she?"

And she nodded.

I was in a bewildered state. I had schooled myself to offer some explanation for my absence, but it was not needed. My grandmother's death had meant that I had not been missed.

"She slipped away quietly in her sleep," Mrs. Greaves told me.

It must have been just at the time when I was coming face to face with the blank register.

"She didn't ask for me?" I said.

"Why, Miss, she has not been conscious at all through the day."

I left her and went up to my bedroom. I stood in the middle of the room and let the desolation sweep over me. It was a feeling of utter loneliness. I was losing everyone. Francine, Daisy, Miss Elton and now my grandmother. It was as though a cruel fate was robbing me of everyone I cared for.

The thought of Conrad suddenly came to me. He had been kind. I was sure he had been really sorry that we could not find the entry.

We met at dinner that night—myself, my grandfather and Cousin Arthur.

My grandfather discussed funeral arrangements and said the family vault would be opened. Cousin Arthur should go to see the vicar. Our grandfather couldn't endure the man. Besides, he might meet Grace or her husband.

Cousin Arthur said, "I am only too happy to be of assistance to you, Uncle."

"You are always that, Arthur," replied my grandfather. Arthur lowered his head and looked as pleased as the circumstances and his overwhelming humility would let him.

"It's a great blow to us all," went on my grandfather, "but life has to go on. The last thing she would have wished would be for us to upset the lives of those who have to go on living. We must think of what she would wish."

I thought that it would be the first time he had ever done that. Did people have to be dead to get some consideration? The coffin had been brought to the house—a magnificent affair of polished mahogany and lots of ornamental brass; it was placed in the room next to my grandfather's. She was closer to him there than she had been for many years. The funeral was to take place in five days' time. Meanwhile she lay there, and all the servants went one by one to pay their last respects.

All through the night candles burned in that room. There were three at the head of the coffin and three at the foot.

I went in to see her. The smell of the wood and the memory of that room of death would remain with me forever.

There was nothing eerie about it. She lay there—just her face visible, and a starched cap hid her hair. She looked young and beautiful. She must have been something like that when she first came to Greystone Manor as a bride... . One could not be afraid even though the room was full of shadows cast by the flickering candle-light. She had been so good and kind in her life, how could anyone fear her in death?

There was just a terrible desolation—a frightening sense of loss, and the understanding, as never before, how very much alone I was in the world.

Two days later I went to the woods. I sat under a tree hoping that Conrad would come. This was the hour when I took my walk. Would he think enough of me to come?

It seemed that he did, and my spirits lifted when I saw him coming towards me.

He threw himself down beside me and, taking my hand, kissed it. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

I said: "When I reached home I learned that my grandmother had died."

"Was it unexpected?"

"I suppose not. She was old and an invalid and she had been very unwell for some days. But it was a great shock, particularly as ..."

"Tell me," he said gently.

"Everyone has gone," I said. "There was my sister and Daisy the maid, who was a friend too. Then Miss Elton and now my grandmother. There is no-one left."

"My dear little girl..."

For once I did not mind being called a little girl. He went on softly: "How old are you?"

"I shall soon be seventeen."

"So young ... and so troubled," he murmured.

"If my parents had not died everything would have been different. We should have stayed on the island. We were happy there. Francine would never have died. I should not be here alone ... without anyone."

"What about your grandfather?"

I laughed bitterly. "He will force me to marry Cousin Arthur."

"Force you! You do not seem to me the sort of person who would be forced."

"I have always said I wouldn't be, but I should have done something. Miss Elton said I should. I should have found some post. But who would employ someone of my age?"