The Judas Kiss (7 page)

He stopped. The signs of agitation were again visible. He rose from his chair and walked to the window and back again.

"I returned to my room. She was not there. I could not understand it; there was no other way out. I thought perhaps she had wanted to go to the cloakroom and had been too shy to say so. But it was not that; the door was open. Then I heard a sort of muffled laugh from the inner room, my bedroom. I went there. She was in my bed . . . She sat up and held out her arms to me. She was naked! I, I have never been more shocked in my life."

Another pause. He was finding it difficult to speak. The moisture on his face told of his suffering. Roger made no comment.

"I, I told her to get up and dress immediately. She said it was all right. She loved me, did I not love her? I cannot describe how I felt. I had been talking of the love of God and then, that. I do not remember all we said but I told her unless she was up and dressed in five minutes I would telephone her father informing him of what she had done and asking him to fetch her away. She said I must not do that or he would use the strap on her."

"How old is she?" Roger asked.

"Seventeen-eighteen."

"A bit old for such treatment."

"Mr. Howes, I did not mean to give names, but that is it, Mr. Howes is a fierce old man. He is our churchwarden; a farmer. He has two daughters, no sons, and Binnie is the elder. He is very strict in an old-fashioned way. I have heard that he beats them, but do not know if it is true. I threatened to fetch him and I went outside for her to dress. I meant to tell her friends she was just coming. But they had gone. They had bicycles and had not waited. Then she came. I started to say a few words but she was too angry. She muttered she did not believe I was a man at all and she rode off."

"That ended it?"

"I wish to God it had! When I went back to the room I saw she had left a garment behind. The thing they wear, up here."

He did not like to mention the breasts but made a motion to indicate them.

"A brassiere?" Roger suggested.

"I think they call it a bra." Garnet nodded. "I made a parcel of it and posted it to her the next day. I put no message inside. Then I had to consider what I should do about the classes. Of course I could never have her again, but I persuaded a Mrs. Stokes, a faithful old soul, to let me have the others in her home, she being present. The lads came to me as before. Then a few days ago I met her, that is Binnie."

Again he paused. He was still finding words difficult.

"I would have passed by, but she stopped and said she must speak to me. I thought she wished to express contrition for what she had done, but, it was not that at all. She said she thought I had better marry her. I started to walk away. She caught hold of my arm. 'Listen!' she said. 'I have only to say a word and what will people think of you? The girls all know I stayed that night with you and I have that bra', I think she called it that, 'addressed to me in your writing. Who is to know what you did to me? I love you. Why should we not be happy together?' I told her she was a wicked girl and must not think or talk of such things. She laughed. 'What will Dad and the Vicar say when I tell them?' she asked. I shook her arm off and left her."

"Anything more?"

"I met her again a day or two later. 'Made up your mind?' she said. 'I'd be a good wife."

Garnet stopped abruptly. He leant over the table, his head in his hands.

"Why does God let this happen to me?" he murmured brokenly. "Have I been unfaithful? How can I carry on? O God, what must I do?"

Roger was sorry for him, but he felt that a few firm words might be helpful.

"You are not the first man to be tempted," he said. "Was not St. Anthony tempted by the devil in the shape of a woman? I once heard a preacher say he pitied the man who was never tempted. It could only be because the devil knew he had already got him. A farmer does not shoot the birds in his chicken run."

Garnet looked up. "He said that?"

"Indeed he did. But tell me this, were there any endearments, a kiss or anything like that the girl could have misconstrued?"

"No. Never. Unless, "

"Unless what?"

"Last Christmas the Howes gave a party. I was asked and I went. I want to know the people and be one of themselves. We played games. One of them was a game with forfeits. I forget what it was, but I made a mistake. For my forfeit I was told I must kneel to the wittiest, bow to the prettiest and kiss the one I loved the best."

Roger remembered playing such a game in his childhood. "What did you do?"

"I knelt to Mrs. Howes, she was my hostess; I bowed to her mother, a wonderful old lady, who was also there. Then I said I could not do the last part as I loved them all equally well, as it was my duty to do."

"Very neat. Then?"

"One of the girls, I think it was Binnie, but am not sure, cried, 'Come on! We won't let him off like that!' And five or six of them rushed at me and tried to kiss me. Of course it was only high spirits, but I did not like it. Mr. Howes told them to stop it. 'Remember who he is.' he said."

"That was all?"

"Yes. There was to be dancing. I do not dance and I came away."

"Were others of your family there?"

"No. They do not know the Howes. They go to this church, if they go at all."

"Just a little free and easy fun," Roger said. "Nothing in that, but what you now tell me is more serious. I think I have seen Binnie. A girl with a fresh colour, rather on the buxom side?"

Garnet nodded.

"Judging by her type I see three possible explanations of what she did. Old perhaps for her years, she was attracted by you and thought you needed encouragement. Primitive in her ideas, she offered herself to you in that shameless way."

The curate shuddered.

"Another possibility is blackmail. Has she mentioned money to you?"

"Never."

"I did not expect it. It would be the trick of a woman of the town, not a country girl. Her father is fairly well off?"

"I believe so."

"Has she, or has she had, a sweetheart?"

"I don't know."

"I have been told," Roger said slowly, "there is more immorality in the country than in the cities. Young people live closer to nature; the breeding of animals is part of their life. It may or may not be true, but many a girl has found herself in trouble. The man may not be willing to marry her and she has to find someone on whom to foist her child. Could it be so with Binnie?"

The curate trembled. "I hope to God it is not!"

"Those seem to me the possibilities. If it is the first, infatuation, it will probably pass if you show you wish to have nothing to do with her. Blackmail we dismiss in the monetary sense but the other is more serious. Should she renew her attack, you must take a bold stand. Say you will see her father the next day and let him have the whole story. Tell her you will bring your doctor with you and he will probably wish to examine her."

"Will, will that help?"

"The doctor will be able to say if she is Virgo intacta. If she is not, if she is with child, he will possibly give some idea of the time period. If it pre-dates that unhappy night it will show the truth of your story. She will perhaps be afraid to face the doctor, "

He stopped. Garnet had collapsed over the table in a faint. Roger got some brandy and, as soon as he was able to swallow, forced a little between his lips. Being unaccustomed it had the quicker effect. The young man coughed and pulled himself together.

"Oh," he mumbled, "it is so horrible."

Roger believed his story, just as he had told it. Like many another young parson he talked glibly of sin but had little experience of it in its cruder forms.

"Remember," he said, "what Robert Browning told us. We must face temptation in order that we may triumph. If you do what I say I believe you will triumph. Should it be necessary, send for me. I will also see Mr. Howes and let him know what you have told me. You would hardly have done that were it not true."

"Thank you, thank you," Garnet whispered. "It has helped me a lot to talk to you. I will try and follow your advice."

He got up and Roger saw him out. As the door closed, Ruth appeared.

"Did you play chess?" she asked.

"We did. But you were right; he is worried. I talked to him like a father. He is a curiously sensitive soul. Perhaps saints need thick skins!"

The sudden death of George Michelmore had a profound effect on the parties concerned in this story. Naturally so, though there was no mystery about his demise. It was, in fact, just one of those things that happen and are accepted as unavoidable in the modern world.

He was slain by a motor car. So are nearly a hundred others every week of the year. In the Boer War, lasting about three years, there were 5,774 killed and 22,000 injured. We are approaching that number of deaths on the road annually, while the injured are already ten times as great. What are we doing about it? Making new and better roads? Very slowly, if at all. Reducing the number of cars and limiting more stringently their speed? By no means. The output of the engines of destruction increases rapidly and so does their velocity.

Had George been killed with perhaps a dozen others in a railway accident or a plane crash, there would have been big newspaper headlines and probably a public enquiry. But as one of the year's toll of five thousand road deaths, he hardly deserved mention.

It was his own fault too. He went out to post a letter. His home, Sunbay, abutted on the village street. He had enjoyed his tea and he thought to stroll to the post office, which was a couple of hundred yards away on the other side of the road. He walked a short distance and then glanced behind him. There was no vehicle of any kind in sight. He took a few more paces and stepped on to the road.

Those few paces were fatal. A car had turned the corner and was almost level with him when he stepped in front of it. The luckless driver could not help hitting him. He was travelling at a legitimate pace and there were onlookers who saw it happen. George was known to them. A stretcher was improvised and he was carried back to the house he had left a few minutes before.

Dr. Skelton was soon in attendance. He decided that nothing would be gained by taking him to a hospital. There were multiple injuries and he knew the case was hopeless. All that was possible was done. A nurse was installed. Adelaide was by his side day and night and Pearl and Emerald were anxious to help. On the third day he died.

An inquest was of course held. The eye-witnesses told their story. The motorist expressed his sorrow but showed he had had no time to hoot or to alter his course. A verdict of Accidental Death was recorded.

The funeral was largely attended and the floral tributes were numerous. Adelaide, in deep mourning, looked pale and pathetic, though a drooping hat hid her features. The sons and daughters were by her side. There were no other relations.

The Vicar, the Rev. Dr. Aitken, paid a tribute to a friend and neighbour who had supported all good causes in the parish. His exemplary career had been abruptly ended by the Moloch of the Road at a time when he had only just started a new and happy life. He expressed his deep sympathy with his widow and his family.

After the interment the little party walked slowly back to their home, Adelaide leaning on the arm of Garnet, the older son. Ruth and Roger Bennion were among those in the church, but neither they nor older friends intruded on the sorrowing group who were accompanied by one man only, a Mr. Watson, who, as Mr. Michelmore's solicitor, had been present at the inquest.

Nan had attended the service, but she hurried back to see that Mrs. Hopkins had prepared lunch in accordance with her instructions. It was for the most part a silent meal, Adelaide remaining in her room.

When it was over, Mr. Watson said he had brought Mr. Michelmore's will with him; would they ask if Mrs. Michelmore felt able to come down while he read it or would she prefer it left until another day. Pearl went to make the enquiry and after a brief delay returned with the pale but outwardly composed young widow.

They sat in the lounge and Mr. Watson, adjusting his horn-rimmed spectacles, took the document from his pocket. Lawyers as a class are thin men. It is sometimes held that mental activity wars against obesity. If that be so, Mr. Watson was an exception to the rule. He was decidedly corpulent and his smooth poker face gave no indication of his thoughts.

"Mr. Michelmore's will," he began, "is in effect very simple. I think it would be best if I explained its general outline and I can have copies made and sent to each of you if you so wish."

He paused. Silence appeared to give consent.

"He sent me written instructions from Paris to prepare it, and he called and executed it at my office in London on his way here. I may perhaps say I disapprove of it in certain respects, but he insisted on my carrying out his instructions. He appoints his bank manager and myself his trustees and executors. He leaves all his real and personal estate to his wife, " Mr. Watson glanced at the deed to refresh his memory, "to his wife Adelaide Michelmore, formerly Adelaide Bidaut, nee Pelmore, for her life. On her death it is to be divided equally between his four children, Garnet, Emerald, Jasper and Pearl, or the survivors of them. Should however any of them have died and left issue such share or shares shall pass to their children."