Free Legend of the Seventh Virgin by Victoria Holt Page B

were memorials dedicated to past St. Larnstons. Even in church one had the impression that the St. Larnstons owned it like everything else.
    The whole family was in the pew this day. I suppose because it was Easter. There was Sir Justin, whose face seemed more purple — just as the parson’s seemed more yellow — every time I saw him; there was his wife, Lady St. Larnston, tall with a long, somewhat hooked nose, very imperious and arrogant-looking; and the two sons, Justin and Johnny, who hadn’t changed a great deal since that day I had encountered them in the walled garden. Justin looked cold and calm; he was more like his mother than Johnny was. Johnny was short compared with his brother, and lacked Justin’s dignity; his eyes kept roaming round the church as though he were looking for someone.
    I loved the Easter service and the flowers which decorated the altar; I loved the joyous singing of “Hosanna.” I felt I knew what it must be like to be risen from the dead; while, during the sermon I studied the occupants of the Abbas pews, I was thinking of Sir Justin’s father fancying Granny and how she went to him in secret for Pedro’s sake. I wondered what I should have done in Granny’s place.
    Then I was aware that beside me, Mellyora was also studying the Abbas pew; her expression was rapt and completely absorbed — and she was looking straight at Justin St. Larnston. There was a sheen of pleasure on her face and she looked prettier than I had ever seen her look before. She is fifteen, I said to myself, old enough to be in love, and she’s in love with young Justin St. Larnston.
    There seemed to be no end to what I was discovering about Mellyora. I must find out more. I must make her talk about Justin.
    I kept my eyes on the St. Larnston family and before the service was over I knew who Johnny was looking for. Hetty Pengaster! Mellyora and Justin — that was understandable. But Johnny and Hetty Pengaster!
    That afternoon the sun shone warmly for the time of the year and Mellyora had a fancy to go out of doors. We put on big shady hats because Mellyora said we mustn’t let the sun spoil our complexions. Her fair one was very susceptible to sunshine and she freckled easily; my olive skin seemed indifferent; all the same I liked to put on a shady hat because it was what ladies did.
    Mellyora stood in a solemn mood and I wondered whether it had anything to do with seeing Justin in church that morning. He must be twenty-two, I thought, which would be about seven years older than she is. To him she would seem only a child. I was becoming worldly wise and I wondered whether it would be considered fitting for a future Sir Justin St. Larnston to marry a parson’s daughter.
    I thought she was going to confide in me when she said, “I want to tell you something this afternoon, Kerensa.”
    She led the way on our walk as she often did; she had a way of reminding one now and then that she was the mistress, and I didn’t forget that I owed my present contentment to her.
    I was surprised when she led the way across the parsonage lawn to a hedge which divided the garden from the churchyard. There was a gap in this hedge and we passed through it.
    She turned to smile at me. “Oh, Kerensa,” she said, “it is good to be able to go out with you instead of Miss Kellow. She is rather prim, don’t you think?”
    “She has her job to do.” Strange, how I stood up for the woman when she wasn’t there.
    “Oh, I know. Poor old Kelly! But, Kerensa, you serve as a chaperone. Don’t you think that’s amusing?”
    I agreed.
    “Now if you had been my sister I suppose we should have been plagued by a chaperone.”
    We picked our way over the gravestones towards the church.
    “What were you going to tell me?” I asked.
    “I want to show you something first. How long have you been in St. Larnston, Kerensa?”
    “I came when I was about eight years old.”
    “You’re fifteen now, so it must have been seven years ago. You