Death at Balfefield Abbey

Chapter 10, Wiltshire, 1884

It was the night of Easter Sunday and Miranda lay on her back in darkness listening to the gentle breathing of Mrs. Archer in the other bed. The brandy she'd consumed earlier relaxed her body and would have easily coaxed her into sleep, but she was determined to stay alert and wait for the older woman to commence her customary, murmured snoring, so she could slip out of the room unnoticed.

Their room was small, with just enough space for two beds, two clothes lockers at the foot of each, and a washstand. The only ornamentation on the whitewashed walls was a pair of plain wooden crucifixes, one over each bed. There were no mirrors. When Miranda requested one, Uncle Alfred merely said by way of refusal, "Girl, I refer you to Ecclesiastes, Chapter 1: 'Vanity of vanities; all is vanity,'" before walking away with that stick-insect gait of his.

One morning, about a year ago now, Miranda was descending the stairs from the attic room she shared with her stepbrother Matthew when she was seized suddenly by abdominal cramps, so severe all she could do was sit on the stairs holding her knees, moaning. The day before she experienced mild aches on her upper legs, close to her cunny, but this was so sudden and much worse. When the muscles eased their contraction a little, she became aware of another sensation down there. Thinking she must have wet herself, she sent her hand to investigate only to find, when she withdrew it, her fingers smeared with blood. Panicked, she grabbed up her dress and found her drawers and petticoat were also stained red.

Now, in the darkness, Miranda smiled at her silliness. No, she corrected herself, not silliness, but ignorance. No one had forewarned her of what would happen to her body as she moved from childhood to womanhood. Not even Mrs. Archer, the only other female in her daily life, but the woman could be surprisingly coy about the human body and its functions below the navel. During those moments, alone on the stairs, assailed by the twin harbingers of blood and pain, she thought she must surely be about to die. But, as she remembered it now, the idea of impending death created within her a surprising calm. Aware of her own mortality, for the first time in her young life, she had a profound revelation. Her very own insight into reality. She knew then, as fact, what previously had been an indistinct, preconscious thought, one that had never been far away, yet never fully in focus: after death, there was nothing. A nothing she imagined as a black, eternal, peaceful sleep.

Uncle Alfred was wrong, there was no heaven or hell, no judgment awaiting. He preached to them, beat them for various transgressions of faith, and insisted they were sinners. He proclaimed that mankind had been cast down because of the treachery of Eve, and all were depraved and sinful. He was a fool. She saw that so clearly now. For if there was nothing to fear after death, no heaven or hell as reward or punishment, therefore, it followed, there could be no such thing as sinners and no such thing as sin.

Miranda was still smiling to herself when Mrs. Archer found her on the stairs.

"Oh, my dear, you've come into flower," she said, seeing the bloody undergarments from the bottom of the stairs, and wrinkling her face in disgust. "Quickly now, let's get you up to my room before any of the men come upon us."

Uncle Alfred found out later that day. He must have been told by Mrs. Archer. Not that he mentioned it directly, of course. He simply declared that Miranda was now too old to share a room with her stepbrother and, therefore, she would move in with Mrs. Archer.

Prior to their evening meals, it was her uncle's habit to make them stand around the table and listen to a short sermon of his own devising, mostly variations on the message that only the Gospels held the key to salvation. For the seven days that followed, he took to quoting from Leviticus and made references to 'unclean women' while casting dark, accusing looks towards Miranda.

Mrs. Archer had still not fallen asleep. It occurred to Miranda the old woman was playing the same, patient game, and waiting until she was sure the other was unconscious before relaxing into her own slumber. Yes, of course, that must be it, she would want to reassure herself there would be no further commotion tonight and that Edgar and Matthew would not come to blows again.