Margery Firethorn smouldered. She knew only too well the location of Arcadia. It was the setting of a play by Edmund Hoode. Instead of gracing her finger, the ring would be worn for effect in The Lovers' Melancholy. It was demeaning. Such was the esteem in which she was held.
Love had, literally, been snatched from her hand.
Her scream of rage was heard a hundred yards away.
The vestry of the parish church of St Stephen was dank and chill in the warmest weather but Humphrey Budden still felt as if he were roasting on a spit. Misery had brought him there and it deepened with every second. He had to make a shameful confession. The one consolation was that Miles Melhuish was patently as discomfited as he himself was. Inclined to be smug and unctuous for the most part, the vicar was now torn between reluctant interest and rising apprehension. Though he had married many of his parishioners and sent them off with wise words to the land of connubial delight, he had never dared to explore that fabled territory himself. This fact only served to cow the nervous Budden even more. How could any man understand his predicament, still less a rotund bachelor whose idea of nocturnal pleasure was to spend an hour on his knees beside the bed in a frenzy of prayer?
Miles Melhuish sat in the chair opposite his visitor and reached out to him across the table. A vague smell of incense filled the air. The weight of religiosity was oppressive. Their voices echoed as in a tomb.
'Speak to me, Humphrey', encouraged the vicar.
'I will try, sir.'
'Is it your wife again?'
'I fear me, it is.'
Not more weeping and wailing?'
'Thankfully, no, but there is further harm.'
'To whom?'
Humphrey Budden was a furnace of humiliation. His cheeks Were positively glowing and he felt as if steam would issue from every orifice at any moment.
'Did you pray? said Melhuish sternly.
'Without ceasing.'
'Has Eleanor prayed with you?'
'It is the only time I may get close to her.'
'How say you?'
'She has put me aside, sir.'
'Speak more plain.'
It was a difficult request to fulfil. A man who had mastered the delicate art of lacemaking was now forced to chisel words crudely out of himself like an apprentice stonemason. Each swing of the hammer made his brain reel.
'Eleanor…is…not…my…wife.'
'Indeed, she is,' said the vicar. 'I solemnized the marriage myself and preached a sermon to you on the importance of walking in truth. Have you done that, my son? Have you and your wife walked in truth?'
'Yes, sir…down by…the river.'
'Stop holding back.'
'I… have… no… wife.'
'Whom God hath joined let no man put asunder.'
'A woman hath done it.'
'Done what, man? We are going in small circles.'
Humphrey Budden steeled himself to blurt it all out.
'Eleanor is no longer my wife, sir. She will not share my bed or suffer my embraces. She says that the voice of God has spoken to her. It is sending her on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.'
'Wait, wait!' said Melhuish in alarm. 'You go too fast here. Let us take it one step at a time. She will not share your bed, you tell me?'
'No, sir. She sleeps on the floor.'
'Alone?'
'She will not let me near her.'
'Have you given her just cause, Humphrey?'
'I think not.'
'Have you caused her some injury or turned her affections from you in some other way?'
Even as he asked the question, Miles Melhuish saw how cruel and inappropriate it was. Humphrey Budden was a strong man but he would never use that strength against a woman. No husband could have been more considerate. His wife must be to blame for what had happened.
The vicar tried to probe into the bedchamber.
'This problem is of recent origin?'
'Since I called you to the house, sir.'
'And what passed between you in former times?'
'We shared a bed in Christian happiness, sir.'
'And your wife was then…forthcoming?'
'Most truly!'
'She did not hold back from you?'
'I was the novice at first. Eleanor had to instruct me in my duties and she did so with wondrous skill.'
Miles Melhuish reddened as a vision flashed before his eyes. He saw the naked body of an impassioned woman in the bedchamber of a parishioner. He could sniff her fragrance, feel her touch, share her madness. It took a great effort of will for him to banish her from his mind.
He asked his question through gritted teeth.
'You say the marriage was happy?'
'Very happy, sir.'
'And that she instructed you willingly.'
'Two husbands had taught her much.'
'So you and your wife…mingled flesh?'
'Every night, sir.'
'The act of love is for procreation, said the vicar sharply. It is not a source of carnal gratification.
'We know that, sir, and acted accordingly. Our dearest wish was that our union would be blessed with a child.
'I'm surprised you have not had several offspring, muttered the other under his breath. 'With such regular activity, you could people an entire town!' He sat up and pulled himself together. But all that is now past?'
'This is what she says.'.
'For what reason?'
'Divine command.'
'The woman is deranged.'
'She wishes to become a pilgrim, sir.'
'Poor creature! She needs help.'
'Eleanor is leaving soon.'
'Where will she go?'
'Jerusalem.'
'I spy madness.'
Humphrey Budden leaned forward to make his plea.
'Speak to her, sir!'
'Me?'
'You are our only hope. Eleanor will listen to you.'
