The Rapture Page 6

  From the front row Edgar gives Donald a smile of encouragement, but Peter doesn’t take his eyes from Octavia.

  ‘And Miss Hardwick,’ She says, directing Her attention to the back of the room. I join the rest of the congregation in turning to follow Her gaze, grateful for the opportunity to look around at Grace again. ‘Would you be kind enough to stand so we can see you? Grace has come to learn more about our society. Dilys brought her to our door. I know you will all make her welcome.’

  I can feel the room’s attention turn to me and I can already tell that I have gone up in their estimation. Kate mouths the words ‘well done’ from the other side of the room. And from the row behind I hear Rachel Fox whispering to her neighbour: ‘Octavia does not usually let visitors come to chapel, not since that newspaper reporter came up from London and misquoted Her so shamelessly.’

  Octavia gestures for Grace to sit down again. ‘Miss Hardwick, your presence provides an opportunity to remind our members what God expects of them.’

  Taking her cue, Emily steps forward. ‘Miss Hardwick, have you heard of Joanna Southcott?’ Grace shakes her head. ‘But you know, of course, that Octavia is the eighth in a line of English prophets the Lord has sent to guide us?’ This time she doesn’t wait for an answer. ‘Joanna Southcott was the seventh. She died a hundred years ago, but before God took her to be with Him in Heaven, he told her she was with child just as Mary had been. Certainly a miracle because she was sixty-four years old!’ I look across at Ellen Oliver: this is her story, she is the one who pieced it together. She should be the one telling it, not Emily.

  ‘She was mocked by those who failed to see the truth, but as her stomach swelled her followers gathered and her doctors prepared for the birth – the birth of Shiloh, the birth of a messiah.’ Emily sweeps her eyes across the chapel to make sure everybody is listening. Of course they are. She is getting to the best bit.

  ‘When Joanna died they tried to get the baby out. A surgeon cut open her womb …’ The gasp from the congregation is of pleasure, not shock. ‘But inside they found her empty. A ghost baby: the Holy Ghost. The world would have to wait still longer for Shiloh to come.’ Emily is pacing now, along the aisle between the chairs, towards Grace. ‘Then, one hundred years later—’

  ‘Exactly one hundred years,’ Octavia interrupts. ‘One hundred years to the day, Ellen Oliver came to realise that Shiloh had come. That I was Shiloh. The world had been waiting for a man to do the job, when all this time what it needed was a woman!’ She laughs because the answer was obvious all along. ‘Now it is up to us, ladies!’ She raises Her hand, rousing the congregation into a small cheer. Then just as quickly there is silence and when Octavia starts to speak again we all strain forward to hear. It’s almost a whisper. ‘We are custodians of the Truth and, Miss Hardwick, guardians of a box, in which Joanna sealed the answer to healing the world. Prophecies that will set us free from suffering. Writings that will unlock secrets of the Lord Himself. Joanna knew that the time would come … that we would need to fight back against the Devil. And we are the army that God has chosen.’ I always enjoy this idea: a line of hats, handbags swinging, infantry armed with white gloves and tortoiseshell haircombs going into battle.

  ‘We are up against the arrogance of men. Miss Hardwick, God has given us the difficult task of persuading the bishops of the English Church to come here to Bedford. To convince them to open their minds and open the box.’

  ‘In accordance with Joanna’s instructions,’ says Emily.

  Octavia ignores her attempts to cut back in. ‘And we shall do it. Soon they will come and we shall be ready to receive them. God has shown us that the time is drawing closer.’

  We had thought the war would be an end to it, but Octavia says it was just the beginning. Moral degeneration, turmoil, natural order being turned upon its head. These are the signs that the millennium will begin.

  ‘God decreed that we must prepare a house big enough for twenty-four bishops to stay in, when they come here to Bedford to open the box,’ Octavia says. ‘As you all know, we were able to buy Castleside, and I am very pleased to report that the renovations are almost complete. We thank Kate for her tireless efforts overseeing the building work and the purchase of furniture for the bishops’ arrival. In the next few months I will be asking you to give all you can to make sure their stay with us is as comfortable as possible. Please start to give some thought to household goods – practical and ornamental – that you can donate.’

  Edgar raises his hand. ‘Octavia, I would be only too happy to co-ordinate the—’

  ‘That will not be necessary.’

  ‘I have lots of ideas—’

  ‘I’m sure. But when it comes to decoration I think we need a woman’s touch, and an English eye. Your nation is famous the world over for many things, Edgar, but good taste is not one of them.’

  He goes to say more but thinks better of it.

  ‘Besides,’ She says, ‘I have already decided that Dilys will oversee the finishing touches.’

  It takes a moment for me to realise whose name She has said. I hear it whispered as a question from the rows behind. Dilys? Surely She has made a mistake. Edgar turns as if to look at me but it is Donald’s eyes he finds. I know what they are thinking and they are probably right. I have never been in charge of anything before. I am not being-in-charge material. Octavia cannot see that, behind Her, Emily is greeting the announcement with a disapproving shake of her head.

  ‘Dilys … Did you hear me?’ Octavia asks, as though She is saying it for the umpteenth time. ‘You have a lot of work to do.’

  I nod quickly before She changes Her mind.

  *

  For those who have not yet seen the Truth, the details can be a little difficult to digest. Octavia knows that. She has read the letters from the ignorant and angry who have seen Her in the papers; though Emily says enough is enough and has taken to hiding them before She can see the words. Blasphemer, harridan, deluded harpy. Perhaps Octavia was testing Grace, to see whether she would run at the first opportunity. But here she is. She came and sat in the seat beside me. Donald wasted no time in vacating it straight after the service. Edgar appeared and said something about rushing off for their Bible study, but I think his haste had more to do with hurt pride. After all the hints he has been dropping to Octavia about Castleside, I think he felt sure that he would be chosen to finish furnishing it. But when he made that comment last week about ‘dowdy English décor’ I could tell Her mind was made up against him.

  ‘Octavia is …’ Grace makes a noise while she finds the words: not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh, ‘… a woman standing and preaching like that – I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s quite shocking – and marvellous!’ Her wonder makes me feel ashamed. I’ve taken all this for granted. I didn’t choose this life. It chose me. Perhaps that’s the reason God has sent Grace: so I can see through her eyes, so I can see how lucky I am.

  ‘When Octavia talked about being the Daughter of God, did She mean that we are all His children?’ she says. ‘It sounded more than that. Like She thinks …’ She pauses. ‘Dilys, do you believe She is His daughter just as Jesus is His son?’

  This is where it could all unravel. This is where Grace might turn and run. The Truth can be difficult to swallow.

  ‘The church of men believes in the Holy Trinity but we believe that God is fourfold,’ I say. ‘Father, Son, Holy Ghost and Daughter.’

  ‘So is Octavia … Do you believe this is the Second Coming?’

  ‘No. The Lord has sent Her to prepare the world for Christ’s return. Only then will evil be defeated.’

  ‘I see …’ she says, looking down at her hands. But I’m not sure that she does.

  ‘There is a lot to understand,’ I say. ‘It takes time.’

  I wish she would say something, tell me what she is thinking.

  ‘It is quite an honour for you to be here,’ I say. ‘Octavia doesn’t usually …’ I look up and see Ellen making her wa
y across to us. I can’t help feeling angry. The others crowded around Grace straight after the service with words of welcome and promises to share their favourite scone recipes. If Octavia has singled her out, then it’s best they make a good impression, but their good impressions took a full half an hour to make.

  ‘Welcome, Miss Hardwick.’ Ellen offers her hand to Grace who shakes it with the tenderness of an old friend.

  ‘Thank you. It’s an honour to meet you.’

  Ellen is not a vicar’s wife or curate’s daughter; in a past life she was a suffragette, sent to Holloway Prison for her crimes against femininity. When she became weary of the fight to infiltrate the world of men, she set her sights much higher: on the Kingdom of God Himself. But she still wears the starched strapped-neck collars, puffed sleeves and men’s neckties of her youth. And she is still slim enough to fit them.

  ‘Octavia said you were the one who realised,’ Grace says, ‘that She was …’

  ‘Yes, it was quite a time,’ Ellen replies. ‘When we knew God’s will was being done. And in Bedford! I am pleased that you are here. Welcome to the Garden. You have been given a chance to be part of the answer. Isn’t it exciting?’

  ‘It is,’ Grace says, as if she is answering her own question. ‘It really is.’ And then she looks at me, her eyes searching mine for something. Is it confirmation?

  Ellen lays her hand on my shoulder. ‘I’ll leave you young ladies to your conversation. I’m afraid it is time for me to head back home for an early night.’

  ‘Goodnight, Ellen. Sleep well.’ As she opens the door I see that night has closed in.

  ‘It is getting late,’ I say to Grace.

  ‘Do you have to go too? It’s just, there’s so much I want to know. About what Octavia said. About the box. Have you ever seen it?’

  ‘Me? No! I’m not sure that even Octavia has been told exactly where it is, but when the times comes She knows who to contact; the Southcottians have been keeping it safe since Joanna died.’

  ‘And why do the bishops have to be the ones to open it? I’m sorry, do you mind all these questions?’

  I should say, ‘Ask away while you can, before Octavia comes to think you have heard all the answers you need, because after that asking questions will be forbidden.’ Instead I say, ‘I don’t mind at all. They represent the twenty-four elders sitting around God’s throne. Chapter Four, Book of Revelation. When they come we will know the time is right.’

  ‘And in the meantime …?’

  ‘We wait. We prepare for His arrival. We write to the bishops and we try to make them see the Truth. But that’s not going to happen without pressure from the masses. Octavia and Emily are designing posters which we’re going to put on billboards and buses all across London. They can’t ignore us forever.’

  ‘But if there’s even a chance it really does contain the answer …’ she says, her excitement obvious now.

  ‘Then why wouldn’t they open it?’ I shrug. ‘Stubbornness. Octavia says they do not appreciate being dictated to by a woman.’

  A noise escapes from her throat: amusement, recognition.

  ‘But what do you think is inside it?’

  ‘All we know is that Joanna wrote instructions and sealed them in a chest. I don’t know what they say. It is not our place to know, or to imagine. Only to trust. The box holds the answer that will free us from all this mess. No more pain, no more suffering.’

  No more loneliness.

  ‘But don’t you wonder?’ She falls silent for a moment. ‘I suppose that’s what faith is. Being part of all this. It must be like being wrapped up. In something warm and wonderful.’ She turns to look at me but I keep staring forward. I don’t know what to say; so I say what I am supposed to feel; what I have felt since I began to see the society through her eyes.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘I think it’s something I’d like to be part of … If Octavia would allow it. She has been so welcoming. You all have.’

  I turn to her and she is looking straight into my eyes. ‘Do you think She would let me join?’ she says.

  ‘It usually takes time. She has to trust you. Some members have had revelations, knocked on the door and never left … Is that what this is? A revelation?’

  ‘I don’t know. I feel … something. I’m drawn to this place. I’m drawn to Octavia. When She spoke tonight it felt right. And sitting here with you …’ Is that a blush? Warm and wonderful, just like she said – suddenly that’s how it feels.

  ‘She might. Sometimes Octavia just decides on a person and nothing can sway Her. Like Emily: she came to us as staff.’

  ‘Emily – Mrs Goodwin – was a servant?’

  ‘Of sorts. She didn’t have the means to rent a room so she worked for us around the house.’ Before she became too important to sully her hands with such things.

  ‘So you think Octavia might consider it?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ I look towards the door. ‘But are you sure? Leaving all that—’

  ‘Out there?’ She looks out across the Garden as if she can see straight through the wall and out to the street on the other side. ‘There’s nothing I’d miss. I have no family left. My job … well, it pays for my lodgings, but my manager, Mr Marshall, expects more from me. Because he pays my wages, he seems to think he owns me.’

  ‘This is not a place to run away to.’

  She swallows hard. ‘I’m not running …’

  ‘I know … But …Why don’t we pray about it?’

  We bow our heads and silently I plead with God to let her join us. Not for Him, or for Octavia, not even for Grace. I pray that He will let her join us for my sake.

  TO THOSE DESIRING TO JOIN

  THE COMMUNITY:

  You have expressed a wish to come and live with us in the Panacea Society, in Bedford. You must weigh carefully whether this is a divine drawing, or merely the result of your wanting to leave duties which you do not care about, or relatives with which you are not in sympathy, or to love of adventure or desire for change.

  You are advised therefore to take seven days’ consideration, asking to be shown clearly whether any of the above reasons are urging you, or whether it is a divine leading which justifies you in overcoming all obstacles in pursuance of your desire.

  If a person has their own dress-money and is willing to do domestic work which will save us a servant’s wages and relieve us of the need to have an outsider, they would have board-lodging free. No wages would be paid in this case.

  THREE DIVINE COMMANDS

  All living in Community must report faithfully anything in their own conduct which they judge to be provocative of discord among others.

  They must be willing to be reported by others and to have no malice against them, nor to misjudge them in the performance of this duty.

  Also, they must report others who fall short of the standard which they know will be required of them as citizens of the New Jerusalem.

  Let it be clearly understood that none of the Rules and Regulations operating here are matters for you to have any opinions on. On our part, we shall understand that, by deciding to come here, you agree to all the forgoing and that you will submit completely.

  SPRING

  The simple facts are that God requires a few sensible, matter-of-fact women to take on the housekeeping on Earth, and to begin to give their orders, by word of mouth and on his behalf, until the defeat of Satan and the Divine Jurisdiction begins.

  Octavia

  Wash Day

  Grace wakes me with a knock on my bedroom door. She has brought a bowl of hot water, as usual, but I ask her to leave it outside the door. I don’t want to see her, or rather I do not want her to see me. Not until I am presentable; able to be present. Not until I have pieced myself together, washed away the dreams of the night before, brushed my hair, dressed my body to give myself the appearance of being in control. We spend so much time trying to tame our bodies, we make them look neat and obedient, but beneath our disguises they are still wild. They
still bleed. And so I wash away the smells of earth and brine, the cloying sweetness of rotting fruit: Eve’s apple.

  Grace is our servant now. She joined us every Sunday in chapel and after six weeks Octavia asked her to stay. I didn’t interfere or make her case, I only hinted that it might be time for us to find some help for Ellen. But Octavia had a better idea. ‘Ellen won’t have the energy to train her,’ She said. ‘Better that Betty goes to Ellen and Grace moves in here.’ I knew, without a doubt, that the Lord’s hand was at work again. Octavia said it was surely part of a divine plan. It was only later that it occurred to me that with a follower in post, She will also be saving eight shillings and tuppence a week on wages.

  That was a week ago. It feels like longer. When Grace first moved in, I worried that some of our familiarity had gone. It bolted away like a dog into the woods and, though I tried to call it back, I feared it was lost. For days I’d hardly see her at all; when I poked my head into the kitchen I’d usually find her with Emily, being instructed on the way Octavia likes things done. At mealtimes when she carried in the plates I would ask Grace whether she was well, whether she had settled into her bedroom, whether it was starting to feel like home. With the others present all she could say was, ‘Yes, thank you, miss,’ before rushing out to start her next chore. But she would always pause, just long enough, to find my eyes and give a look that only I could see.

  I don’t have long before she will knock again. In the mirror above my washstand I style my hair. I like unravelling the strips of cloth I tie each night; ribbons of brown spring out and bounce, jostling for space in line beneath my jaw. But I’m careful never to glance at my face. It reminds me who I am. I see the ghost of my father’s eyes: sensitive, too sensitive. They are not quite hazel, not quite green, not quite sure what they want to be. If I looked at my reflection I would see the same nose that grew out of my brother Eric’s face when he changed from a boy into a man, before he went to war and never came back. It would remind me that I am here and they are not. And of course whenever I look I see my mother staring back at me.