Legend of the Seventh Virgin by Victoria Holt

wouldn’t have heard. It’s ten years since it happened.”
    She led me round to the side of the church where one or two more recent headstones rose from the ground, and standing before one as though reading the inscription she beckoned me over. “Read it,” she said.
    “Mary Anna Martin,” I read, “thirty-eight years. In the midst of life we are in death.”
    “That was my mother. She was buried here ten years ago. Now read the name below.”
    “Kerensa Martin. Kerensa!”
    She nodded, smiling at me with a satisfied expression.
    “Kerensa! I love your name. I loved it the moment I heard it. Do you remember? You were in the wall. You said ‘It’s not an “it”. It’s Miss Kerensa Carlee.’ It’s strange how you can recall days and days in one little minute. I remembered when you said that. This Kerensa Martin was my sister. You see, it says ‘aged three weeks and two days’; and the date. It’s the same as the one above. Some of those gravestones have little stories to tell, don’t they, if you go round reading them.”
    “So your mother died when Kerensa was born?”
    Mellyora nodded. “I wanted a sister. I was five years old and it seemed as if I waited for her for years. When she was born I was so excited. I thought we could play together right away. Then they told me I had to wait until she was grown up. I remember how I kept running to my father and saying: ‘I’ve waited. Is she big enough to play yet?’ I made plans for Kerensa. I knew she was going to be Kerensa even before she was born. My father wanted a Cornish name for her and he said that was a beautiful name because it meant peace and love which, he said, were the best things in the world. My mother used to talk about her and she was certain she would have a girl. So we talked about Kerensa. It went wrong, you see. She died and my mother died, too; and everything was different then. Nurses, governesses, housekeepers … and what I had longed for was a sister. I wanted a sister more than anything in the world …”
    “I see.”
    “Well, that was why when I saw you standing there … and because your name was Kerensa. You see what I mean?”
    “I thought it was because you were sorry for me.”
    “I’m sorry for all the people on the hiring platform, but I couldn’t bring them home, could I? Papa is always worried about bills as it is.” She laughed. “I’m glad you came.”
    I looked at the gravestone and thought of the chance which had given me all I wanted. It might have happened so differently. If that young Kerensa had lived … if her name hadn’t been Kerensa … where should I be now? I thought of Haggety’s little pig’s eyes, Mrs. Rolt’s thin mouth, Sir Justin’s purple complexion, and was overawed by this sequence of events called Chance.

    We were closer than ever after our talk in the graveyard. Mellyora wanted to make believe that I was her sister. I was nothing loath. When I brushed her hair that night I started to talk about Justin St. Larnston.
    “What do you think of him?” I said, and I saw the quick color in her cheeks.
    “He’s handsome, I think.”
    “More so than Johnny.”
    “Oh … Johnny!” The tone was contemptuous.
    “Does he talk to you much?”
    “Who … Justin? He’s always kind when I go there, but he’s busy. He’s working. He’ll graduate this year and then he’ll be home all the time.”
    She was smiling secretly, thinking of the future when Justin would be home all the time. Riding through the country one would encounter him; when she called with her father he would be there.
    “You like him?” I said.
    She nodded and smiled.
    “Better than … Kim?” I ventured.
    “Kim? Oh, he’s wild!” She wrinkled her nose. “I like Kim. But Justin, he’s like a … knight. Sir Galahad or Sir Launcelot. Kim is not like that.”
    I thought of Kim’s carrying Joe through the woods and to our cottage that night. I did not believe Justin would have done that for me. I thought of