Death in Ecstasy Read Free Page A

could not hear what he said. The rest of the circle remained kneeling, but rather as though they had forgotten to rise or were stricken into immobility. The ecstatic fervour of the ceremony had quite vanished and something infinitely more disquieting had taken its place. The priest spoke. Perhaps because he had heard the words so often that evening, Nigel heard them then.
    “Spiritual ecstasy— ”He pronounced this word “ecsta-sah.”
    “Manifestation…”
    The Initiate hesitated and looked fixedly at the prostrate figure.
    “My friends,” said the priest loudly, with an air of decision. “My friends, our beloved sister has been vouchsafed the greatest boon of all. She is in ecstasy. Let us leave her to her tremendous experience. Let us sing our hymn to Pan, the God-in-all.”
    He stopped. The organ uttered a tentative growl. The congregation, murmuring and uneasy, got to its feet.
    “Let us sing,” repeated Jasper Garnette with determination, “the hymn—”
    A scream rang out. The little dowdy woman had broken away from the circle and stood with her head thrust forward and her mouth wide open.
    “It’s not. It’s not. She’s dead. I touched her. She’s dead!”
    “Miss Wade, quiet!”
    “I won’t be quiet! She’s dead.”
    “Wait a moment,” said a placid voice near Nigel. An elderly solid-looking man was working his way out of the row of pews. He pushed himself carefully past the large lady. Nigel moved out to make way for him and then, on a journalistic impulse, followed him up the aisle.
    “I think I had better have a look at this lady,” said the man placidly.
    “But, Dr. Kasbek—”
    “I think I had better have a look at her, Father Garnette.”
    Nigel, unobserved, came up with the group under the torch. He had the sensation of walking on to a stage and joining in the action of the play. They appeared a strange enough crew, white-faced and cadaverous looking in the uneven glare of the single flame. This made a kind of labial bubbling. It was the only sound. The doctor knelt by the prostrate figure.
    She had fallen half on her face, and head downwards across the chancel steps. The doctor touched her wrist and then, with a brusque movement, pulled away the cap that hid her face. The eyes, wide open and protuberant, stared straight up at him. At the corners of the mouth were traces of a rimy spume. The mouth itself was set, with the teeth clenched and the lips drawn back, in a rigid circle. The cheeks were cherry-red, but the rest of the face was livid. She may have been in a state of ecstasy but she was undoubtedly dead.
    On seeing this dreadful face, the Initiates who had gathered round drew back quickly, some with exclamations, some silently. The elderly drab lady, Miss Wade, uttered a stifled yelp in which there was both terror and, oddly enough, a kind of triumph.
    “Dead! I told you she was dead! Oh! Father Garnette!”
    “Cover it up for God’s sake,” said the tall young man.
    The doctor knelt down. He sniffed twice at the rigid lips and then opened the front of the dress. Nigel could see his hand pressed firmly against the white skin. He held it there for some time, seconds that seemed like minutes. Still bent down, he seemed to be scrutinising the woman’s face. He pulled the hat forward again.
    “This is turrible, turrible. This certainly is turrible,” murmured the commercial-looking gentleman, and revealed himself an American.
    “You’d better get rid of your congregation,” said the doctor abruptly. He spoke directly to the priest.
    Father Garnette had said nothing. He had not moved. He still looked a striking enough figure, but the virtue had gone out of him. He did not answer.
    “Will you tell them to go?” asked Dr. Kasbek.
    “Wait a moment.”
    Nigel heard his own voice with a sensation of panic. They all turned to him, not in surprise, but with an air of bewilderment. He was conscious of a background of suppressed murmur in the hall. He felt as though his vocal