Saxonhurst Secrets

by Justine Elyot

  ‘Don’t. It’s over. I’ve applied for my transfer. By the end of this month, I’ll be gone.’ As long as I don’t see her again. As long as she doesn’t look at me. As long as she doesn’t touch me, I can tell myself I don’t want her.

  ‘It’s a shame. She just needs someone steady.’

  ‘She had someone steady.’ Adam tried not to shout.

  ‘Won’t you at least talk to her? She wants to apologise. Talk to her tonight. She’ll be here.’

  ‘I’ve nothing to say.’

  Mrs Witts clicked her tongue and went back to arrange a wheatsheaf.

  Adam watched her, his heart pounding, his brow slick.

  Two more weeks and then this is over.

  The door opened and Julia walked in. She looked good, in knee-length boots and a short burgundy tweed skirt, pearls looped and dangling to her waist.

  ‘Adam,’ she said, with an air of getting directly to the point. ‘I need your help with something.’

  ‘I’m a little busy at the moment, Julia. We start in half an hour. I still need to organise the sound system for the folk group.’

  ‘It’s a spiritual matter,’ she said.

  ‘Can’t it wait?’

  ‘No. It’s old Mrs Randall at the forge. She’s dying. She wants Extreme Unction.’

  ‘That’s a Catholic sacrament –’

  ‘Oh, whatever. Whatever it is you do. She needs it.’

  ‘I see. I’ll need to get my bag from the vicarage. Let me speak to Mrs Witts.’

  ‘No, no time. You’ll be back for the feast, I daresay.’

  They left the hall and hastened up to the vicarage. Adam hurried into his study, packing his prayer book and Bible. He was scrabbling in his desk for a pack of communion wafers in case she felt up to taking it, when he was suddenly and instantly aware of a fierce burst of pain at the back of his neck.

  He heard Julia say, ‘Sorry, Adam,’ a millisecond before everything went black.

  There was pain, redness behind the eyes, and a fuzz in his head when consciousness began seeping slowly back to him. He could open his eyes, but it was dark and he was somewhere very uncomfortable, wedged in between wooden walls, brushed by hanging fabrics. A wardrobe. He put his hands out and felt the clerical robes. His wardrobe. He pushed at the door. It was locked.

  He blinked over and over again, and some of the pain receded. It was an ache now, and a dryness of the throat, but that was more to do with the dust in there than anything else.

  Julia, he remembered. She must have hit him. Knocked him out.

  He kicked at the wardrobe door, but it was sturdy Victorian oak and the lock was a good one. With a rush, he realised that he was missing his own Harvest Supper. This was ridiculous. Everything about his ministry here had been ridiculous and now it was ending on an appropriately bizarre note.

  He tried to stand, but couldn’t do more than hunch over. He reached up for a wire coathanger and worked in the dark at picking the lock with it, not that he had much aptitude for that kind of thing. He should have paid more attention at that James Bond spy club he’d joined at junior school. He was sure there’d been something about picking locks … What did that boy say? Oh, it was no use. He couldn’t remember.

  He scratched away, kicking at the door intermittently in the hope of weakening the clasp, but at heart he was resigned to being stuck there until Julia deigned to release him. If she ever did.

  He must have been working on it for over an hour by the time he heard the bedroom door open.

  ‘Let me out!’ he bellowed. ‘Julia!’

  He heard footsteps and saw the handle turn, but whoever was there could only wrench at it. They didn’t have the key. It wasn’t Julia.

  ‘Hold on!’

  It was Evie’s voice. Even her voice made him flare up with love, even now.

  ‘I’ll get help, lover.’

  He heard her run out again. Ten minutes later, someone was picking at the lock, rattling the handle like fury.

  The catches lifted and the doors were flung open. Evie held out a hand to him. She was more maddeningly beautiful than ever, in a flowing full-length dress, her hair pinned up with a rose. Staggering out of the dark, he perceived an aura of shimmering light around her. She was his saviour.

  ‘This’ll be the work of that Shields,’ she said.

  Adam nodded.

  ‘Well, screw her. Let’s go to the feast.’

  ‘Is it still going on?’

  ‘Nearly done, but there’s the party on the green. Come on.’

  The locksmith walked through the door in front of them.

  ‘First,’ said Adam, holding her back.

  ‘What?’

  ‘This.’ He held her face and kissed her, all the pain forgotten, all the indignity and heartache melted away by the sight of her.

  ‘Are we back on then?’ she asked softly, touching his cheek.

  ‘Do you want us to be?’

  She nodded. They held each other in silence until the locksmith called gruffly from the foot of the stairs, reminding them that the night was young.

  ‘Sorry, emergency, got called away,’ he explained, striding up the aisles, past tables that looked like disaster areas, piled up with meat bones, crumby plates, wine spillages and half-eaten bread rolls. The villagers were merry enough, singing along to Kumbaya while the folk band strummed away.

  ‘You and Evie back together?’ somebody called out.

  Evie turned to whoever it was and nodded gleefully, at which a barrage of banging knives and forks broke out, together with cheers.

  Adam looked around for Julia, meaning to tell her that he was going to have her charged with assault, but she wasn’t there. Presumably she thought her work for the night was done.

  He waited for the folk band to finish their set, then rose to give a speech of thanks and a final prayer. The villagers rose as one and streamed out of the hall, towards the green.

  ‘You coming, vicar?’ Evie pulled him up by the hand.

  ‘There’s a lot of clearing up to do,’ he said, waving at the scene of devastation.

  ‘Oh, nonsense. You go. You’ve worked so hard getting this organised,’ said Mrs Witts. ‘Go and dance with Evie. We’ll sort out this mess.’

  ‘Ta, aunty,’ said Evie, beaming as she ran with Adam towards the open doors. ‘Come and see what they’ve done to the green. There’s a band and dancing and all, and a big bonfire.’

  ‘A bonfire? Is that allowed?’

  ‘Course it is.’

  Outside, the air was heavy with shouts and laughter. An accordion started up, then a fiddle joined in. As they wended up the path, Adam saw the golden flicker of the bonfire, sending orange sparks high into the darkness. It illuminated strange and unsettling shapes, a row of them, ranged behind the bonfire.

  ‘Are those the corn dollies?’ he asked, stopping at the lych gate to observe the scene.

  ‘Yeah. Dead clever, ain’t they? Take ages to make.’

  ‘They look – obscene.’

  Each shape unmistakably depicted people in the act of intercourse.

  ‘They’re a bit primitive,’ admitted Evie. ‘But that’s tradition.’

  ‘What kind of tradition demands you make a corn dolly of … Of …’ He broke off, glaring at the stylised figures of two people engaged in fellatio.

  ‘It’s Saxonhurst,’ said Evie with a shrug. ‘Don’t let it get your knickers in a twist, lover. Come and dance with me.’

  Looking around him at the towering tableaux of coitus, Adam allowed himself to be led by the hand into the heart of the action, joining the villagers in a rousing country dance. Joyful faces glowed in the firelight, heads thrown back, teeth revealed, eyes bright and wild. Swiftly a ring formed around Adam and Evie, who danced more slowly, swaying in each other’s arms.

  ‘They’re pleased for us,’ she whispered. ‘They want to celebrate. This is a big night for us.’

  ‘Harvest Festival?’

  Evie smiled and nodded, but somet
hing in her eyes suggested that he had misunderstood her. The fire grew, sending out powerful waves of heat. Adam feared an errant spark might catch on a corn dolly and set light to it, but Evie forced his attention away from the looming statues, cupping his face in her hands so he could look only at her.

  ‘Are you happy, lover?’

  Adam looked into her endless dark eyes, let the music coil around him, the fire burn his face, the scent of wood smoke creep into his soul.

  ‘I’ve never been happier.’

  ‘Hold on to this moment. Keep it. You’ve known happiness in life. No one can ask for more than that, can they?’

  The villagers’ dance had turned primitive now. People flung themselves around, falling on the ground, flailing arms, grabbing each other, kissing, wrestling.

  Evie’s lips touched Adam’s, and a hysterical cheer broke out. Immediately, the people swarmed forward, pushing and jostling against them. Adam struggled to end the kiss, aiming to try and direct them backwards, but Evie clung to him, biting down, pushing her tongue in his mouth.

  Arms braced around them, hands grabbed hold of him and he felt his feet leave the ground. Evie still held on to him, the pair of them joined in an embrace while the village men bore them aloft, laying them down across dozens of forearms. Adam, alarmed now, broke free of Evie, but a pair of men walking alongside yanked his hair and forced his face back into hers.

  ‘Kiss her,’ they demanded. ‘Keep close to her.’

  Somebody else was winding something around the pair of them, binding them together. It was some kind of twine, a flexible tree branch, perhaps willow.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he yelled, escaping Evie’s lips again, kicking and thrashing, but powerless against the combined strength of the Saxonhurst men.

  ‘Relax, lover,’ cooed Evie. ‘It’s just a silly tradition. Don’t worry.’

  ‘I know your traditions. What are you doing?’

  ‘We have to join together. Make the fertility of the summer last another year.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s no point fighting it now, Adam. The time’s here. You might as well just …’

  ‘You mean …?’

  Adam and Evie were set upright and then more twine was wrapped around them, securing them to the largest and most obscene of the corn dollies, a vivid representation of a woman being taken fore and aft by two lovers, one on either side of her.

  ‘You can’t mean this,’ yelled Adam, to the villagers as well as to Evie. ‘You can’t say all the other vicars have done this. Or is this some kind of joke? A sick Saxonhurst joke for a sick place.’

  ‘Kiss me.’

  ‘Evie, this is wrong. I love you, but this – this is wickedness.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t go against the tradition.’

  ‘I love you so much. All I ever wanted to do was love you.’

  She looked away for a moment, into the leaping flames. The villagers thronged around, some writhing on the grass, some lighting brands from the fire.

  One man took a knife and cut a line down Adam’s clothes, pulling them off through the twine. It was a long and painstaking process and Adam had to hold completely still if he didn’t want an injudicious cut. The same was repeated with Evie’s dress until the pair of them stood, bound and naked, on display to the village.

  ‘There’s nothing for it,’ said Evie softly.

  Adam shut his eyes and groaned, feeling her breasts squashed against his chest, his cock pressed to her hip. Despite everything, he felt it twitch, eager to harden.

  ‘You want me, don’t you, lover?’

  She caught his mouth in another kiss. The cheer was loud and shrill, rising above the crackling roar of the fire.

  He knew there was nothing else to be done. All was finished. He would leave Saxonhurst, never to return. But this once, he could have Evie. Evie could be his. Perhaps she would even leave with him.

  He let his reservations fly and threw himself into the kiss. If he was to corrupt his soul, at least he could do it wholeheartedly. He ravished her mouth, fidgeting with the twine as his tongue lunged. But it was tied so fast and so tight, there was no way of releasing them.

  Evie’s skin undulated, warm and yielding, against his. She ground her hips, inviting him to feel the wetness between her legs. He felt it, felt it stronger than the sting of smoke in his eyes or the pressure of the bonds or the humiliation of being exhibited this way. Its rapacious allure shot through him, into his bloodstream, straight to his cock.

  Oh, at last, at last he could have her. At last he could plunge inside that luscious, dangerous cunt of hers and take it, take it, take it. He could know earthly pleasure, never mind damnation. It didn’t matter any more. And besides, he had no choice.

  ‘She’s wet!’ shouted a female voice. Adam opened one eye to see a woman crouching by their legs, inspecting them. ‘And he’s getting hard.’

  More cheers, then a chant opened, ragged at first but growing swiftly in volume.

  ‘Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her.’

  ‘Hold on,’ said the woman. ‘I’ll need to put him in.’

  Adam felt eager hands grasp his shaft. Shockingly, this turned him on all the more, especially when they began to pump him, working him to full erection. Then she manipulated him into position, seating his tip just at the velvet opening of Evie’s pussy.

  ‘Get inside me,’ gasped Evie, breaking out of the kiss. ‘Fuck me, lover.’

  The woman pushed Evie’s bottom forward so that he advanced, slowly, exquisitely, up her tight channel. The crowd screamed approval until he was all the way in, balls deep. He felt her tighten her muscles around him, holding him in. Tears leaked from his eyes.

  ‘Oh God,’ he whispered. ‘Evie. My love.’

  Then something happened to the fire and it shot higher, causing the crowd’s screams to heighten, in terror rather than excitement, and many of them to jump back.

  Adam stared transfixed as the flames contorted into strange shapes, like arms reaching up, then a head appeared, then a torso, and the flaming head developed features, male features. The fire had become a man.

  No. This was a hallucination. It was one of his dreams. He looked around desperately, trying to flex his muscles, to bring himself back to consciousness, but he was still there, still with his cock in Evie’s cunt, still looking at a man made of fire.

  ‘Saxonhurst.’ The voice came from the flames, low and echoey.

  The villagers were making a horrible keening noise now, their arms held aloft.

  ‘The time has come.’

  ‘What’s he talking about? Who is he?’ Adam asked Evie, his voice coming out in a panicked trickle.

  ‘My beloved,’ she said. ‘John Calderwood.’ She was staring just as hard as anyone, and she looked afraid.

  ‘Raise them.’

  A group of village men gathered in a tight formation about the corn dolly and began to lift it from the ground.

  ‘What is this?’ Adam flustered, gripped with terror.

  ‘It’s time,’ said Evie faintly. ‘Time for us to burn. And then Calderwood and I can live freely again.’

  ‘I don’t …’

  ‘You have to burn. You have to die for us to live.’

  ‘Evie, this is …Stop! This is murder!’

  The villagers carried the corn dolly closer to the fire.

  ‘Tribulation Smith. Your time of tribulation has come.’

  Calderwood smiled.

  ‘You give your life for a greater good. Take comfort.’

  ‘This is murder!’ he reiterated. They were so close to the fire that he could feel it singe his hair and begin to strip his skin.

  ‘My Evangeline,’ said Calderwood softly. ‘You have brought him to me. And now we can be together. Say the words.’

  Evie simply stared all the more.

  ‘Say the words,’ Calderwood prompted her. ‘The spell we devised together, before Smith murdered me. Say it.’

  The blank, glazed expression on Evi
e’s face snapped into life. She lifted her chin.

  ‘John, this ain’t right,’ she said.

  ‘Say it,’ he hissed. ‘Tribulation Smith must die.’

  ‘This isn’t Tribulation Smith. This is Adam Flint. He’s done me no wrong, nor you.’

  ‘He wants only to possess you, like his forerunners. Evangeline! You know it.’

  ‘No, I don’t. He ain’t quite the same. I don’t think he wants to do those things. I think he just wants to love, and he don’t know how.’

  ‘He comes to Saxonhurst in a direct line from Tribulation Smith. He is the same man in a different time. He must be sacrificed. Evangeline, if you don’t say the words, I am doomed to another hundred years …’

  ‘What will you do if you gain your life?’

  ‘I will love you. I will be lord of Saxonhurst. We will rule together. Say the words.’

  The villagers lurched forward, as if they meant to pitch the corn dolly on the fire regardless.

  ‘That won’t work!’ Evie shouted. ‘If we burn without me saying the words, it all goes bad anyway. It’s my choice. I have to want to.’ She looked Calderwood directly in the eye and spoke softly. ‘And I don’t want to. I don’t think you’ve earned my conscience.’

  The roar of rage from the fiery Calderwood was enough to deafen all who heard it. The flames reached to the stars, while the villagers howled around them.

  Adam thought he might faint, overwhelmed with smoke and heat and terror, but he held on, trembling in Evie’s bounden arms, teeth chattering.

  ‘Begone,’ yelled Evie at the full force of her lungs. ‘Begone, Calderwood. I compel thee.’

  The fire turned black and then it was no more than smoke and ashes, thick and choking, turning the villagers’ cries to coughs with instant effect.

  ‘Shit.’ Evie hacked along with the rest of them. ‘He’s a cantankerous old sod. He did that on purpose.’

  Adam couldn’t reply. He felt as if his entire body and soul had been filled up with awe and dread, so much so that it was pouring out of him. Awe of Evie, dread of everything else.

  ‘You OK, vicar?’ she croaked. ‘Sorry. Bit intense, yeah?’ She raised her voice. ‘Will someone untie these fucking ropes?’