“Who was it?”
“My dream ended before I could see. Though my impression was that the man was you.” He shook his head slowly. “I woke up with my heart racing. I felt a very palpable fear.”
Father Gilbert hardly knew what to say. He realized his fingers were intertwined so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. “Has anyone mentioned to you about Colin going to the tower at St Mark’s?”
“No.” Singh’s dark-brown eyes suddenly grew wide. “Did he?”
“We don’t know for sure. He may have, before he killed himself.”
A sharp exhale from Singh. “That is a remarkable coincidence, then.”
“More than you know,” Father Gilbert said. “At the same time Colin was in his garage, I had a dream – for lack of a better word – about Colin on the tower.”
Singh leaned back in his chair. He placed his palms down on the table as if steadying himself.
Father Gilbert detailed his encounter with Colin on the tower.
Singh pulled his hands back and clasped them as if in prayer. “This is unbelievable,” Singh said after a long pause.
“It is.”
“Has this ever happened to you before?”
“Once or twice.” The door to the pub opened. A family came in. Two children raced to the play area.
Singh spoke in a hushed tone, “In India, we are taught to take dreams very seriously. This raises in me a fear I haven’t felt since I was a child, before I became a Christian.”
Father Gilbert considered telling him about seeing the body hanging from the tree, and the assault on the bridge, but it seemed like too much at this moment.
Singh returned to the straw in his drink. He stirred with greater energy. The ice had nearly melted into the orange liquid. “There is more at work here than what we know, Father. Something evil.”
“Without question.”
“We must be vigilant.”
“You said you had fearful dreams. More than the one?”
“Yes – a second dream, though it was more perplexing.” Singh nudged the glass aside. “It involved a fight between two men. One had a sword. They were on an ancient bridge.”
CHAPTER 14
Father Gilbert didn’t believe that the seemingly random convergence of mundane events often labelled by people as “coincidence” was random at all. The world was a vast tangle of interwoven webs and intricate patterns of cause and effect that, at its core, reflected a spiritual reality. We, as humans, were constantly being nudged towards a heavenly or a diabolical realm. Nothing was random. Even the mundane was filled with significance. How else to explain, for example, a man who ties his shoes every day of his life and then one day, while bending to accomplish that simple task, his back seizes up and puts him in hospital for several days? There he meets another patient with whom he talks – and that talk changes his perspective about the existence of God. He investigates further and discovers what it means to have a relationship with Jesus Christ. The man’s eternal destiny changes because he bent to tie his shoes. And, by coincidence, he met another man in the ward who impacted his life in the most profound way.
Explainable? Yes. But what explanation could anyone offer for the so-called coincidence of the dreams Father Gilbert had shared with Reverend Singh? It was unnerving.
No, he thought, none of what had happened in the past thirty-six hours was mere coincidence. Nor was it a coincidence that he and Father Benson had lunch at The Countryman Café, a stone’s throw from St Mark’s, and David Todd happened to drop by.
All the tables were filled, so Todd slid onto a chair next to Benson. “May I join you?” he asked, without waiting for an answer. “The best sausage sandwiches in the area. Have you ordered?”
“A few minutes ago,” Father Gilbert said.
Todd signalled the harried waitress. She came over, took his order for the sausage special, then left again. Todd produced the local paper, which had been tucked under his arm. He spread it out in front of them. The main headline on the front page announced that a body had been found under “Haysham’s bridge”. There was a photo of Lord Haysham and David Todd arguing in the centre of a crowd.
“Nice photo,” Father Gilbert said.
“This will slow him down,” Todd said.
“Is there anything about Colin Doyle?” Benson asked.
“Page three,” Todd said. “Just a paragraph about a possible suicide and so on. It’s a terrible thing.”
“Did you know Colin Doyle?” Father Gilbert asked.
“Why would I know him?” Todd countered.
“No reason.” Father Gilbert noticed that Todd’s question wasn’t an answer.
There was a brief silence, but Todd was looking at Father Gilbert.
“All right, David, what else?” Father Gilbert finally asked.
Benson looked at Father Gilbert as if he’d missed something.
Todd pushed the cutlery aside and leaned both elbows on the table. He moved in close. “Guess what I did only an hour ago?”
“Took a vow of poverty to become a monk?” asked Father Gilbert.
Benson chuckled.
Todd didn’t. “I gave a swab of my cheek-lining to the police. Apparently they think the body from the bridge is a relative of mine. They want to compare our DNA.”
“Joshua Todd,” Father Gilbert said.
“You’ve heard about him?”
“From Mary Aston.”
Todd smiled. It was on the edge of being lascivious. “Gorgeous, isn’t she?”
Father Gilbert nodded. He felt Benson’s eyes on him. They hadn’t talked about Mary Aston’s visit yet. But Father Gilbert had no doubt that Mrs Mayhew had mentioned it – and Mary – to Benson.
“She’s a remarkable woman. I’ve met her at various antique auctions,” Todd said.
“I didn’t know you collected antiques.”
“I don’t. I was selling some items.” He didn’t elaborate. “I’ve promised to help her find the rest of the Woodrich Set, if I can. I’ve told her she’s welcome to look over my family documents.”
Father Gilbert suspected Todd would welcome her to do more than that, given the chance. He immediately repented of the thought.
“You have to admit, this raises a number of questions,” Todd said. He began to rearrange the tabletop – the salt and pepper moving to the left, the sauces to the right. Nervous energy, much like Reverend Singh’s habit with the straw.
“What questions?” Benson asked.
“About Joshua Todd’s death. Who murdered him, the ownership of the Woodrich medallion…” The café door opened and something outside caught the afternoon sun. It flickered, hitting Todd’s face. He raised his hand to shield his eyes and squinted at Father Gilbert. “That hurts.”
The flickering light went away and he lowered his hand.
“You know about the Woodrich Set, right?” Todd asked.
“Miss Aston gave me a brief history. But Father Benson hasn’t heard.”
Todd’s mobile phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket. “Sorry,” he said and glanced at the screen. His facial expression changed and his eyes widened with alarm. Then, quickly, he caught himself and forced a smile at the two priests. Punching the button, he shoved the phone back into his pocket. “Blasted phones. They’re a nuisance.”
“If you need to take the call…” Father Gilbert began.
Todd waved him off. “It was nothing important. What were we talking about?”
“The Woodrich Set,” Benson reminded him.
“Oh. Right.” He picked up his water glass and took a drink. The ice trembled. “The legend of the Woodrich Set has been in my family for years. More whispered than openly talked about, like a skeleton in the family closet.”
“An interesting choice of expression,” said Father Gilbert.
“The discovery of the body on the Haysham estate confirms what I’ve always believed: Joshua Todd was murdered by the man who was then Lord Haysham.”
�
�You can’t know that,” Father Gilbert said.
“The bridge is on his property, isn’t it?”
“The bridge was on one of the main public roads into Stonebridge,” said Father Gilbert. “It skirted the Haysham property then. Everyone used it.”
Benson held up a hand. “Why would Lord Haysham want to kill Joshua Todd?”
“Rope,” Todd said.
“Rope?” Benson repeated.
Todd nodded. “In the early eighteenth century, my family were tradesmen who eventually became masters in different kinds of industry. You’ll find Todds in the North who became captains of the mercantile world – cotton and weaving. The Todds here were successful in rope manufacturing, supplying the ships in the docks of Southaven. It became one of the mainstays of Stonebridge’s business interests.”
“Isn’t Stonebridge awfully far inland to serve the docks in Southaven?” Benson asked.
“The Mill River once cut through Stonebridge and extended to Southaven and the sea,” Todd explained. “Though the Hayshams owned most of the land along the river. It was their way of controlling the business in the area, to get their percentage of it. They would not allow anyone to use that land commercially.”
Father Gilbert was surprised. “They owned that much land – all the way from Stonebridge to Southaven?”
“They did then, yes.” Todd scowled. “They’d have claimed ownership of the river itself if they could have got away with it.”
“I still don’t understand why Haysham would want to kill Joshua Todd,” Benson said.
Todd continued, “My family’s rope-making business was hugely successful. Even the Hayshams had to buy from us. They saw the profits and wanted control of it. I have letters suggesting subtle coercion to outright intimidation. But Joshua Todd refused. Then he developed a faster and more efficient way of making the rope – ahead of his time, I think. Suddenly the Todds were in the upper class. The Hayshams didn’t like it. It was offensive for the Todds to take their place with the ruling class. So Haysham put a spy into our family business. They stole our method of rope-making. Within a few years, Joshua Todd was driven out of business and nearly wound up on the streets.”
“Surely he’d saved enough of his fortune to live comfortably,” Benson said.
“He lost his money on bad investments, some connected to the Hayshams,” Todd said. He moved the shakers and bottles to one end of the table, then idly swiped at some crumbs with the palm of his hand. His expression was sour. “You see, the Hayshams have done their best to destroy the Todds at every opportunity. Joshua Todd went from wealth to poverty in only a few years.”
“Is that why he served as a handyman for the Bishop of Lewes?” Father Gilbert asked.
Todd looked impressed. “He took work where he could get it.”
“What about the rest of the Woodrich Set? Is there anything in your family legend about that? I mean, apart from the letter Francis Todd wrote to his parishioner about the sword and ring being at St Mark’s.”
Benson was surprised. “St Mark’s?”
Father Gilbert gave him an I’ll-explain-later look.
“I’m going to check our archives to see what else I can learn about that Set.” Todd leaned back from the table as the waitress arrived with their food.
The conversation turned to normal chat as they ate. Benson asked Todd about the local housing and land market. Todd gave a full report about how much things were likely to improve in the area, in spite of financial downturns elsewhere.
Father Gilbert watched David Todd. He was enthusiastic and confident as he spoke, but there was something in his eyes that betrayed a deep anxiety. Father Gilbert suspected it wasn’t related to the conversation, but something else. He thought about the earlier phone call.
As they finished lunch, Father Gilbert’s mobile phone rang.
Todd jumped at the sound, then laughed. “I don’t know why I’m so jittery.”
Father Gilbert pressed the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“Lord Haysham’s wife phoned and has asked you to come to the house right away,” Mrs Mayhew said.
“Why?”
“She didn’t say. But she was distressed.”
“All right. Thank you, Mrs Mayhew.” Father Gilbert turned to Benson. “We have to go.”
Benson took a last bite of toast. “I’ll drive,” he said, as if he had a choice.
Todd tossed his serviette onto his plate and looked at Father Gilbert. “No trouble, I hope,” he said, as if he knew exactly what the call was about.
* * *
Lord Haysham paced his family room, brandishing a golf club like a weapon. His face was red. “It’s nothing short of corporate espionage,” he raged.
Fathers Gilbert and Benson stood by the door, having just refused an offer of tea from a worried-looking Lady Haysham.
“What’s wrong?” asked Father Gilbert. He’d never seen Lord Haysham so agitated. Benson moved to the wing-back chair, standing behind it as if using it for cover.
“What’s wrong?” Haysham asked, pacing in heavy-footed strides. “I have it from the police—”
“DI Wilton?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Haysham snapped. “This Doyle fellow was a spy for David Todd.”
“What makes them think so?” Father Gilbert asked.
Haysham fumed. “Todd’s number was on Doyle’s mobile phone. Repeated calls, after Doyle began working on my property. There were texts about money. Doyle’s bank records show deposits from David Todd’s company paid into his personal account. The sums were significant.”
Father Gilbert thought of Doyle’s new car and the forthcoming holiday. He was also impressed by the speed with which the police had found the phone numbers and accessed the bank records. He was less impressed that the information was shared with Haysham.
“Why would David Todd pay Doyle to spy on you?” Benson asked.
“To report to Todd everything that happens at the site, with the intention of putting a stop to it. Any misstep. Any find. Todd would use it all to sabotage me.” He snorted.
Father Gilbert shook his head. He was tempted to ask what Haysham expected, considering the animosity between the Hayshams and Todds.
Lord Haysham lifted the golf club. “Now I understand how Todd and his protesters arrived so quickly after that body was found.” He looked at the club as if only just realizing he had it in his hand. He smashed it down onto a cushion. Dust blew up into the shaft of sunlight coming through the window.
“You have to relax, my lord,” said Father Gilbert. “Put down the club.”
Haysham tossed it onto the couch and went to the French windows. He looked out at the stone patio, or somewhere beyond. “I’m losing money with every delay,” he said. “Discovering the bridge was bad enough. If that body turns out to be Todd’s ancestor, he’ll make the most of it to delay me further. No doubt he’ll blame my ancestor for the murder.”
Fathers Gilbert and Benson exchanged looks.
“I wish my ancestor had killed Todd’s,” Haysham said softly. “It’s what I’d like to do to him now. I’d like to wring his neck.”
Father Gilbert stepped towards him. “Stop it. That kind of talk will get you in trouble.”
Lord Haysham turned. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Yes, of course. You’re right. There’s no point in lowering myself to his level.”
At that moment, a phone on a small table began to ring. Lord Haysham jerked his head and looked at it. Father Gilbert saw in his expression something familiar, and thought of David Todd’s expression when his mobile phone had rung at lunch. Was it fear?
“My wife will get that,” Haysham said. But he kept his eye on the receiver as it continued to ring.
“She must be busy,” Father Gilbert said.
His wife appeared in the doorway and looked anxiously at her husband. “Michael?”
“Don’t bother with it,” he said.
She stepped out again. The three men were silent as
the phone rang a few more times, then stopped. Haysham relaxed.
“Why didn’t you answer it?” Father Gilbert asked.
“The press,” he said without conviction. “They won’t leave me alone.”
“Really?” Father Gilbert asked.
Lord Haysham saw his expression. “To be honest, I’ve been receiving crank calls ever since that body was found. Probably Todd’s fanatics. They have my wife worried.”
“You too, from the looks of it,” Father Gilbert said.
Benson moved out from behind the chair and to the phone. “There’s a number you can dial to get the caller ID.”
“I tried. The number was blocked.”
Benson lingered, as if he might try for himself, then moved back to the chair.
“What can we do for you?” Father Gilbert asked.
Haysham picked up the golf club, then dropped himself onto the couch. “Tell Todd to leave me alone. Surely you can do that, as his vicar.”
“As the vicar, I’d rather arbitrate a meeting between the two of you to work out how to live with each other for the long term,” Father Gilbert said.
Haysham shook his head. “He’s irrational whenever I’m around.”
Father Gilbert thought for a moment, then said, “Have you ever researched the conflict between your families?”
“Why would I?”
“The root of your problem could be found there. Besides, the best defence is a good offence,” Father Gilbert said. “The Todd family maintains that somehow the Hayshams robbed them of money or opportunity or intellectual property. If you can establish the facts from your family papers, then you can argue against any potential scandal Todd puts out to the public. And if you determine that your ancestors actually did rob the Todds, then you can offer some sort of restitution to make peace.”
Haysham was affronted. “Pay him?”
“Why not?”
Haysham muttered a colourful profanity.
Benson blushed slightly and looked away.
“Do you know where your family papers are?” Father Gilbert asked.
“My father hired Adrian Scott to serve as our family archivist. He has everything I know about.”
The Body Under the Bridge Page 9