by Allan Frost
‘I did! Well, for a short time.’
‘You don’t fancy Hell, then.’
‘Have you any concept of what would happen to us if you exorcise these buildings?’ pleaded the Prior. ‘Have you no sympathy for the dreadful suffering experienced at our deaths? Surely you can’t wish us the agonies of an even more terrible after-death death?’
‘Is this Purgatory?’ asked Tim, genuinely interested. ‘You’ve confirmed the existence of Heaven and Hell, so is this Purgatory?’
‘Oh, God, no! Wish it were! No, this isn’t Purgatory; we didn’t qualify. Don’t quite know what to call it, but it’s certainly not Purgatory.’
‘What do you suggest we do then? I can’t have you threatening me or my friends.’
‘I’m sure we can come to some agreement without resorting to exor— . . . you-know-what.’
‘I think I have an idea or two,’ said Tim thoughtfully. ‘Let me have a few moments to myself.’
Augustus interrupted. ‘Before you do, would you mind excusing Sir Cedric? He’s needed back at the dinner table. There’s a distressed damsel who wishes to converse with him.’
‘Me?’ said Cedric. ‘Who could possibly want to speak to me at this late hour?’
‘I believe her name is Fatima Arkwright,’ replied Augustus, leading the way.
Tim propped himself up against a wall, deep in thought. He flicked the torch on and off absent-mindedly.
The host of ghosts watched with increasing trepidation, waiting to hear what he had in store for them. They couldn’t very well pray to God for help; in fact there was no one they could call upon for assistance. Even Satan was no use to them here; it was through his devious ploys that they had succumbed to life’s temptations in the first place. If fault could be laid at anyone’s door except their own, it was the devil’s own.
Tim’s lengthy deliberations drove the Prior so crazy he felt obliged to produce his trump card.
‘If it would help the decision making process,’ he said as persuasively as his scared voice would allow. ‘I could tell you where the Priory’s treasure is hidden.’
Tim didn’t hear; he was too busy thinking. Thomas couldn’t understand the lack of interest: greed had been one of his favourite vices.
‘There’s gold and silver,’ he said. ‘Crucifixes encrusted with precious stones. All manner of riches.’
‘Oh, yes?’ murmured Tim.
‘It’s all in Prior Frances’s tomb,’ he added.
‘Prior Francis?’
‘Well, he . . . she wasn’t exactly a prior,’ said Thomas. ‘In fact, he was a woman. Changed her name from Frances to Francis. Quite chaste to begin with but it didn’t take long for her to be chased by every man in the building. Bit domineering but she liked men in habits,’ he added. ‘In fact, she liked men, full stop, as indeed do several of us. Fooled everyone for years. She had such tender hands, unequalled in relieving the unspoken tensions from which celebate Man tends to suffer. By the time she was found out, the canons were so infatuated, they kept her secret . . . secret.’
‘As it happened, she didn’t actually die,’ he continued. ‘Well, obviously, she did eventually, but not here. Said he’d heard voices instructing her to start a new mission at a brothel in Merthyr Tydfil. We dug the tomb to remind us what a wonderful, selfless person she was. A memorial rather than a grave, if you like. We hid our treasure there because it would be safe. No one wants to dig up a grave, do they?’
‘I believe I have the answer,’ said Tim, breaking his silence. ‘Firstly, none of you must ever frighten or threaten any living being or ghost you happen to meet. Is that agreed?’
‘Yes. Hear that, everyone? Pay attention at the back! This is important!’
‘Secondly, you will all help me by relating your life stories when I ask you to. Agreed?’
‘Agreed.’ This was better than Thomas could have hoped!
‘Thirdly, you will help me make plans of the layout of the Priory and the land around it. As you remember them.’
‘Yes.’
‘Finally, you will do as I say, whatever it happens to be and whenever I choose.’
‘Agreed. And you promise never to exorcise the Priory grounds?’
‘I promise . . . provided you behave yourselves and don’t annoy me.’
Prior Thomas was hesitant.
‘Could you define ‘behave yourselves’ a little more precisely?’
‘Don’t worry. You may continue your . . . entertainment. During the hours of darkness; never in daylight.’
‘We couldn’t, even if we wanted to,’ said the Prior. ‘A greater power than yours has so decreed.’
‘Very well, then. We have an agreement. And, if you don’t mind, I think we should start immediately. No time like the present. Gather round, and I’ll tell you I want you what to do.’
Sir Cedric Foot-Wart, Baronet, gingerly opened the flap into the central marquee. Augustus, passing through the fabric, got there first and announced his arrival.
‘Fatima!’ Cedric exclaimed enthusiastically. ‘How lovely to see you again!’ He strode over and kissed her hand. Cynthia thought he held onto it for a little longer than etiquette permitted.
‘And what brings you here? It’s been such a long time!’
Yes, thought everyone else. What does bring you here? Can’t be for a holiday, so what’s the reason?
They all, including Cynthia, watched in silence, waiting patiently. Even the musicians stopped playing and shuffled their chairs forward to get a better view. Augustus and Elizabeth hovered in the background.
‘Hello, Sir Cedric. I’m terribly sorry to bother you like this but I really need your help.’
‘What is it, my dear? What’s happened? It’s not your mother, is it?’
He saw involuntary tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.
‘She’s died, hasn’t she? I’m so sorry! There, there, I’m sure you did your best.’ He put a comforting arm around her shoulders and squeezed them gently.
‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked kindly. Sarah sensed there was more than mere friendship influencing Cedric’s manner.
Fatima, unable to contain her emotions any longer, burst into a flood of tears.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ she sobbed. ‘I really shouldn’t have come!’
She tried to stand but Cedric pressed her firmly back onto her seat.
‘It’s all right, Fatima. We’re all friends here. You can tell us.’
‘You won’t like it,’ Fatima managed to blurt between sobs. ‘It’s not fair to burden you with something entirely my fault! I should have been more careful! Oh, this is so embarrassing!’
It’s odd how people jump to conclusions.
Hilda was in no doubt Fatima Arkwright had got herself pregnant and wanted Cedric to arrange an abortion via one of Cynthia’s dubious contacts. She sniffed disapprovingly.
‘Please excuse me, I’ll be back in a moment,’ Fatima said, easing Cedric’s arms away before she went outside. No one spoke while she was gone, although querying glances bounced from face to face.
She returned a few moments later, carrying a small navy blue carrycot.
Ha! thought Hilda. Too late for an abortion, then.
Fatima sat down with the carrycot held firmly on her knee. As if driven by an inbred instinct, the women gathered round to take a closer peek.
A baby lay warmly wrapped in a blue blanket.
George felt slightly out of place.
Cedric, on the other hand, didn’t. He experienced a modicum of restrained joy to think Fatima had had a child; it seemed to lessen the despair of not having children of his own. Fleeting thoughts flashed through his mind, thoughts he dared not speak.
Should he offer to support the child? Fatima wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and, even with a moderate inheritance from her mother’s estate, could probably do with all the help she could get. Perhaps that was why she’d come to him. Strange she hadn’t written to him rather than make such a
long journey. On the other hand, a plea is best made face to face. Very brave of her.
The musicians, in an image reminiscent of the Nativity, came to take a look at the baby before returning to their marquee. Strains of Brahms’s Lullaby added something quite soothing to the scene.
‘How old is he?’ asked Sarah, feeling a little left out.
‘Just over a month.’
Cynthia’s brain made rapid calculations. When was it that Cedric had first fallen into a depression?
‘Take a closer look,’ she said to Cedric. ‘Why don’t you say hello to your son.’
‘My what?’ he exclaimed.
‘It’s true, isn’t it Fatima?’ Cynthia didn’t seem at all fazed. In fact, her smile was on full beam, not dipped.
‘How can you tell?’ asked Fatima.
‘I’m not as stupid as I appear, nor so old I’ve lost my powers of perception. He’s just like the old photos of Cedric on the piano, although they’re sepia. Fatima, you cannot imagine how wonderful this is! You’ve made Cedric and me the happiest people in the world!’
Fatima wasn’t the only one lost for words and Cedric’s wasn’t the only mouth open wide enough to swallow the Titanic.
‘What’s his name?’ asked Cynthia, who seemed to be the only one capable of speech.
‘Cedric. I hope you don’t mind,’ she added quickly.
‘I think it’s such an old person’s name,’ observed Cynthia. ‘Just think what his school friends will call him. Have you given him a middle name?’
‘Percival. After my father.’
‘I think Cedric sounds just right,’ said Cynthia. ‘I’d love to hold him but not at the moment. Don’t want to wake him or get dribbles down my gown.’
The lullaby played a third time.
‘I think he should be at home, not here,’ announced Cedric. ‘He might catch a chill or something.’
‘I really don’t want to put you to any trouble,’ said Fatima.
‘No trouble at all,’ insisted Cynthia. ‘Question is, will he stay asleep?’
‘Oh, yes,’ replied Fatima. ‘He won’t wake up again until about seven in the morning. He’s very good.’
‘If that’s the case, why don’t you take him back to Blister Grange? Cedric will accompany you and get our maid to take care of him. That’s if you don’t mind. Then you can both come back to celebrate. It won’t be a problem, will it, Sarah? Fatima looks as though she could do with a good time. Unless you’re too tired, my dear?’
‘No, sounds good to me. It’s been a very tense day and it’ll make me feel a bit brighter.’
‘Well, run along to the taxi. We’ll see you shortly.’
Several minutes elapsed before anyone thought to revive the conversation. What a night this was turning out to be!
Cynthia, sensing the charged atmosphere, broke the silence.
‘Don’t ever mention I told you,’ she confided. ‘But, although this seems a very strange situation, you have no idea what this means to me, let alone Cedric. He’s been so anxious to have an heir to the estate, and young Cedric’s a Godsend. Isn’t it wonderful?’
‘Weren’t you able to have a child of your own?’ asked Sarah, getting in first. She guessed Hilda was having some difficulty coming to terms with what was, in the elder woman’s limited range of experience, tantamount to immoral behaviour. Really! These blue-bloods have no sense of decorum!
‘No, I’m unable to, always have been. The guilt at letting him down has been very hard to bear,’ she said, sadly. ‘That’s why I feel so relieved. What does it matter if the old fool played away from home for the first and only time in half a century? He’s a good man, is Cedric. And I couldn’t have done better if I’d chosen Fatima Arkwright myself. Such a lovely young woman, don’t you think?’
‘Seems so,’ said George, wondering how on earth Cedric had managed to achieve such a result with someone so attractive and less than half his age.
‘I suppose she is,’ said Hilda begrudgingly. ‘But how will you all get on under the same roof?’ she added, probingly. ‘Could be a recipe for disaster.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Cynthia. ‘She’s the child’s mother and Cedric’s the father. I’ll be there if I’m needed but otherwise I’ll let them get on with it.’
‘What if Cedric wants another child?’ asked Hilda.
‘That’s up to him. After so many years of married life, I know Cedric loves me and it must have been very hard for him to do what he did. But it’s done and I’ve never seen him so happy. Didn’t you notice how quiet he went? The Foot-Wart line will continue! He’s so proud! And relieved!’
I bet he is! thought George. A faithful, understanding wife and an attractive mistress. Some folk have all the luck!
‘Oh, Cynthia!’ exclaimed Sarah, throwing her arms around Cynthia’s neck. ‘You’re incredible!’
Tim appeared at the awning.
‘I’ve got a little surprise,’ he announced. ‘It’s not what I’d call a pretty sight, but don’t be alarmed. Especially you, Hilda.’
XX
‘Hang on a few minutes before I show you,’ Tim said. ‘Ted, would you mind coming with me?’
They stepped outside.
Moments later, Ted revved the engine of his Volkswagen and drove it from the camp site to just outside the marquee. Without a word to anyone, Ted beckoned Fred, Jed and Ned to join him, with their instruments, outside.
Tim reappeared and distributed Ted’s spare jesters’ hats to the women (‘to keep your heads warm outside’) and codpieces on loops of elastic for George and himself. Unfortunately, the elastic was past its best and the codpieces drooped and swung from side to side like elephant trunks. Elizabeth and Augustus wished they could have donned such attire, but death has numerous drawbacks; this was yet another negative to add to a lengthening list. Sarah told Tim Cedric would be back soon but didn’t elaborate.
‘Ready? Then come and join the fun!’
Tim flung the awning wide open.
To begin with, all Cynthia, Hilda, Sarah and George could see were the Volkswagen’s bright headlights piercing the gloom.
‘I thought there were only four musicians,’ said Hilda.
‘There are.’
‘But I can see at least seven. Am I drunk again?’
‘No, Hilda. Meet the inhabitants of the Priory! They’ve had a bit of a rough time since the Black Death, so be sympathetic. Let’s give them a night to remember!’
The enlarged band burst into merry music.
‘I know this tune,’ exclaimed Elizabeth. ‘It’s a dance. Come on, Augustus, let’s show them how it’s done!’
Taking their lead, Tim and Sarah and Hilda and George paired up to watch and imitate the Wiltons’ steps. Seeing Cynthia was on her own, one of the canons with a lecherous look in his eye slithered up and invited her to dance. Fortunately, it was one of those courtly routines which required no physical contact.
And so the revelry continued. Yet even the quick (and, by Jove, they were quick!) and the dead have limits to their stamina, so comfort breaks involving copious drinking bouts (and something more in the darker recesses of the former refectory) provided a welcome respite from incessant jigging.
It had the feel of a boisterous social club on a Saturday night although, it being a Sunday, staunch Methodist Wesley Pope at Home Farm would have been horrified to see such licentious behaviour taking place with gay (and straight) abandon on the Sabbath.
Cedric and Fatima returned in the taxi; it dropped them off and returned to base. Fatima now wore something more in keeping with a private, select and formal party only to find herself drawn into an evolving riotous scene. Although stunned by what she saw, Cedric had obviously given her some warning of what to expect but even he was astounded.
‘Some party this turned out to be!’ said Cynthia, after popping into the marquee for a quick thirst-quencher. ‘Never had such a wild experience, and I’ve had a few in my time!’
‘Hilda seems
to have had a few as well,’ remarked Tim. ‘She’s a big hit with the canons.’
‘I know a dance or two!’ declared Hilda, holding on to George’s arm for stability. ‘George and I used to do a lot of barn dancing. George is a brilliant caller!’
‘How about it, George?’ said Sarah. ‘Fancy a go?’
‘What does Tim think? It’s his party.’
Tim was not really a dancer in any shape or form but, what the Hell! Why not?
‘Fine by me.’
George propped Hilda against the Volkswagen and had a word with Ted. Ted nodded and spoke to the members of his temporarily enlarged consort.
‘Right, everyone,’ shouted George. ‘Form two lines in front! Stand apart and face your partner. No, a little further! That’s fine. Now, I’ll shout instructions; all you have to do is exactly as I say. Off we go!’
The band struck a chord and began playing a lively tune.
‘Face your partners, one step back, turn around and make one clap!’ George shouted, rather louder than he’d have wished but the dance line was so long there was no option.
Barn dancing is tiring at the best of times and, despite several more intervals and accompanying refreshment, the effects of such energetic activity began to take their toll. Nevertheless, no one wanted to stop. What they needed was something slightly slower yet just as much fun.
‘Have any of you tried line dancing?’ asked Fatima, feeling more at ease with her new-found, understanding friends.
No one nodded.
‘It’s easy! Ted, know any country and western?’
‘Yeah, why?’
‘For line dancing.’
‘No problem!’
Again, taking his lead, the other musicians picked up Ted’ rhythmic melody while Fatima gave instructions. ‘Just copy what I do!’ she shouted, facing the marquees with hands on her hips.
Tim was hopeless, even worse than Cedric. Shaking his head, he dragged one of the chairs outside the dining marquee and sat, watching over seven hundred years’ worth of people having a great time. Ok, those with one leg looked a trifle odd hopping about until they fell over, and so did bursting boils erupting over their companions, but it was a sight to warm the cockles. It could all have been so disastrously different if Prior Thomas hadn’t misheard the dreaded ‘E’ word!