Isabel's Light

by Andy Jarvis

  It took a while, but Baz calmed eventually, once the bats had settled. A few minutes later I was slipping the vestry key into its lock and stepping inside.

  A blinding sheet of white hit my face as the room burst into light. And there, at the end of the table, clutching two huge books to his chest, stood John Cannon, the Reverend of St. Mark’s himself, glaring and unmoving – and as stone-faced as the church itself. Like Moses with the tablets of stone at the foot of Mt. Horeb surveying the betrayers. And as Moses had done with the Commandments, he cast the volumes down. Onto the table they slammed with a crack like thunder.

  “Looking for these!” he roared.

  In the Bible story the earth opened up, swallowing the sinners.

  I wish it had then.

  7.

  Reverend John Cannon stood staring out from the French windows of his lounge. Hands clasped behind his back, he twiddled his thumbs and sighed heavily. Beyond the garden border a weak, grey light filtered its way onto acres of frost on freshly tilled fields. Two farm labourers repaired fence posts nearby. In the distance a tractor pulling a silage tank ambled along rocking between the furrows, throwing slurry like it had just hit a fan. It had.

  Me and Baz sat quietly on a sofa. The two volumes of the Parish Council Records lay before us on a coffee table. Arden, on a chair at the dining table, sat head bowed ruefully, examining his fingers, which twitched nervously. He needed a fag but daren’t reach for one. I needed to clear the dryness in my throat, but hardly dare breathe. All was silent.

  “I should call the police,” said Reverend John, turning at last. “Yes that would be the right thing to do. And what about my cabinet? Tudor, that is. It’s been in the family for generations.”

  He walked over to us, and pulling up a chair which he placed in front of Baz, sat down. “What do you think I should do?” he said. “What do you think the police would say…hmm?”

  “Don’t know,” mumbled Baz, sorrowfully.

  “I think they’d be very interested, don’t you? Why do you think that is, eh laddie?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Oh, but I think you do,” said Reverend John. “Why don’t you tell me, eh?”

  “If you mean Baz’s record,” I cut in; “well he didn’t do anything. He was…”

  “Silence!” Reverend John bellowed.

  Turning back to Baz, he continued quietly: “You see, I know all about you, young man.”

  Baz’s eyes widened. He looked dreadful; the colour drained from his usual rosy cheeks. “Know what?” he panted.

  “Well, your accomplice needn’t have opened his mouth then, but as you’re not going to admit it yourself, I’ll spell it out for you. You see, I take a great deal of pride in my church and all its fittings. I’m very wary of who comes into my church, especially from outside the village. I run a check on any tradesmen. Your employer, Mr. McBright, was very helpful in that respect. He told me all about you. He assured me you’d learnt your lesson, that you’d done your time, as they call it. I quite agree. I’m a very forgiving sort of person. Indeed, it comes with the job, you see, a part of the Christian ethos. Pity we were both wrong.”

  “I didn’t do it,” said Baz. “I was set up at the time.”

  It was true. Baz didn’t have the best of starts in life. Well, there’s only one of three things you can do when you grow up in a tower block named after a South American revolutionary, and your old man who’s supposed to be the role model has disappeared from memory. Number one: you do drugs or crime out of sheer boredom and desperation. Number two: you get out and make something of your life – not easy when even your postcode is blacklisted with every employer and financial institution from Land’s End to John O’ Groats. Or number three, again out of desperation, you can jump from the top floor.

  Baz was simply naive and fell in with a bad crowd, which is pretty hard to avoid up in the area where we live. Always eager and wanting to impress on the older guys, at the age of sixteen Baz was implicated by association in a crime he had nothing to do with.

  Sometimes the law takes naivety into account. Sometimes it can see through the jingoism and view the heart of the accused. Sometimes it’s lenient and fair. Sometimes it’s a prick.

  But Baz got out in three months, taking a record with him. And now it was there, hanging before him by Reverend John, like a resurrected ghost come back to haunt, and not for the first time, Baz’s naivety, over enthusiasm and curiosity were his downfall.

  “I don’t think the police really care whether you did it or not,” said Reverend John. “The fact is, guilty or innocent, you have a record. When you go back to court, that will be taken into consideration. I think three months will seem like a stroll in the park by comparison, don’t you? It makes what you did seem even more stupid and clumsy, don’t you think?”

  “Yes sir,” said Baz meekly.

  Reverend John stood and walked back to the window. He surveyed the outside thoughtfully for a few moments. His frame and black of his cassock against the back light made him appear larger than usual, and menacing. His shadow darkened the room.

  He turned to Arden. “And you!” he snapped, raising his fist and shaking his head as he spoke. “My mind boggles! Explain to me please, how a respectable middle aged professional man, head of a renowned organisation, can be arm twisted into such a hair brained prank?”

  “I take full responsibility, of course,” said Arden.

  “Damn right you do! You’re a man of some authority who commands a certain respect. I should imagine these lads found it very difficult to refuse you.”

  “That is true, Reverend. I asked the boys to help me in the Trust’s research into the state of the body. I meant no harm, and merely intended to look at certain sections of the Records that might give insight into such. There are some very odd things about…”

  “Enough!” shouted Reverend John. “Why do you think I don’t want all and sundry nosing into the past affairs of this Parish, eh? Perhaps you think the evil Reverend holds some deep, dark secret? Or perhaps you think I’ve conspired with that idiot herb gardener known as Silas to hide some sort of pagan ritual, eh? The burning of corn effigies and wicker men; that sort of thing?”

  The dryness and tickle in my throat became unbearable. I tried to clear it discretely, but ended up coughing and spluttering.

  Reverend John glared at me. “Yes?” he growled,

  “Sorry, Reverend,” I said. “Could I have a drink?”

  “Really? What sort of drink would that be then? It seems drink got you here in the first place.”

  “Just water, please.”

  He disappeared through a doorway, returning a few seconds later with a large jug and glasses.

  I took a sip and a deep breath. “I’m sorry Reverend…it’s just that Silas did come out with some strange ramblings,” I dared to say. “We couldn’t help ourselves…it was just stupid curiosity. We’re very sorry.”

  “Well there you go, you see,” said Reverend John. “Rather than listen to a man of the cloth, a spiritual guide, entrusted leader of a community, you take heed of an imbecile!”

  “I meant no disrespect, Reverend.”

  “Oh do please call me Rev or RJ…I mean RJ of all things! Do you really mean JR? Is it some sort of twist on the Dallas character? Am I such a brute that you see me in the same light as some fictional tyrant of an oil baron? Or, on the other hand, if you’re so fond of me as to label me with pet names, why then treat me like a fool?”

  He paced slowly back and forth, hands behind back, shaking his head and sighing. “I shall tell you why these Records should remain out of bounds to just any old body,” he said. “It’s because I, as head of this Parish, am entrusted to keep the confidentiality of my people. There are other events and occasions, besides this thing that Silas rambles on about, that some of the good people of this community have a right to keep to themselves. It’s not a case of you’ll find any great undisclosed scandal or such thing, merely a point of principle. Mu
ch of what is recorded is known throughout the village. It’s just not talked about. It is our right. Some things we care not to be shouted to the world. Some things are best forgotten.”

  He paused thoughtfully, then pointed at each of us one by one as he spoke: “You think you’ve discovered something profound, don’t you? You think that you’ve uncovered some great mystery, perhaps; some sinister shenanigans that I’ve been trying to hide, yes? Well, you’re wrong. The fate of Isabel Rankin is also known among the village elders. It’s nothing new. The folk of Candlewell are not proud of this particular piece of history. I myself am not proud of my father’s part. Would you be?”

  He pointed to me. “Or you?” he said, pointing at Baz.

  We shook our heads silently.

  “Who’d want to shout about a parent whose mind was still buried in the dark ages?” He pulled a chair up facing Baz again. “So, you see, many of the people of this Parish are related to those members of the council that made that dreadful decision all those years ago. I think they deserve some confidentiality. Anyone who’s ever made a mistake or been associated with something they weren’t part of deserves some confidentiality, don’t you think? Especially those that are not to blame.”

  He smiled at Baz.

  “Yes sir,” said Baz.

  “We should leave sleeping dogs to lie, as they say,” said Reverend John. “The fact is that Isabel Rankin was totally innocent of any wrong that we can possibly see. It’s quite unthinkable that someone should be persecuted in such a way. Of course the church, even today, doesn’t condone pagan practices, but still just the same…such a terrible fate. The poor woman! You can understand why it’s not widely spoken of. As for Silas, well he is a herbalist, you know. He grows many an exotic weed in his allotment. Sometimes I wonder if he isn’t smoking some sort of home grown opiate or other the way he rambles on. I suggest you ignore him. Most of the village does.”

  Arden spoke next: “Reverend, I truly hope you can forgive the bloody fool that I am. I am so sorry. I had no intention of invading the privacy of your parishioners. I hope you can understand that what I was attempting was sincerely in the best of scientific interest.”

  “I believe you,” said Reverend John. He stood and walked to his window, again staring outside with his back to us. “Believe you, but don’t forgive you. These lads I can forgive. They’re foolish and gullible. But you?” he said, turning. “I can’t weigh you up.”

  “Sorry Reverend.”

  “Do you want to know the real reason I haven’t called in the police? It’s nothing to do with secrets or protecting privacy. It’s because I want my bloody church heated before next Christmas!” he thundered. “I don’t want any more delays. I don’t want all the fuss and palaver of having to make statements to the police, bringing new workers onto the job and generally messing about waiting for things to get moving again.

  “You, I’d see locked up in a flash,” he said, pointing to Arden. “Don’t think you can win me over with that Old Etonian style patronising. These lads however, for all their stupidity, at least are doing a good job. But what’s your worth, then?”

  “Perhaps if you could give me a chance to prove it,” said Arden.

  “Oh yes, that’s right. The clergy must always give penance, correct? Very well then, I give it to you. Take them,” Reverend John said, pointing to the volumes.

  “Pardon me?” said Arden.

  “Go on, take them. I give them to you to examine as you wish. If you can prove to me that there is one iota of information that proves of any scientific value, then I shall forgive you. Perhaps it may also wipe away this lunatic notion that I have some dark secret to hide. Go on; keep them as long as necessary.”

  “Thanks!” said Baz, reaching for the volumes.

  “Not you!” snapped Reverend John.

  “Very gracious of you, Reverend,” said Arden. “I shall look after them with my life.”

  “See that you do. But if I see one single reporter in this village, or one tiny word in any periodical, magazine or paper about the contents of the Records, then I shall see you in court. I’ll have you, and the name of your Trust, dragged through so much dirt you’ll feel like you’ve been tied to the back of a tractor on slurry day!”

  “And you two!” Reverend John added, pointing to me and Baz. “You stay out of it. Get on with the job in hand and leave the Trust to do theirs. And you better hope that Mr. Staniforth here keeps his word or I’ll have no alternative but to go to the police. Otherwise, nothing more will be said. Do we understand each other?”

  “Deal!” said Baz gleefully.

  Sorted. A big relief. By some miracle we were off the hook. But out of stupid curiosity, there was one thing I couldn’t leave: “Reverend?” I said.

  “Yes? What now?”

  “I’ve got to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “How did you know we were going to break in last night?”

  “I didn’t,” said Reverend John. “Not for certain. It’s just that some unsavoury looking reporter came to the church the other day, asking the same sort of questions you were, and asking where he could find you. He repeated what he’d heard from Silas and asked about the Records. It didn’t quite click even then, except for one enlightening question. He asked if anyone else had a key to the church. I knew you’d been into the vestry before without my permission, so I realised you must have got hold of one somehow.”

  “You knew we’d been in the vestry before?” I asked. “How come you didn’t say anything at the time?”

  “I didn’t realise straight away. No, it was a day or two after, when some little thing gave the game away. I thought it best to monitor the situation, rather than go in with all guns blazing. That would make it look all the more like I had something to hide. So I let it ride, see where things would go; let you get on with the job, now that you’d satisfied your curiosity. Then I became angry once I realised that the cabinet had been broken into, rather than just the lock being picked.”

  “How did you know?” I said “I suppose we did a pretty botched job repairing it right?”

  “Oh no, in fact I thought the repair was very professional looking. I’d never have noticed without examining it with a magnifying glass.”

  “How then? Did you notice the vestry key was missing after Baz lifted it?”

  “Did he?” said Reverend John, raising an eyebrow. “How very clever, I never saw him do it. I assumed you had a copy made before returning mine.”

  “I bet it was Baz then,” I suggested, “rambling on about how we would never touch anything we weren’t supposed to the other day when we were having tea.”

  “No, never thought anything of it.”

  “What then? What gave it away?”

  Reverend John smiled shrewdly and reached into his cassock pocket, drawing out a half used tube of Bostick glue. “Very clumsy,” he said. “I didn’t notice it right away. It was partly obscured by the same piece of cloth you used to wipe clean the surface. I thought it was a duster and polish the cleaning lady had left at first. Once I’d found the glue I examined the cabinet closely. Then I realised you must have gone in after I’d locked up for the day.”

  “You idiot!” I hissed at Baz.

  “Then this reporter came along with his questions,” Reverend John continued. “I foresaw one or two scenarios: either he’d get the key off you and break in himself, or he’d bribe you. What I didn’t expect was someone from the Trust to be involved,” he said, frowning at Arden. “How much did he pay you, by the way?”

  “Five hundred,” said Baz, quietly.

  “Five hundred!” Reverend John cried. “I’m in the wrong business! A very tidy sum indeed. Hmm, this could go a long way. Cabinet repairs and enough left for my Ethiopia appeal to feed many a hungry orphan, I dare say.”

  Baz reached into his jacket and slid the brown envelope across the table. “It’s not ours,” he said. “Harvey will come looking for it.”

  “Well, let him
come to me,” said Reverend John. “I’ll give him a story, alright. How about the one about a reporter jailed for aiding and abetting burglary? Or, perhaps the one about a reporter being tied to a slurry tank? After all, he must be used to sticking his nose in the dirt.”

  “Nice one Rev…I mean Reverend…sir,” said Baz.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Reverend,” said Arden standing. “You truly are a remarkable and forgiving human being.” He bent down for one of the volumes and grunted as he felt the weight. “How on earth did you manage these? The lads said you were holding the two of them together.”

  “I may be old, but I’m not feeble,” said Reverend John.

  “Remarkable in more ways than one, indeed.”

  “I guess we better get back to work then,” I said, standing.

  “Yes,” said Reverend John. “Just one more thing, before you go.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I haven’t decided how you all should be punished.”

  “Punished?” I said.

  “Yes, you didn’t think I was letting you off scot free did you? You must serve penance! It’s part of the Christian ethos!” Reverend John stood upright, his shoulders back and hands clasped behind, raising himself up on his toes and rocking back and forth on his heels. Proud. Noble looking. Like a grandmaster that knew his next move was checkmate. “I’ll see you all in church tomorrow morning, ten o’clock service. Don’t be late.”

  “Is that all?” said Baz.

  “All? What else would you like? I can always find you some stables to muck out if you like. Ten o’clock tomorrow, you can reflect on how you misused my trust and pray for forgiveness. Oh, and bring a donation for the collection plate.”

  “But we already gave five hundred quid!” Baz protested.

  “Ah, but that was Harvey’s donation! Now run along, I believe you lads have some concreting to finish.”

  “But,” said Baz.

  “Come on!” I said, pulling him by the collar.

  *

  I love concrete. There’s something almost delicious about that grey Portland and gravel slurry, lovingly blended to cake mix consistency. Then it’s poured, board levelled and skilfully trowelled to smooth perfection, only to add the master artiste’s final touch – a handprint and date, plus a name of course.