Margaret and Bromwyn were sitting stiffly on a sofa, they looked formal and ill at ease. In the middle of the hall stood Nigel and Bernard, both wearing suits. Their bodies were tensed with anger, their heads thrust forward, their necks elongated like fighting cocks as they confronted each other with a fierce and merciless hate. Bernard’s speech seemed to have disintegrated into an angry gobble at which Nigel’s voice, barely raised, slashed out with a venomous hiss.
“You have broken every law of Wicca. You shall be punished. As high priest it is my duty to preserve order in the coven; I condemn you to be cursed and banished for ever.”
Simon touched Jenny’s hand and pointed downward, then he encircled his eyes with his first fingers and thumbs. Jenny looked down again and saw that most of Bernard’s face was concealed by a large and extra dark pair of sun glasses. So it was Bernard. She thought that really she’d always known it in her bones, though she’d been tortured at times by doubts of Margaret and Robert and suspicions of the Forrests and Bromwyn. But would Bernard leave her alone now, would Simon’s black eyes and Nigel’s curse and banishment deter him? She began to concentrate on his reply. It seemed a confused ramble.
“…just because I thwarted you and put a stop to all your little games, that’s what you don’t like. You want to have everything your way and no one else is to dare to stand up to the great man. Well I’m not your little dog to come when it’s called and do its tricks when it’s told. We all know that you ruled the coven through Rosemary and you thought you would do it through Bromwyn, but she’s a different cup of tea, she’s got power, she’s a clever girl and knows too much for you. What you want is a silly little nobody, but I’ve seen through your scheming; I know what you’re getting at and if we’re going to bring the laws of Wicca into it well then you can’t deny it’s the high priestess’s right to choose her high priest, ‘be he of sufficient grade,’ and it’s high time she made a change.”
“You broke the law when you worked alone, you did evil and may it rebound on you threefold, you misused witch weapons. At the next Esbat you shall be cursed and banished.” Nigel was a formidable accuser.
“Nothing of the sort,” screamed Bernard, “nothing of the sort. I don’t accept your authority, the high priestess wishes to make a change.”
Nigel swung around. “Is this true, Bromwyn? Have you been plotting behind my back?”
Bromwyn was in one of her strange, twitching states. “No, not a plot,” she answered. “Nothing immediately, just a change at the appropriate time, the summer solstice? Robert has proved himself in the third grade now and, since we’re lovers, it would be more fitting…
Nigel assimilated the implications of this blow quickly. “Until the high priestess makes the change I am high priest,” he announced firmly, “and as such…”
“But the high priest must be acceptable to the coven,” interrupted Bernard, “and you’re not. Robert’s the only man acceptable to us all.”
“The high priestess has spoken,” Nigel suddenly assumed his impressive prophetic manner. “She will tell us her will at the summer solstice, until then I remain the leader of the coven.”
“And a fine leader you are,” taunted Bernard. “Such a lot of success we’ve had lately. The proof of the pudding’s in the eating. I know Bromwyn’s wonderful with the crystal and the mirror and that we can’t expect her to have all the talents, but you, what power have you shown? You’re a dead loss, that’s what you are; maybe you did have something in the old days, but it’s gone now, you’re finished.”
“How dare you speak to me like that,” thundered Nigel. “Why should we tolerate a man like you when he has brought dishonor on the coven, a man who at the best of times is a doubtful asset, who surrounds himself with perverted boys, who…”
“This is degenerating into a pointless slanging match,” Robert’s voice, clear and unusually incisive, broke in. Jenny wriggled closer to the balustrade trying to see him, but only the top of his head was visible, he seemed to be perched in the comer on a chest.
“I think it’s time the rest of us were allowed our say,” he went on. “And I, for one, think that Bernard has behaved disgracefully. He has absolutely no excase for the way he has treated Jenny and I’m delighted to see those two black eyes, in fact I rather wish that I’d planted them there myself! However, to preserve the unity of the coven, I suggest that, provided Bernard will give a firm undertaking to leave Jenny alone, we let the matter drop. Over to you, Margaret. Let’s hear your opinion.”
“I agree that Bernard has behaved disgracefully and idiotically too, for no suspicion could be more ill-founded. Jenny is a conventional little thing without the nerve to do anything so way-out as joining us. And I would like to add that I believe Bernard is not the only one of us who is breaking the law by working alone and for his own ends. And no good will come of it.”
“Julie?” asked Robert.
The brisk school mistress voice answered promptly. “I agree that it’s no use quarreling among ourselves, but I don’t see much hope for us if the elders aren’t going to observe the law.”
“David?”
“I’m sick of all this infantile pettiness and bickering. I didn’t join the coven for this sort of thing. I know it’s what you get in any closed society, but I understood that Wicca would lead us away from it, correct the emphasis, widen our vision, fill our spiritual needs and wean us from the rat-race. But to hear this going on, well, one might as well be at a staff meeting at school. Look, why don’t we do something big, something to lift us out of the rut?”
“In the absence of Rosemary that’s it then,” said Robert. “Bernard, would you be prepared to give an undertaking to leave Jenny alone?”
“I have no further interest in that young woman now that I know Nigel’s dropped his plan to force her on us as high priestess. But I agree with David, we want to do something big, something to put us on the map and I’ve got a suggestion…”
“One thing at a time,” said Robert “Bromwyn and Nigel, you know the views of the members of the coven.”
“I see only enmity and disaster,” answered Bromwyn in a strange deep voice. “Evil has been done and will rebound. May the curse of the Goddess be on any who breaketh the law.”
A sort of communal shudder, which ran through the people in the hall below, communicated itself to Jenny. They were powerful words, but when the first fear had passed away the members of the coven relaxed as though convinced that justice had been done.
Jenny became conscious that her foot had gone to sleep and changed her position. Nigel embarked on some wordy rigmarole about the law, but no one was listening and soon David Carr interrupted in a bored voice. “Now that the other matter has been settled could we hear Bernard’s suggestion?”
Bernard, his usual veneer restored, became both arch and pompous. “As you all know my calling makes certain rather unusual facilities available to me,” he said, “and it did just occur to the old brain that it was a pity not to use them. We could put on something really good, something that would put us on the map and invite other covens. There’d be quite a rush if we gave just a hint of what I can offer and of Robert’s previous profession. It would be a great feather in our caps.”
“And hardly witchcraft,” said Nigel dryly.
“Well does that matter?” asked David Carr. “I mean now that we know the elders break the law at will, do the rest of us have to stick doggedly to the rules? And we wouldn’t be by any means the first coven in history to stage a black mass. I’m all for something new, something to liven the proceedings up a bit.”
A confused murmur broke out as they discussed the idea among themselves and Jenny could feel the thrill of wickedness that was possessing them as they warmed to it. Then David Carr spoke again, “Doesn’t it really depend on Robert’s willingness to officiate?”
“Partly,” agreed Bernard jealously, “but I shall be seeing to everything else: the venue and the vessels for the altar and of course the consecrated
sacrament, but I have good choirboy friends who can be persuaded to help me there.”
The thrill of excitement ran through them again, they were like children, thought Jenny, plotting wickedness for wickedness’s sake, not for any material gain or ill-gotten end product.
“Where shall we hold it?” asked Margaret, her fruity voice agog with anticipation.
“The choice of venue would have to be left to me,” answered Bernard, obviously delighted by the sensation he had caused and determined to make the most of his sudden importance.
“Yes, that would be safer,” said Robert, “for if too many people know the exact location there’s bound to be a leak.”
“And we could reduce the number of cars by making people share,” suggested Julie, “we could fill ours with the visitors.”
“Not at Kilruthan. I shall have nothing to do with this harebrained scheme,” stated Nigel with asperity. “As you well know, the black mass has no place in Wicca and I propose to disassociate the coven from the entire proceedings.” He fixed Bernard with a vicious look. “I forbid you to invite other covens in our name; what you do in your name is your affair. Now, to return to our proper business, the next Esbat will be held at the Seven Stones, as already agreed, and I shall have an important and comprehensive plan to put before you, a plan which only we have the power to carry out. A scheme to free us from the tyranny of the tourist, to drive back the moronic hordes which overrun us and to put such fear into their minds that they avoid this area now and for generations to come.”
Simon touched Jenny’s arm and they began their nerve-wracking creep along the gallery pressed close to the wall. When they had passed the stairhead, Jenny took a last look through the balustrade and heard Margaret say, “Will anyone who’d like tea come over to me?” and then she followed Simon through into Rosemary’s part of the house, her door was closed now. They hurried past it and down the back stairs. At the door, Simon stood for a moment peering out into the garden and listening for voices, but the drive was empty except for cars and, grabbing Jenny’s hand, he sprinted across the lawn to the ha-ha.
“First round to the enemy,” he said when they had reached the concealing combination of ditch and shrubs. “But what an outfit! Letting him get away with it like that; letting him wriggle out of it just because he offered to stage a black mass, the stupid suckers. And then Dad trying to woo them back with some mad scheme for scaring the pants off tourists! And if you ask me Hawker’s going to run them into trouble. He’s not suggesting a cozy little get together at some out of the way church, like Temple where the Knights Templar held their orgies, he’s planning to collect a huge congregation in one of the village churches – it’s mad.”
“What happens if they’re caught?” asked Jenny. “Oh there must be plenty of acts the police could charge them under: the desecration of this and that – it’s an old crime.”
“Ought we try to stop them?”
“I don’t know. It may all fall through and, after all they’re adults; they’re doing ‘their thing.’ I’m really more worried over Dad’s plan. I think we’ll have to go to the Esbat and see what he’s up to. Robert and Bernard getting their own back on the church isn’t going to do anyone much harm – by the way, you realized from what they were saying that Robert must be an unfrocked priest? But if Dad is planning to loose the bacilli of Bubonic plague, stolen from the biological warfare place in Wiltshire, or something equally mad, then we’ll have to act. Will you be my fellow spy?”
10
The Esbat
The book was really finished. Jenny retyped the revised pages and stitched the whole thing into a cardboard cover. Meanwhile, a restless Margaret roamed the house muttering prospective titles or spent hours poring over the dictionaries of quotations and proverbs. She made lists: For the Sins of your Sire. The Bastard Monteluc. Castle in the Air. But in the end the book was posted to the agent titleless and Margaret announced that she was exhausted, and lonely without her dear Montelucs, and that Jenny might ask Simon to dinner.
Since Sunday, Jenny had only seen him for brief moments during which Simon had explained that he was making a terrific effort to get his mother interested in life again. He’d borrowed his father’s car and was taking her shopping, on visits to old friends and to a film in Bodmin. But he seemed glad enough to accept Margaret’s invitation.
With greedy enthusiasm, Margaret arranged delicious food and wine. Jenny put on her most exciting dress; it was ankle length and scarlet and she hadn’t worn it since leaving London. But the dinner was not a success. Margaret, in one of her holding-forth moods, usurped the conversation. Simon occasionally insisted on disagreeing with her, Jenny hardly spoke.
Later, when Jenny returned after seeing Simon out, Margaret pronounced her verdict “A very dependable young man,” she said despisingly, “with a tiresome worship of accuracy.” But Jenny, suspecting that her employer was still hankering after “that reckless profligate,” the young Lord Nicholas, refused to be drawn to Simon’s defense.
April came in with a fecund growth of greenery, a wild blossoming of flowers. The air was balmy and the heavy showers flattened the plants they fed. The garden wore a wanton look; there was no hoarding, no slow parsimonious flowering of a single species, but a wild debauch of feckless and expendable beauty.
Margaret was trying to force some originality into an article on How I Write My Books, Jenny was answering the arrears of fan mail and presently, Simon came to disturb the peace with the news that it was the night of the full moon and his parents were planning to go out together, which must mean that the Esbat was being held at the Seven Stones. “Could you bear to come?” he asked.
Jenny controlled a small shudder. She had to admit to herself that she was afraid of both Nigel and Bernard, she was even afraid of Bromwyn in the role of high priestess. But Simon had proved himself capable of dealing with Bernard and she felt that in his company it was possible to venture, to tackle situations that she would not have dreamed of attempting on her own.
“Yes I’ll come,” she agreed, “If you really think that it’s important for us to be there.”
“Yes, I do. I’m not going for a laugh. I’m not at all happy about the old man, he spends hours muttering away to himself. My mother admits that she suspects him of putting a spell on her. She says that he’s ‘hankering after a younger woman,’ wants a dolly girl in fact. Apparently he was very excited about you coming, but then you failed to please in some way and now he’s taken up with a divorced veterinary surgeon – female – over the border in Devon, and he’s hoping to bring her into the coven.”
Jenny shivered. “I’m glad I didn’t please,” she said. “Oh and Simon, Bernard telephoned Margaret this morning. I answered first because she was drafting answers to the fan mail, but after she’d spoken to him she seemed very excited – sort of furtively excited. I think they’re going ahead with the black mass.”
“Well, let’s keep out of that one. I don’t approve, I think they’re mad, asking for trouble, but at least my parents aren’t mixed up in it. You don’t feel responsible for Margaret, do you?”
“No, not really. And if she was caught she’d probably revel in the publicity. I think she’d even enjoy prison if it didn’t go on for too long.”
“I’ll take you to a film, no, perhaps dinner would be better. The moon will be up about ten which means they’ll leave soon after nine, for it’s a bit of a walk to the Seven Stones. It doesn’t leave us much time. Look,” Simon decided, “I’ll come around about seven-thirty and we’ll have to eat quickly.”
“But what about clothes?” asked Jenny. “If I’m convincingly dressed for dinner I shan’t be able to rock climb, or run.”
“That’s a point Look, shall we say that it’s fish and chips followed by a moonlight walk on the sands? Do you like fish and chips? And do you mind lending your car again?”
Margaret seemed delighted that Jenny had a date and said that in that case she would go out too. She would call the
Cavendishes and arrange to visit them after supper.
You wicked old thing, thought Jenny, to lie so convincingly. And she felt comforted for her own untruths.
The April showers had become less violent and less frequent and the garden was full of flitting wings and desperate activities of birds. Jenny felt unexpectedly happy as she took Margaret’s article and the last of the fan mail to the post. She was almost looking forward to the Esbat for the sky was clearing and it would be a lovely night, she began to imagine the moor by moonlight. But what did the witches do if it poured with rain, she wondered, did they cancel the Esbat or hold it indoors somewhere?
She asked Simon that evening when, uncomfortably full of fish and chips, they left the Mini up a cart track by a small stone-walled farm and set off on foot. They were on the far side of the moor to Kilruthan and in an area quite unknown to Jenny.
“One of the bedrooms at Kilruthan used to be used as a temple in the old days. There was a permanent magic circle and an altar and my mother’s consecrated sword and athame and wand were kept there when she was high priestess. The door’s still locked, but I don’t know if they use it now. They may meet in Bernard Hawker’s funeral parlor for all I know.”
They walked along the road, using Jenny’s flashlight for it was still dark.
“They’ll park here,” said Simon. “It’s the official layby for those visiting the stones and there should be a stile somewhere.” He took the flashlight from Jenny. “Here, I’d better go first. I more or less know the way and we mustn’t waste time, because we’re behind schedule and I don’t want some early arrival to spot us.”
A Place With Two Faces Page 11