by Phil Rickman
‘However, I get paid — and not as well as I’d like to be — to improve this school’s reputation as an A-level factory. It’s not about knowledge any more, Jane, it’s about results and statistics.’
‘That’s a pretty cynical attitude, Mr Williams, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘Jane, if you were as close to blessed retirement as I am, having seen all that I’ve seen …’
‘But, like, I thought you were interested. In Garway Church and everything. You seemed interested the other day.’
‘Well, all I’m interested in at the moment,’ Robbie said, ‘is my lunch. And if you want to make the best use of your time here, I would suggest you pay more attention to the syllabus, because your essay on Charlemagne was skimpy, to say the least.’ He swung his briefcase from the desk. ‘Thank you, Jane.’
It made no sense. It was like he’d become a different person. She’d never ask him anything again. It was like there was suddenly nobody she could count on. Mum was working away, and Lol was out there making a career which, if it continued to build, would take him out of the village for months at a time. Lol and Mum, maybe their relationship had only worked when one of them was a loser.
And then there was Eirion … she’d chosen to end that before he did, because the writing was on the wall, anyway. One way or another, all the foundations were cracking, and Jane had spent the whole afternoon in a state of increasing isolation until, with the last period free, she couldn’t stand it any more; she’d walked out of the school and caught a bus into Leominster, strolled around the town in a futile kind of way, shrouded in gloom, before grabbing the chance of a bus to Ledwardine.
She shouldered her airline bag and tramped wearily across the cobbles, and … oh.
The Volvo was parked in the vicarage drive.
The way her heart leapt — well, you despised yourself, really. I missed you, Mummy. God. Jane folded up her smile, buried it deep as she walked into the drive.
Inside the vicarage a dog barked when she fitted her key into the front door. Inside the hall, she recoiled at the sight of the woman in the kitchen doorway with her hand on the head of the wolfhound, like Britannia or something from an antique coin, only made more sinister by the dark glasses, the dark green fleece zipped all the way up, the crust of foundation cream and the ruin of a smile which, when you looked hard, wasn’t a smile at all.
‘You don’t tell her where you got this, mind,’ Gomer said. ‘Her’s gonner have a bit of an idea where it come from.’
Nodding at her sweatshirt, where it said:
GOMER PARRY
PLANT HIRE
‘I think,’ Merrily said, ‘that I need to persuade her to tell me. May have to use you as a threat but … no way have we spoken. Gomer, this … I don’t know what to say … this fills out so many gaps in my meagre knowledge. Just need to have a walk around for a while to think it all out, work out how to approach it.’
‘Good luck, vicar.’
Gomer squeezed out the end of his roll-up, fanned the air. He hadn’t asked about her own involvement with Mrs Morningwood; he’d know she’d have told him if she could.
They came out of the market hall from separate sides. In this village you could never be too careful. Merrily leaned against one of the pillars for a few moments, gazing out towards Ledwardine Fine Arts and the Eight Till Late.
Information overload. She didn’t know where to start.
But, once again, circumstance decided, when Siân came out of the Eight till Late in her black belted coat with the collar up, an evening paper under her arm.
Merrily walked out.
‘Siân,’ she said. ‘Something you forgot?’
43
Shadow
In the lounge bar at the Black Swan, they ended up at the corner table where Merrily had sat with Lol the night she’d met Adam Eastgate. Seemed like weeks ago. Merrily made a point of buying the drinks. Coffees. And a cheese sandwich. Still not hungry, but this was no time to be light-headed.
‘Unfinished business,’ Siân said. ‘Hate to leave loose ends. Luckily, she was out.’
‘Who?’
‘Shirley West. I expect Jane’s told you.’
‘I haven’t spoken to Jane. She’s at school. You’ve been to see … Shirley West?’
‘We’ll get to that. Have your sandwich, Merrily. You look as if you need it.’
‘That’s taken you all day?’
‘Not only that. Although it did swallow several hours. Tell me, Merrily, are you on a fixed-term contract here?’
‘Five years. Why?’
‘What about deliverance?’
‘No contract at all. I just do it.’
‘I think you’ve been rather remiss there.’
‘Well, I …’ Merrily put down the sandwich, barely nibbled. ‘You don’t think about these things, do you?’
‘I do. But then, I was a lawyer for over twenty years.’
Siân had unbuttoned her coat. Underneath, she was in civvies — navy skirt, pale blue sweater — looking almost uncomfortable in them, and Merrily realized how similar, apart from the wig, clerical clothing was to what a barrister wore in court.
‘Someone wants to get me out?’
She looked steadily at Siân, who shrugged.
‘Wherever you are, there’s always someone who wants to get you out. But, since you ask, when your contract comes up for renewal, it’s quite likely the terms will have altered.’
‘Extra parishes?’
‘That’s the most likely. And if you don’t play ball …’
‘The contract doesn’t get renewed.’
‘Doesn’t happen often, but it happens. How much have you had to do with Mervyn Neale?’
‘The Archdeacon? Not much at all. It’s been mainly the Bishop. As you know.’
‘Which might partly account for it.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Mervyn doesn’t like you, Merrily.’
‘He hardly knows me.’
‘Perhaps …’ Siân sipped her coffee ‘… he simply dislikes what you represent.’
Which couldn’t be womankind. Without the female clergy, this diocese would be in trouble. Merrily bit off another corner of her sandwich.
‘Neale’s a traditionalist,’ Siân said. ‘He doesn’t, on the surface, object to the women’s ministry, but he does expect us to keep a low profile.’
‘What, like you have?’
‘Well, yes, he was quite angry when it was suggested that I should shadow him for a month, with a view to possibly succeeding him when he retires.’
‘That’s on the cards, is it?’
‘I hope so. I think it’s something I could do.’
‘Mmm, I think it probably is.’
‘Because I’m a ruthless, ambitious bitch, presumably.’
Merrily leaned her head back against the oak panelling, shook her head, smiling faintly. And you thought Gomer Parry was direct.
‘You don’t like me, you don’t trust me,’ Siân said.
‘Siân, it’s not that I don’t like you—’ Merrily rolled her head against the panelling. ‘Oh God.’
‘You know what the problem is with Shirley West, don’t you?’
‘Sure, she thinks I’m some kind of chain-smoking punk priest who dabbles on the fringes of the occult.’
‘Well, that, too. But what it really comes down to is her ex-husband being distantly related to the man often said to be Britain’s most appalling serial murderer, ever.’
Merrily sat up, spilling her coffee.
‘Fred West?’
‘A sexual predator. And, of course, a Herefordshire man.’
‘Shirley told you this? How—? You’ve only been here a couple of days.’
‘Do calm down, Merrily, I’m not trying to take over your parish. I met Shirley West — Jane will tell you — I met her in the church last night. You’d hardly left before I had a phone call from Shirley asking to meet me. Jane — protecting your interests — eavesdropped on our
meeting. Jane is … Well, how many teenage daughters would even spare the time? She’s a good girl, Merrily.’
‘I know.’
‘Shirley … was desperately eager to tell me about the evil to which you were exposing your Sunday-evening meditation group. Among other things.’
‘She made a bit of a scene on Sunday night. I didn’t handle it very well. Wasn’t feeling too good, actually.’
‘No, you didn’t look at all well when you left for Garway.’
‘Still, I should’ve made time to talk to her.’
‘If you made time for everybody, you wouldn’t sleep. However, as I explained to Jane, I was rather concerned that Shirley might be causing mischief where you really didn’t need it. So, when you … liberated me this morning, I decided to drop in on her, on that estate off New Barn Lane, not thinking she’d be at work. Her sister-in-law saw me and came out, and I identified myself and she invited me in for a cup of tea, and … I was there nearly three hours.’
‘Her sister-in-law … Joanna? I think I’ve met her once.’
‘Joanna Harvey. She doesn’t come to church, and in her place I suspect I’d probably stay away as well, or attend another one miles away. Shirley moved here after her divorce, to be near her older brother, Colin. After just a few months of Shirley as a neighbour, Joanna’s at the end of her tether. Desperately wants to move, just to get away from her, but Colin feels a certain family responsibility.’
‘All the things I ought to know.’
‘Shirley had been married seven years before discovering at a party that the late Frederick West had been some sort of distant cousin to her husband. Who hadn’t bothered to tell her — doubtless suspecting the effect it might have. An effect evidently worsened by the way Shirley found out and the thoughtless jokes about what might be under the concrete patio that Colin had made. It preyed on her mind, becoming an obsession. She came to believe that her husband was tainted by evil. That evil hung over the family.’
For a shortish man, Fred West had thrown a long shadow.
Merrily said. ‘His brother John was facing a rape charge when he hanged himself, exactly the way Fred had. Other members of the family have suffered emotional damage with predictable effects on their domestic situations. But … there are dozens of perfectly normal, well-balanced Wests …’
‘It’s clear that Shirley herself has psychiatric problems.’
‘Though not immediately clear to me, apparently,’ Merrily said.
‘She moved into a separate bedroom from her husband, accusing him of unnatural sexual behaviour. He worked — still works, presumably — for a feed dealer, making deliveries to farms, and she accused him of having a relationship with two sisters who had a smallholding. Entirely unfounded, according to Joanna. There’s more, but you get the idea.’
‘Oh God.’
‘She washes her clothes compulsively. She doesn’t watch television and she doesn’t read newspapers because of the filth they transmit. She began going to church for the first time since childhood about four years ago … obsessively. She joined Christian internet chat groups, particularly in America. Before moving here, she used to attend services at Leominster Priory, where she attached herself to a curate — Tom Dover?’
‘I knew him slightly. He moved on.’
‘And faster than he might have normally. Shirley would insist on doing his washing — washing his vestments, in particular. He’s still a curate, near Swindon. I called him on my mobile about an hour ago. He said he felt guilty — ought to have told someone about Shirley.’
‘But she’s a professional woman. Branch manager at a bank.’
‘Where, according to Joanna Harvey, she frequently offers unsought moral and spiritual advice to customers. Having kept her married name as a sort of penance. You really should be more careful, Merrily, especially after your problem some time ago with Jenny Driscoll. As I suggested to Jane, this is not an uncommon situation, particularly for women priests.’
‘I realize that. What do you suggest?’
‘She needs guidance. Not someone like our friend Nigel Saltash, but I do know a person — a psychiatric nurse and a churchgoer who I would have suggested as suitable for your deliverance team if I didn’t think you’d be suspicious of anyone proposed by me.’
Merrily sighed. ‘Siân—’
‘And yes, after Saltash, I can accept that. One reason why I elected to be your locum — if I do become Archdeacon, I’d hate us to start on the wrong foot, due to … misconceptions. I accept we have theological differences, but I respect what you’ve achieved. Against the odds.’
‘Siân, I …’ Merrily found she’d finished both her cheese sandwich and her coffee. She felt like a real drink. ‘I don’t know what to say any more.’
‘No need to say anything at all,’ Siân said. ‘Because I haven’t finished yet.’
Siân had been the Archdeacon’s shadow for a month. Learning the ropes. Learning many things.
‘You know he’s a Freemason.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
On the edge of a minefield here. It had often seemed to Merrily that paranoia about Masonic influence was exaggerated; she’d never had any problems, never really had cause to notice the Masons, although she was aware there were some in the Church. Besides, it was in decline, wasn’t it? All the existing Masons getting on in years, very little new blood.
‘Freemasons claim to be Christian,’ Siân said. ‘Although you would be hard-pressed to find, within Masonic dogma, any recognition of Christ. There’s a very interesting book by a former vicar of New Radnor who’d become a Mason in — he maintains — all innocence and began to find it alarmingly incompatible. Have you read that?’
‘No.’
‘I’ll send you a copy. Making my own position on this quite clear from the outset … as a barrister I came up against it time and time again. I made a point of learning the Masonic signals so that I could spot them in court. You’d be surprised how often I saw them directed towards the bench, from the dock, and I still believe it’s one of the best arguments we have for more women judges.’
‘And women Archdeacons?’
Siân didn’t smile.
‘And women Bishops,’ she said.
The bar noise meshed into white noise, the lights receding into a single point of light. Merrily pushed her plate to one side, her coffee cup to the other.
‘What are you saying?’
Siân — even Siân — looked around at the handful of customers. Merrily spotted a couple of farmers she knew slightly and James Bull-Davies, former Army officer. OK, surely?
‘The position of Bernard Dunmore is an ambivalent one,’ Siân said. ‘He was a Freemason, many years ago. Like a number of clergy, he apparently became aware of an incompatibility and hasn’t had anything to do with the Craft in years.’
‘But …?’
‘He’s never actually renounced Masonry. And, as far as I can tell, I don’t think he’s ever formally left.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘I think you’ll just have to accept that I do. Call it a nervous hangover from my years at the Bar.’
‘And what does it mean?’
‘I wasn’t sure it meant anything. In his allocation of livings, the Bishop appears to have been fairness itself. Doesn’t seem to have been unduly influenced by Mervyn Neale, although obviously reliant, to some extent, on his organizational recommendations.’
‘And the Archdeacon?’
‘Nothing I can prove, although perhaps I will one day. He doesn’t like you. Doesn’t like deliverance, as a ministry, and he doesn’t like the way you handle it, the way you’ve widened the brief. I don’t think— What have I said?’
‘This morning, the Bishop told me I’d displayed a tendency to go beyond the brief. Like they’re all saying the same things.’
‘I do know he’s had a number of meetings with the Archdeacon in the past few days — far more contact than in any of the weeks since I’ve been sha
dowing Neale.’
We unleashed you.
And now we’re reining you in.
‘You’re fully aware of what I’ve been working on? In Garway.’
‘I think so. And I think it might well be relevant. Your attitude on the phone this morning was rather extraordinary.’
‘I was … in a state of shock.’
‘Evidently. It made me wonder what on earth the Bishop had said to you.’
‘He …’
It all began to tumble forward, the rape, the cover-up, the desperate need to tell somebody, just to stay sane. She held it back all the same.
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Siân said.
‘He trotted out the usual stuff about the dangers of deliverance being connected with yet another murder. Which is valid enough. But then he said the Duchy of Cornwall also wanted me to forget it. I rang the Duchy. He’d lied. Why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know. He might simply have developed cold feet. Are you going to do what he says?’
‘Erm …’ Merrily sat back. ‘Siân, this might be a naive question, but if you were to expose Mervyn Neale as having used Masonic influence in the course of his executive work in the Diocese, how would that affect your chances of getting his job?’
‘That’s a very interesting point.’ Siân smiled, mouth only. ‘I imagine I could say goodbye to the job. Even if the Church wanted to make a point of distancing itself from Freemasonry, appointing me, in the wake of a scandal — even if it were only an internal one — might be seen as a step too far. It’s still a conservative organization.’
‘But you’d still do it, if you had the evidence?’
‘First and foremost, I’m a Christian,’ Siân said. ‘Of course I’d do it. Are you going along with what the Bishop wants?’
‘No.’
‘Then you’ll need support,’ Siân said. ‘Or you could, very soon, find you’ve become a very small footnote in ecclesiastical history.’
‘Huw Owen said much the same.’
‘Interesting.’ Siân looked at her watch, frowned and rose to her feet. ‘You trust him, don’t you?’
‘I used to trust the Bishop.’
‘It’s a slippery slope, Merrily. Letting trust slip away.’