42
Six months later…
In the end, Sister Veronica had chosen a picture book about Noah’s Ark to bring Hope as a gift. It had taken her a while to decide as she perused the bookshop’s shelves, wanting to find just the right story, something meaningful. After all, the child would be nearly one now, much more observant and able. And one day she would be old enough to understand at least part of what had happened to her and her mother. If that information was hard for her to process, it was important she understood that hard times come to an end, that light follows dark, that her name symbolises one of the most important human abilities to carry on. She wondered how much Hope had changed over the last few months, what she would look like now. With any luck she’d enjoy turning the pages of the book and looking at the bright images for now, until she was older. She was under no illusion that the book would ever help Hope very much, but it was her way of helping her, just a little bit.
The story had always resonated with Sister Veronica, she’d often thought how nice it would be to leave all worldly troubles behind and float away with a boatful of animals. The only downside was that they’d make a terrible mess, of course. And the dove at the end of the tale who bought Noah a sign that the flood was receding was a lovely symbol of peace and indeed – Hope. It was a tale that symbolised the rise of new life after a bad and destructive time, and the rewards that could happen if one put one’s trust in the universe, God, love – or whatever you wanted to call it – during times of adversity. As the story meant so much to her, she did hope that the child would find some sort of meaning in it as she grew older and understood life more.
Now, she stood and looked at the front door of the pretty, white terraced house in Shepton Mallet, a town not far from Glastonbury. But far enough, she thought, for a fresh start. A new chapter. Pots containing ferns stood either side of the door, and a pretty wind chime dangled in the window. Perfect, she thought. And well taken care of. That’s a good sign. She knocked.
‘Sister,’ Lucan exclaimed as he opened the door, a beautiful wriggling little girl in his arms, her wavy auburn hair now ear length. She was dressed in a pink-and-white spotted top and white leggings, a fluffy bunny toy under one arm. ‘How lovely to see you. Come in.’
Minutes later, Hope – now called Asha Hope, Lucan said, as it’s what her mother would have wanted – was pulling herself up into a standing position using Sister Veronica’s knee as a sturdy aid. They were in the little living room at the front of the house. It had a cottagey feel, with old exposed beams above them, a wood burner in the hearth, and a comfortable – if a little worn – furniture suite. A box of Asha’s toys – the brightly coloured playthings overflowing on to the floor – was next to the sofa she’d gratefully sunk into. Yes, Sister Veronica thought approvingly. This is just the place for her to be brought up in; a lovely, warm-feeling home. Oh, I am glad things have turned out like this.
‘Did you know that Asha means hope in Sanskrit?’ Lucan asked, as he placed a steaming cup of tea on a table near her, making sure it was far enough away from the baby’s grasp. ‘It seems that you and Mona, were thinking along the same lines when you named her.’
‘Does it really?’ Sister Veronica said. ‘Well, well, well. Great minds think alike, as they say, and Asha is a pretty name. Her mother obviously loved her very much, bless her soul. But I can see she has a wonderful, stable life with you now, Lucan.’
‘Yes, thanks to you.’ Lucan smiled, easing himself into an armchair slowly. He was still somewhat hampered by his injuries, Sister Veronica observed, walked with a slight limp, and he had lost a lot of weight, looked a bit older. But all in all, his recovery was remarkable. And he’d cut his hair. The shorter style suited him. And it was touching to see the utter love that shone from his face when he looked at his daughter. ‘I’ll never forget what you did for Asha and I, Sister. It was your hard work and your care of my child that finally united us. You are welcome here any time. Truly.’
‘Thank you, Lucan.’ Sister Veronica stroked Asha Hope’s hair. ‘That means a huge amount to me. Although I’m still so sorry Hope – sorry – Asha went missing that night from the café. I don’t think my heart will ever quite recover from the shock, and I’m not sure I’ll ever properly forgive myself for being so careless.’
‘That was Celeste’s fault, not yours, Sister,’ Lucan said, his smile disappearing for a moment. ‘Please don’t be hard on yourself because of it. She was hell-bent on having everything she wanted, but she was too screwed up by Art and New Avalon to do it in a healthy way. If she’d applied for custody of Asha through the right channels, and proved she could be a good mother and provide a nice home she might well have been in with a chance of adopting her as her own. That is, if what she’d done to Mona had never come out.’
‘Yes,’ Sister Veronica mused. ‘But thank goodness it did. Your cult – do you mind if I call it a cult?’
‘No.’ Lucan shook his head. ‘That’s what it really was, I think. Although it’s taking me time to work through everything, sort it out in my head. I was there such a long time and that place muddled my thinking. I was told to believe certain things, like everyone else outside the cult being bad people, and the fact that I’d go to hell if I ever disobeyed Art, that it’s taking me some time to reorder my thoughts, make sense of it all, if you know what I mean? I understand it all logically, but feeling it seems to be a different matter. But I know how Art ran New Avalon, how he treated people and acted, was very wrong.’
‘Yes it was,’ Sister Veronica went on. ‘I’m glad you can see that, Lucan. Your cult, and Celeste’s mother dying, and her sister leaving, and Art abusing her for years, had muddled her mind to the point where all her ethics and morals were topsy-turvy and back to front. Much of that was not her fault, of course, and she was never able to take a step back and think about New Avalon from another perspective like you are able to. But she still had a choice, and she chose to treat Mona in the most inhumane way. There was no love left at all in her at the end. Not for her sister, anyway. It’s all very sad, really. Although what I just can’t understand is why Morgana tried to kill Celeste. I mean, what was she trying to gain from it? Maybe she was mad?’
‘Morgana was trying to gain Art,’ Lucan said with a wry smile. ‘She was absolutely head over heels in love with him, any idiot with half a brain could see that. She hung off his every word, followed him around like a puppy, did anything he asked. She must have been really jealous of Celeste, seen her as a love rival. It’s pathetic really. And Art encouraged Morgana’s behaviour, always throwing her enough signs to keep her interested, but really Celeste was his true passion. Always has been. Well, her and Mona. I don’t think Morgana was his type, but he found her brains useful so he used her.’
‘It sounds like he saw people as objects, there to satisfy his own needs, rather than human beings with their own rights,’ Sister Veronica said. ‘He was punitive rather than caring, nothing anyone did would ever really have been good enough for him because he didn’t want that. He wanted control. And Mona tried to escape him, tried to find herself a better, free life. She was very brave, really.’
‘Yes,’ Lucan said quietly. ‘You’re right. Poor Mona. A part of me will love her forever, you know. And it makes me sad that Asha will grow up without knowing her mother. But I have to concentrate on being thankful for what we do have, Asha and I, for the fact that we have each other and a new chance at life now.’
They sat in silence together, watching the little girl throw her building blocks all over the floor, while laughing delightedly at her own game.
‘I hear Morgana’s finally been caught,’ Lucan said a few moments later. ‘I read that article your friend wrote about it all. She writes well, she must be a very successful journalist. She presented everything with such understanding, not like some writers would have done. And it was on the front page of the newspaper, pride of place.’
‘Melissa?’ Sister Veronica said. ‘Yes, she’s a very fine
reporter. And she’s just found out she’s expecting her first child with her partner Chris, they’re both absolutely over the moon about it. She says cuddling Asha gave her some good pre-parenting lessons. She also says she’s never eaten so much pickled onion in her life, it’s her only craving. And the best part of it is that she’s finally given up smoking once and for all.’ Talking about Melissa made a sliver of pain prickle at her insides. They’d made up, of course, after their horrific time in Glastonbury, the two friends. But things weren’t the same between them, not yet. It was as though the trauma and stress had wedged an unspeakable block between them, that had remained even after Asha was found. In time, she hoped, that would ease and filter away, but for now she was giving Melissa some space to enjoy her baby news with Chris.
‘That’s wonderful news.’ Lucan smiled.
‘Melissa said Morgana was picked up trying to leave our shores on a ferry bound for Amsterdam,’ Sister Veronica said, leaning forward to pick up Asha who was stretching her arms out to her. ‘I’m so glad they caught her. I was beginning to worry they never would, as she managed to evade the authorities for ages. She was free for so long she must have thought she was invincible. Thank you, that’s a lovely red block.’
Asha grinned, showing off five little teeth.
‘I hope that woman never gets out of prison.’ Lucan shivered. He picked up his mug of tea and took a sip. ‘She’s a danger, almost worse than Art, if that’s possible. At least he passionately believed in his delusions. Morgana isn’t mad. She’s just evil and devious and prepared to do absolutely anything to get her own way. I can’t believe I actually thought she was nice, I used to really like and trust her. She sometimes seemed so motherly and caring. The younger ones called her Auntie Morgs. More like Murderous Auntie from Hell.’
‘But that’s the way with psychopathic people, isn’t it?’ Sister Veronica put Asha gently back down on the floor. ‘They are good at charming people, but they have no conscience when it comes to hurting them. It’s a shame Art died. I thought it would be good for him to face some responsibility for what he’d done. Perhaps he’s doing that in the next realm instead. Perhaps people always have to take responsibility for their actions in the end, one way or another.’
‘At least he lived long enough for the police to arrest and charge him,’ Lucan said. ‘Although knowing Art as I do, he would never be one for admitting he’d done anything wrong. He was absolutely convinced his voice was God, that the powers that be spoke through him. If he’d lived, he’d have found another way to kill himself in the end, I’m sure of it. You know it’s funny, Sister. I spent a long time researching the first, proper King Arthur – whoever he was – because I was so enthralled with New Avalon for ages and I wanted to know everything about the history behind it. And I came to the conclusion that Art was much more like Sir Thomas Malory, who wrote the book Le Morte d’Arthur – that contains the popular Arthurian legend that everybody now knows – than the legendary king himself.’
‘Oh?’ Sister Veronica said. ‘How so?’
‘Thomas Malory was a nasty piece of work,’ Lucan said, shifting position, trying to get comfortable. ‘He actually wrote the book in the fifteenth century when he was being held in the Tower of London on charges including theft, murder and rape. It always struck me as odd that such an immoral criminal could write a tale based round a highly moral, ethical person. I eventually saw – towards the end of my time at New Avalon – that Art was more like Malory rather than his hero King Arthur. Because Art was a criminal, too, who idolised the principles of the legendary king and tried to personify them. But he never could, because his heart and mind worked in devious, manipulative ways. And he prized his own gains over the needs of other people. And you can’t be a truly moral person if you choose to treat people like that.’
‘Now that is interesting.’ Sister Veronica nodded. ‘And he used that moral persona to trick his followers into believing he was really a good leader who would look after them and save their souls.’
‘Yes,’ Lucan said. ‘But the thing is, Sister, Art really believed he was King Arthur. You could see it in his eyes. He’d spent so long saying it that he truly believed he was. Isn’t that strange?’
‘I suspect that if he’d remained alive, doctors would have diagnosed him with some sort of mental illness.’ Sister Veronica picked up her mug. ‘I don’t know much about that sort of thing, but his delusions sound rather psychotic to me. He seemed to go on about being King Arthur a lot, and from what you’ve told me, about saving his people, without actually ever having anything to show for it. It was all in his head. And he used it to control people. Of course, the tragic thing is that people who choose to join a cult like Art’s contribute to the leader’s megalomania without realising it, because by choosing to follow someone else’s doctrine they’ve willingly given up their ability to think independently. It adds fuel to the fire, if you’ll excuse the metaphor. But of course, ultimately, the choice to carry out the abuse was Art’s.’ Although isn’t that what we ask Catholics to do in our church? she asked herself quietly. Give up their own thoughts and follow our dogma? Is it ever all right to encourage people to lose their autonomy and ability to think for themselves? I still hold that listening to your own thoughts is best, when it comes down to it. Follow your own truth, especially when everyone around you seems to have gone mad. Although I’d never tell Mother Superior that, she’d be up every night for a week.
There had been several meetings, of course, when Sister Veronica had eventually returned to the Convent of the Christian Heart in Soho. Much discussion needed to be had about her choice to take the baby away, and the events leading up to her disappearance. Mother Superior had calmed down after seeing for herself that Hope had been found, had enjoyed using the opportunity to indulge in her own public shows of relief and prayer instead of spending too much time admonishing her rebel nun. Sister Irene had sourly reprimanded Sister Veronica for weeks, overjoyed at the opportunity of having new material to use to humiliate her antagonist at the convent. But Sister Veronica didn’t care about what Irene thought; however Christian the woman professed to be, her motives and actions were anything but, and she’d come to think of her as an annoying pustule that never went away but had to be tolerated. The newly appointed diocesan priest, Father Abimbola, had called a meeting with her, and in his quiet way had asked if she really wanted to continue in her role at the convent, or whether she would prefer to move away. Was she really up to London life anymore? he wondered. Would a place in the countryside be better? No, Sister Veronica had vehemently assured him. She was still very much willing and able to continue in her role. The praise for her from Lucan, when he was well enough to write, passed on to Father Abimbola by Mother Superior, had cemented Sister Veronica’s future and she’d settled back into Soho life as quietly and inconspicuously as she could.
‘Yes, perhaps you’re right,’ Lucan said. He shook his head slightly. ‘It’s so sad, really. That I totally respected him at one time. Celeste and Morgana still did, even right at the end. But their views were as twisted as his.’
‘And those two – Celeste and Morgana – are the ones accountable for poor Mona’s murder.’ Sister Veronica took a slurp of her tea. ‘Although from what I can gather Morgana was the one who set the actual fire. Their trials are next month, I hear.’
‘I hope they both rot in prison forever.’ Lucan’s mouth was grim. ‘They don’t deserve freedom now, not after what they’ve done.’
‘They’re being tried separately, of course,’ Sister Veronica said. ‘The judge may well be more lenient with Celeste. She’s going to be disabled for life now, did you hear? The injuries Morgana inflicted on her were so terrible she’s got a huge amount of nerve damage.’
‘Yeah, Morgana’s good at that,’ Lucan said darkly. ‘Ruining people for life. The fact that Gareth’s now in a psychiatric hospital is probably a good thing. He might actually get the help he needs for what she and Art did to him over the years, fill
ing his head with so many stupid ideas and putting him under too much pressure.’
‘Anyway,’ Sister Veronica rubbed her hands together, wanting to lighten the mood before she left, ‘the good thing is that you and Asha are safe and well, have the rest of your wonderful lives in front of you.’
‘Yes, we do.’ Lucan smiled as he gazed at his daughter, now rubbing her hands together like the nun had. ‘That’s right, Asha, good girl.’
‘Have you heard anything about Kay?’ Sister Veronica said. ‘I was so worried about her. She’d woken up by the time we left Glastonbury, but I never heard anything about her after that.’
‘Kay’s doing well,’ Lucan said. ‘Really well. We’ve, er, got quite close actually, since she came out of hospital. It’s amazing how a shared experience can bond you together. And she saved my life. I’ll never, ever forget that. She’s amazing. She’s coming over for dinner later.’
‘Oh how marvellous.’ Sister Veronica clapped her hands together. ‘I do love a happy ending. You and Kay are perfect for each other. Two heroes.’
Lucan laughed.
‘And you are our fairy godmother,’ he said.
After another cup of tea and many cuddles with Asha, after she’d shown her the pictures in the Noah’s Ark story – that Asha had bashed very happily with her fist – it was time for her to go. It was hard leaving the child again, but it was in the happiest of circumstances, all things considered. Her heart felt light again, and it was a wonderful feeling. Asha was doing wonderfully well, and had the loving home she deserved. Lucan was on the mend, and was mentally much stronger than she’d ever seen him. The news about him and Kay becoming close was just the thing, eventually she hoped they’d become a happy family of three. All in good time. And the trauma of Jamie Markham that had dogged her for months had finally been put to rest, with Asha Hope teaching her the value of living in the present, and enjoying the good things in the here and now.
The Disciple: a gripping psychological mystery (The Sister Veronica Mysteries Book 2) Page 18