“Sally, darling, could you put this on for me?” The woman walked up to Sally and lifted her hair. She turned her back. In her hand was a tiny weaved chain of gold. Sally took it from her and dutifully draped the necklace around the other woman’s throat, linking one end inside the clasp of the other.
“There, all done,” Sally said, patting the woman’s shoulder lightly.
“Thank you, darling.” The woman spun around and caught sight of Annabelle. “Oh!”
“Suki, this is the Reverend of St. Mary’s in the village. She’s come to visit us and see what we’re about.”
Suki rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s exciting! We’re quite the party animals here, you know. It’s just non-stop fun all the time.” She eyed Annabelle’s dog collar. “I’m sure you’ll feel quite at home.”
Annabelle looked at her, not quite sure what to make of this exotic creature. The run-down kitchen was hardly her natural habitat.
“This is Suki, Reverend, Theo’s sister,” Sally said.
“Are you having dinner with us tonight, Suki?” Julia asked.
“Oh, I suppose so, if I must.”
“And will you join us for the celebration afterward?”
“Oh God, is that tonight? Will Theo be terribly angry if I say no?”
“You know he will.”
Suki sighed, “But it’s all such a bore. All that yelling and galumphing about is so unladylike.”
“It’s cleansing for the soul, Suki,” Julia said. “You should try it sometime.” Julia was attacking the carrots, peeling more off than she was leaving behind. Still, more for Barnaby.
“The only cleansing I’m interested in, Julia, is the kind one gets at a spa.”
Julia tutted and blew out her cheeks, focusing on her carrots.
“You know Theo hates it when you don’t join in, Suki,” Sally said. “We’ll all be there. It won’t be as much fun if you’re not.”
Suki draped an arm around Sally’s neck and regarded her before seeming to come to a decision. She kissed Sally’s cheek. “Well, alright then. For you, darling.” Suki turned to Annabelle. “Will you be there, Reverend?”
“Um…”
“You really should come see how the other half lives.” Suki eyed Annabelle’s dog collar again and laughed. It sounded like the pealing of bells rung after Sunday service; the rapid, light, tinkling sounds mirroring the feelings of her parishioners, who, their weekly worship seen to and the burdens and difficulties of the prior week dispensed with, now felt cleansed and re-energized, ready for the seven days ahead.
“We’re meeting for dinner at 7, and we’ll get ready at 8,” Sally said.
Suki gave a melodramatic sigh. “Oh well, seeing as there’s no alternative, I shall go and prepare myself.” She made big eyes at Annabelle and picked up her skirts. “I’m off to have a pre-dinner drink.” With that, Suki spun, flapping her skirts with a flourish worthy of a flamenco dancer, and strode off.
“That girl,” Julia grumbled.
“Leave her alone, Julia,” Sally admonished. “It can’t be easy for her living here. Not after what she’s used to.”
“My heart bleeds.”
“Suki’s father was a banker in London,” Sally explained. “Lost all his money in the 2000 crash, then died of a heart attack. Margaret and Suki are forced to live here with us.”
“No, they’re not, Sally,” Julia said. “They could get jobs just like anyone else. They’re not forced to do anything. They don’t even contribute to the food kitty,” She leaned over her carrots, scraping them ferociously.
“How do you support yourselves here?” Annabelle asked.
“We live simply, so we don’t need too much. We pay a peppercorn rent for this house, thanks to Theo’s family connections. We pool our money and share all the bills and food. Nothing goes to waste. We make money by selling the things that we make and grow. We make jam in season, and sell that along with our chutneys. ”
Julia pointed outside with her peeler. “We grow vegetables, and we knit. One of our group is a smithy and a farrier. We sell metalwork items that he makes. Another of our members is a photographer. He turns his photos into cards and calendars, those kinds of things. Money can get a bit tight at times, especially in the winter, but we manage.”
“We do ask for donations now and again, but we always give something in return, flowers or blessings. And then there’s our newsletter, ‘The Petrie Dish,’” Sally said, proudly. “That’s Theo’s baby. We make a bit from that.”
“We could do more,” Julia said, her mouth downturned. Barnaby, now sufficiently replete, was starting to hop around the table, his velvety ears dusting the surface. “We have this huge place, loads of land, and we have no plans to do anything with it. It’s just going to waste.”
“Julia, you know what Theo said. It wasn’t feasible. How would we feed all the animals?” Sally turned to Annabelle. “Julia wants to open an animal sanctuary, but Theo shot down the idea. He said it would be too costly to set up.”
“What he said was, we could set up an animal sanctuary over his dead body. Theo is a self-entitled, self-indulgent—”
“Julia, stop it. Your plans were so grand.”
“It was just a simple donkey sanctuary! A few donkeys! And maybe some moor ponies. Do you know how terrible their life is? There isn’t enough food for them in the wild. Some of them are starving to death!” Julia protested. “But of course, Theo could see no use for them and thought they would be a liability and a waste of time.”
There was the sound of boots bounding up the steps outside. The door opened with a bang.
“Evening, ladies.”
Annabelle turned to see a young, lithe man cross the threshold. He shared the same coloring as Suki, and there was a distinct family resemblance, but where Suki had a world-weary insouciance, her brother had an easy smile and lively, twinkling eyes. He was dressed casually in a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and faded jeans. He had scuffed cowboy boots on his feet.
Sally beamed when she saw him. She bounded over. “This is Theo!” She put her arm around his shoulders. The young man looked at Annabelle and swung his arm proprietorially around Sally’s waist. “Hello.”
“Theo, this is Reverend Annabelle Dixon from Upton St. Mary, the village down the road. She’s come to meet us.”
Annabelle stood. His eyes widened, and he held her gaze. He took her hand and bent over, raising her fingers to his lips.
“Charmed, Reverend,” he murmured, capturing her again with a direct look as he stood upright.
“Oh, um, nice to meet you, Theo. I thought I’d pay you a visit and welcome you to the area, introduce myself.” Theo was certainly dashing, and Annabelle felt herself becoming self-conscious under his gaze. Her face flushed a little.
“You’ve certainly chosen a wild night to visit us.”
“Have I?”
“Haven’t the girls told you? Tonight is the night we celebrate the legend of St. Petrie and Lord Darthamort.”
“Ah yes, they did mention it. Perhaps you could tell me more about this St. Petrie. I can’t say I’ve heard of him.”
“You haven’t heard of the legend of St. Petrie and Lord Darthamort?” Theo let go of Sally and pulled out a chair. Annabelle shifted slightly away from him, expecting him to sit next to her, but he put his foot on the seat and leaned on his knee, supporting himself on his forearm. His hand dangled level with her chin, and Annabelle noticed a small, faded tattoo in the crease between his thumb and forefinger.
It was a swastika.
Theo looked down at her. “Legend has it that St. Petrie and his companion, Lord Darthamort, work together to reward the good and punish the bad. Darthamort is a half-goat, half-demon figure that punishes criminals and other unpleasant people, while St. Petrie, a benevolent soul manifested in human form, rewards the good with gold. It’s a legend that originated in Bavaria circa 1534. A movement grew up in the early part of the twentieth century that advocated vigila
nte justice in areas where the local law enforcement was considered inadequate or non-existent. The movement adopted the legend as their rallying point, their message as a manifesto, and the Darthamort and St. Petrie characters as mascots. The movement gained momentum in Europe but faded away as Hitler came to power.”
“Oh my, that sounds rather sinister.” Annabelle was taken aback.
“Oh, not at all. Today, nothing like a movement exists, of course, but still in Northern Europe, the legend is celebrated with parades and the Darthamortlauf.”
“The what?”
“It means the Darthamort run. Young men dressed as Lord Darthamort run through crowds with tiki torches, cracking whips, and scaring small children. It takes place mostly in towns in Germany, Austria, and Switzerland. It’s all a bit of fun, really.”
“It doesn’t sound like it.”
“Oh, the crowds only pretend to be scared. They love it, really.”
“But how does this relate to you here? We have no such traditions.” Thank goodness. “Why do you celebrate the legend?”
“The idea of rewarding good while punishing evil is universal, I think we can all agree on that. We don’t go in for all that vigilante nonsense, but here at the Brotherhood, we like to perform good deeds and hope to spread good cheer. We stand up against evil when we encounter it. Twice a year we have our own version of the Lord Darthamort run. We’ll be doing it tonight, in fact, after dinner. Are you staying to dinner?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Annabelle looked about her, flustered.
“Please do, Reverend, we’d love to have you,” Sally said.
“Certainly we would. The more the merrier, especially this evening,” Theo added. “Have you been given the grand tour yet?”
“No, no, I haven’t.”
Theo looked at Julia and Sally. “Well, let’s leave the girls to work.” Julia let out a low growl. “And allow me the honor of showing you around the old house. Dinner should be ready in…?” Theo looked quizzically at Sally.
“About half an hour.”
“Perfect.” Theo held out his arm for Annabelle to take and despite her reservations, she found herself swept away by this charming, handsome, charismatic man.
CHAPTER SIX
They were sitting in a cluttered room in the main part of the house. The huge, arched, ornate window at one end framed the early evening summer sun that streamed into the room, exaggerating the caked-on dirt and dust, and bathing them in a warm, hazy glow.
Around the table sat Annabelle and the group members she had met earlier, Sally, Julia, Suki, and Theo. Two other members of the Brotherhood had joined them and were introduced to Annabelle as Thomas and Scott. Margaret was missing. No one mentioned her.
Theo sat at the end of the large oval table in front of the window. He was cast in shadow, the sun behind him creating a golden aura around his silhouette like an enormous halo. Suki and Sally sat on either side of him. Scott and Thomas, who Annabelle recognized as the men she had seen at the market, still had their tiny plaited ponytails, but their knickerbockers had been replaced by regular work pants. Annabelle sat between them.
Theo raised his arms to say grace. As she observed the scene, it struck Annabelle that it looked like a cross between the Last Supper and the Resurrection. The group held hands and closed their eyes, but Annabelle kept hers wide open. Suki caught her eye and winked.
“Let’s praise St. Petrie for blessing us with this food.”
It was a grace unlike any Annabelle had ever heard.
“Thank you for meeting our physical needs of hunger and thirst. We praise you for the bounty that you provide. Bless this food as we fuel our bodies and our souls so that we may work for the glory of your name. Bless us and the family and friends beside us and the love we share,” Theo opened his eyes. “Amen. Let us eat.”
“It may look like the River Thames after a bad storm, but it’s actually a vegan soup,” Suki reassured Annabelle as she passed her a bowl of thick, gray slurry. “It’s full of goodness. And quite tasty if you’re hungry.” She leaned in to whisper, “Best of all, it has virtually no calories.”
A salad of rocket leaves and kale topped with orange, red, and green heritage tomatoes lay in a wooden bowl on the table alongside a tray of dense, rustic bread.
“All the results of our own efforts. The hot weather ripened the tomatoes really early this year,” Julia told Annabelle, her eyes sparkling.
The soup tasted of cheese and was surprisingly good and extremely filling. Annabelle chatted to Thomas and Scott on either side of her.
“And what do you do, Thomas?”
“Er, I–I’m a photographer.”
Thomas sat silently, his chair set back from the table a little, one pudgy hand placed on his knee as he supported himself, the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows. There was a slight sheen on his forehead, and he repeatedly pushed his round, rimless glasses higher on his nose while avoiding virtually all eye contact with those around him. His wispy, pale hair was damp from the warm summer evening. He ran a fingertip across his brow.
“What kind of photography do you do?”
“Ohh, m–mostly nature photography. I enjoy roaming the countryside and taking pictures of the animals, the landscape, drops of dew on a leaf, that k-kind of thing.” He paused and shot a quick look at Annabelle before continuing, “but I do take typical C-Cornish shots, like the fishing boats and c–cream teas.” He paused again, “They‘re especially popular with the tourists. I sell a lot of postcards of s–scones, j–jam, and,” Thomas gathered himself to put extra effort into his final words, “clotted cream.”
“And how long have you been with the Brotherhood? I hear you moved down from the north a short while ago.”
“A couple of years.” Thomas’ confidence increased as he spoke, Annabelle’s interested expression never straying from his face. He sat up straighter, taking his eyes off his soup to flick glances at her as he spoke. “Ever since my mother went into a h–home.” Thomas finished his sentence on a whisper. “She’s in her eighties,” he said apologetically, trailing off.
“I hope she’s happy there.”
“I lived with her until I could n–no longer care for her.” Thomas looked down at his lap, but sensing that he had a sympathetic listener, lifted his gaze quickly, “We had to sell her house to pay for the home. I was living hand to mouth for a while. Then I bumped into Theo one day while I was out taking pictures, and he offered me a place to stay. He was very kind.”
Thomas pulled a photograph from his pocket. It was of a falcon launching off the water with another, smaller bird caught between its claws. “S–sorry for the s–strong subject matter, V-vicar. It was such a s–stunning s–sight. The falcon just s–swooped down and s–scooped the other bird up.”
“It is remarkable isn’t it? Nature can be brutal, I see it all the time.” Annabelle thought back to the children at the most recent rehearsal. “All part of God’s holy plan, I suppose. But I have to say, I much prefer pictures of scones and jam and clotted cream. Much more my kind of thing.” She smiled at Thomas, who nodded vigorously and once more pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. He took a sip of his soup and the lenses clouded over on the lower rim. He looked at her over the fog.
“I like to do things the old fashioned way. T–trays of developing fluid, stop baths, drying lines, that k–kind of thing. I develop my p–pictures in a room in the east wing. It’s very kind of Theo to allow me the space to do that.”
“But you contribute to the income of the group, do you not?”
“Well, yes, my p–postcards and greeting c–cards bring in a bit at the local markets, and I occasionally sell large, f–framed p–prints of my wildlife pictures for a decent price.”
“Well then, you deserve your space.”
Thomas considered Annabelle’s point seemingly for the first time. He tucked in his chin. “Perhaps I do,” he said, putting a hunk of bread into his mouth and tearing off a big bite.
“And what about you, Scott? What’s your story? Where do you come from?” Annabelle turned to the big man on the other side of her. Between his eyes were frown lines that gave him a dark, surly expression, and as he sat hunched over the table, a thick, hairy arm stabbed at his food like he was murdering it. Annabelle thought his behavior unnecessarily violent considering that the meal consisted entirely of plants.
Scott was a blacksmith, and as Annabelle watched him forcefully skewer a misshapen slice of tomato, she questioned the wisdom of his choice of vocation. He didn’t seem the sort of person with whom one would want to hang around too often especially if he was wielding a red hot poker in one hand and a hammer in the other.
Before Scott answered her, he picked up his soup bowl with huge, red, scarred hands and drank directly from it. Annabelle waited good-naturedly as he drained his bowl and put it down with a bang, smacking his lips together and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Out of the corner of her eye, Annabelle saw Suki looking over at Scott with appreciation at what was obviously, to her, clear evidence of testosterone-fuelled masculinity.
“Not much to tell, Vicar. I’m a traveller by heritage, but my parents tired of the life before I was born. I grew up on a rough estate in East Anglia. I think it’s in the bones though, travelling, not wanting to stay in one place. I was in regular work, but Theo came up to me one day at a market in Suffolk and asked if I’d like to join the Brotherhood. Seemed like a good idea, perhaps a way to see a bit of the country, and I’ve been with them ever since.
“Do you all get along? I mean, with each other?”
“We can get on each other’s nerves at times, but we rub along pretty well.”
Killer at the Cult Page 4