The Cure of Souls (57 page)

‘She said she’d been trying to develop her own psychic side for years, and suddenly here was this awful, repressed little girl who was a natural. She said she was quite jealous. That’s more or less what she said. Does this mean Amy could be in some way possessed?’

‘I don’t know.’ Merrily was thinking back to the intense, truncated night in her own church when an eighteenth-century penny had supposedly given her God’s spin on the problem: no demonic possession in this case, no possession by an unquiet spirit. ‘I suppose,’ she said, clutching another of those slender straws frequently offered to you by faith, ‘that mediumship and spiritual possession are separated by a degree of control. The medium consents to open herself to the spirit, knowing she can always close the door.’

‘That’s more or less what Layla said.’

‘Except we’re not talking about Betty Shine here, we’re talking about a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl, and a fairly archaic example of the species at that – impressionable, naive—’

‘Will she be charged with murder?’

‘I don’t see how they can avoid it.’

She was momentarily haunted again by thoughts she’d kept pushing away, about the similarities between this killing and Stock’s murder of his wife. In fact, when you examined them individually, the similarities were not so great, since the Romany element was peripheral to the Shelbone issue. To an outsider, the strongest link between the two cases would be herself: Deliverance – failed.

‘It’s tragic,’ Eirion said. ‘When you think about it, it’s tragic for everyone. Layla Riddock – she was about the same age as me, and she was…’ There were tears in his eyes. ‘She was obviously incredibly intelligent. And there she was, one minute coolly analysing the situation, the next coughing up all that blood, and then in the ambulance… What a terrible
waste
, Mrs Watkins. I’ve heard people say that so many times, but when you actually—’

‘Eirion,’ Merrily said, ‘you really are a nice guy. You risk alienating your family to pursue Jane’s whim, you—’

‘No, I’m not.’ He stared at her, blinking in agony. ‘I slept with your daughter!’

His features slumped into comical dejection, like a boxer puppy’s.

‘I see,’ Merrily said softly.

‘Last night – well, evening. It was the first time. It was why we were so late getting to the Shelbones. We fell asleep. You see, that’s another thing – retribution. If we hadn’t… been to bed, we’d have got there earlier – and Layla might still be alive. It’s retribution.’

‘I really don’t think so.’ Suddenly she wanted to laugh. She’d often thought about what she’d say in this situation, and now she didn’t know what she wanted to say. Except… ‘Well… thanks for telling me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Eirion said.

‘Well, you know, it’s not—’

‘I do love Jane, you see.’

‘Yeah. That’s, er, that’s the impression I already had.’

‘I mean, it wasn’t… casual sex. I’m a not a very casual sort of bloke.’

‘No?’

‘In fact this was the… you know, the first time.’

‘You said.’

‘No, I mean for me. For me, too.’

‘I see. Does Jane know that?’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s probably not the impression I’ve given her, no.’

‘I won’t tell her, then.’

‘That’s very good of you.’

‘But just… just take good care of her. You know what I’m saying?’

‘I think so.’

‘I was only about three years older than you when I was pregnant, so I’ve tended not to come on heavy with Jane, so as to avoid any mention of pots, kettles and the colour black.’

He smiled tentatively. On the shelf beside the Aga, Merrily’s mobile began to bleep.

‘Excuse me a sec.’

Sophie sounded as if she had a cold.

This was the Sophie who never seemed to get colds, not even in winter.

‘I’m afraid the Bishop’s back,’ she said.

‘Good.’ Merrily lied, carrying the mobile to the window.

‘A short time ago, we took a call from the Church of England Press Office, which has learned of inquiries from West Mercia Police – and also, I understand, from the Crown Prosecution Service – about the Church’s guidelines on exorcism. Do you know anything about this, Merrily?’

‘Not a thing.’ Merrily stood looking out over the vicarage garden. This was only their second summer here; it seemed like half a lifetime.

‘The Press Office also understands there may be a statement from West Mercia very soon, expressing dismay at the way the Church of England reacted to the Stock case. The upshot is likely to be a call for the Church to be held more directly
answerable for the effects of what’s been described as “irresponsible ministry”.’

‘But doesn’t this pre-empt the result of the inquest? Isn’t it usually the coroner who makes comments like that?’

‘I think it’s more of a reaction from the police to an impending onslaught by the media. It could be weeks or months before the inquest’s over. Anyway, the Diocese needs to prepare a counter statement, so an emergency meeting’s been called at the Bishop’s Palace for this morning. The Bishop needs to hear your explanations, in considerable detail, to decide if any of it’s—’

‘Rational enough to repeat. Hang on, you just said the Crown Prosecution Service. But Stock’s dead, so there’s no prosecution, only the inquest. Why should the CPS—? Oh.’

‘Quite,’ Sophie said.

‘Oh my God.’ Merrily went cold.

‘It doesn’t
necessarily
mean anyone’s contemplating prosecuting either the Church or… or…’

‘Or me.’

‘I’m very sorry to have to drop this on you, Merrily.’

‘Hardly
your
fault.’
How could it have come to this?

‘The meeting’s at eleven a.m.,’ Sophie said, ‘on the dot. If I were you, I’d—’

‘Sophie, perhaps… you could make my apologies.’

Pause. She counted six, seven, eight, nine little green cider apples on the lawn.

Sophie said, ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I’ve got another appointment, that’s all.’

‘Merrily, let’s be perfectly clear about this: you do realize what your non-appearance would be taken to imply, don’t you?’

‘Things have happened. Don’t suppose the news has reached the Cathedral close yet.’

‘News?’

‘Allan Henry’s stepdaughter, Layla – you remember Layla? Black kimono, champagne glass? Layla was stabbed to death
early this morning by Amy Shelbone. Who also injured Eirion.’

‘What?’ Sophie’s voice was faint and fractured, like the crinkling of tissue paper.

‘That’s actually not the reason I won’t be able to make it to the meeting,’ Merrily said. ‘But I thought you should know.’

Lol picked up his keys, locked the stables and drove the Astra up the lane. Despite the window being wound all the way down, the day was already too hot for him. Already, he felt oppressed.

On his way through Knight’s Frome, he spotted Simon St John standing on the humpback bridge. Simon started flagging him down.

‘I’m sorry, Lol.’ He was wearing a black shirt and a dog collar and very old jeans. He was sweating, and his hair looked like the leaves of a long-abandoned house plant. ‘Whatever I said to you the other night, I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t you remember?’

‘Whatever it was, it was probably offensive and I’m sorry.’ Simon squinted, the sun directly in his eyes, but he made no effort to avoid it. ‘Have you spoken to Mrs Watkins today?’

‘Not since first light.’

‘Lol, I need her.’

Lol stared at him, said nothing.

‘I’m in a lot of trouble.’ Simon’s eyes were glassy with sunlight and anxiety. ‘I phoned her and asked her to come over, but I’m not sure she’s going to.’

‘Tell me,’ Lol said. He didn’t have that much time but if this involved Merrily he wanted to know about it.

‘It’s a priest thing.’ Simon started to laugh. ‘Oh, fucking hell…’

‘Why do you swear so much, Simon?’

‘Denial. I’m a sick, polluted priest in denial. Pity me, Lol, we’re not exactly twin souls, you and I, but I guess we’ve been to some of the same places. In my case complicated from time to time, as you may have heard, by a certain sexual ambivalence –
but, then, in the seventies and eighties an entirely heterosexual rock musician was considered a serious pervert.’

‘That’s not the pollution, though, is it?’ Lol said from his vantage point on the hill of no sleep. What was the point of all this confessional stuff? It was as though Simon was desperate to convey sincerity, openness.

‘Oh no,’ the vicar said, ‘physical pressures I can control. He turned his head and stared at the bridge, the church, the roofs of the village. ‘This
bloody
place!’

Lol suddenly thought of Isabel in the churchyard.
Seemed such a nice boring place, it did, after Wales. No historical baggage. No history at all that wasn’t to do with hops. Perfect, it was. And now – blood everywhere
.

‘I’m horribly, horribly sensitive, Lol,’ Simon said. ‘That’s my problem. Like people with a skin condition who can’t go out in the sun. Will you tell her that?’

Eirion saw she had other preoccupations and said perhaps he’d take a walk around the village. When he’d gone, Merrily phoned Huw Owen over in the Brecon Beacons.

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Wondered if you’d be calling one of these days. We do get the papers up here – not necessarily the same day, mind. Anyroad, say nowt, that’s my advice. When the trial date’s set, we’ll happen have a chat about it.’

‘There won’t be a trial. He hanged himself last night.’

‘Who?’

‘Stock. In his cell at the remand centre.’

‘Simplifies things,’ Huw said.

‘No, it doesn’t.’

‘You can get yourself through an inquest. You can tell the coroner why any comparisons with the Taylor case are inappropriate.’

‘No. I mean, yes, all that’s very much on the cards, and I’m really trying not to think about it yet. But to complicate things, informed sources at Knight’s Frome are suggesting there’s a remaining problem.’

‘At this kiln place?’

‘That the killing happened not because Stock was in any way possessed, but because his wife was.’

‘By what?’

‘A gypsy girl went missing, back in the sixties. There’s reason to think she was imprisoned in the kiln and either strangled or choked to death on sulphur, and then her body was burned in the furnace. All I wanted to ask is, have you had any dealings with, or do you know anything about, Romany beliefs?’

‘Specifically?’

‘Specifically, the
mulo
.’

He didn’t say he had, he didn’t say he hadn’t. ‘How long you got to play with?’

She told him, expecting him to laugh.

He didn’t. ‘Walk away, lass,’ he said. ‘Just take a holiday. There’s no shame in that.’

H
ER HAIR FELL
not much more than shoulder-length but was bushed out, maybe a little frizzy; her nose was hooked, her mouth small but full-lipped. The sleeveless white blouse she wore was knotted under her breasts. She had her hands clasped behind her head, her face upturned. Smiling at the sun – eating the world.

Rebekah.

The black and white photograph was pinned to the wall above a small inglenook in the back room. Eating the world, and then she choked. It broke your heart.

‘That’s not one of Lake’s?’ Merrily asked Al.

‘Mother of God, no, it’s a blow-up of a picture she sent to
Tit Bits
or
Reveille
– you remember those old glamour magazines? Looking for a career as a pin-up or a model. It was found after she disappeared. The family had copies made to show around, to see if anyone had seen her. They had to conduct their own search, in the end.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Ah, in those days, as Sally may have said to you, people from ethnic minorities were not considered proper people.’ His eyes were quiet this morning. ‘Even the beautiful ones.’

The back room of the Hop Museum was not open to the public because it also served as a workshop. It ran the length of the main building, and the two shorter walls were lined with
racks of hand tools, probably antiques in themselves. There were a pair of elderly wood-lathes and a bench with a Bunsen burner attached to a liquid-gas bottle. Guitar parts – necks, pine tops, bridges – hung from walls and beams. There was a rich composite aroma of glue and resin and wood.

And hops, of course. The scent of hops was unavoidable in this place.

In a white waistcoat and a spotted silk scarf which, Merrily recalled from childhood, was called a
diklo
, Al had welcomed her with a small bow and a kiss on the hand. Now he was moving around the workshop, picking up guitar fragments and gently putting them down. A sign down by the road had said:
MUSEUM CLOSED ALL DAY
.

They were still waiting for Simon St John.

‘What do you want me to do?’ Merrily asked Al. ‘I’m afraid I don’t really have as much time as I’d have liked.’ She’d told him as much as she needed to of what had happened after she and Lol had left Knight’s Frome last night. ‘And I’ll need to be there, obviously, when the police come to talk to Jane.’ Al was nodding, but she could tell he was somewhere else.

Jane might sleep for hours yet
, Eirion had kept insisting.
You go. I can tell this is important. And when she comes down we’ve got a lot to talk about, haven’t we?

At least it wasn’t far; she could be back in just over half an hour, if necessary. If they could hold off the police until this afternoon, that would help. She’d already called Mumford, asked if this was possible. Mumford had said,
We’ve found a knife, by the way
.

Al was still nodding his goblin chin. ‘By one o’clock, it should be over. By one, we’ll have done all we can do.’

‘But are we trying for the same thing?’

‘To bring her into the light,’ Al said.

‘But is it the
same
light?’

‘Light is light,
drukerimaskri
. You know that.’

‘I suppose.’ She didn’t even know if he was a Christian. ‘Where’s Sally?’

‘Gone for a walk. Coming to terms.’

‘How happy is she – about what you’re proposing?’

‘Ah…’ He picked up an unstained guitar neck, only half fretted, held it up to one eye and looked along it. ‘Well, she thinks we should have acted on this when we first suspected something was arising. I tried. I talked to Stock, way back. Told him to sell the place to Lake, take his wife away from here.’