‘Yes, that was one reason. The other is that I don’t want St Joseph’s turned into a fairground!’ His voice had become strained, almost strident, and his two colleagues looked at him in surprise. Delgard appraised him with troubled eyes.
Bishop Caines rose with an audible sigh and went to the tray of drinks. He handed the brandy to the pale priest. ‘It’s a little early for this kind of beverage, I know, but it will do you good, Andrew.’ He noticed the priest’s hand was trembling as he took the drink and quickly looked across at Delgard. The monsignor’s face was impassive, although he, too, was watching Father Hagan.
Bishop Caines turned back to the small side table. ‘No sugar for you, Peter? No, I remember.’ He gave the tea to Delgard, then placed his own and the brandy on the desk. ‘Tell me more about this reporter,’ he said as he took his seat once again. ‘Just how much did he see?’
Hagan sipped his drink, hating the taste and the burning it caused to his throat. ‘He saw everything. He was there from the beginning.’
‘Well, no matter. The news would have soon got out. What we must consider now is how we should proceed. Where is the girl, this Alice Pagett?’
Delgard spoke. ‘I thought it best that she and her mother should move into the convent in the village for a few days; there she cannot be bothered by the Press.’
‘Her mother agreed?’
‘She’s a devout Catholic and willing to follow our guidance. Her husband, I’m afraid, is another matter. I doubt he’ll let us keep Alice there for long.’
‘He’s not Catholic?’
Father Hagan managed to smile. ‘Most definitely not. An atheist.’
‘Hmn, that’s a pity.’
Delgard wondered at the meaning behind the bishop’s remark: was it a pity that the man did not believe in God, or that as a non-Catholic he could not be so easily manipulated by the Church? Delgard did not enjoy having such suspicions about Bishop Caines’ motives, but he knew the man was ambitious. Even men of the cloth were not without that stain.
‘I think perhaps I should see the child and her mother,’ the bishop said, sipping his brandy thoughtfully. ‘If Alice really has been blessed, there could be certain consequences to the Church in England.’
‘An upsurge of religious fervour?’ Delgard said bluntly.
‘A return to the Faith for thousands,’ replied the bishop.
Father Hagan looked quickly from one man to the other. ‘You mean St Joseph’s could become a shrine?’
‘Surely you realized that?’ said Bishop Caines. ‘If this girl really did have a vision of the Blessed Virgin, then pilgrimages will be made from all over the world to worship at the place of the Visitation. It would be a most wonderful thing.’
‘Yes, it would,’ said Delgard. ‘But as I said earlier, there is a long and extremely thorough process to be gone through before any such declaration can be made.’
‘I’m well aware of that, Peter. The first thing I must do is bring forward the Conference of Bishops and place all the information we have before them. I shall ask for the Apostolic Delegate to be present so that the matter can be brought to the Pope’s attention without delay and perhaps discussed at the next Synod in Rome.’
‘With respect, Bishop, I feel we may be moving too fast,’ said Hagan, clenching his brandy glass tightly. ‘We have no proof at all that Alice really saw Our Lady, or that the cures were miraculous.’
‘That is what has to be ascertained,’ the bishop quickly replied. ‘Whether we like it or not, the news will spread rapidly. I dread to think of the sensation this man, Fenn, will make of it. Five cures, Andrew, five. Six counting Alice Pagett’s own recovery. Do you not realize the excitement it will cause, not just among Catholics but in the hearts of all people who believe in the Divine Power? Whether or not St Joseph’s is declared a holy shrine will be quite irrelevant; people will flock to the site in thousands out of sheer curiosity. That is why the Catholic Church must control the situation from the beginning.’
Father Hagan seemed to shrink into himself, but the bishop would not relent. ‘There are many precedents,’ he continued, ‘the most famous being Lourdes. There was tremendous resistance by the Church authorities in accepting that Bernadette Soubirous had truly seen the Immaculate Conception, and it wasn’t just the overwhelming evidence of miraculous cures and Bernadette’s obvious integrity that influenced their final judgement: it was public opinion itself. The Church could not disregard the situation because the people – and they were not just local people – would not allow it. Do you realize how many thousands flock to the shrine to Our Lady in Aylesford each year? And there is no evidence at all that an apparition of the Virgin Mary appeared there. In fact, the Church authorities do not even suggest it. Yet pilgrims visit every year from all over the world. The same applies to the other shrine at Walsingham. If people want to believe, then no edict from the Church will persuade them otherwise.’
‘Are you saying we should acknowledge Alice’s story?’ asked Hagan.
‘Absolutely not. The whole matter will be carefully looked into before any official statement is made. What I am saying is that we must act swiftly to govern whatever else happens at St Joseph’s. Don’t you agree, Peter?’ He glanced at the tall priest whose eyes were downcast.
He spoke slowly, his words measured. ‘I agree that the situation will develop of its own accord. We have already had experience of that with the large crowd that gathered at the church yesterday. Even this morning, before the news has broken in the Press, and on a working day, there was a large gathering. In a way, it’s a relief to be here away from them. Nevertheless, I feel we must not yet offer any encouragement.’
‘No, no, of course not.’
‘We must first interview each one of the persons apparently cured yesterday. Their individual doctors must also be approached for permission to examine their medical records. I think we will easily gain permission from the patients themselves, so the doctors in question should have no objection. I propose the immediate formation of a Medical Commission, one that is independent of the Catholic Church, which can investigate fully the medical histories of these six fortunate people – I include Alice, of course. With the enormous interest that will generate from yesterday’s spectacular . . .’ a wry smile ‘. . . I see no problem in that respect. Indeed, I imagine an inquiry would be instigated without our bidding.’
Bishop Caines nodded and avoided looking directly into the monsignor’s penetrating eyes.
‘Also,’ Delgard went on, ‘if we are to follow the example of Lourdes, I feel we must consider organizing our own Medical Bureau on the site of the shrine.’
Bishop Caines could no longer contain his eagerness. ‘Yes, that would be sensible. So many alleged miracles have been dismissed in the past because of lack of scientific or medical data.’
‘We must be fully aware, Bishop, that therein lies the danger to the Church itself. It could leave us open to ridicule if logical and sound reasons are found for what happened. At this very moment one of the Catholic Church’s greatest mysteries may well be explained away by science, and the beliefs of millions will suffer because of it.’
‘You mean the Shroud?’
‘Yes, the Turin Shroud. Thermographic investigation, infrared spectroscopy, radiography, electronic microscopy and chemical analysis – all these scientific means have been used to prove or disprove that the image on the length of linen discovered in 1356 is that of Christ. As yet, nothing conclusive has emerged from any of those tests. Needless to say, the Church is regarded with some suspicion for not allowing a further vital – according to the scientists – test. I refer to carbon dating.’
‘But that would require destroying a fairly large section of cloth,’ Bishop Caines protested. ‘We could never allow that.’
‘Methods of testing have been considerably improved since permission was last sought. No more than 25mg of material would be needed. Yet still we say “no” and the public wonders just what it is that we’
re afraid of.’
‘All the more reason we should not suppress our findings on this matter. I think we have nothing to fear, although I’m in full agreement about proceeding cautiously.’
‘I . . . I think we’re making a grave mistake.’
The two clerics turned towards Father Hagan. He was leaning forward in his seat, hands clasped tightly together.
Bishop Caines was alarmed at the distress on the priest’s face. ‘Why do you say that, Andrew? What is it that’s troubling you?’
The priest rubbed a hand against his temple. ‘It’s just a feeling, Bishop. I don’t know why, or what it is, but I feel things are not right. There’s an atmosphere about the church . . .’
‘Do you feel this . . . this atmosphere, Peter?’ the bishop asked.
Delgard paused before answering. ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t. At least not the kind that Father Hagan is evidently referring to. Yesterday there was a tension in the air that was almost tangible, but it was caused by the congregation itself. I’ve experienced mass hysteria before, but cannot positively say it was the same. I’m sure scientists will theorize on mass hypnosis, collective hysteria, mass suggestion, and they may well prove to be correct. I know I fell to my knees to worship what was before me.’
‘The child?’
‘What she represented. Or appeared to represent.’
‘Then you felt her holiness?’
‘I can’t be sure. A weakness seemed to overcome the whole crowd, not just Father Hagan and myself, but I just cannot remember my emotions. I can only remember the weakness, the incredibility of what had just taken place. Perhaps a psychologist could explain the phenomenon. Or a parapsychologist.’
‘I meant the atmosphere at St Joseph’s,’ said Father Hagan quietly. ‘It feels so cold.’
The bishop gave a little laugh. ‘It is winter, you know. The church is bound to feel cold.’
‘No, it’s not just a physical coldness. And it isn’t confined to just the church; it’s in the grounds, in the presbytery.’
‘You appeared to be under some strain the last time I saw you, Andrew,’ Bishop Caines said, not unkindly. ‘It was one of the reasons I asked Monsignor Delgard to help you – that, and because of his experience in such extraordinary matters. Frankly, your health seems to have suffered considerably since last we met. Are you sure your general disposition does not account for these strange feelings you have?’
‘I’m sure. I admit I haven’t been in the best of health lately, but I think that, in itself, may be due to present circumstances.’
‘I don’t see how, unless it’s the publicity that’s upsetting you. If that is the case—’
‘No!’
The bishop blinked in surprise.
‘I’m sorry, Bishop,’ the priest apologized. ‘I didn’t mean to raise my voice. Please forgive me. But there is something more, something happening that I don’t understand.’
‘We are all aware of that, Father,’ said Bishop Caines, keeping the irritation from his voice.
‘I don’t just mean with Alice Pagett. There is something more . . .’
‘Yes, yes, you have already said that. Can you explain exactly what you mean?’
The priest slumped back in his seat and closed his eyes. ‘I wish I knew,’ he said after a while.
‘Then I think it best—’ A gentle rapping on the door interrupted his words.
‘Yes, Judith?’ the bishop called out.
The secretary peered around the door. ‘A call from London, Bishop. It’s the Daily Mail, I’m afraid. They say they would like a statement from you on the incident at St Joseph’s in Banfield yesterday.’
‘Well, gentlemen,’ the bishop said, ‘it seems the story has broken nationally. Put the call through, my dear, then contact His Eminence for me when I’ve finished.’
He lifted the receiver and Delgard was not sure if his smile was one of resignation or anticipation. As the bishop began to speak, Delgard noticed that Father Hagan’s hands were clenched around the arms of his chair. Clenched so tightly that the knuckles showed gleaming white through the pallid skin.
16
‘I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir,’ said Alice, ‘because I’m not myself, you see.’
Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Tuesday, mid-morning
Southworth smiled as he poured himself a sherry. He filled the glass almost to the top. Normally a half-glass was adequate, a private mid-morning treat he occasionally allowed himself; but today there was something to celebrate.
An emergency meeting of the parish council had been called the previous evening because of the new ‘Banfield Miracles’, the astonishing cures that had taken place at St Joseph’s on Sunday. And not just cures: many claimed they had seen Alice Pagett levitate. Southworth, who had also been there, wasn’t certain of that aspect, for his view had been somewhat restricted by those in front of him, but he was ready to believe almost anything after the breath-taking cures. The child’s levitation could have been imagined, such was the intense feeling running through the crowd, but there was no imagining the healing of the invalids. Even now, even though he was an eye-witness, it was difficult to accept.
Fortunately, there was no question of fraudulence. The five who had been cured had genuine illnesses, all confirmed by their own doctors, and further guaranteed by the medical records from the hospitals they had attended. Those illnesses and debilities had disappeared completely in all but two cases: the man whose cataracts had cleared still did not have perfect vision, although the morning report was that his sight was steadily improving; the crippled boy still had difficulty in walking unassisted, but this could hardly be otherwise with his wasted leg muscles – his condition was expected to improve as his legs grew stronger.
Southworth sipped the dry sherry and glanced over the newspapers spread before him on his desk. The story was now worldwide news. Banfield was literally crawling with media people. Press, television, magazines – all wanted the story. The village was bustling in a way it never had before, nor had ever expected to. It was alive! The residents were bewildered, but the world knew of their existence! And they, the villagers, were responding to the sudden attention. Not just responding, but thriving on it! Of course, there were those who found the publicity unwelcome, those who preferred their cosy, stagnating privacy, but they were in the minority. An indication of the high excitement generating through Banfield was conveyed at the council meeting on Monday evening. Never had he seen his fellow-members so active! And so willing to listen to plans of expansion.
There was no question but that St Joseph’s would become a shrine after last night’s news broadcast and this morning’s headlines, even if the Catholic Church refused to proclaim it as such. The publicity alone would undoubtedly attract pilgrims, tourists and thrill-seekers to the area in their thousands (one councillor, the manager of one of Banfield’s two national banks, was carried away with the whole idea enough to estimate the number in millions, a reckoning that drew guffaws from his fellow-members, although secretly not entirely rejected by them). Southworth ventured that the Church would be forced into making concessions and might even relish the situation. What more could any religion ask for than a present-day miracle to perpetuate the Faith? He knew the bishop of the diocese, Bishop Caines, personally, and would arrange for a meeting to discuss recent events. He would also broach the subject of how they could combine forces to meet the human deluge that must surely descend upon the area.
Southworth had spoken with the bishop that morning and had been surprised at the eminent cleric’s general receptiveness to the council’s proposition. Yes, he understood absolutely the need for agreement between the parish council and the Church in the coming months, and he would endeavour to cooperate fully with any plans put forward by them provided they did not entail cheap exploitation or pertain to any activities which would infringe on the dignity of the Catholic Church itself. Southworth was more than pleased with the stat
ement, albeit somewhat pompous, and assured Bishop Caines that the council had no intention of commercializing what must be considered a most holy event. The bishop warned him without hesitation that it could not yet, and perhaps never would, be proclaimed a ‘holy’ event. Indeed, the whole matter would require lengthy examination to determine the validity of Alice Pagett’s vision and the cures that had ensued within a religious context. His Eminence, the Cardinal Archbishop, had expressed deep concern and urged caution.
Bishop Caines went on to suggest that a meeting between members of the council, Monsignor Delgard, whom the bishop had appointed overseer at St Joseph’s, and Father Hagan might prove fruitful at this early stage. They would report back to him and he in turn would report to the Conference of Bishops.
Southworth had thought that to be an excellent idea. In fact he would stage two meetings: one informal, between him and the two clergymen in which he could appraise their attitudes (and perhaps he would invite the reporter, Fenn, along too); another, larger meeting involving the rest of the council. In that way he could smooth the path first – certain colleagues on the council were a little too earnest with their ideas. Like Rodney Tucker, they were non-Catholics and inclined to forget the sensitivities of the religious. Most of the councillors were long-standing members of the community, their family histories, as did his, tracing back through the centuries to the beginnings of the village itself, in the fourteenth century. It had been known as Banefeld then, a community formed by those who had fled the horrors of the Black Death, which had become rife in the more densely populated towns. Those early settlers had thrived on the rich agricultural land of the area and had stayed, content to ignore the changing face of England, like so many other small communes. Nothing world-shattering had ever happened in Banfield; perhaps a few minor misdeeds through the centuries, but nothing of any great consequence. But now the village had the opportunity to rise from obscurity, a chance to save itself from the oblivion it was slowly and surely sinking into. And the council members knew it – even the old ‘keep the-world-away-from-our-door’ diehards were aware. Those with family names entwined with Banfield’s inglorious and uneventful past saw the chance, not just to revive the mouldering corpse, but to inject it with a life far more brilliant than it had ever experienced, and so to re-establish their own history.
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