The chunky Colin was much heavier than the petite Nancy Ryan and his team had carried a few days before, and Colin’s whole body was shaking, making the task much harder. But with Colin’s arms slung around their shoulders, Michael and Ryan managed to as much drag as carry him away from the polluted air.
They were halfway to the retreat house when Lydia came running down the path. “Does anyone know if he’s been remembering to take his meds?” No one answered. She dug in his pocket, pulled out his inhaler and administered it. “He needs epinephrine.” She shook her head. “Well, get him inside—out of this air.” She ran up the path ahead of them. “Bring him to the bath. We need to get all the pollen off him. And his clothes will need to be washed.” She pulled out her mobile as she ran, and pushed 999.
The emergency services still hadn’t arrived by the time they had Colin in the tub of warm water. And Felicity, standing outside the bathroom door could hear his breath still coming only in strangled gasps. Antony arrived with pajamas and the bottle of allergy pills from Colin’s pack. More splashing and grunts sounded from the bathroom as Ryan and Michael got the patient out of the tub and dressed him.
Lydia took the pill bottle and shook it. “Still pretty full. He probably hasn’t taken one for days. I should have been administering them.” It sounded like she was accusing Antony.
“His mother didn’t want him to feel embarrassed,” Felicity said.
“Well, we need to get some inside him now, but he could never swallow one in his condition. Spoons. I need two spoons.”
By the time the paramedics arrived, Colin was in bed and Lydia was spooning drops of pills crushed in water into his mouth. The emergency team administered an EpiPen in his thigh, and in a few minutes Colin was able to get a full breath. “He should be all right now. Keep him quiet. He probably needs to sleep. And be sure he takes his tablets regularly.”
Lydia seemed to interpret the medic’s instructions as an affront. The color rose in her cheeks and she took a step toward him. “Thank you so much,” Felicity intervened. “We’ll keep a careful eye on him. Lydia is an excellent nurse.”
“Be sure you bring him to the doctors tomorrow if there’s any doubt.” The medics zipped their bags and left, escorted down the stairs by Sister Nora.
Felicity turned in time to see Lydia approaching Colin with a look in her eye that said she was going to give him a telling-off for neglecting his meds. “You were great, Lydia. No one else would have had a clue what to do. You probably saved his life.”
“Hmph.” Lydia turned back to the bed, but only straightened Colin’s covers. “Try to sleep now, you.”
Antony closed the door on the patient’s room. “I need to ring his mother. Will you come with me, Lydia, in case she wants to ask you anything?” Antony and Lydia went to the lounge where they could make their call without bothering anyone else.
Felicity turned to her room with dragging feet. Her golden evening had turned to ashes. This retreat was to be their peaceful, safe haven. A place she and Antony could have some time alone. Away from whatever had dogged their steps so threateningly across the width of Wales.
But now she knew. They had not escaped. Whatever it was had followed them. Or had been here ahead of them. Waiting for them.
She pulled the curtain across the wall of obsidian glass that earlier had been such a glorious picture window. She knew no thin veil of fabric could keep this blackness out, but it made her feel less exposed.
She pulled off her jeans and put on her pajamas. At least she had a real bed to sleep in. If she could sleep. Felicity closed her eyes against the dark. But she couldn’t keep it out of her mind.
It was the weight that wakened her. Like something sitting on her chest. She felt as if an unseen hand was trying to squash her—an unknown force trying to suck the life out of her. She was in a strange darkness. She was breathing, but no air was entering her lungs.
For a moment she pictured herself giving in to the weight. Just sinking to the bottom of the pool and letting the waters close over her. No more struggle. Just let go. Relax. Give in.
“No!” She flung her covers from her and sat up in bed, wet with sweat. She stumbled across the room and jerked her window open. Cool, fresh sea breeze flooded the room. She filled her lungs. Deeply. Again and again she breathed in the pure air.
Then she stuck her head out the window and yelled to the elements, “No!” A single, defiant word. But it was enough.
She had flung down the gauntlet. This was intolerable. In this beautiful spot, hallowed by centuries of worship, this oppression was not to be allowed. Whoever it was. Whatever it was. She would get to the bottom of it and she would stop them.
Chapter 20
Tuesday
St David’s
Antony toyed with his porridge, gazing out across the bay through the wide windows of the dining room. It was a clear day, the water an intense, morning blue, the sky a cloudless sweep to the horizon. Around him the pilgrims chatted, Lydia giving everyone a good report on her patient: still some allergy symptoms—stuffy nose, a little cough, a bit weak— but otherwise normal. She smiled. “He’s talking about evidence of Roman occupation in Pembrokeshire—coins at Pembroke Castle and the floor of a high status Roman villa uncovered somewhere near here.” She shook her head. “I think he’s on the mend, but I’ll keep him quiet today just to make certain.”
Antony just wished his mind felt as clear as the atmosphere. He had spent a restless night, his sleep interrupted by disturbing dreams. Once he had been certain he had heard Felicity shouting, but then had drifted back to an uneasy slumber. He looked around the room. Where was Felicity? He could hope she was having a restful lie-in, but it was unlike her to miss a meal.
He pushed his porridge aside, excellent Irish oatmeal though it was. Toast, crisp. And coffee, black. That was all his stomach could handle this morning.
He was returning with his toast to his seat at the long table, arranged to offer maximum views of the bay to as many guests as possible, when he saw Felicity walking on the terraced verandah beyond the window. In spite of the neatness of her shining golden braid, and the brilliance of her red sweater against the blue backdrop he could see by the droop of her head and the jerkiness of her walk that she was troubled. He abandoned his uneaten toast.
Felicity turned to him at the sound of the retreat house door closing behind him. Her smile made his heart wrench. He could see what the effort had cost her. The circles under her eyes were darker than those that greeted him in his mirror that morning. Her cheeks paler.
He put an arm around her and led her to the shelter of the little stone chapel where they could talk unobserved by the breakfasting retreatants. The rough stone walls held the cool damp of the night, but the air was scented by a few candles flickering in a stand before the altar. The narrow stained-glass window of St Non, swathed in blue, at the front, and David, robed in red, at the side, warmed the faint light, giving a sense of shelter, rather than gloom.
Antony pulled Felicity to sit on one of the chairs along the wall. His arms around her, he gave her several light kisses on her cheeks, her eyes, her mouth, then pulled back. “You look terrible, my love.”
Indignation flared in her eyes, then she sighed and her shoulders sagged. “I am terrible. I’m a mess. Last night I was so frightened. Then I was determined to fight. I wasn’t going to let this—this thing—win. I shouted at it.”
“Ah, that was you. I thought I’d dreamed it.”
“It was me, all right. That was the good news. Then I went back to bed and argued with myself the rest of the night.”
“Who won?”
“Do I look like I won?” She pushed to her feet and began pacing the stone floor with steps far heavier than her normal dancer’s tread. “Every time I determined to fight, I asked myself how? Who? What? And I couldn’t answer. But I refused to give in, so then it all went around again.” She stopped her pacing and stood, wringing her hands.
Antony got up and
took her in his arms. He held her close for a minute, then pushed back and held her at arms’ length. “All this worry—it’s not like you. Caution—certainly. Realistic assessment of danger—that’s great. But not endless, useless worry. Don’t let this rob you of your shining courage.” He wanted to say more, but his mind was so filled with the image of the Felicity he knew so well—dauntless and gallant—that he couldn’t find words.
At last she smiled. “Don’t lose my courage, just my rashness?”
He returned her smile. “Can’t you find a balance, woman?”
“Right. So no worry. But action.” She nodded. “What do you suggest, then?”
“I had thought I’d take the group to see the cathedral today, maybe do the Bishop’s Palace, too, but perhaps we can leave our retreatants to their own endeavors. Whatever is going on, it revolves around Hwyl. I can’t get away from the idea that he was at Kirkthorpe to see me. And if I hadn’t been working in the sacristy—if I’d been at the tower that morning, as he would have expected…” He clamped his lips shut. That was a useless line of thought. “I think we should call on Dilys Pendry. Maybe she’s found something or remembered something.”
After another cuddle and a rather thorough kiss they walked hand-in-hand back into the retreat house. Antony was pleased at the renewed lightness to Felicity’s step and sparkle in her eyes. He wasn’t sure whether it was due to their plan of action or the more concrete comfort he had given, but he was glad for it.
Hwyl’s widow agreed readily to Antony’s suggestion that he and Felicity visit her. “Yes, please. I don’t know whether or not I have anything useful for you, but I would be happy to have some company.”
When Antony returned to the dining room the others were still there, lingering over second—or third—cups of coffee or tea. Antony was pleased that Felicity had helped herself to cereal from the sideboard and was eating a good breakfast. A sure sign she was feeling better. He made himself a fresh piece of toast and joined her. “I’m going to leave you on your own today. We’ll postpone our tour of the cathedral until tomorrow,” he told the group.
“That’s fine, Father.” Ryan was the first to speak. “I was hoping to explore the caves around Caerbwdy Bay. I’d be happy to take anybody with me who wants to go along.”
Ryan’s suggestion received an enthusiastic response from everyone but Kaylyn, who was undoubtedly remembering her attack of claustrophobia, and Lydia, who said she would stay with her patient. Antony asked about transportation, since he and Felicity would take the minibus. “You can drop us in the center of town. I noticed a bike rental shop right across the street from the cathedral yesterday.” Ryan pulled a map out of his pocket. “It isn’t far—just the second bay over from St Non’s. Caves all along there.” He pointed. “We’ll go down this inlet to get below the caves.” Several heads bent over the map.
Antony caught Michael’s eye, recalling his driver’s bad experience in the cave at the Darren Ddu quarries, but Michael nodded reassuringly. “It’s fine. These caves aren’t deep. I’ll go with them, no problem.”
Antony and Felicity left the group in front of the bike rental shop and drove out of town, back along the way they had come the day before. Felicity picked up the map and studied it for a few moments. “Do you find Whitchurch?” He asked. “We take the B road up here a bit.”
“Oh, I see. It’s just above Solva.”
“That’s right, they’re in the same parish.”
When they drove into the village that was no more than a cluster of scattered houses, however, it was clear that Whitchurch was anything but the tourist attraction the nearby Solva was. St David’s Church stood on a slight rise of ground with leaning, lichen-covered gravestones dotting the verdant grass of the wide churchyard. A small, modern vicarage stood nearby. And all around, a bleak, desolate sweep of flat fields ran as far as one could see. Felicity shivered. “Oh, this is depressing. Poor Dilys. I wouldn’t want to live here alone. No wonder she sounded happy to have visitors.”
The young woman who answered the door on their first ring was small with a neat cap of curly black hair framing a round face. She wore jeans and an oversized plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “You’ll have to excuse me—and the house— I’m packing.” She shook her head. “You wouldn’t think we could have amassed so much stuff in just five years, would you? Of course, there are all of Hwyl’s books…” Her speech faltered as if she’d run out of breath. She stepped back, holding the door for them to come in.
Half-filled packing boxes littered the floor. Their hostess turned to move a stack of folded blankets from the sofa. “Do sit down. I’ve put the kettle on.”
“I’m so sorry to bother you.” Antony made his way across the jumbled room to take the offered seat and Felicity followed.
“No, no. Not at all. As I said on the phone, I’m happy for company.”
“Don’t you have anyone to help you?” Felicity asked.
“People have been very kind. I’ve had so many offers. People from the parish bring in far more food than I can eat. Rhys Morgan and others Hwyl worked with have offered to help clean out his study. But I…” She sighed. “I’m just not ready. My sister is coming up from Penzance on Friday. But I wanted to make a start.” Dilys looked around as if she was uncertain where she was. “I needed to work through it myself. There’s so much— ” She swallowed. “So much I don’t understand. I’m hoping you can help me.”
“That’s what we’re hoping, too,” Antony replied.
Felicity made a more literal application of her words. “Let me help you with the tea.”
When the women returned, Dilys took a long sip of her sweetened tea, then leaned back. “I’ve given a lot of thought to the things you asked me, but I don’t know that I have any answers. Have you learned anything new?”
“I’m afraid we mostly have more questions,” Antony replied. “You haven’t found anything?” Surely, if there was anything to be found it would come to light with the job Dilys was doing turning everything out. “What can you tell us about how Hwyl seemed to be in recent weeks—within himself?”
Dilys shook her head. “Nothing more than I told you on the phone, really. He was preoccupied. He spent a lot of time in his study with the door closed—but then, priests do that.” Antony nodded his understanding.
“And the pains you said he had?”
“That was odd. I kept telling him to go to the doctor—but he was so busy. He’d say, yes, yes, he’d do it. And then he would be fine for a day or two and forget all about it.”
“In his hands and feet, you said.”
Dilys pointed to the palms of her hands and the arch of a foot. “Sharp. Piercing. Like a nail, he said. Sometimes he would cry out.”
Like stigmata. Antony couldn’t suppress the thought. “And stomach?”
“That was more general. He had an uneasy digestion at the best of times anyway, and then when the pressures of his job weighed on him…” She was quiet for a moment.
“But it seemed worse just of late?”
Dilys nodded. “He was hardly eating anything. I worry about that. I keep thinking, if he’d eaten more he would have been stronger, been able to resist…”
Antony took a deep breath. “Mrs Pendry…”
“Call me Dilys, please.”
“Dilys, I’m sorry to have to ask you this, but do you know of any reason Hwyl might have…”
“Committed suicide?” She completed his sentence. “The police asked me that, too, but you should know better, Father Antony. He was a priest. A faithful priest. Suicide is a sin.”
“Yes, but…”
“If the ‘balance of his mind had been disturbed?’ The police asked that, too. My husband was worried. Overworked. He was not insane.”
Dilys herself seemed so very rational. Antony had confidence in her words. “What about people he was working closely with recently? Especially people who might have come to the house?”
Dilys set her empty beaker down on
the floor. “I made a list for the police. I should have kept a copy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, I don’t mind. Truly. I appreciate what you’re trying to do. I told the police everything I could, but there was so much they didn’t really grasp about his work. I know you will understand.” She paused. “Well, people from the parish, of course. It’s a combined parish; he had charge of three churches. Then everyone at the diocesan office. And this committee to restore the Bishop’s Palace. He thought that was a bit mad, really, but the chairman asked him especially, and sometimes they met here just to save him the drive into St David’s. Very thoughtful, really.”
“But did he have anyone special he was counseling at the moment?”
Dilys made an attempt at a grin. “Was he working with anyone possessed, or doing any exorcisms just recently? We can speak plainly, you know.”
“Sorry. Yes, that is what I meant.”
“None that I knew of. But I wouldn’t necessarily. He never talked about his work. Besides the seal of the confessional, I mean. He just didn’t like to bring those things home with him.” She was quiet a moment. “He did, though, of course. Sometimes I thought that if he would have talked to me about it more he wouldn’t have had to carry so much inside. I longed to help, more than making him bacon sandwiches at all hours of the day and night and running the flower rota at church. And now it’s too late.” She dropped her head into her hands. Felicity went to her and put an arm around her.
Dilys didn’t sob or shake but when she raised her head her eyes were red. Felicity picked up the teapot and took it to the kitchen for a refill.
“Do you know why he went to Kirkthorpe?” Antony asked.
“There was a monk or someone there he wanted to talk to. He received a note in the mail. Right after that he said he had to show it to the man who taught him deliverance.”
An Unholy Communion Page 22
