An Unholy Communion

by Donna Fletcher Crow

  “How wonderful! You walked all the way?” She directed her question to Antony.

  “No, no. We drove from Penrhys.”

  “Ah, very sensible of you. I’m sure my husband has filled you in on his little project.”

  Felicity laughed. “I don’t think I’d call it ‘little.’”

  Anne waved a hand tipped with bright red nails. “Oh, to a visionary like Rhys, it’s all in a day’s work.”

  “Thank you, my dear, but I must say that credit for this really goes to my charming wife. It wasn’t my idea.”

  Anne looked her husband straight in the eye. “Yes, it was, darling. You’ve forgotten.” Her voice was so soft the words were barely audible over the clink of teacups and chatter in the room.

  Rhys smiled. “Oh, yes, love. Of course, you’re right.”

  “Rhys is a natural for this work. He’s a genius at real estate.” She patted her husband’s arm. “I don’t know a plot from a plat, but I do have a small shop in the high street.” She turned to Felicity. “You must drop in while you’re here.”

  “Oh, a dress shop?”

  Anne smiled. “I like to think of it as a place of healing. Chakra Health, I call it. Scented candles, poetry books, herbs. Marissa, my assistant, does massage and aromatherapy. Let her give you a massage if you have time. It’s so relaxing, and you must have sore muscles after your pilgrim walk.”

  “Still some blisters,” Felicity admitted.

  “Do help yourself to tea and nibbles,” Anne invited. Jared headed the beeline to the refreshment table, but Anne stopped Antony with a hand on his arm. “Here, you must have one of our information brochures. I know Rhys would love to involve you on the committee. We do need more clergy input. You must come around to our house on Monday evening. We’re having a little group over. You’ll want to visit more with Father Antony, won’t you, Rhys?”

  “Oh, sorry, love, I forgot to tell you that Monday evening won’t work. Something came up at the office.”

  Anne looked at her husband. “That was taken care of, darling. You want to talk to Father Antony.”

  Rhys threw his head back and laughed loudly enough to draw attention from across the room. “What a lady. I ask you! She knows my mind better than I do.” He handed Antony his card. “Address is there. Monday at seven.”

  Felicity turned toward the refreshment table, then stopped in surprise when she saw the amber-haired young woman pouring out cups of tea. “Lydia, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Lydia held out a cup of tea with milk and no sugar, the way Felicity liked it. “I did rather get roped in. But I don’t mind. Anne Morgan is an old family friend.”

  Felicity smiled and watched their hostess approach a group of newcomers, offering them brochures. “Forceful lady. In a velvet glove sort of way.”

  Felicity turned to the exquisite selection of luxury biscuits, but before she could decide between white chocolate or Jaffa, a movement in the garden beyond the window caught her eye. She watched for a minute, then burst out laughing. “Oh, look at that!” Four of their pilgrims were doing “Y. M. C. A.” in the cloister. Early in the pilgrimage she would never have imagined their former juvenile delinquent would be leading two Goths and a prospective nun in cheerleader choreography. “Oh, where’s Chloe? I want a picture of that.”

  But the amateur photographer was nowhere to be seen. “Here,” Lydia dug in her pocket and pulled out her mobile. “The camera on this takes pretty good photos.” She clicked the buttons to get it to camera mode. “Just push here. It’s aim and fire.”

  “Thank you.” Felicity abandoned her tea and ran out into the cloister to capture the moment.

  She had taken several snaps when Ryan joined her. “They’re great, aren’t they? Here,” he held his hand out for the phone/ camera. “That’ll take video, too.”

  By the time they finished filming, the dancers were ready for another cup of tea. Felicity started to follow them back into the hall when the phone in her hand rang. She considered rushing to get the phone to Lydia, but the vision of bumping guests and sloshing tea was daunting. She pushed the green button. “Hello. This is Lydia Bowen’s phone.”

  She had intended to offer to get Lydia, but the caller apparently mistook her for the answerphone. “This is George Watson, headteacher at Abergavenny College. Please contact me immediately. We are very concerned that we have not heard from Adam Bowen since term began. If he is ill, please let us know if we will need to arrange for tutoring to keep him up with his class.”

  Long moments after the message had clicked off, Felicity stood staring at the tiny blank screen in her hand. Adam had disappeared? Had never arrived at his school? How was that possible? Lydia had taken him there herself, Lydia and Michael, Monday morning while the others waited in Aberdare. She was certain she remembered correctly. Lydia had gone into detail about how happy he had been to be back.

  What could have gone wrong? Had Adam been faking his happiness and then run away? Or had it been something even more sinister?

  Chapter 22

  Thursday

  St David’s

  Back at St Non’s, Antony sat alone in the darkened chapel in the retreat house going over the events of the past hours in his mind. Lydia, as baffled as everyone else, had rung the headmaster immediately, but she could offer no explanation or advice beyond Antony’s insistence that she tell them to call the police.

  There was little point in ringing Adam’s parents. Their father was a top executive for an oil company based in Dubai, but they could be anywhere in the world. “But surely your mother—” Felicity had insisted.

  “Adam’s mother, you mean,” Lydia had replied with a hint of bitterness in her voice. “My mother has been dead for years. Of course, Father would probably hire a helicopter and fly to Abergavenny. He dotes on the little twerp. But what could he accomplish other than ordering everybody around and getting in the way?”

  “What’s he like?” Felicity had asked.

  “Father?” The acrimony had been more than a hint, then. “Rich, powerful, a snob. Demanding. With everyone except Adam. He spoils him. Mostly, he bosses women around. He completely trampled my mother. I was only five when she died, but I could see it even then. I stood up to him. He hated that.”

  And then she had repeated it all for Detective Superintendent Thomas Pool, the senior investigations officer from the Dyfed-Powys police in Haverfordwest who interviewed her at the request of the Gwent Police. Pool had also questioned Michael, who recounted watching Lydia accompany her little brother to the door of his House, and then going to the gas station to check oil and water levels on the minibus as well as the air pressure in the tires before filling up with gas while Lydia helped Adam settle in.

  After the policeman departed, Antony had gathered the pilgrims in the chapel for a special prayer time, then sent them to bed. Felicity had gone up with Lydia, offering to stay with her for as long as she might want company.

  And now he sat, his mind as dark as the lightless room around him. Nothing made any sense. This had to be yet another of the diabolical events that had plagued them this entire time. But how? No matter how often he reminded Felicity of the reality of the power of Satan, he did not believe that force extended to making a human being simply disappear. This sounded far more like human action.

  But that didn’t mean it was any less evil. Antony was certain that if he could discover what Hwyl had been doing, he would have the key. Tomorrow he would ring Dilys again. And then he would have to approach Hwyl’s bishop.

  Questions continued to gnaw at him as he climbed the stairs to his room through the echoing retreat house. A tinge of pink and gold dawn was showing around the edges of Antony’s curtain before he finally fell into a restless sleep. He awoke a few hours later with a splitting headache.

  He was in the guest lounge making a cup of tea when Felicity came in. “You don’t look like you slept any better than I did,” he said.

  “Hmm, you do know how to make a girl
’s heart go pitterpat.” She gave him a peck of a kiss, then sighed. “But, no, you’re right. It’s all so worrying. Do you think whoever killed Hwyl has abducted Adam? Could there possibly be a connection?”

  Antony added an extra scoop of sugar to his tea. “I think it’s all connected. If I could just see how…”

  “We had thought Adam’s poisoning was random, or maybe a mistake, but now I wonder. Did anyone think to tell the police about that? Or about the ‘lady’ from Twmbarlwm?”

  Antony’s reply was to take out his mobile and ring the number Detective Superintendent Pool had given him, while Felicity made herself a cup of tea and joined him on the sofa. The superintendent wasn’t in, so Antony left a message with Pool’s assistant, who identified herself as Constable Gwen Owen.

  Ringing Dilys was next on his list. She was delighted to hear from him; she sounded perkier than she had the day they visited, and was happy to answer his questions. But Antony felt they were just going over old ground.

  “Interests? Hobbies? Not much time for that. We loved walking. We’d done almost the entire Pembrokeshire Coastal Walk. In bits and pieces, of course. I loved the flowers, Hwyl concentrated on the birds. Puffins. They were his favorite. Looked like a child’s stuffed toy, he said. He even collected puffins—for when we…” She stopped.

  “Dilys, I’m so sorry.” Felicity spoke softly into the speakerphone.

  Dilys caught her breath with a little hiccup. “Yes. Thank you. We’d hoped for so long.”

  “Any other hobbies?” Antony thought it best to move on. “Archeology. Roman artifacts. Like that email I showed you was apparently about.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did that help?”

  “I’m not sure. You haven’t found anything else, have you?”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t get much accomplished yesterday. My sister will be here tomorrow, then we’ll get stuck in.”

  “Good. Thank you for your help. We’ll check back in a few days.”

  After he rang off, he and Felicity looked at each other. She was the first to shake her head. “Not much help, huh?”

  “And nothing new about Adam?” Antony rubbed his throbbing temple. The sugar and caffeine were beginning to do their work.

  “I spoke with Lydia just before I came down here. She had rung all of Adam’s friends she knew, although she said she didn’t know many. Apparently the police had already spoken to them. If anyone knows anything, they’re not talking.”

  “Surely his friends couldn’t be responsible?”

  Felicity shrugged. “Well, one hates to think of it, but you do read about terrible things kids get up to.”

  “Or maybe whoever removed Adam has frightened the others into keeping quiet.”

  “If that’s the case, the police will get it out of them soon enough, I’m sure.” Felicity took a sip of her tea. “What’s our agenda for today?”

  Antony smiled. “The point of a retreat is not having an agenda. At least, that’s the theory. Actually, I think I need to talk to Hwyl’s bishop if he can make time to see me. What about you?”

  “I thought that after lunch I’d take Anne Morgan up on her invitation to visit her shop.” Felicity flexed her shoulders. “I can’t even imagine how good a massage would feel.”

  Antony rang the diocesan office. The bishop’s personal assistant said Bishop Harry could see Antony mid-afternoon. “You’re fortunate; he’s at the cathedral office today and tomorrow. That’ll save you a journey to Carmarthen.” Antony was pleased. That would give him plenty of time to see that the young people, under Michael’s direction, were organized for the walk Ryan was leading. After lunch, he and Felicity stood on the verandah, waving the more energetic of their group away as they set off up the Pembrokeshire coast armed with a rucksack full of flasks and biscuits, and a bird book and binoculars supplied by Sister Nora. Nancy had elected to spend a quiet afternoon reading, and Lydia wanted to ring an aunt and some distant cousins on the off-chance they might have heard something from Adam.

  As it was such a beautiful day, Antony and Felicity chose to walk into town. “So the diocesan office isn’t in St David’s?” Felicity asked.

  “Carmarthen is probably forty miles east. Much more accessible for an administrative office. It’s on the train line, even.”

  Felicity smiled. “I suppose that makes sense, but that’s one of the things I like best about St David’s—the sense of being set apart from the hurly-burly.” The rolling landscape covered with bracken and gorse stretched as far as they could see—to the cliff edge above the sea on their left and to meet the blue, cloud-puffed sky on their right. A slight rustle of the breeze in the foliage at their feet and the distant cry of a seabird were the only sounds besides their own footsteps.

  “What do you know about the bishop? Have you ever met him?”

  “I met his predecessor at Hwyl’s ordination. Harry Wynn has only been bishop for a couple of years, but he sounds like a good man. I looked him up on Sister Nora’s computer. Son of a vicar from Cardiff, he’s served his whole career in Wales. Was archdeacon of the diocese before being elected bishop. He’s an historian, too.”

  “Oh, you’ll get along just fine, then.” Felicity grinned.

  She went on up the street to her massage appointment and Antony turned down the steps to the cathedral. Bishop Harry welcomed him into the cathedral library, located over the chapel beside the high altar. “I thought this would be more pleasant than meeting in my rather stuffy office in St Mary’s Hall.” He indicated that Antony should take a chair by the brick fireplace along the far wall, and seated himself on the other side of the empty grate. “My assistant, Jane, tells me you knew Father Hwyl.” The bishop shook his bald head. “Tragic loss. I can’t imagine how I’ll replace him. He was excellent at his job. Both as a parish priest and with the more esoteric duties he undertook for me. Frankly, I don’t have much time for all that myself.”

  “Yes, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. As you may have heard, it’s rather likely Hwyl’s deliverance work may have contributed to his death.”

  Bishop Harry looked skeptical as he raised his eyebrows behind wire-rimmed glasses. “The strain, of course, can be severe. But I always thought Hwyl could handle it. He had a marvelous ability to be quite laid-back when he wasn’t working. That’s an ability more of us need to cultivate, I always feel.”

  Antony ran his hand backward through his hair, then stopped himself. Yes, he knew about being too intense about one’s work. “Bishop, I realize much of Hwyl’s work would be confidential, but were you aware of anything he was working on that would have caused him special concern?”

  “I wasn’t aware of anything out of the ordinary. I would have known if he was planning a full exorcism, but that is very rare. I wouldn’t necessarily be aware of his day-to-day calls. Father Hwyl does—er, did—a great many house blessings. We get a lot of creaky stairs and cold spots in old farmhouses hereabouts. I don’t mean to minimize that. St David’s is a very ancient holy place. That can be a magnet for the wrong sort of spirits as well.”

  “Yes. Do you know anything about a group that calls itself the Orbis Astri?”

  “Yes, Hwyl mentioned it. He brought me some information—a leaflet about a lecture series on spiritual empowerment, as I recall. The thing that does stick in my mind is the image of that rather sinister-looking double-headed snake. I don’t think he had any more information than one could find on the Internet. Groups like that can be very worrying, of course, if a highly charismatic person gets hold of them. It can be a real power trip for some individuals.”

  “Enough to kill for, would you say?”

  The bishop raised his eyebrows again. “Power can be a very, well—powerful motivator.”

  “To manipulate people for personal prestige, you mean?”

  “Prestige, money, any personal goal. ‘I will give you all the kingdoms of this world,’ Satan promised our Lord.” Bishop Harry leaned forward in his chair. “I don’t have t
o tell you, Father, it’s mostly smoke and mirrors, but there can be a real danger.”

  Antony nodded and was silent until the chill of the bishop’s words generated receded. “What do you think about the drive to restore the Bishop’s Palace?”

  “I can see that the idea of developing a retreat and convention center might hold appeal to some of the more energetic members of our community. I personally wouldn’t like to see the lovely peace of St David’s disturbed. That is, after all, why David came here. I think we could lose something very precious. Besides the issues of the staggering amount of money involved and the difficulties of getting planning permission to rebuild anything of such enormous historic value, I’d have to say that the campaign to restore St David’s Shrine is far more practical, and I would hate to divert attention away from that.” Bishop Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Of course, I don’t suppose I should be seen as showing favoritism, since it was a predecessor of this office who is responsible for destroying both.”

  Antony blinked. “A bishop? Of St David’s? Surely, Henry VIII…”

  “No, I fear the culprit was closer to home. William Barlow, bishop here in the mid-sixteenth century. He was determined to break the hold of ‘superstition’ here, so he stripped the shrine of David of its jewels and confiscated the relics. It was his plan to remove the cathedral from St David’s to Carmarthen, but he only got as far as moving the bishop’s residence.” The bishop smiled. “It is more convenient, I suppose. But convenience isn’t everything. Barlow was blamed for stripping the lead from the roof of the Bishop’s Palace in order to provide dowries for his six daughters, but that may be no more than gossip.”

  Antony thanked the bishop for his time and made his way back through the cathedral, wondering if he had learned anything useful. Interesting, certainly. But was there anything there that could get him closer to the cause of Hwyl’s death? If there was, he didn’t see it.

  Up the street from the cathedral close, Felicity was waiting for him at the lace-curtained Corbels Tea Shop. He surveyed the copies of various corbels copied from the Bishop’s Palace ringing the ceiling. Little human heads, animals and mythical beasts peered down at him. He turned to Felicity and smiled. “You look relaxed. Did you get a massage from the magic-fingered Marissa?”