Felicity stood there in stony silence, her body rigid. He waited for her outburst. He had never spoken to her so harshly before. Would she cry? Shout at him? Storm out of the room?
Instead she turned to him coldly. “Right. You’ve made your position quite clear. I’ll be in the front parlor if Constable Owens wants to talk to me.”
Alone in the room he sank into a chair and put his head in his hands. He had never felt at more of a loss in his life. They had both been through so much and he had accomplished nothing. He had so wanted to help Dilys. He could only hope that his experience last night would be of some small comfort to her. It was certainly evidence that her husband had not committed suicide in cold blood. It was the best he could offer her. He felt responsible to the former student who had been coming to him for help, but he could do no more.
Tomorrow they would celebrate the Eve of the Feast of Corpus Christi; the pilgrims would dispense the next day and that, thankfully, would be the end of his obligation to this whole ill-conceived endeavor. Had any venture ever started out with such high goals and gone so badly wrong? He was certain he had never failed more spectacularly in his life. He could only pray that the police could recover Adam.
But he was through. And that was the end of it.
A short time later he led Constable Owens into the parlor with some trepidation. He had no idea how Felicity would react to his presence but he could see nothing to do except carry on. To his surprise Felicity nodded at them both and began telling the constable about the evening before in precise detail.
The story became more disjointed, however, when Felicity started in on the theory that Morgan’s nephew was a drug dealer hiding his wares in the Chakra Health storeroom. The constable looked up from her notepad filled with hasty scribbles. “So let me get this straight. Are you accusing Rhys Morgan of dealing in illegal drugs?”
Felicity gulped. “Well, no, not accusing as such. But I do think it’s a line of enquiry you should look into. I mean, Antony did feel very strange, and he was inches from going over the precipice and I’m sure—well, almost sure—well, I really do think Rhys’s nephew is a drug-dealer—and…”
“Constable,” Antony spoke up for the first time. “What about the possibility of doing a drug test on me, and on Father Hwyl Pendry’s corpse?” They needed to get back on firmer ground if they hoped to be taken seriously.
“We can certainly try. As to the possibility of detecting a drug administered yesterday, it depends entirely upon the type of drug used. If it was a date rape-type drug, it could be gone in a few hours after ingestion, but a heavier drug could still be in the system for up to maybe three weeks or so.”
“And a corpse?” Felicity asked in a hushed voice.
“Actually a corpse would be better. Since the body is no longer absorbing or burning off the elements, everything is stagnant. So if a person died with a drug in their system it would still be in the fatty tissue, especially in the organs, years after the death. I can enquire, but I expect the Yorkshire police have already seen to that. I believe they have a very good forensics department there.”
Antony opened his mouth to say that he thought the widow should be given any such information, but a pounding of footsteps on the stone verandah just outside accompanied by shrieks and sobs stopped his words. The door flew open and Kaylyn and Evie burst in with Jared just behind them.
“Joe! I know it’s him.”
“At the well! We went to hang a crystal…” Evie held up the brilliant prism and burst into sobs.
Jared stepped over the threshold. “It’s Joe all right. Face down in the well. I think he’s dead.”
Chapter 28
Wednesday
Eve of the Feast of Corpus Christi
St David’s
Felicity paced the verandah in front of the retreat house. The last day of their retreat. Some retreat. Antony had promised her rest and peace. It had been anything but that: struggling up steep trails with blistered feet, injuries, illnesses, alarms, terrifying encounters with manifestations of evil…
And there still had been no opportunity to sort things out with Antony. After she calmed down she had realized that Antony had been perfectly within his rights to refuse a massage. And perhaps her idea was a bit hare-brained. Not that she intended to admit that to him, of course. But they did need to talk.
All of yesterday afternoon and late into the evening had been consumed by the discovery of Joe’s drowned body in St Non’s Well. Constable Owen hadn’t been able to prevent the pilgrims following her to the well after the hysterical announcement that roused everyone in the house. Felicity had glimpsed the kneeling figure slumped on the stones beside the well, his face in the water as if he were drinking from the small pool.
The constable didn’t comment, but it seemed to Felicity that there were no apparent signs of struggle; the delicate fronds of the fern near his head bent in graceful, unbroken arches, the moss between the flags around the well was undisturbed, and a small clump of yellow wildflowers grew by his head as if someone had placed a posy beside the body. Had he truly knelt down for a drink and had a heart attack or something, as it appeared? Or had he been in a drug-induced state so that he had allowed someone to hold his face in the water? Or was the explanation even darker than that?
Felicity had been about to comment when Sister Nora arrived, acting the feisty sheepdog to herd everyone back to the retreat house.
Chloe had identified the body, with drops of water still clinging to his white-blond hair, as the man she knew as Joe Clempson. Felicity and Antony had stayed with her as the police questioned her about her former relationship, and Antony related what he had heard in the alley. Joe’s death certainly gave new significance to the fact that he had been pressuring Rhys for money, or a job, or something.
Michael couldn’t be questioned about this until later. He and Ryan had taken Lydia on a cliff walk in the hopes of calming her agitation. She had been able to give Constable Owen very little new information about Adam, and had not yet made contact with her father. Now the nurse who had attended to everyone else needed care herself. It was probably just as well Lydia wasn’t there; it would only have added to her distress.
Felicity had put personal relationships aside for the moment and tried to get Antony to speculate. “But what do you think? Was Joe blackmailing Rhys? Did the Orbis Astri cast some kind of spell? It’s all just the power of suggestion, isn’t it? The mind worked on by fear?”
Antony nodded. “That’s certainly an element. But don’t dismiss fear. Manipulating a person’s emotions for harm is no less evil than casting a satanic spell.”
That had been late last night and she still shuddered to think of it. It was all such a muddle and she longed to know the truth of all that had been going on, but Antony continued to remind her, somewhat pompously, she thought, that everything was in the hands of the authorities now, and their responsibility was to their pilgrims.
And now when she needed to talk to him he seemed to be avoiding her, spending ages with Sister Alma in the tiny St Non’s chapel preparing everything for the first Evening Prayer of the Feast of Corpus Christi. Antony said he wanted it to be a special service, a solemn choral Evensong with incense because it would be the last service of the pilgrimage. “So fitting to celebrate together the day set aside in the church calendar to give thanks for the gift of the Holy Eucharist. Christ’s Body and Blood given to strengthen his followers,” he had said when he announced the service at lunch.
Okay, she got that. But surely he could have made time for her if he’d tried. She looked at the sun hanging low in the west. It still felt like afternoon, but it must be far later than she thought. Judging the time by the position of the sun was deceptive on this, the longest day of the year. She would just have a cup of tea and a slice of the dark, rich fruitcake Sister Nora kept on the sideboard in the guest lounge and then she would find Antony and insist they talk.
She thought she would be alone in the lounge, but Evie
and Kaylyn were there. Felicity blinked. She had never before seen Kaylyn dressed in anything but solid Goth black. Evie occasionally varied her wardrobe, but only to include a dark wine red or deep forest green. Both girls now wore pristine white. And even more surprising, had flowers in their hair. The effect was startling as it made their hair look even darker, their skin more alabaster.
“Wow! You look—different. Er—lovely. Really pretty, both of you.”
Kaylyn gave a shy smile. “Summer solstice.”
“Nature in full bloom, the land flowing with abundance,” Evie poured out in a breathless voice, then stopped and giggled.
“Um, sure. And also Corpus Christi. You are coming to Evensong, aren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“See you there.” They set their cups down and fled.
While her tea brewed, Felicity picked up the leaflet Kaylyn had dropped. “The History of Litha,” she read. “Among the great festivals of the pagan Celtic year are the two solstices and the two equinoxes. In folklore, these are referred to as the four ‘quarter-days’ of the year, and modern witches call them the four ‘Lesser Sabbats,’ or the four ‘Low Holidays.’ The summer solstice, or Litha, is one of them.”
Felicity cut a slice of cake and read on, “Although Litha is a lesser sabbat in the ancient parlance, it is celebrated with more revel and merriment than any other day on the wheel of the year. The joyous rituals of Litha celebrate the verdant earth in high summer, abundance, fertility, and all the riches of nature in full bloom. This is a madcap time of strong magic and empowerment…”
Felicity crumpled the paper before dropping it in the bin. It was nonsense; and yet, she couldn’t help feeling uneasy. The Feast of Corpus Christi, the Wiccan festival of Litha on the same night. Surely it didn’t mean anything. A lot of Christian feasts were predated by pagan rituals. Some said that disproved the validity of the Christian observances. Antony would say it simply evidenced the universality of Truth—Common Grace.
Getting sidetracked with Lithia, however, meant Felicity had let it go too late. Now there would be no time to confront Antony. Why did she think of it as a confrontation? They just needed to talk. That should be easy enough. Talking was the thing they were both good at. They had always been able to talk through their differences. Always before, that is.
A sudden chill shook Felicity. She was glad of the warm evening air as she stepped outside to make her way to St Non’s chapel. The small room usually offered chairs around the walls for private meditation, but tonight Antony had arranged seats in traditional rows facing the altar, just enough for their group and the Sisters. When Felicity arrived she was pleased to see Jared and the Goth girls in their astonishing white attire already there, sitting in the front row. Michael sat in the middle of the next row and Felicity took the seat to his left, leaving the one on his right for Lydia, as she assumed they would want to sit together. Michael, however, made no protest when Chloe slipped into the chair. Nancy and Ryan chose the next row, leaving the seat behind Felicity vacant for Lydia when the Sisters took the back two chairs.
Felicity, who loved organ music, was surprised to find that the silence of the stones, the distant crash of waves and the evening call of birds filled the air with an even more vibrant music. The western windows magnified the rays of the sun as it sank into the sea, filling the tiny space with a rose-gold warmth and enhancing the lighted candles around the room.
In her clear, sweet soprano, Nancy began the entrance canticle:
Pange lingua gloriosi
Corporis mysterium,
Sanguinisque pretiosi…
In her own mind, Felicity translated:
Sing, my tongue, the Savior’s glory,
of his flesh the myst’ry sing:
Of the blood all price exceeding,
shed by our immortal King,
On the night of that Last Supper
seated with his chosen band,
He, the paschal victim eating,
First fulfills the law’s command;
Then as food to his apostles
gives himself with his own hand.
Word made flesh, the bread of nature
by a word to flesh he turns;
Wine into his blood he changes…
And then the soft clink of the thurible chain and the swish of heavy fabric as Antony entered in a white cope borrowed from the cathedral, and the chapel was filled with the musky scent of myrrh, the most ancient of embalming spices, reminding them of the gift brought to the holy infant by the wise men, presaging His entombment.
Standing before the altar Antony spread his arms, holding his hands out to the tiny group. Like a father at the head of the table on Thanksgiving, Felicity thought. “In the Feast of Corpus Christi we celebrate the greatest gift our Lord has left us: His Body and Blood in the Eucharist—the source and summit of the Christian life, the fullness of the life of God, contained in this Sacrament…”
The service continued through its familiar rhythm of prayers and scripture readings. More than once Felicity glanced over her shoulder. The chair behind her remained empty. Where was Lydia? As the nurse to their group there wasn’t a person here she hadn’t ministered to by bandaging a blister, supplying aspirin or salving a cut. The woman must be distraught over her still-missing brother, and Felicity had hoped this service would be a comfort to her. Now Felicity realized she hadn’t seen Lydia all day. The image of Joe face-down in St Non’s Well flashed into Felicity’s mind. Dear God, let her be all right.
They had reached the final collect, “Gracious and merciful God, in a wonderful sacrament you have given us a memorial of the passion of your Son Jesus Christ; grant—” when Felicity noticed Michael taking his mobile out of his pocket.
She told herself she wasn’t really snooping; the screen was in her line of sight. Well, if she looked just a little sideways, and given that she didn’t have her eyes closed during prayer, of course. Still, the message jumped out at her with the impatience of the writer: WHR R U? PLCE NOW! LYD
Michael scraped his chair against the stones as he lunged to his feet and barged out of the room, his footsteps pounding on the stone floor.
Antony waited until the echo had died away, then motioned for them to stand. “Let us join our voices together in saying: The Grace…”
Felicity contained herself just long enough for the Amen to be pronounced, and then she dashed forward. No time for an orderly, prayerful recessional. Something was going on. Something Michael and Lydia were excited or disturbed about. Whatever it was, it had to have something to do with the strange things that had been happening and she meant to find out what.
Antony frowned at her garbled report. “A demand from Lydia that he meet her now? At the PLCE—what place? I was disappointed that she missed our last service together, and we all know Lydia is capable of being more than demanding, but I’m sure Michael can take care of himself.”
“No, I don’t feel right about it,” Felicity insisted. “It’s something important. I know it.” Felicity took a deep breath. She had given in to Antony last time. This time she would stand firm.
“But we have no idea where this place is. What can we do?”
Their discussion was interrupted by an argument from the back corner of the chapel. “Nah, I don’t really want to, and I don’t think you two should go alone.”
“Oh, come on, Jared, it’ll be fun.” Kaylyn and Evie were pulling Jared toward the door.
Nancy looked from one group to another. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
“I think—” Felicity began.
“It’s just a bonfire,” Evie pleaded. “To increase the sun’s energy.”
“Bonfire?” Felicity asked. “Where?”
“Well, we don’t really know. We went back to Chakra Health today to get another crystal, and we heard some people talking. When we asked they were really vague. But everyone knows solstice fires are always on hilltops, so it should be easy to spot.”
�
�The hillside beyond the cathedral seems obvious,” Kaylyn added to Evie’s lengthy explanation.
“Hill?” Felicity asked.
“Well, hummock,” Kaylyn amended. “The ground’s definitely higher there.”
“It’s a wild goose chase. You don’t even know for sure it’s a bonfire. And if they wouldn’t tell you where it is, it must be a secret,” Jared said.
“What else would it be on Midsummer’s Eve?” Kaylyn asked.
“And everyone will see it,” said Evie. “A fire on a hilltop will show up, so it can’t really be a secret.”
“That must be the place Lydia meant in her text,” said Felicity.
“What text? What did she say?” Ryan asked.
Felicity shrugged. “I don’t know; just PLCE—you know how text messages are.”
“Yes, I do,” Ryan said. “Could be place, but just as easily it could be palace.”
“The Bishop’s Palace!” several said together.
“Did Michael take the van?” Felicity asked.
“No, I have the keys.” Antony said.
“Then we could easily catch him,” she replied.
“Wait. I don’t think…” Antony began.
Felicity turned and glared at him. “You don’t have to go. But I’m going.” She held out her hand. “May I have the keys?” She started to add please but realized it would sound sarcastic rather than firm.
“I agree there’s something going on—the same thing that’s plagued this whole pilgrimage—and we can’t just turn our backs on it now.” Ryan looked at Antony. “Father?”
“All right, we’ll see if we can find Michael.”
“You’re going to stop them, aren’t you? The people causing all this trouble.” Nancy moved closer to Ryan. “I want to come with you.”
An Unholy Communion Page 32
