Afterwards, Hanny was excused from the table and he went off to play in our bedroom, while the rest of us prayed again, thanking God for the meal.
‘I thought I’d go for a walk up the field to the woods and back,’ said Miss Bunce, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. ‘If anyone wishes to join me.’
Mummer looked out at the dusk. The rain had stopped but the wind shuddered against the window.
‘I’ll give it a miss,’ she said. ‘It’ll be bitter out there by now.’
‘I know,’ said Miss Bunce. ‘It’s a penance.’
Mummer looked at the window again. The wind got in through a gap in the frame and made a sound like cattle. She looked back at the table full of dirty plates and dishes.
‘You go,’ she said. ‘I’ll devote the washing up to God.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’ said Miss Bunce.
‘It’s not that I don’t want to come, Joan,’ Mummer replied. ‘It’s just that there’s a more pressing need to clear the table. You go for your walk and I’ll scrape the plates. I’m sure God is capable of receiving two offerings at once.’
There was a pause and everyone looked at the table.
‘I’ll come with you,’ said David.
‘Thank you,’ said Miss Bunce.
‘Would you take Monro?’ said Father Bernard. ‘The poor wee man hasn’t been out for hours.’
‘Yes, alright, of course, Father,’ said Miss Bunce, looking at David who smiled to reassure her.
***
Hanny was in the bedroom, pitting his toy soldiers against the stuffed rats again. So far the soldiers were winning. One of the rats lay on its side surrounded by tanks.
He smiled at me as I came in and he showed me his watch for the millionth time.
‘Yes, Hanny,’ I said. ‘I know. It’s good that we got it back.’
He ought to have been tired, but he seemed agitated and excited. I thought it was because he had found his watch or he had been so involved in the game he’d been playing, but he took me by the hand and led me to where his satchel was hanging on the back of the door. He opened the flap and took out the encyclopaedia he’d been looking at with Else.
He closed his eyes and touched his lips with his fingers.
‘What does that mean, Hanny?’
He touched his lips again.
‘You mean the girl at the house? I know, she gave you the book, didn’t she?’
He sat on the bed and opened the book near the back. Inside was a brown envelope. One of the ones on which the sheep’s skull had been sitting. He must have put it into his bag while I was talking to Laura. He took it out and opened it so that I could see. It was full of money.
‘Give it to me, Hanny.’
Seeing my outstretched hand, he gave his head a little shake, frowned and hid the book behind his folded arms.
‘I said give it to me.’
He shook his head more slowly this time, uncertain about what he should do. I held my foot over his soldiers.
‘Give, Hanny,’ I said and he looked at me and then slowly brought it over, nudging me aside and kneeling down to resume his game.
I sat on the bed and looked inside the envelope. There were dozens and dozens of ten pound notes, and in amongst the money was a list of names
Hale. Parry. Parkinson. Collier.
‘You shouldn’t have taken this, Hanny,’ I said. ‘You got your watch back, didn’t you? Why did you have to take this as well?’
He didn’t respond.
‘Christ, Hanny,’ I said, grasping him by the arm and showing him. ‘There must be thousands of pounds here.’
He caught the tone of my voice and sat against the bed and put his head in his hands.
‘Tomorrow,’ I said. ‘You’re going to take this back. I’m not getting the blame. Whatever they want to do to you, I’ll let them.’
It was a cruel thing to say, I know, but Hanny deserved to feel as worried as I was, especially after what Clement had said. He went to put on his gorilla mask and I let him. It would do him good to be frightened. He had to learn to deal with the consequences of the things he did. I wasn’t going to be around to look after him forever. I mean, it was inevitable we would drift apart. University, career, marriage, mortgage, children. Even though they seemed unimaginable then, I was certain that, even without necessarily desiring them, I would receive these sacraments of adulthood sooner or later. They were as predictable as aging. It was just what happened in life. Wasn’t that so?
Hanny lay down and after glancing at me once or twice for some sympathy he went still and didn’t wake even when the door banged open downstairs a while later.
***
Going out onto the landing, I heard someone sobbing and Monro’s claws skittering on the tiles. People went rushing out to see what was going on. I quickly stuffed the money back into the book and shoved it under my pillow.
Miss Bunce was sitting on the bottom step, crying and gasping, several hands rubbing her back, trying to coax out of her what was wrong. Mummer stood with her arms folded. David was nowhere to be seen.
‘It was horrible,’ Miss Bunce said.
‘What was?’ Mrs Belderboss asked.
Miss Bunce waved her hand towards the darkness and blubbed again.
‘Where’s David?’ Mr Belderboss said, moving to the open door.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I just ran. I thought he was behind me.’
‘Did you get lost or something, dear?’ Mrs Belderboss said.
‘No.’
‘Did you and David fall out?’
‘No, no,’ Miss Bunce snapped. ‘It wasn’t that at all.’
‘Well where is he then?’
‘I told you, I don’t know.’
‘I’m sure he won’t be far away,’ said Father Bernard, gesturing for Farther and I to put on our coats. ‘We’ll go and look for him.’
We left the commotion in the house and walked up the lane to the field gate, where a smaller path cut through the grass to the wood. Monro charged off ahead and as we got further Father Bernard whistled for him and we heard him come bungling out of the darkness to appear on top of a pile of stones to our right, daft with the run, his tongue hanging over his teeth, sending out little puffs of breath.
‘Good lad, Monro,’ said Father Bernard, ruffling his ears.
We stopped for a moment and then Father Bernard called David’s name.
Nothing. Only the wind through the wood and a blackbird twittering in the darkness.
We climbed a little further and then stopped again at the tree line, our torch beams shaking and crossing, catching the eyes of animals just before they bolted. Father Bernard called out again and Monro went off, lumbering into the gloom. When we caught up with him, he was sniffing around David, who had heard Father Bernard and come to meet us.
‘David?’ said Father Bernard. ‘Is everything alright? Joan’s in a terrible state.’
‘It’s this way,’ he said. ‘In the trees over there.’
‘What is?’ said Father Bernard.
‘A man’s hanged himself, I think.’
‘Jesus,’ said Farther, then apologised to Father Bernard.
‘Show me where,’ said Father Bernard.
‘I’m sorry, Father,’ said David. ‘Monro just slipped his lead and he was off before we could catch him. He obviously got the smell of it.’
‘Show me where, David,’ said Father Bernard again.
But David shook his head.
‘I’d rather not,’ he said.
‘Alright,’ said Father Bernard. ‘You go back to the house and make sure Joan’s alright.’
‘Should I call the police?’ he asked.
‘You can’t. There’s no phone,’ said Farther.
David looked distressed.
‘Look,’ said Father Bernard. ‘I’ll see what’s what and if we need to fetch the police, I’ll drive to Little Hagby, alright? There’s a pay phone in the pub.’
David
nodded and took the torch Farther offered him and went back down the field to Moorings.
Father Bernard watched him go, and then turned to look at the trees. ‘Come on, then,’ he said quietly. ‘And Tonto, you shut your eyes if I tell you to, is that clear?’
‘Yes, Father.’
The dark of the wood was absolute. Even with the torches we tripped over roots and caught our feet on brambles. Farther slipped and fell into a mire of foetid leaves and mud. We helped him out and went on, with one beam trained on the floor and the other scanning the trees, which moved to and fro in the wind and made a noise like rain. Some had been beaten down by storms and lay like the spines of dinosaurs, rotting into the ground or leaning heavily against the living. Others had fallen but not died and searching for the daylight again had grown serpently along the ground.
There was no easy way through. Every turn took us to a fresh tangle of branches that were impossible to part without being scratched and snagged.
In the dark, the woods seemed boundless and every sound carried a long way, from our boots breaking down the branches that had fallen between the trees to the noise of something thrashing through the undergrowth deep in the wood.
‘Deer,’ said Father Bernard when we stopped to listen.
‘I hope so,’ said Farther.
The crashing came again, sending a wood pigeon blundering through the trees nearest to us.
‘It must be,’ said Father Bernard. ‘They can be noisy buggers sometimes.’
‘Won’t they bother about Monro?’ said Farther.
‘No,’ said Father Bernard.
‘I thought deer didn’t get on with dogs.’
‘They’d be long gone before that lummox got anywhere near them,’ Father Bernard replied.
‘Where is he, anyway?’ said Farther, roving his torchbeam across the trees.
Monro’s barks echoed around the wood and it was impossible to tell which way he had gone. Father Bernard whistled for him and there was a great deal of rustling and when Monro barked again it sounded as if he was much closer and directly over to our left. He, of course, could slip under the branches and nose through the bracken, but for us the way was blocked and we skirted around the limbs and brambles until Farther spotted a gap where the undergrowth had been trodden down by David and Miss Bunce as they chased Monro earlier.
Yet they hadn’t been the only ones to have come this way. There were beer cans in the undergrowth and the damp smell of an old fire hung about the place, stirred with the dungy odour of cooked meat.
We came to a clearing and there was indeed a pile of burnt logs, white with ash and heaped with the remains of some animal. At first I thought it might still be alive, as its skin seemed to be moving, but as I stepped closer I could see that it merely crawled with flies and beetles foraging in its belly.
Farther swallowed. ‘Where’s that dog got to?’ he said quietly.
‘There,’ said Father Bernard and pointed to where Monro was jumping up at a long dark shape suspended from the bough of an oak tree, surely one of the oldest in the wood, swollen and contorted by its own weight.
We stopped short and Father Bernard called Monro to heel, which he complied with at the third, more irritable command.
‘What have you found, old man?’ he said and put the light on what Monro had been sniffing.
The beam illuminated a leering, bone face for a second before Father Bernard dropped the torch.
‘Jesus,’ Farther said again, his breath shivering out of him. ‘What is it?’
‘Well,’ said Father Bernard, with a little relieved laugh and knocking the torch back into life on the palm of his hand. ‘It’s not a man, thank God.’
He put the light back onto the face again and held it there. From inside a dark cowl, a sheep’s skull rubbed with boot polish lolled against the pull of the rope by which it had been strung to the bough, its snooker ball eyes knocking against the bone. The rest of the body, as we discovered when Father Bernard poked at it with a branch, was made of sandbags and wood covered in a rough woollen blanket.
‘Then what is it?’ said Farther. ‘A scarecrow?’
‘No, I think you were right first time, Mr Smith.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I think ’tis meant to be Himself,’ said Father Bernard. ‘See the crown of thorns there.’
He put the beam back on the head and lifted the cowl with the stick. Farther winced at the twisted band of barbed wire that had been hammered into the skull.
‘Who’d do something like that?’ Farther said.
‘I couldn’t say, Mr Smith,’ he said, moving closer and moving the folds of the cloak covering the torso. ‘But they’ve obviously spent some time on it.’
Father Bernard glanced at me and I knew that he suspected, like me, that the effigy had been strung up here by the men Clement had warned us about. Parkinson and Collier. But, he kept it to himself and showed us how the chest had been made from what looked like an old rabbit hutch.
‘There’s something inside,’ said Father Bernard and he poked it with the stick.
‘What is it?’ asked Farther.
Monro was jumping up again, sniffing the air. Father Bernard popped the latch on the wire mesh door and it swung open and something landed at his feet. Monro leapt upon it immediately and took a chunk out of it before it slithered out of his jaws.
‘Bloody hell,’ Farther said and backed away, taking me with him.
Father Bernard grabbed Monro’s collar and hauled him off.
‘Let’s go,’ he said and we made our way quickly back through the trees, almost running by the time we got to the field above Moorings.
Back on the lane, we walked three abreast, Farther’s boots squelching with mud. Monro padded along just ahead. No one spoke. Each of us was thinking how we might explain what we’d seen in the wood. We’d tell them that there was no man hanging there. It was a joke. There was nothing to worry about.
There was nothing else we could say, because it had been agreed instantly and silently between the three of us at the moment it had fallen from Jesus’ chest and onto the ground that we would tell no one about the pig’s heart stuck through with nails.
Chapter Fourteen
Everyone was waiting in the hallway, and as soon as we got through the door, they all broke off from their conversations and moved towards Father Bernard. What had happened? Had someone really hanged themselves? Should they fetch the police? Father Bernard sent Monro off to the kitchen, closed the door behind him and waved his hands to quieten everyone down.
‘It was nothing,’ he said. ‘Someone’s strung up an old blanket for a joke, that’s all.’
Farther nodded in assent and took off his coat.
‘There, Joan, you see. It’ll just be kids from the village messing about,’ said Mrs Belderboss, patting Miss Bunce on the shoulder.
She was still sitting at the foot of the stairs, biting the edges of her fingernails, puffy eyed and cross with herself for being hysterical in front of everyone.
Mr Belderboss clicked his fingers. ‘That’s probably what we heard the other night,’ he said. ‘The noises.’
‘Aye, well, there you go,’ Father Bernard replied.
‘Honestly, some people have got nothing better to do,’ said Mrs Belderboss.
‘Not round here, they haven’t,’ said Miss Bunce, directing her resentment at Mummer.
Mummer’s face began to open with indignation and before anything could flare up Father Bernard took her by the shoulders and steered her away.
‘In my room there is a bottle of brandy on the dresser. Would you be so kind as to go and fetch it for me?’ he said.
‘Brandy, Father? It’s Lent,’ said Mummer.
‘I brought it for Monro. The cold plays havoc with his chest. I thought a drop of it might do Miss Bunce some good,’ he said. ‘For the shock.’
Mummer folded her arms and rolled her eyes.
‘She’s been sat there for half an hour, Father. I should
think the shock will have subsided by now.’
Father Bernard gave her a straight look. ‘Even so.’
‘Will you need to call the police, Father?’ said Mr Belderboss.
Father Bernard looked at Mummer for a moment and then shook his head.
‘To be honest, I can’t see them taking it too seriously.’
‘Well, I’m not staying here, Father,’ said Miss Bunce.
‘Oh, will you talk some sense into her,’ said Mrs Belderboss to Father Bernard. ‘She’s sent poor David upstairs to pack her bags for her.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Miss Bunce. ‘This is an awful place. I said we ought to have gone to Glasfynydd.’
‘But how will you get home, dear?’ Mrs Belderboss said, sitting down next to her and taking her hand.
Miss Bunce looked up at Father Bernard.
‘I was going to ask Father if he’d drive us to Little Hagby,’ she said. ‘We’ll be able to phone for a taxi to take us to the station in Lancaster.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Joan. You can’t expect Father to go out now,’ said Mummer. ‘It’s gone nine. You’ll have missed any trains to London.’
Miss Bunce squared her face.
‘There are rooms at the pub,’ she said. ‘We can stay there overnight and get a train in the morning.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Mummer.
‘Mrs Smith,’ Father Bernard said abruptly. Then, calming his voice, ‘Would you please go and have a look for that brandy?’
‘Go on, Esther,’ said Farther.
Mummer looked at Miss Bunce a second longer and then went off along the hallway. Everyone turned to Father Bernard. He regarded Miss Bunce and then took off his coat and hung it up on the rack by the door. He rubbed his eyes, kneading them with the heels of his palms.
‘Miss Bunce,’ he said, sitting down on the chair next to the grandfather clock. ‘I know you’ve had a fright, but I should try and forget about what you’ve seen in the woods and make the most of the time we have here.’
Mummer came back with a glass tumbler of brandy and handed it to Father Bernard, who in turn passed it to Miss Bunce.
‘I don’t want it, Father.’
‘Just take a sip and you’ll feel better.’
The Loney Page 13
