‘I wonder why’ he thought as he stood up and strode up West Walks towards the cathedral.
‘I wonder why she wants to follow me.’ Entering the cathedral through the West Front, William walked down the centre of the nave and then turned hard right into the South transept.
Pausing to catch his breath, he peered around the corner down the South aisle. As he had expected the same woman, who he had seen outside on West Walks, came through the West Front at an injudicious speed, slid to an undignified halt and scanned the interior of the cathedral. Not seeing William straight away, she started to advance down the North aisle studying people as she approached them. William moved across from the South transept to the nave putting him straight in front of her. He wanted to find out what she wanted. Why an attractive woman was stalking him around Salisbury.
She saw him as he stood in the centre of the church looking down the North aisle at her. His outward appearance was of calm and relaxed confidence. Wiping his sweating palms on the back of his trousers he walked towards her calling out to her as he approached within talking distance.
“Can I help you? I’m assuming, as you’ve been following me for the last twenty minutes, you wanted to talk to me.”
“Mr Bacchus,” was said as a statement rather than a question.
“Mr Bacchus, you have something that I want.“
William looked around him, checking who was nearby should he need assistance. The directness of her approach and her unblinking manner reminded him of a psychotic schizophrenic he had attempted to counsel.
“Have we met before?” William asked keeping the question simple and non-threatening.
“The package you were given at the offices of Gerald Thrasher. I want it. Now.”
Her voice was devoid of emotion. Matter of fact. Continuing, she said,
“Please don’t embarrass us both by denying you received anything. The material he has passed to you was not his to give.”
William smiled as relief washed over him. A straightforward problem, a misapprehension, all he needed to do was explain.
“I think that there has been some sort of misunderstanding. My name is Bacchus and I did collect a small bequest from Mr Thrasher’s offices today. However, I am a little confused as to your connection to my bequest. Are you saying that the bookshop lease is yours and shouldn’t have been gifted to me?”
Her expression, a smile that chilled your bones, combined with dead empty eyes, left William feeling he was in the presence of evil. She walked across the nave to where he stood. Cocking her head to one side, her short bobbed chestnut hair moved with her head like a close fitting hat. She slowly clapped her hands in an exaggerated mocking manner.
“Very good Mr Bacchus. Most convincing. Please cut the little boy lost routine. If you know anything about Mr Sanderson, then you will know what he has been doing to my family. As the main benefactor to his considerable estate, you will, therefore, be evaluating continuing his persecution of us. That, Mr Bacchus, would be a dangerous idea.”
Interrupting, William tried to explain that he had no idea what she was talking about.
“That is the problem Miss...?”
“Felicity, just Felicity”
“Felicity. That is my problem, our problem. I know very little about Mr Sanderson. I have never met him.”
“Mr Bacchus, this has become boring. Let me leave you with a name, a name that is very significant to you. A name, that if you want to achieve geriatric senility, you will ignore. Odd, you might imagine, very odd that I am giving you a name that I want you to forget. True. However, I think this name demonstrates how well informed I am. Jonas Sanderson. Oh, and as a bonus, I know who Ben is. I’m sure you’ll enjoy meeting Ben.”
As William attempted to respond, she interrupted, talking over him. Holding her right hand, palm open at shoulder level to indicate that he should be quiet she continued,
“Please, enough now. I’m sure he is as much a mystery to you as Ernest is. When we talk again Mr Bacchus, and we will, I am optimistic that our discussion will be far more open, honest and productive than this time. Enjoy your shop William, for the moment at least.”
William watched open mouthed as she turned and sauntered back up the North aisle to the West front. A distinctive ringtone sounded, Mission Impossible, she answered her phone speaking in an irritated voice.
“Gerald? Yes, I’ve just finished with him. You did give him the package didn’t you? Have you completed your puzzle? No, well don’t let me detain you.” Ending the call, she turned her head to look at William, smiled, and then left the cathedral.
Sitting down on a nearby pew, William considered the conversation he had with Felicity moments before. It appeared she knew far more about Ernest Sanderson than he did. From what she had said, it was obvious that what she knew she didn’t like. Did Ernest Sanderson mention Felicity? Was she the association who would attempt to impede him? Impede him with what?
William sat at the dining table having enjoyed an excellent meal, exquisite wines and erudite, entertaining conversation. These gatherings where an excellent way to preferment, promotion and patronage. If you wanted a career in the church, and not just a pulpit to keep warm until death or infirmity, then impressing the bishop was de rigueur.
William and Freddie had connected from the moment they had met at his interview for an assistant curate role at Cambourne. After a year of training under Monty Taylor, William was ordained by Freddie as a priest and continued with Monty as his training incumbent for the next two and a half years. Freddie, and as it transpired Georgia, had kept a close eye on his progress, which had involved regular dinners, both formal and family only affairs where they had continued grooming him for greater things. After Cambourne; Freddie brought William as an assistant curate to Salisbury for three years and then he was sent for a spell in Bristol, working in homeless and drug dependency units. At this point, William had been brought in for a family dinner and a detailed career chat with Freddie. It was decided that he would have a brief spell back in Salisbury as Freddie’s personal assistant/investigator. His role was to be flexible, working on whatever took his fancy or was required by Freddie.
His cases, as he liked to call them, had started small and straightforward. He remembered the anxiety he had experienced on the morning of his first investigation.
“Go to Portland” Freddie said.
“A nice day out by the seaside” Freddie continued.
“While you’re there, can you find out why he isn’t ordering his supplies from the diocese? Easy, home by for high tea with Georgia and I. Don’t be late.”
William allowed himself a rueful smile. He had been in Portland three weeks. The priest had thought he was ordering everything he needed to from the diocese. His assistant had been ordering over the Internet and reinvesting the difference in the children's services the church organised. Freddie, always keen to encourage innovation had promoted the assistant to reviewing purchasing for the whole diocese giving her a percentage of the saving as a bonus. The priest had fared less well and now was enjoying a spell as chaplain to the crofters in the Hebrides.
Freddie had been impressed and was keen that the trouble-shooter role was a stepping-stone. Then the heart thing happened. Now he needed Freddie’s advice and his understanding. A lengthy sabbatical might destroy his career prospects, or at least the chance of an early bishopric, but now he had his epiphany, the prospect of a rural pulpit was far more appealing than a ceremonial mitre and crosier.
Dinner wound to a close and Freddie led William into the library for a nightcap and to throw ideas backwards and forwards as they had been doing for many years. Sarah came towards them down the hallway holding Freddie’s mobile phone. With her hand over the microphone she said,
“It’s Felicity, being very dramatic. Demanding that she speaks to you now. I have told her you were having dinner with an old friend but she is very insistent.”
Holding his hand out for the mobile phone he said to Sarah
,
“I’ll speak to her, can you take William through and pour him an Ardberg please.” Turning he spoke into the phone,
“Good evening, how lovely of you to call, I’m a bit busy at the moment, can I call you back in the morning...?”
At the mention of the name Felicity, William’s interest was piqued, but he didn’t get a chance to hear anything that was said before he was ushered into the library. A few moments later Freddie joined William in the library and poured himself a large brandy before sitting opposite him in front of the fire.
“William, you appear distracted, worried. Can I help? I’m quite happy to be told to mind my own business if you would prefer your own counsel, though as the saying goes confession is good for the soul or something similar.”
William looked at Freddie judging how much he should tell him. It wasn’t a matter of trust or even a concern about honesty and your bishop. Sipping from his glass of Ardberg, he decided that for the moment, less was more.
“I wouldn’t dream of telling my bishop to mind his business, on the contrary your guidance has always been welcome and appreciated. There is very little to tell. As you know, I went to London today to see a solicitor regarding a small bequest.” Smiling with genuine pleasure, William continued,
“I have inherited a bookshop in Sherborne, the one around the corner from the Abbey. Having thought long and hard since having my heart attack last month, I feel I need a little time away from the pressures of work. So, would it be possible to request a sabbatical. It will give me a chance to regain my strength, investigate my bookshop, and decide what I am to do with it.”
Sitting back in the armchair and having another sip of Ardberg, William waited for Freddie to respond. The response he expected would be a delayed decision, once he had an opportunity to put some sort of cover in place for William and assess the impact on the plans he had been orchestrating for William’s accession to the bishopric in a few years time. What he wasn’t expecting was:
“Absolutely, you must go immediately. There are occasions when a set of circumstances collides to offer an opportunity, which would be a heinous crime to resist. The inheritance of a delightful shop in a beautiful town and the necessity to recuperate from a serious illness are a case in point. In fact, the diocese has a small house that is empty, on The Avenue I think. Nothing fancy, but it will give you a base to operate from. If we were to say six months to begin with, but with the facility to extend it to twelve months, would that be acceptable? Also, there is a chaplain who covers all of the schools in the area, doing a very good job. I’ll ask her to pick you up and chauffeur you around until you’re cleared to drive again.”
William sat stunned. This thrusting, decisive decision-making wasn’t something he had experienced before with his bishop.
“Thank you Freddie that is generous of you. Are you sure you’re not trying to get me out of the way? If it’s ok with you, I’ll leave tomorrow, pick up Wooster and be on my way. Thank you once again.”
***
“With regret, I have no idea.”
Puzzled, Ernest looked at Juanita, who was herself looking flustered and awkward.
“You have no idea about what?”
“I have no idea what the outcome of your unfinished business is. God might, but she’s far too busy to bother. So, we are going to have to play it out, yours and your brothers.”
“So, what is it?” She looked disquieted, pensive. Exactly the opposite of how he wanted her to look when he asked that type of question.
“Juanita,” his voice was filled with resignation,
“Juanita, please tell me.”
Juanita straightened her back and looked him straight in the eyes
“I’ve not had a case like this for almost five hundred years, not since Lucretia Borgia, she was quite a handful.” Juanita looked into the distance and smiled a contented smile.
“Your unfinished business comes in two parts, as you would expect, as it is both yours and your brothers. His is the most straightforward, who killed him and why. As you are representing Jonas, all you have to do is ascertain those facts. Yours, however, is both similar and dissimilar. We need to determine who killed you and why. Also once this has been established we need to address this behaviour with the perpetrators and ensure this isn’t repeated with your descendants.”
“And everything hinges on a son I’ve never met, executing tasks that we direct him to do, without complaint and without compromising his sanity.” Gesturing with his hands, Ernest added,
“Over to you.”
Smiling like a naughty schoolgirl found raiding the biscuit tin; Juanita began,
“It’s very easy, far easier than I have been leading you to believe. When I said to you that I could and would compel William if I needed to, I wasn’t wholly honest. As a last resort, I could trick him into doing what I wanted, but that would be more by luck than judgement. As I have said to you, for this to work it is important, no critical, that you have a connection, a strong connection to your chosen assistant. I have to rely on brute force and experience. You can compel them if you need to. You become one with them; unity, wholeness is achieved. With wholeness, anything is possible.”
Looking confused and irritated, Ernest thought for a moment and then asked,
“So I’m inside them?” Juanita nodded.
“Will William know I’m inside him? Is he aware of me? Is this a clandestine or an overt operation?”
“It can be either. If you choose an open unconcealed approach, it will be more difficult at the beginning and more difficult in the end. Excuse my English. What I mean is that when you have concluded the unfinished business you will have to bid William adieu. This is often more difficult than you can imagine. A covert approach has the advantage of anonymity but lacks benefits of your hosts input. It’s up to you.”
Ernest pondered his choice for only a few moments, before smiling and asking Juanita,
“Where do we start if I want to use the unconcealed, overt approach? “
“We need to find William and to introduce you to each other. This is going to be very curious for you; you know that don’t you?”
“I don’t expect anything. However, anything I get will be a step forward.”
Ernest looked over at Juanita and said,
“To introduce myself will I be in him or not?”
“In him. He can’t see you, hear you or feel you.”
Still looking puzzled and starting to feel like the slowest pupil in the class, he tried another tack.
“If he can’t see, hear or feel me how do I make my presence felt? What’s so special about inside him as opposed to outside?”
Juanita looked exasperated. Why was he trying not to understand? She looked at Ernest, smiled and said,
“I think a demonstration would help.” She was gone.
Looking around, he realised that she had vanished and it had been instantaneous.
Ernest sat on the armchair in the corner to await her return. Ernest contemplated the type of demonstration she would use. Not knowing her well, it was difficult to predict what she would do. He was sure it would be flamboyant and dramatic.
“Ernest” a voice called out to him. He looked around the room trying to place where it had come from. The places to hide in his virtual bedroom where limited; he had searched them all in a matter of moments.
“Ernest” the voice, her voice he thought wasn’t in the room. If she was outside, a place he could only go if he was with Juanita, then it wasn’t a very effective demonstration.
“As I can’t go outside of this room without you, it makes your demonstration a little bit silly. Whatever you want to show me you’ll have to come back in here.”
Sitting back down in the armchair, he waited for her to reappear and demonstrate.
“Ernest, walk over to the mirror on the wall and tell me what you see.” The voice that was instructing him was close to him but still not in the room. Looking above him into the shimmering ether
that represented his bedroom ceiling, he wondered if she was floating above him, looking down and laughing as he obeyed her disembodied voice. Putting a hand on either side of the washbasin, he leaned in as close as possible to the mirror and waited.
“Ready?”
Smiling, Ernest nodded trying to use the mirror to look over his shoulder at the door where he expected her to reappear.
“Ready as ready can be.”
Still trying to look over his shoulder by using the mirror, Ernest didn’t notice what was going on in front of him. A slight flicker of movement refocused him on his reflection. The face staring back at him from the mirror was no longer his own. It was evolving, melding two faces into one until Juanita’s had supplanted his features.
Smiling at his shocked expression, she delivered her coup de grace.
“As you can see Ernest, being inside means you can communicate, however, you want. You think I’ve been talking to you, a voice whose location you can’t quite place. Can you see my lips moving? Put your fingers tightly into your ears,” she watched while he lifted his hands and pushed a finger into each ear.
“Has that reduced the volume at which I am speaking to you? Is my speech muffled now? The only person who can hear me is you. Do you know why? No? Because I’m inside you talking to you and only you. That’s why inside is better. I wouldn’t recommend letting William see your face in his to start with as that can be a little freaky, sorry I scared you. Do you understand now?”
As Ernest nodded, his features returned to normal and his reflection in the mirror took on its own comforting appearance. Juanita reappeared next to him, put her arm around his shoulders and led him to the armchair.
“It’s always a shock the first time. Now we need to go and introduce you to William and get this show on the road. You both have an awful lot of ground to cover. From the letter you wrote him, will he know anything about what happened to either you or your brother?” Her brusque business like tone snapped him out of his reverie and back to the present.
Bacchus and Sanderson (Deceased) Page 7
