‘How very thoughtful of you and talking of the Lord,’ Laura said, sidestepping the issue. ‘Is Reverend Mulcaster about? He’s often here in the mornings.’
‘As a matter of fact he’s administering extreme unction to Mrs Reynolds.’
‘Again?’
‘She was most insistent.’
‘I’m sure she won’t mind my joining in. Hope the lecture goes well.’ Laura continued up the stairs. She left Parker in her room and went down the passage to Topsy Reynolds’ room.
Topsy had been at Wellworth Lawns ever since it had opened and Laura knew her well. She had turned to the Catholic Church some months ago, having decided erroneously, that she was close to death. But she couldn’t quite break her ties with Reverend Mulcaster.
Keen to keep his flock in the fold, and of an ecumenical nature, he was happy to oblige.
Laura knocked and opened the door.
Reverend Mulcaster looked up from the game of racing demon he was playing with Topsy on a tray on her bed. ‘Hello Lady Boxford,’ he said, with a jovial smile.
‘Darling how lovely to see you.’ Topsy lowered her cards unaware that Reverend Mulcaster was taking a sidelong peek at her hand. ‘As you can see a miracle has occurred and I am once more back from the brink.’
There was a knock on the door and Mimi came in carrying another tray. ‘I bringing lunchtime special,’ she said.
‘Reverend Mulcaster, if you would be so good…’ Topsy indicated to their makeshift card table. ‘I’ve suddenly regained my appetite. What have you brought me Mimi?’
‘Alfredo making you eggs white omelette. Mr. Parrott he now saying yellow eggs is bad for bedridden.’
‘Well pass it here – I may just have to get up for tea.’
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Reverend Mulcaster said, placing the card-strewn tray on top of Topsy’s chest of drawers. ‘Pity, I felt a bit of a winning streak coming on.’
As Mimi placed the tray of food on Topsy’s lap, Laura and Reverend Mulcaster took their leave.
‘Could I have a word with you in private?’ Laura said and suggested he join her for a drink. ‘Glass of sherry sound in order?’
‘One for the road sounds a splendid idea.’ Reverend Mulcaster followed her back down the passage.
‘I’ll come straight to the point,’ Laura said, as they sat in her sitting room, schooners in hand. ‘What d’you know of Canon Frank Holliday?’
‘Frank?’ Reverend Mulcaster tossed a handful of peanuts into his mouth then wiped his hand on the sleeve of his old anorak. ‘He used to be bloody useful at Christmas – Midnight Mass and all that,’ he swallowed. ‘Helped with the communion. But I haven’t seen much of him since I axed the service – I saw no reason why I should stay up in the middle of the night to fulfil the expectations of a lot of drunken heathens…’ Reverend Mulcaster took a healthy slug of sherry. ‘… waiting for Father Christmas to arrive with mountains of unnecessary computer games.’
‘He’s not originally from round here though, is he?’
‘I believe he was head of St Botolph’s College in Hammersmith for some years. He and his late wife moved here when he retired.’
‘St Botolph’s?’ The name had a familiar ring to it.
Reverend Mulcaster looked at his watch.
‘I mustn’t keep you,’ Laura said. ‘But one more thing before you go…’
‘Anything to assist.’
‘Gladys Freemantle; if you had a moment. Edward Parrott has filled her head with “doubts”. He really is most unhelpful at times.’
‘We mustn’t let that fester. Fester… the very word would sent poor Edward into a spin, he’s becoming a touch obsessive I’ve noticed. But back to Gladys, I’ll make a point of seeing her next time I’m over. Tomorrow probably, Mrs Reynolds is bound to have a relapse.’
Laura let the Reverend out. ‘St Botolph’s in Hammersmith,’ she said, patting Parker. ‘Now I remember.’
She could hear the sound of the TV blaring before she had even opened Venetia’s door.
Her friend was glued to Homes Under the Hammer.
‘I like to imagine how the previous owner was murdered,’ she said, not shifting her gaze. ‘After all, what other reason would a house be put up for auction. I expect that’s how Mount Cod will end up. Hard to shift the smell of homicide.’
‘This would make a very nice child’s bedroom,’ the presenter was saying.
‘It’s a coalhole you fool,’ Venetia huffed.
‘I thought you’d changed your mind about Matilda?’ Laura said.
‘Well it’s you that’s been confusing me. I’ll bet you anything that coalhole’s where they found the body. Poor child, that’s all I can say.’
‘So you’ve given up on the painted furniture?’ Laura had to shout.
‘What?’
‘Turn it down.’
‘Hold on it’s just getting to the exciting part.’
Laura sat and waited while a property developer bought the damp basement.
‘I think he did it don’t you? I expect we’ll find him in prison next week.’ As the news came on, Venetia poked the remote at the TV. The volume decreased. ‘So where have you been?’ she asked.
Laura could see Venetia’s eyes glaze over as she related the story of her stay at Mount Cod. ‘I couldn’t believe both Jervis and Strudel could be taken in by a mere gust of wind,’ she concluded.
Venetia gave her a beady look. ‘Jervis is no fool,’ she said. ‘Mind you, did you know there was a twister in Wolverhampton recently? It was on the news and that reminds me, Mimi should be hear any time now with my sandwich. I simply can’t miss Countdown.’ She began to flick through the channels.
‘I won’t keep you then,’ Laura said. ‘Just one question though, I wonder if you remember where Angel did her training for the priesthood.’
‘St Botolph’s, you mean?’
‘I thought as much.’
‘I remember visiting her there before she had some exam or other. I bought her a very nice little china owl from a charity shop in Hammersmith for good luck. She was most ungrateful.’
‘Where did you say Angel was living now?’
‘In Woldham above The Old Bakehouse in Sheep Street. Talking of baking…’ Venetia flicked channels.
Laura felt a frisson of excitement at this new information, but for now Angel Hobbs would have to wait. She needed to make peace with Strudel. She went to fetch Parker and they walked over to the bungalows and knocked on Strudel and Jervis’ door.
Strudel opened it an inch. ‘We are in the middle of our lunch,’ she said, and was about to close it when Jervis called out behind her.
‘Is that Laura? Strudel, let her in for goodness sake.’
Strudel opened the door and stood like a ramrod to one side.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Laura said. ‘I’d completely lost track of time.’
‘Come in,’ Jervis said. ‘You must join us in our humble repast.’
Laura followed Jervis into the kitchen as he pulled out a chair for her and laid an extra place. They chatted as they ate the meal and Laura noticed with relief that Strudel was beginning to defrost.
Jervis folded a piece of white sliced bread and butter in his fingers. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been a bit tied up and I haven’t had a chance to look into the marketing company and the man Robbie the twins were talking about.’
‘Jervis and I have been most preoccupied with important matters pertaining to Ancient Eros,’ Strudel said.
‘It must be so much work for you both.’ Perhaps not entirely at room temperature, Laura thought.
‘We’ve been making some small but significant changes to the website,’ Jervis said. ‘You’ve no idea how a gender tick box can simplify registration. No more Jo and Andy cock-ups.’
‘Sam’s and Jesse’s a thing of the past.’ Strudel conceded.
‘Oh yes, gender’s not something you can take lightly these days; according to Google there are fifty-four different ways of b
eing a man or woman. Have another herring.’ Jervis passed Laura the plate.
‘Mind-boggling.’ This was a heavy price to pay for reconciliation, Laura thought as, out of politeness she put another fish on her plate. She patted her chest to quell the air playing like a tuba half way up her throat. ‘But to change the subject, I’ve been thinking,’ she swallowed hard. ‘About the evening at Mount Cod.’
‘Do not be reminding me.’ Strudel turned her face away from Laura.
‘I’m afraid Strudel’s sleep pattern has been fractured as a consequence,’ Jervis said.
‘I have been entirely winkless.’
‘I think,’ Laura said. ‘That what happened was a minor tornado. They’re not uncommon in this area, Venetia reminded me of it.’
‘I can assure you that it was nothing so simple as a freak weather occurrence,’ Jervis said. ‘And what’s more, while it’s impossible to prove, the body of evidence is stacked in favour of a supernatural occurrence. There are pages and pages of it on the internet.’
‘But…’ So that’s what he’d been spending his time on.
‘No Laura, it’s well documented. The wronged wife – well maybe not wronged wife but wronged one way or another. This is what I believe has caused the serving wench to come back with such a vengeance.’
‘But I’ve got a new lead that I’m going to see Angel Hobbs about.’
‘Well, report back by all means,’ Jervis said. ‘But I think Rosalind is the supernatural mouthpiece of Matilda and it is to this end that you should be directing your energy.’
Chapter twenty
‘Who’d have thought Jervis could be so misguided?’ Laura said to Parker as she turned into Sheep Street. This dissention in the ranks made her nervous. ‘Still, onwards and upwards,’ she continued, ‘Let’s see what Angel can bring to the party.’ She drew up on the opposite side of the road to The Old Bakehouse. It was a building she remembered well from years gone by when, as a special treat after taking her son Henry to the dentist further down the street, she had brought him here for an iced bun. Invariably he was still suffering from the effects of the anaesthetic – he always seemed to need a filling – and the dear boy was inclined to dribble.
Now she could see it had been turned into a charity shop, and a rather fine tweed suit was on display in the window. With a pang, she thought of the Brigadier. When she had asked Edward Parrott if he could dispose of her late fiancé’s clothes, she had not stopped to ask him where he might take them. She sighed and got out of the car leaving Parker standing up at the steering wheel yapping.
As she crossed the road, she assessed the rest of the building. A buddleia was sprouting from the roof gutter and the tiles clung on under a thick layer of moss. At the shabby windows, tatty half-opened curtains hung limply. She walked to the side of the shop and pressed the single doorbell to the flat above.
She heard the sash of a window open above her and took a couple of steps back. She looked up as Angel stuck her head out.
‘What d’you want?’
‘Angel, it’s me, Laura Boxford.’
‘It’s not about the pub is it? I may have been misinformed about that mule.’
‘No.’
Laura watched as Angel hit her head on the window frame and tiny pieces of paint fell like dandruff onto the pavement.
‘Fuck… Hang on I’ll have to let you in.’
Laura went back to the door and waited. She heard Angel’s thundering footsteps and then the door opened.
‘Mind the cats,’ Angel said, as Laura followed her up the rickety stairs and into the dim living area.
The room was filled with felines of all shapes and sizes – Laura counted eight but they were coming and going between the jumble of furniture. A huge mangy white one jumped onto the table, hissed at a doddering Siamese that fell silently to the floor and began licking a dirty plate.
‘Who’s this then?’
Laura turned to see where the voice had come from. In one corner, on a dirty beige velour chair, lolled a man whose elongated angular proportions reminded Laura of a Giacometti sculpture. He appeared dangerously underfed.
‘This is Mum’s mate Lady Boxford,’ Angel said, picking up the white cat and kissing it.
‘Please to meet you Lady Boxford.’ The man rose and held out one heavily tattooed hand. ‘Rich.’
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Laura said.
‘That’s his name. Rich, short for Richard,’ Angel said. ‘So what was it you were wanting?’
‘I was wondering…’ Laura looked from Angel to Rich and back again.
‘Don’t mind him. He’s just come in from a night patrol in Basingstoke. Found a shocking case of neglect.’
‘Chronic laminitis, I’ve never seen a donkey hobble like it.’ Rich shook his head and slumped back down in the chair.
‘Such a pity when people don’t know how to look after animals,’ Laura said.
‘Shocking.’ Angel and Rich said in unison.
‘I’m sorry there’s not more that can be done,’ Laura ventured.
‘Cash donation?’ Rich said. ‘Then I should get going. Had a call from a mate in Adlestrop. Some banker’s wife’s got one as a companion for a kid’s pony. He says he’s pretty sure its depressed.’
‘Adlestrop?’ Laura got out her purse and handed Rich ten pounds.
‘Cruelty crosses the rich-poor divide Lady Boxford.’ Rich headed for the door. ‘Cheers.’
They heard him going down the stairs and the front door slammed.
‘Now that we are alone, Angel,’ Laura said. ‘I’d like to talk to you about Canon Frank Holliday, I’m aware of your feelings towards him but did you ever come across him when you were at St Botolph’s in Hammersmith? I’m keen to find out something of his past.’
‘Sure I came up against him there. The problem was he just didn’t get transgendering.’
Transgendering was not a subject that could be glossed over in a sentence or two and Laura was glad Jervis had briefed her so recently.
Angel made them a cup of tea.
‘I’ve plateaued at the moment,’ she said. ‘I’m about 80% female today. But back then I was at least 60% male and it got in the way of the Canon’s gospel teachings. The whole Judas Iscariot thing turned into a major issue. I told him it wasn’t a betrayal of my sex, I was just gender queer.’ Angel took a gulp from her mug. ‘But why d’you want to know about him?’
‘I met him at Mount Cod and I remember you saying you were worried about your uncle.’
‘Who wouldn’t be, but old Frank does a pretty good job at covering up Repton’s guilty secret. I mean whatever you say about Aunt Matilda being so ill and all that, Repton deliberately shortened her time on planet earth.’ Angel gave a little shudder. ‘Chilly for the time of year.’ She picked up a handy tabby and shoved it up her voluminous black jumper. ‘Mind you it suits Frank to have Repton in his pocket. The pity of it is that he doesn’t use his influence over Repton to get rid of Cheryl, and Lance; that man gives me the creeps.’
‘Lance?’
‘Slimy so and so’s knocking off Cheryl on the side if I’m not much mistaken. Body language; noticed it when I was last there.’
‘You think they are having an affair?’
‘Deffo and I reckon they’ve got their own agenda; Repton’s cash. Mind you, every time I’ve tried to sting him for a quid or two for the animals, he claims he’s skint.’
Laura noticed with distaste the heavy staining in the bottom of her mug. ‘What about when your aunt was alive?’
‘Aunt Matilda was ever so generous. Never saw a shortage then.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes, and she always made sure I was welcome. Before she got ill, I used to stay with them a lot. Then that Cheryl moved in and after her the wedding crowd…’
The conversation was halted as the cat popped its head out of the top of Angel’s jumper and crawled onto the top of her head, its tail swaying down the side of her face. Angel’s Mohican
flattened to one side so that she looked like Davey Crockett in a stirring north-westerly. It must have dug its claws in. ‘Ouch,’ Angel cried. She flicked it off and got up from her chair.
‘You’ve been a great help, thank you Angel,’ Laura said. ‘If there is anything I can do for you?’
‘Now I think about it…’ The chair creaked as Angel sat back down.
Laura was about to get out her purse again.
‘You know about killing foxes don’t you?’ Angel said.
‘Are you referring to fox-hunting?’
‘Rich wants to set up a fund to re-home the old dogs that are past their sell by date.’
‘Foxhounds?’
‘Thinks they’d make great pets. He’d like to find a few to try out his realignment techniques on.’
‘He might find that a tall order where cats are involved but I’m sure I could ask the old kennel huntsman, if he’s still there.’
Angel leaned forward, her forehead visibly pulsating as three scratch marks oozed blood. ‘Cool,’ she said. ‘Could you maybe arrange a visit?’
‘I’ll see what I can do. But talking of pets, do you happen to know what the Canon’s pet cause was?’
‘Canon Frank’s not big on animals, you’re right there. He fell out with Aunt Matilda about pets once or twice; Church dogma – or dog-less-ma. Eschatological sentimentality he called it. But she was hot on the final destination of the soul and according to her Yorick, well maybe not him, but that dachshund deffo would be sitting up there with her in heaven having a good old time barking its head off.’ Angel picked up another passing cat and rocked it like a baby in her arms. ‘Quite convinced she was and she sure could put the Canon in his place if she felt like it.’
This was a lot to take in but if pets did not feature in Canon Frank’s creed, they cannot have been the ‘cause’ Repton had mentioned to which Matilda gave so generously. She rephrased her question. ‘Were there any other areas of charity the Canon felt strongly about?’
The Haunting of Mount Cod Page 13
