by Kate Charles
I ought to tell you not to grieve for me. But I am a selfish old woman, and I would like to think that you might grieve, just a little. Goodbye, my dear young man, and thank you again for your kindness and your sensitivity.
It was signed with a flourish: Constance Oliver.
David sat under the tree as the sun climbed higher in the sky, the tears wet on his cheeks.
CHAPTER 48
My covenant will I not break, nor alter the thing that is gone out of my lips: I have sworn once by my holiness, that I will not fail David.
Psalm 89.34
David parked his car in front of the vicarage. He’d said his farewells to Daphne; his case was in the car and all that remained was the final interview with Gabriel. Although he hadn’t allowed her to read the letter, he’d told Daphne everything – about Craig, and about Lady Constance; he felt that he owed her that, after all her help and support. But he was as yet undecided about how much he needed to tell Gabriel; perhaps he’d just see how their conversation went. He didn’t know whether Gabriel would even have heard yet of Lady Constance’s death: if not, he didn’t want to be the one to tell him, especially if there was a chance that the death could be construed as accidental, or occurring from natural causes. Lady Constance deserved his discretion, and his silence.
Emily and the children were on their way out as he arrived, bound for Kensington Gardens and the Round Pond, if Sebastian’s sailboat were any clue. The children waited impatiently while David took his leave of their mother.
‘I’m so glad you caught us before we left!’ she said. ‘I couldn’t bear the thought of your leaving town without saying goodbye.’
He smiled. ‘I would have waited, Emily.’
‘David.’ She took his hand. ‘I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for him – for us. You’ve been a real friend to both of us.’
Embarrassed, he looked away.
‘Mummy, can’t we go now?’ Sebastian demanded.
‘Just a moment, darling. I’m saying goodbye to your Uncle David.’
‘Is he going away?’ Viola asked, staring at him with frank curiosity. ‘Where’s he going?’
‘Uncle David lives a long way from here. He’s going home. It might be a long time before we see him again.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that,’ he said with a smile. ‘Remember that first morning I was here? You said you’d come to Wymondham to see me.’
‘And so we shall, if you still want us.’
‘Please do, soon. And I’m sure I’ll be back in London,’ he added. ‘I have a lot of friends here now.’ He frowned, thinking of Lady Constance, then of Lucy.
She looked at him inquiringly, not sure how much she could say. Finally she ventured, ‘Lucy?’
Again he looked away, then forced his eyes back to hers. ‘Lucy,’ he said. ‘Tell Lucy . . . Tell her I’ll be in touch,’ he finished awkwardly.
Emily nodded. ‘I’ll tell her.’
As Sebastian and Viola looked on balefully, they regarded each other for a moment, neither one quite knowing how to say goodbye. Suddenly Emily threw her arms around his neck. ‘Dear David,’ she said softly. ‘I’m so glad we’ve become friends.’
‘It took ten years, but . . .’
‘It was worth waiting for.’ She kissed him on the cheek, then disengaged herself. ‘Take care of yourself, David.’
‘You take care of yourself. And . . . take care of Gabriel.’
‘I will.’
‘Mummy, let’s go now,’ Viola insisted. ‘Or I’ll tell Daddy that you were hugging Uncle David,’ she added slyly.
Emily laughed. ‘I don’t think your father would mind. Goodbye, David. Gabriel’s waiting for you in the study.’
‘Goodbye, Emily.’
Gabriel paced up and down the study restlessly. ‘There are so many things I don’t understand. I think you’d better start at the beginning.’
‘Which beginning? Your story, or Mavis Conwell’s?’
‘Start with Mavis. Was she murdered, or not? I still don’t know.’
‘No, she wasn’t murdered. She killed herself, just as the coroner said, just as the police said.’
‘Then why . . .’
David gave a self-mocking laugh. ‘It was my blind stubbornness. I got it into my head that she was murdered, and nothing would convince me otherwise. Not even the evidence.’
‘The medical evidence at the inquest was quite clear. There was no indication that it was, or could have possibly been, anything but suicide.’
David looked sheepish. ‘I’m afraid I wasn’t listening during that part. My mind was made up.’
‘So what made you change your mind?’ Gabriel asked.
David answered indirectly. ‘Did you ever have one of those kaleidoscopes when you were a child?’
‘Yes. Sebastian and Viola have one now. You turn it around, and the shapes change.’ He looked puzzled.
‘My problem was that I was looking through the wrong end of the kaleidoscope,’ David explained. ‘I was looking in the back end, and all I could see were bits of coloured glass falling about. No pattern, no sense to it. Just bits of coloured glass. But when I turned the kaleidoscope around, and looked through it the proper way, all the bits of coloured glass formed a pattern, and the pattern made sense.’
Gabriel nodded. ‘I see. So Mavis’s death had nothing to do with the blackmail.’
‘No, that’s not true at all. It had a great deal to do with it. But I was looking at it backwards, assuming that Mavis must be the blackmailer. It was only later that I realised the truth – Mavis was also being blackmailed.’
‘Good Lord.’ He stopped in his tracks, then sat down at his desk. He considered this knowledge a moment. ‘What about?’
‘About her taking the money. She was threatened with exposure to the Bishop.’
‘Of course. So that’s why she killed herself. She couldn’t face the humiliation of public exposure. Poor woman.’
David hesitated. ‘It wasn’t quite as simple as that. There was also . . . Craig.’
‘Craig?’
‘Yes. She was taking the money for him, of course. She was terrified of him, for some reason – I saw her absolutely cowering one day, when he came looking for her at St Anne’s, demanding money. I think he’s a pathetic, snivelling little creep, but he frightened her.’ He made his mind up, and continued, ‘He went to the sacristy that afternoon.’
‘The afternoon of the fête?’ Gabriel frowned. ‘No one’s ever said they saw him that day.’
‘Beryl Ball saw him. She told me so, and he’s admitted it. He took some money – about two hundred pounds – and the ledger sheet, so no one would realise that anything was missing.’
Gabriel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘I see. So that’s why she killed herself.’
David didn’t meet his eyes; he didn’t want to say any more, but he was uncomfortable telling less than the whole truth. ‘Yes. He’s admitted it all to me, and promises to give the money back, if only we won’t turn him over to the police.’
‘You agreed to that?’
‘I told him it would be up to you.’
Nodding, Gabriel assented. ‘That seems reasonable to me. As long as we get the money back, it need not be a police matter. I’ll deal with Craig myself.’ He paused. ‘But how did you find out that she was being blackmailed? That was jolly good detective work!’
‘Not at all,’ David disagreed with a self-deprecating smile. ‘That was the easiest part of all – I had it handed to me on a silver plate. Or in a silver thurible, to be more precise.’
‘What?’
‘Just before she . . . hanged herself, Mavis tried to destroy the blackmail letter. But she bungled it, otherwise we would never have known. She tried to burn it, in the festival thurible. But she shut it in the safe before it had properly started burning.’
‘And didn’t realise that the fire would go out quite quickly,’ Gabriel reasoned. ‘Good Lord.’
While
he sat in stunned silence, David thought carefully how to go on, anticipating the next question. It wasn’t long in coming. ‘So can you tell me now? Who was the blackmailer?’ Gabriel turned puzzled blue eyes on him.
After a moment’s hesitation, David said simply, ‘Lady Constance.’
There was a sharp intake of breath, and a look of incomprehension. ‘Lady Constance?’ he said, after a long pause. ‘But how . . . ? Why . . . ?’ Gabriel massaged his forehead with the palms of his hands. ‘I really don’t understand. I don’t understand how she could have found out about . . . Peter Maitland. He wouldn’t have told anyone who knew Lady Constance . . .’
‘No, but you did.’
Gabriel stared. ‘I never told a soul. I swear to you, David . . .’
David smiled a bittersweet smile. ‘And that’s what had me looking in the wrong end of the kaleidoscope all this time. There was one person you told – your spiritual director.’
‘But I didn’t tell him! I made my Confession, of course, but that . . .’ He stopped. ‘Lady Constance’s brother,’ he said slowly. ‘I made my Confession to Lady Constance’s brother. But the Confessional is sacred – he would never have told anyone something that was revealed to him under the seal of the Confessional.’
‘I should have realised,’ David mused, glancing up at the bookshelves, and Gabriel’s book, Sacramental Confession: A Spiritual Imperative. ‘Of course you would have made your Confession. And I should have figured out that you had a connection with Lady Constance to get the living at St Anne’s so quickly. I knew about her brother. But I just never put it all together. I was so busy looking for someone Peter Maitland might have told . . .’
Gabriel, stunned, listened to his musings without saying a word.
David explained it to him then, about the illness and its effects, and Lady Constance’s reaction on receiving the knowledge, and the circumstances under which she’d written the letters. Gabriel sat in silence, shaking his head, and turning the paperweight round and round on his desk. He asked no questions after that, so it was not necessary to evade; Gabriel would find out about Lady Constance’s death in due time, when he was safely gone.
Finally, Gabriel asked one last question. ‘Is it really over? I mean, you’re sure she’ll take no further action?’
‘I can say with certainty that you have nothing more to fear from Lady Constance,’ David replied. ‘She would never have followed through with the threats she made in the letters.’
Gabriel sighed. ‘That’s that, then.’
‘Yes, that’s that.’
He turned to David. ‘How can I thank you? Without your help, I don’t know where I’d be right now. David . . .’
Embarrassed, David looked down at Gabriel’s hands. ‘You don’t have to say anything, Gabriel. I’m glad I was able –’ He stopped suddenly, staring at the paperweight, his throat constricting. It was a smooth rock, about the size of a fist, but curiously shaped like a heart. He’d seen it on Gabriel’s desk on all his previous visits, but this was the first time he’d actually looked at it. In an instant he was transported thirteen years back in time.
They looked into each other’s eyes.
‘I don’t understand what’s going on, Gabriel,’ David said softly. ‘I’m afraid.’
‘You should never be afraid of love, my darling David.’ When David said nothing, he went on gently, ‘I do love you, you know. But I won’t rush you – you must choose the time.’ Still David was silent. ‘We don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to. Let’s take a walk.’
It was an unseasonably warm afternoon in late autumn. The season for holiday-makers and day-trippers had long since ended, and Brighton beach was virtually empty except for the two young men. Not daring to touch, scarcely daring to look at each other, they walked along the rocky beach for what seemed like miles, speaking hardly at all. David was intensely, acutely aware of Gabriel’s nearness. He felt more alive than he ever had before, as half-realised, long-denied feelings came to the surface at last.
Finally, in the early dusk, David stopped suddenly, bending down. He plucked the heart-shaped stone from the beach and held it in the palm of his hand, feeling the weight of its smooth coolness.
‘I love you, Gabriel . . . Gabe,’ he said, shyly, extending his hand.
Gabe touched the rock with a finger, then took it from his palm. ‘I’ll treat it with care,’ he promised, putting it in his pocket.
There was no one else in sight. Gabe kissed him then, and for a long moment they clung together on the deserted beach.
Gabriel followed his gaze; he held the stone up with a bemused smile. ‘No, David, I haven’t forgotten,’ he said softly. ‘No matter what you may think, I’ve never forgotten.’
It was David’s turn to be speechless. Finally he said, ‘All these years. You’ve kept it all these years?’
‘Yes. You can’t just forget the kind of love we had, David. Things change, and life goes on, but there are some things . . .’
David found it hard to speak. ‘But . . . Emily.’
‘Yes, Emily.’ Gabriel’s voice was gentle. ‘I told you once that you can’t live in the past. And we live in a world that forces us to make choices. I regret that fact, but I don’t regret the choice I made. My life is with Emily now. She’s my present, and my future. I love her very much. I can’t really explain it to you – my love for Emily is . . . different. It’s very real, but it’s different. And it in no way replaces what we had, or invalidates it. You were very special to me, David. You still are, in a certain way. Nothing will change that. I think Emily understands that, and accepts it, and I hope that in time you’ll be able to understand it too. Our love was real, David. And I’ll never forget it.’
David stood, swallowing hard. ‘I think I’d better go now, Gabriel.’
Gabriel rose too, and offered his hand, his lips curving in a painful smile. ‘You can call me Gabe.’
David sat in his car for a long time – he had no idea how long. For ten years he’d clung to the knowledge – the certainty – that Gabe had loved him. Over the last few weeks the question he hadn’t dared to ask himself was whether it were true, or just a figment of his imagination that he’d needed to believe in. Now he had his answer: his affirmation, and something more. In a funny sort of way, he’d got Gabe back. He’d lost him completely, bafflingly, for ten long years, but now he’d got him back, and nothing could take him away again.
Suddenly, unbidden, a picture of Lucy came into his mind, painfully vivid – lovely Lucy, with her serene secret smile and her rosy corona of hair. He found that he couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing her again. Without a conscious decision, he started the car and turned south towards Kensington instead of north towards Wymondham. It was Thursday – Lucy would be at home, painting. As he approached the entrance to her mews, he slowed the car, then went on to the next roundabout, and made his way north. Not yet, thought David Middleton-Brown. Soon, I’ll get in touch with her. But not yet.
EPILOGUE
Hope thou in the Lord, and keep his way, and he shall promote thee, that thou shalt possess the land: when the ungodly shalt perish, thou shalt see it.
Psalm 37.35
It was a Sunday late in September, with the first crisp hint of autumn in the air; St Anne’s Church was celebrating the feast of St Michael and All Angels. Before Mass, Gabriel Neville, in a snow-white chasuble, stood at the front of the nave. Beside him was St Anne’s newly elected churchwarden, Roger Dawson, who paused momentously, inflated with self-importance and the gravity of his task. Unconsciously he wrung his hands. ‘I have an announcement to make,’ he intoned in his dry, raspy voice. ‘The Bishop of London would like me to announce that as of first January next, Father Gabriel Neville will be the Area Archdeacon.’ He waited for a moment for the message to sink in, then continued. ‘I’m sure you will all wish to join me in congratulating Father Gabriel, and wishing him all the best for the future. He will be very much missed here at St Anne’s.�
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From the front row, Emily smiled at Gabriel with love, and with pride.
