I gave a strangled shriek. It was a big one. Instinctively I jerked my hand sideways, because I didn’t want to pull the beast down onto my face, and my fingers banged into something hard and metal. When I’d shaken off Shelob I pulled my hand down, my heart crashing, and rubbed my knuckles. I whimpered quietly. Not because my fingers were hurt: because I was mortally afraid someone had heard me, and because I’m not very good with spiders.
Now it really was time to stop. I stood there on the chair, shaking, sucking my knuckles, tasting blood. I couldn’t put my hand up there again. I just couldn’t. Gripping the bookshelves with the tips of my fingers, I leaned back and peered upwards as if there was the remotest chance of being able to see.
It must have gone. It’s more scared of you than you are of it. It’s more scared of you...
I pulled a couple of books and a Cruden’s Concordance off the shelf, piled them on my chair and balanced on them, pulling myself a little higher with my fingertips and craning my neck. Then, moaning through tightly-clamped lips, I thrust my hand up and flailed for the metal thing. I missed, but felt it smooth and cold against my hand. At my second grab I got hold of it, stumbled off the chair, and stood there clutching my prize against my chest, eyes shut, breath wheezing in my chest.
I’m going to have to get therapy about the spider thing.
When my blood stopped pounding in my temples and I still hadn’t died of heart failure, I opened my eyes and gazed at the object in my hands. I knew right away what it was: the sheared-off base of a silver candlestick. It was stained and tarnished, and there was a slight dent in it. Right in the middle of the upper side was a black hole, a little rough at the edges, where the actual stick had once been soldered on. Of course it would break there quite cleanly. But only if it hit something very hard.
The base was hideously Victorian, embellished with curlicues and flourishes. Holding it in both hands, I looked back up at the top of the bookcase, chewing my cheek. No. The rest of the candlestick must be up there, but I wasn’t going to get it. Uh-uh.
Reverend Green. In the Library. With the Candlestick...
No, no, no. There weren’t any bloodstains on it, for a start.
(Okay, you could wash them off...)
And Dad wasn’t likely to go into the woods with a ruddy great silver candlestick in his jacket pocket.
(Unless it was premeditated...)
Alternatively, he was hardly likely to commit bloody murder in the vestry, then drag a Bishop’s overfed corpse through the streets and into the countryside.
(Unless he could get him in the car boot without anyone seeing...)
I swallowed hard. What had all my nosing around achieved, apart from some bloody knuckles and a terrible worsening fear? I looked back at the broken weapon in my hands. No. At the perfectly innocent candlestick base. The sheared-off bit was black with tarnish, and the whole thing had a thick layer of dust. I drew loops on it with my forefinger, and it came away furry with grime. Yes, it had been up there for ages. I sagged with relief.
As I glanced back upwards, wondering if I could safely toss the thing back there without dislodging several cardboard boxes and a large cross spider, I caught sight of the dent in the panelling that had brought me here. Catching my lower lip in my teeth, I held the candlestick base against it. It was just about the right size.
I pressed the edge of it into the dent, adjusting the angle. It was just about the right shape, too.
Once more I ran my fingers across the dent, then, feeling daft, I leaned down and sniffed. It wasn’t remotely tacky and there was no chemical smell. It hadn’t been done recently.
Okay, I was going to stop wasting my time now. The Bishop had been killed with a rock: I’d seen his blood and brains all over it. Besides, what kind of a hiding place was the vestry for a murder weapon? It wasn’t as if Ma Baxter’s entire police force was pathologically scared of spiders. This was just my overactive imagination again, getting me into trouble. For crying out loud, I thought, as reality cleared my brain and gave me a sharp jab in the conscience, I was going to have some explaining to do if a Warden walked in.
At any rate, I wasn’t climbing back up there. I counted to three – okay, make it five – said an automatic inward prayer and drew my hand back for a gentle underarm toss.
At which point the door flew open and I dropped the thing.
Griffin was the colour of bleached parchment. ‘What are you doing?’
Stupidly I looked at the candlestick base on the floor, so Griff did too. He paled even more, and his ears went red as I stooped to pick it up.
‘What’s that? Why have you got that? What the hell are you doing in here?’ As he barked all these questions, giving me no space to answer them, he was grabbing for the thing in my hand. I panicked, stumbled back and lifted the candlestick base warningly before I knew what I was doing. Instantly he backed off, blinking and shoving his hands into his hair.
Breathing hard, we stared at each other.
‘Put that down,’ he snapped at last.
What was I thinking? I tried to put it carefully on the table, but I let go of it so fast it clattered down, probably leaving another dent. Griff jumped.
‘Are you crazy?’ he whispered. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was looking for something.’ I was whispering too. It was infectious.
‘What?’ said Griff warily. ‘What were you looking for?’
‘Answers? I don’t know. Answers, that’s all.’
‘Don’t do that, Cass. Just don’t.’ Griff’s expression was unreadable.
I thought: he’s scared. He’s just scared, for all his cynical cool, for all his violent games and his teenage politics. He’s not Young Byron and he’s not The Shadow or The Crow or the Dark Knight of Gotham City. He’s my brother like he was before and he’s scared, and I don’t blame him. I felt an almost unbearable affection for him.
‘Griff,’ I said, and scuffed the carpet with one foot. ‘Can you just tell me if you...’
‘If I what?’
‘I mean, just if you want to tell me? Anything. You know?’
‘Such as?’ His tones were getting increasingly clipped but I felt I owed it to him to say it.
‘Anything you want,’ I mumbled. ‘That’s all. If you need to.’
I could feel his stare branding my scalp. He was silent for so long I couldn’t bear it any longer, I had to look at him, even though blood had rushed into my face and my cheeks stung. I raised my head and met his eyes.
My brother looked angry enough to kill me.
I don’t know what we’d have ended up saying to each other, but luckily we didn’t get the chance. Distantly, but coming closer, someone was singing Suspicious Minds. Griff was still watching me, but his expression softened a little, almost as if he might laugh. I was so hugely relieved I could have kissed Aunt Abby.
Abby had quite a good singing voice, but not when she was wearing her iPod. She knew all the words of course, but she must have had the volume turned up too high to hear herself, because she was well off-key. As she pushed open the vestry door, she stopped singing.
I shuffled guiltily. Griff gave me one warning glare, then turned to his favourite aunt and kissed her cheek. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘D’you know you’re singing out loud? He’s banned, Aunt Abby. Watch yourself.’
‘Don’t soft-soap me, Griffin,’ said Abby briskly, tugging out her earphones and tucking them into her pocket. ‘What are you two doing in here?’
‘I’m keeping an eye on her,’ said Griff in a tone that made me feel like something under a rock. He was all cosy and conspiratorial, as if expecting Abby’s unqualified support. ‘She keeps sneaking off with Menzies.’
‘And?’ said Abby.
I had another urge to kiss her, but Griff went pale again. ‘And Dad’s keys were missing. That’d look great, wouldn’t it? A rector’s daughter with the son of a secularist, right in her father’s church, having a snog.’ He added viciously, ‘Or worse.’
‘I can’t help noticing, Griffin,’ said Abby as she thumbed the controls of her iPod and turned it off, ‘that you also know where your father’s keys are kept.’
‘That’s because I used to serve at the altar,’ he pointed out sullenly.
‘Well,’ said Abby, ‘you can stop acting the One Church acolyte now, dear.’
Griff’s ears went scarlet. ‘I’m not...’
‘Ah, Griffin. God loves you and so do I, but if you don’t get your backside out of my presence I’ll leather it for you.’
There was nothing he could say to that, so with a final warning glower in my direction he stalked out. His footsteps echoed down the aisle, clattering disrespectfully on the tiles; Abby’s little dart had obviously struck home. Then, distantly, the outer door slammed.
I had my teeth clenched, waiting for my own lashing from Abby’s legendary tongue, but all she said was, ‘Oh, Cassandra, you daft cow. Look as if you’re doing something constructive.’
She bent to rummage in a cupboard, pulling out the polishing kit. Selecting a couple of random items from the silver cabinet, she dumped them on the table.
‘We won’t bother with that, though.’ Taking the candlestick base out of my unresisting hands, she climbed onto my chair and stowed it back on top of the bookcase. God, her skirt was short. At her age, too. Just as well her brother-in-law was a One Church cleric, though I still didn’t know how she got away with it, and she wasn’t doing Dad any good.
Dusting her hands cheerfully, she jumped down, then pulled out a chair, patted the neighbouring one, and began to smear Silvo on a chalice.
Stunned, I slumped down beside her. She had the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she wrapped her forefinger in a yellow duster and rubbed at a patch of tarnish. Like Mum, Abby was still very pretty. Big hazel eyes like Mum’s, too, but she didn’t have all the freckles dusted across her nose, and her hair was redder than Mum’s and mine, as befitted the scarlet woman of the family. Ours was more chestnut. Hers was more L’Oreal, especially that fiery shade on the ends. She’d got all the boob genes, too, lucky woman, and as I glanced enviously at her cleavage I could feel myself pulling my shoulders back to jut out my flat chest a bit more.
‘Ah, why don’t you grow your hair again, Cassie?’ said Abby the family telepath.
‘Why?’
Her fingers froze on the chalice. She sucked her teeth, as if afraid she’d spoken out of turn. Funny, that, since I was used to being on the receiving end of Abby’s unsolicited opinions.
Into the silence, I gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Yeah, let me guess. Boys like long hair.’
Recovering, Abby grinned. ‘Menzies would. He’s a nice boy, Cassie.’
‘Not you too,’ I groaned. ‘He’s my friend, Aunt Abby.’
‘He used to be your friend, Cassandra.’ She reached for my hand and turned it over, examining my wrist with a critical eye as she pressed her fingertip against a vein. ‘Friends don’t make your pulse speed up like that.’
I snatched my hand away, then stared down at the blue veins under thin pale skin. They seemed horribly vulnerable and fragile but you couldn’t actually see a heartbeat. What did she have, superpowers?
‘Don’t be too hard on Griff,’ I said. Hah. Take that, Abby! Smooth change of subject.
‘Why not?’ Her voice was clipped. ‘He’s got no right to police your behaviour.’
‘But...’ I squirmed. ‘It’s sort of understandable. Isn’t it?’
‘Why is it understandable, Cassie?’ She raised one tawny eyebrow (oh, the hair was definitely tinted), but her fingers were furiously busy with the yellow duster. I picked one up too, and grabbed a small candleholder, just for something to occupy me.
I chickened out. ‘He’s my big brother, that’s all. Aren’t they all like that?’
‘No,’ said Abby. ‘And he should be letting you make your own mistakes.’
‘What happened wasn’t his mistake!’ I blurted.
Abby’s hand slowed and stilled on the silver. Anxiously she searched my face, but I concentrated hard on my little candleholder. I liked it. It was small and plain and unassuming. It would take nothing bigger than a tealight. I liked it much better than those great ornate Victorian candlesticks that were made so big and imposing just to make you feel even smaller than you were. The kind you could do real damage with, if you lifted one and...
I shuddered and stared at Abby, who had something like panic in her expression. ‘Something happened in here,’ I said. ‘Didn’t it? Something happened to Griff.’
And I was here. The realisation hit me so hard I lost my breath. I saw what happened.
Abby managed to close her jaw, just. Carefully she put down her chalice and her duster, then took hold of my wrists so hard it almost hurt. I bet she could feel my racing pulse now.
‘You listen to me, Cassie,’ she said intently. ‘If anything happened – and I do mean if – if anything happened to anyone anywhere, it’s in the past. It’s not going to un-happen. There’s nothing can be done and there’s nothing to be gained by stirring it up. Now I know that goes against your popular bloody wisdom, Cassandra, but it is true. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes,’ I said. I didn’t agree. But I understood, all right.
‘Your brother does not need to protect you, do you hear me? You are a strong girl. You can look after yourself. You can protect yourself, for God’s sake! All right?’
‘Yeah, all right.’
‘Your protection is not his business!’
‘All right,’ I snapped. She was making me nervous now with her killer glare.
Abby pursed her lips and blew gently. ‘Oh, sorry, Cassie. Griff’s fine, you know. He’s all right. It’s just that these things can get out of hand. You don’t want to end up down the Laundries scrubbing cassocks till you’re fifty so the boys can’t get their hands on you.’
‘Yeah, like my Dad’s going to let that happen.’
‘Things can happen without anyone wanting them. One thing follows another and before you know it you’re on the high road to Hell. I nearly ended up in those sweatshops, but Bunty stood up to her rector. Thrashing me was her job, she told him. Heh!’ Abby smiled to herself. ‘Ah, don’t let those religious nuts get you down, Cassie. He’s a nice boy, your Menzies.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I said crossly.
Killer glare again. I turned away sheepishly.
‘Don’t take the One Lord’s name in vain, Cassandra.’
I stopped being sheepish, and let my jaw drop.
‘I’m a God-fearing thirty-nine-year-old, young lady, and you’re all of fifteen,’ Abby told me primly, and with a touch of smugness. ‘So don’t look at me like that. You don’t have to respect the One Church but you’d better show a little respect for your Maker or he’ll be asking all kinds of awkward questions later.’
Thirty-nine, I thought dryly. Aye, five years ago, maybe. ‘And I’ll be telling him I don’t think much of his top-down managerial skills, seeing as his organisation’s got a bit out of hand.’
‘No blasphemy, Cassandra, please. A little respect. The Church is a living compromise, and it wasn’t easily done.’ She sighed. ‘Ah, the One Church can’t last forever, that’s what I think. Too many stresses and strains. One day it’ll disintegrate. Then we’ll be fighting sectarian wars again, killing each other instead of the infidels.’
‘At least atheists won’t tell us how to behave.’ I was warming to this. I’d had quite enough of it from Griff, so it fairly tripped off the tongue and I was glad to be firing it at someone else. ‘Secularists won’t tell us how to run our lives.’
‘Course they will.’ Abby winked at me. ‘Look at the mad ones, blowing themselves up when they don’t even have a Heaven to go to. There’s dedication for you.’ She gave an eloquent snort. ‘Oh, we should all be minding our own business.
Finding our own happiness and letting other people get on with finding theirs. You, for instance, my darling. You can start in your own little way by...’
‘Letting you throw me at Ming.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Uh-huh. I saw that one coming.’
‘Away and go on. Throw yourself. He’s lovely.’
‘Way too lovely. He’s so up himself. He’s already messing me about, Aunt Abby. He’ll get fed up with me and then we won’t even be friends any more.’
‘Uh-huh, and this is the boy you’ve known all your life, is it?’ said Abby scornfully. ‘Don’t let your pride get so big you can’t see over it.’
I couldn’t get the candleholder any cleaner. In a minute it would be suffering serious erosion. Reluctantly, with blackened fingers, I set it down.
‘Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, who’s Abby to be lecturing me on my love life? Seeing as hers has been such a resounding success.’
She had that right. She had it so right my cheekbones burned with embarrassment. I picked black out from under my fingernails, hoping she was going to change the subject in the near future, or leave, or be struck dumb by her (so far) incredibly tolerant Maker.
‘See, Cassie, the aggravating thing about adults is our patronising reluctance to let you make the same mistakes we did.’
Indeed, and to accuse your big brother of just that, less than five minutes ago. Griff, I thought, come back! Come back and rescue me from the madwoman and you can boss me around as much as you like! LOOK AFTER ME!
‘See, when it comes to love,’ said Abby, scraping somebody’s Twelve-Hour Lipstick off the chalice rim with a fingernail, ‘saving face is not a priority.’
Actually my immediate priority was to get out of there. I started to wriggle in my chair.
‘Sit still and shut up and listen to the only lecture I’m ever going to give you. I’ve watched you and that boy. He might not be the one for you forever, but right now he is. I know it’s tempting to save face, but you can live without your pride. You can’t live without a heartbeat. Sometimes you need to take a risk, Cassandra.’
Bad Faith Page 8
