Phil Rickman - The Fabric of Sin

‘Of parishes?’

‘Merrily, I don’t want to get into this over the phone, it’s very early days, and you know how I feel about it. I generally think you’ve been doing a terrific job under less than ideal conditions, and I don’t want to see your position prejudiced …’

‘Is this something to do with Siân Callaghan-Clarke? Does Sophie know about it?’

‘It’s nothing to do with Siân, essentially, and I talked to Sophie last night—’

‘ Essentially? ’

‘—And asked her not to telephone you until I’d spoken to you myself. I’ve also, in the meantime, spoken to the Duchy who are a little worried about what might have been unleashed.’

‘ Unleashed? ’

‘You, Merrily. We unleashed you . Or rather I did.’

‘I …’ She rubbed her eyes; maybe she wasn’t actually awake. ‘I’m sorry, would you mind spelling this out for me, Bishop? Preferably in big coloured nursery letters?’

‘Traditionally …’ Bernie Dunmore hesitated; his uncertainty was almost audible. ‘Traditionally, the role of the deliverance ministry has been in the way of … of administering balm to what might be seen as an open wound – a psychic wound, if we must. You’ve displayed a tendency to go beyond the brief. Which, in normal circumstances, is not necessarily a bad thing. However …’

‘You’re saying you don’t consider these to be normal circumstances. This case might be tiptoeing around the edges of national-security issues. Which are obviously more important than the little lives of ordinary people.’

‘Merrily, please don’t make this more difficult than it—’

‘Has a detective called Jonathan Long been to talk to you, by any chance?’

‘No. I’ve never heard of a detective called Jonathan Long.’

‘All right.’ Merrily sat down on the bed. ‘I accept that you might not be able to tell me if he had been round. But if you could listen for just half a minute? Yes, initially, the evidence did suggest an element of scam. But now … now I feel strongly – and sometimes you have to run with feelings – that there’s something that needs looking into.’

‘Then let someone else look into it.’

‘You really think someone else is going to?’

‘That’s not your problem.’

‘I can’t believe you said that. Look, give me one more day, and I’ll submit a written report which I’ll email to Sophie so it’s on your desk by ten o’clock tomorrow. It will explain exactly why – with the underlying issues here – I feel this is not something we can, in all conscience, ignore.’

‘Merrily, you clearly haven’t been listening.’

‘And – as you’ve accepted that there should be at least a blessing at the Master House – there’s at least one person I need to talk to before I can organize it.’

‘And that would be …?’

‘His name’s Sycharth Gwilym.’

‘Mrs Watkins,’ the Bishop said, ‘the only thing I want to see on Sophie’s desk tomorrow morning is the Reverend Murray’s bill. Tell him we’ll pay him for the full five days.’

‘This is totally—’

‘I most certainly don’t want you to talk to anyone else. Please humour me. Pack your case.’

‘Bishop, be honest. I think we’ve always been honest with one another. Have you been – how can I put this? – got at ?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

Merrily saw her watch glinting underneath the bedside table, bent and retrieved it, peered at the face and was initially relieved. It wasn’t yet ten minutes past seven. She knew the Bishop always rose early these days, but this was …

‘I’m sorry,’ Merrily said. ‘That was a bit offensive.’

Dead silence.

He’d hung up.

Christ .

Jane had been down since seven. In the cold kitchen, fully dressed for school. She’d fed Ethel, put the kettle on, was spooning tea into the pot when Siân Callaghan-Clarke appeared in the doorway, wearing a silk dressing gown – sea green, very expensive, almost swish.

‘Good morning.’

Jane took a breath.

‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I’m not sure it is.’

She’d avoided Siân last night, claiming that she had essays to do and escaping to the apartment, where she seemed to have lain awake half the night, replaying the drab, whiny voice of Shirley West. Listening to edited highlights of her own history, twisted by an expert.

Siân walked into the kitchen, pulled out a cane chair near the head of the refectory table and sat down, gathering her robe across her knees. This was where Mum would have lit a cigarette. Siân didn’t move. Jane pulled down two mugs.

‘Sorry. I’ve forgotten. Is it one sugar?’

‘It’s no sugar, Jane.’

‘Right.’ Might have guessed. ‘I’ve only just put the kettle on, so it’ll be a minute or two.’

‘Thank you.’

‘OK,’ Jane said. There was no clever way of dealing with this. ‘Here’s the situation. I was in the church last night, while you were talking to that woman. I was in the Bull Chapel. Behind the screen.’

‘I know,’ Siân said.

Jane stared at her. Siân’s sleek metallic hair was brushed back from her face, which had surprisingly few lines, even first thing in the morning, and no expression. A barrister face.

‘I was mildly concerned …’ a barrister tone of voice ‘… when you didn’t get off the school bus at what I’d been advised was the appointed time and I didn’t like to leave the house until you were home. I know you aren’t, strictly speaking, my responsibility, but I did think it wise to wait until the last possible moment. When I eventually saw you on the square, I decided it was safe to leave. And when you walked directly past me and Mrs … I’m sorry, I …’

‘Prosser.’

‘Yes, of course. When you walked directly past us – particularly Mrs Prosser – without saying a word and with your face concealed, I rather anticipated your intentions.’

Shit .

‘Look,’ Jane said, ‘I just …’

‘You were curious.’

‘I was suspicious.’

‘Why?’

‘Because, I …’ Jane tossed the spoon onto the worktop. ‘Oh, for—’

‘Come and sit down, Jane.’

‘I’m not going to apologize.’

‘What have you to apologize about? You were simply – I would guess – trying to protect your mother.’

Jane said nothing. Siân steepled her fingers.

‘Jane, there are certain issues on which Merrily and I are unlikely ever to agree but, for what it’s worth, I suspect the level of my regard for her somewhat exceeds the level of hers for me.’

Siân’s smile was kind of wan and regretful. Jane didn’t know how to respond and didn’t.

‘I realize that I would hardly have been her first choice for looking after the parish,’ Siân said. ‘She was probably dismayed?’

‘Erm, yeah.’

Jane sat down, near the bottom of the table. Couldn’t get anything right at the moment, could she? Walked right into this one, thinking she was going to nail Callaghan-Clarke first thing in the morning, while her senses were fuddled.

As if.

The tables had been turned, Jane stitched up like a unreliable witness in the box. Stitched herself up, in fact. Mum might almost have predicted it last night: Jane, I don’t want you handling anything.

Siân Callaghan-Clarke, practised in silence, just sat there. Waiting for you to dig yourself further in.

‘OK …’ Jane proceeded with extreme caution. ‘If you knew I was there, in the church … why did you get her to go through it all? All the stuff about me being a not-so-closet pagan, worshipping the goddess in the vicarage garden.’

‘Do you?’