Phil Rickman - The Fabric of Sin

‘Sorry, yes, the Newtons.’

The fire was burning low. Jane had taken Roscoe for a walk, with a clothes line doubled up through his collar and a home-made poop-scoop. Dogshit watch, smoking watch. Ledwardine, heart of the New Cotswolds, had them all now, and they never slept.

‘Getting a foot inside the ancient portal.’ Mrs Morningwood had a cigarette and a glass of neat brandy. ‘That alone would make it worthwhile to Sycharth. Other obvious attractions, of course. Nubile young things bathing naked in the Monnow. Would’ve taken a youth with more will-power than Suckarse to look the other way.’

‘This would be the girlfriends, before they left?’

‘Would’ve been the time when Sycharth’s father, Gruffydd – keen as ever to shaft the Newtons – was apparently complaining to the parish council about Lord Stourport’s habit of biking around the lanes stark bollock naked except for a pair of Doc Martens.’

‘You ever meet Stourport?’

‘I’ve told you, I wasn’t there.’

‘You knew Sycharth, though. When you and he were young.’

‘He made a play for me once, at a barn dance. I was almost tempted to go out with him – he had an old Triumph Spitfire. Yellow. Passed his test on his seventeenth birthday. It used to roar sexily up and down the lanes. I always liked speed.’

A moist sadness came into Muriel Morningwood’s bruised eyes. Days of innocence? Yeah, sure.

‘Long time on the phone, Watkins.’

‘I was consulting a colleague. Didn’t want to miss anything out. Don’t look at me like that, it’s a priest. A proper priest. Nothing gets out.’

Mrs Morningwood drank some brandy.

‘Tell me, what were they doing, apart from taking drugs and shagging? Do hate the way another generation has appropriated the word shag as if they invented it. Why can’t they they come up with one of their own? Sorry, I’m rambling again. I don’t think I want to know what they did to Mary Roberts. Not in this state.’

‘Didn’t you ask any of the other girls who were involved?’

‘As far as I know there were only two. My mother wouldn’t have anything to do with them again. I tried to talk to one about it – she just walked away. Too well paid. They’ve both left the area now. I don’t think either of them was there at the end. You should get to Suckarse before he has time to fabricate a story.’

‘You ever hear of a man calling himself Mat Phobe?’

‘Never. Who’s he?’

‘It was all apparently stage-managed by this man. He seems to have decided there was some kind of Templar treasure hidden at the Master House.’

‘Never heard of that .’

‘Mat Phobe – it’s an anagram of Baphomet – the sacred head? Also the name adopted by the occultist Aleister Crowley as leader of a Templar-based outfit experimenting with the magical power of sex.’

‘That what the Knights Templar did, do you think?’

‘They were more less accused of it, weren’t they? Maybe riches led to decadence.’

‘I can certainly see Sycharth in ceremonial robes.’

‘They seem to have tried some kind of mediumistic thing, to put him in touch with his ancestors – the Welsh princes, he claimed, apparently.’

‘His ancestors were sheep-shaggers.’

‘People keep saying he doesn’t speak Welsh,’ Merrily said. ‘Is he likely to know any Welsh at all?’

‘Shouldn’t think so. Wasn’t compulsory at school when Sycharth was a boy, not in an Anglicized area like Monmouth. His son would have to learn it, I expect – Cynllaith.’

‘How old’s he?’

‘Fifteen or sixteen.’

‘Cynllaith? What’s that mean?’

‘Could be something to do with milk – llaith . Or – more sinister, according to my dictionary – battle or slaughter .’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘Pretentions to warrior status. These sex rituals – was that just an excuse?’

‘Was for Lord Stourport.’

‘But in the course of it …’ Mrs Morningwood’s voice hardening ‘… one of them seems to have impregnated Mary Roberts.’

‘That’s how it looks.’

‘And was, therefore, Fuchsia’s father.’

‘Yes.’ Merrily heard the phone ringing, let it ring. ‘I’ve thought of that.’

‘Suppose it’s Sycharth?’

‘We’re unlikely ever to know.’

‘But does he ? And if that child was born as a result of some degenerate ritual, Watkins, what might the effects of that be? I’m asking you as a priest.’

‘As a priest, I don’t really have an answer.’ Merrily stared into the fire. ‘Looking at it psychologically, I would think that would depend on whether she knew about it, wouldn’t you?’

‘If she knew, might she think of herself as inherently soiled and corrupt because of the circumstances of her conception?’

‘It’s possible.’

‘And did she know, do you think?’

‘It would explain some things, wouldn’t it? But if she knew of her own connection with the Master House before Felix tendered for the job, why did she go along with it, then throw a wobbly? What was she like when you first met her?’

‘Inquisitive. Lots of questions.’

‘Not spooked at that stage?’

‘No suggestion of it. This would’ve been their first visit, and they were both fired up with the idea of restoring the house in a sympathetic way. She wanted to know what I could remember about it – the atmosphere, the colours of the walls. Hard for me to recall what she asked in much detail because, of course, I knew at once who she must be and it had, as we used to say, rather blown my mind.’

‘You definitely didn’t say anything to her about that … or give any indication? I mean, if she saw you looking shocked …’

‘I don’t give anything away unless I want to.’

‘Suppose Fuchsia really didn’t know about Mary and the Master House until she actually came here. Something happened to make her go dashing into the church demanding a blessing and spiritual sanctuary from Teddy Murray.’

‘Who would’ve recommended a five-mile walk in the fresh air,’ Mrs Morningwood said sourly.

‘If someone had already recognized the resemblance to Mary the way you did and made Fuchsia aware of it … then the idea of the place being haunted, something rising from under the dust sheets, might have been her own way of externalizing her feelings. Or is that psychobabble?’

‘The past rising up to haunt her?’

‘And she’s a devotee of M. R. James, and perhaps she’s learned that James went to Garway, where something happened to disturb him – and all that goes into the emotional mix. She’s afraid she’s carrying around something corrupt, tainted. She wants to be blessed, purified.’

What is this that is coming?

‘Perhaps, for the first time, starting to question the fate of her mother,’ Mrs Morningwood said. ‘ Did Mary come back to Garway, after she wrote to me and I failed to respond? Was your friend able to find that out?’

‘Mmm. I think so.’

‘So they would have known about the baby. Sycharth and the other clowns.’

‘I presume.’

Mrs Morningwood was silent. Merrily heard Jane coming in with Roscoe, big paws skidding on the flags in the kitchen.

‘Sycharth would hardly have wanted a bastard child,’ Mrs Morningwood said at last.

‘Perhaps I’ll get to talk to him tomorrow.’

‘But first, I think you need to talk to the Grays.’

It was after midnight when Merrily switched off the lamp in the parlour. Mrs Morningwood had gone to her herbal bed, taking the dog up with her. Jane had gone over an hour ago to her apartment in the attic. Merrily went through to the kitchen for the last time, put some food down for Ethel, smoked half a cigarette and listened to the answering machine bleeping in the scullery. Eventually, she stubbed out her cigarette, went through and hit the button.