Phil Rickman - The Lamp of the Wicked

He didn’t touch me,’ Jane said quickly.

‘Would’ve happened Jane, if not the next time you met, then the time after that. The older he gets, the younger they get.’ Jenny Box tightened her white scarf around her head and neck. ‘Another destroyer. Starting off, I suppose, trying to get information out of you – anything he could use against me, to blackmail me or humiliate me. And then he’d release the poison. Like a serpent. And then, he’d bide his time, and he—’

‘She’ll give it back, you know.’ Jane didn’t want to hear this. ‘The money. She won’t keep it now.’

‘She’ll keep it,’ Jenny said.

‘ No . Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think you do.’

‘I know him , Jane. I know him better than I ever… dreaded I would. I know where he came from. We’d better be getting back, it’s starting to rain again.’

Jane followed her, in a fog of self-dismay vaguely lit by a kind of tentative elation – a rare feeling when she’d been so very wrong about so much. She found she was almost relishing the cold rain on her face, a cleansing… she needed that. She felt – although she wasn’t sure the feeling was going to last – that she needed, in some way, to start again.

At the square, Jenny Box pointed at a long blue and white car parked in the line of vehicles directly opposite the Black Swan. ‘There you are, see, that’s my man. Humphries.’

‘That’s his car? But I’ve seen it loads of times…’

Jenny Box said, rather sadly, ‘When he realized who I was, he became most assiduous in his inquiries, perhaps anticipating regular work in the future. Came up with a lot of stuff I hadn’t asked for. Some of which was useful. Told me things about you, for instance.’

‘Me?’ Jane didn’t know whether to feel outraged or flattered.

‘About your dalliance in the various spiritual byways. The man seems like a buffoon, but he’s surprisingly good at what he does. Garrulous. Asks questions without you realizing they’re being asked.’

‘Is he as obvious as his car?’

‘Twice as obvious. He… I wanted to know about Underhowle, all right? When I read about Lodge, and when I heard on the radio news that Merrily was involved, I asked Humphries to find out what he could from his contacts. On an impulse, I paid him to go to Underhowle.’

God, what it must be like to have unlimited money . ‘Did you tell Mum what you were doing?’

Jenny Box shook her head.

‘I don’t think she’d be too happy about that,’ Jane said, ‘do you?’

‘Well, that’s what I was coming to see her about. Things he uncovered. Things I should’ve known. I’ve been more stupid than I can say. Do you know at all when she’ll be back?’

‘Could be anytime. She’s with Huw Owen. He’s a bit bonkers, to be honest. They could be there all night.’

‘Jane, listen… I hope I’ve convinced you – because I’ve embarrassed the hell out of myself – that I only want to help her.’

‘Well, yeah, but…’ Jane felt awkward. ‘It’s just… the Website? Uriel?’

‘Yes, I sent your mother’s name to be put on the Uriel Website. For people to pray for her. The Uriel Website’s an international site for promoting women’s spirituality, nothing at all sinister. I put her name on the site because it attracts a weight of prayer from all over the world, and that’s what she’s going to need, believe me. It’s a deep-embedded evil she’s confronting, and she needs the angels at her shoulder.’ Jenny Box stood on the edge of the square. The blur was gone. Certainty shimmered around her now. ‘So would you tell her to come and see me, please? Before Friday. Before she buries that man. Believe me, there’re things she very much needs to know.’

‘Sure, but—’

‘I wasn’t kidding before. Whatever kind of lunatic you think I am, I don’t care. This is an awful satanic thing, and it’s close to us all.’ Well, can’t you—?’

‘No, Jane, you’ve pushed me too far as it is. I won’t have this going out second-hand.’

Jane nodded soberly. ‘OK, I’ll… tell her to call you in the morning.’

‘Thank you, Jane.’

‘I’m sorry, OK?’

‘There’s nothing to be sorry about. Goodnight now. God bless you.’

‘Thanks.’ Jane turned away to walk home, past the forecourt by the entrance to the church, and saw the steeple rising from the middle of the ragged apple trees.

And then she turned back and called out, ‘ Did you see it? Did you really see an angel?’

Jenny Box stopped, her white scarf slipping back. ‘Jane, it doesn’t matter what I saw. It was a personal experience. A confirmation. It’s nothing to do with anyone else. I’m not claiming to be Bernadette. I don’t care whether anyone believes me.’

‘You don’t understand what I’m asking, do you?’

Jenny came up to her. They were alone in front of the lychgate. Jane felt suddenly forlorn.

Jenny reached out and took both Jane’s hands in her own. Jenny’s hands were cold.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I saw it, Jane. And she was beautiful.’

HUW CONCLUDED, ‘ In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, we pray that this building might be free from all powers of darkness, spirits of evil. Defend from harm, Lord, all who enter and leave through this door… ’

The words dissipated, Merrily thought, like the smoke of a single cigarette. This was Huw going through the motions – never leave a possibly disturbed place unblessed.

Ingrid Sollars put all the hanging bulbs out of their misery before locking the Victorian oak door with one of the keys on a jailer’s ring. She pulled at the iron handle. ‘Sometimes it’s come open in the night.’

‘How do you mean?’ Merrily looked at Ingrid: scratched waxed jacket, practical slacks: a woman who looked like she could shoe horses and change oil filters. ‘How could that happen?’

‘It just has. I’m the one who usually locks it. I don’t make mistakes.’

Huw leaned an elbow on the small window ledge. ‘Still happening?’

‘Not for some months, but I still check.’

‘Rogue energy, happen?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘A church or chapel this size is an amplifier for energy, and when a place has been used for worship, it accumulates. When you take away the prayer, where’s it go? If it’s left derelict, the energy might turn negative. If the worship’s replaced by something antisocial or irreligious, it definitely will.’

Merrily stared at him. Did he actually believe that?

‘A spring-water bottling plant?’ Ingrid Sollars said sceptically.

‘Hmm.’ Huw inclined his head. ‘Would you happen to know who the people are who ran this enterprise, Ingrid?’

‘I do know them,’ Ingrid said guardedly. ‘They’re running a similar operation in the Usk Valley. Is it important?’

‘Think you could get them on the phone tonight?’

‘I could try.’ She opened the modern porch door. Outside it was raining. In the distance, Merrily could still hear a chant of Roddy’s Body OUT . It was irregular now and punctuated with laughter.

‘If you could do that,’ Huw said to Ingrid, ‘happen you could find out the name of the contractor who did the conversion.’

Merrily said, ‘What—?’

‘Meanwhile,’ Huw said, ‘there’s the other thing. Come on, now, Ingrid, you’ve been on the brink of telling us.’

Ingrid sighed. ‘Actually, Mr Owen, I’ve been hoping the person concerned would come over herself. I did ask her.’

‘People get coy sometimes, lass. Who is it?’