Phil Rickman - A Crown of Lights

‘When was this?’

‘About three... four... weeks ago? I can’t remember exactly.’

‘Not that long before she had her stroke, then.’

‘I’m making no connection, Mrs Watkins.’

‘Do you believe she was possessed and needed exorcism?’

‘I think she needed help.’

‘Was Dr Coll there?’

‘I have no reason to think so.’

‘So just Ellis and Menna.’

‘I imagine Jeffery was somewhere in the house. His car was there anyway.’

‘But you didn’t see him in the room?’

‘No. What do you want, Mrs Watkins? How can you knowing any of this possibly help Menna now?’

‘She haunted Barbara,’ Merrily said.

‘Haunted?’

‘I’m using the word loosely. Like memories haunt, guilt haunts.’

‘Yes, we know all about that.’

‘And spirits haunt.’

‘Do they really?’ Judith said. ‘Do you seriously believe that?’

‘Wouldn’t be much good in this job if I didn’t.’ What did Judith herself believe? That Ellis was an effective psychologist or an effective and useful con man?

Merrily said, ‘Barbara wanted me to do a kind of exorcism in reverse, to free Menna’s spirit from Weal’s possession. Possession of the dead by the living.’

‘Do you seriously believe—?’

‘ She believed. And I believe we may have a tormented and frantic... essence which can’t find peace. Like a moth in a jar, except—’

‘A moth in a jar doesn’t live long.’

‘Exactly. That’s the difference.’

‘And how would you deal with this, Mrs Watkins?’ Judith placed her hands on her narrow hips. ‘How would you deal with it now ? How would you go about it? Explain to me.’

‘Well, it wouldn’t be an exorcism, because this is not an evil spirit. If we think of her perhaps as still a victim, needing to be rescued. Which is normally done by celebrating a Requiem Eucharist in the appropriate place, in the company of people close to the dead person. In this case it could be you. And Mr Weal, obviously.’

‘Then it will never be done, will it?’

Merrily heard Eileen Cullen, with the echoes of hospital clatter. Swear to God he knew it was there. Twice, he looked back over his shoulder.

‘He won’t let her go.’ She sank into the chair, clutching the bundled coat to her chest. ‘That’s what this is about: possessing her in death as he never fully did in life. And knowing that... how can I let it go on?’

‘Suppose...’ Judith’s voice had risen in pitch. ‘Suppose I could get you into that house, into that room – or into the tomb – to perform your ceremony? You wouldn’t be doing it with his compliance, but you wouldn’t be doing it against his will either, since he wouldn’t know about it. Wouldn’t that be better than nothing from your point of view, Mrs Watkins?’

‘How could you fix that?’

‘I have keys, see – keys to the house and also to the tomb. Menna was often taken unwell, so Jeffery gave me a key to get in and attend to her. When she died, he needed someone to let the masons in, to work on the tomb.’

‘Why would you want to risk letting me in?’

‘Perhaps,’ Judith said, ‘it’s a question of what is right – the right thing to do. I cared for Menna when she was alive. Perhaps it’s the last thing I can do for her.’

‘But it’s not right for me to go into someone’s house without permission.’

‘Well...’ Judith shrugged. ‘That’s your decision, isn’t it?’ She bent over and released a valve on the iron stove; there was a rush of air and a slow-building roar of fire. ‘I was about to say, Mrs Watkins, that Jeffery won’t be there tonight. It’s his lodge night. He never misses it, unlike Councillor Prosser. It’ll be even more important to him now. Always a great comfort to a man, the Masons.’

Merrily said, ‘Perhaps it’s a job for Father Ellis instead.’

Judith looked at her with severity. ‘Does that mean you are afraid, Mrs Watkins?’

MERRILY HAD ARRANGED to meet Gomer in the Black Lion for a sandwich around two-thirty. She was early, but the pub was already filling up with those civilized rambling-club types – anoraks and soft drinks – who seemed to constitute Ellis’s core congregation.

More of them today, substantially more. You looked at them individually and they seemed worryingly genuine: young people with a vision of a new day, elderly people with a new and healthy approach to the evening of the day. There was a buzz of energy in the dispirited, part-painted Black Lion bar, each hug, each ‘Praise God’ passing on a vibration.

Merrily found herself standing next to a white-bearded man of about sixty, one of the few with a glass of beer. She asked him where he was from. Wolverhampton, he said, West Midland Pentecostal.

‘How far’ve you come, sister?’

‘Oh, just from Ledwardine, just over the border. How many of you are there?’

‘About... what, fifty-five? Hired ourselves a coach. Luckily, there’s a lot of retired people in our church, but quite a few youngsters’ve taken a day off work.’ He grinned, relaxed. ‘It’s a question of whose work you put first, isn’t it? We’re going to walk down to this satanist place after lunch and hold some Bible readings outside the gate. I’ve not actually seen Father Ellis yet, but I’m told he’s a very inspiring man.’

‘So they say.’

‘Praise God,’ said the man from Wolverhampton.

Merrily saw Gomer coming in and pointed to the table near the door. She ordered drinks and cheese sandwiches at the bar. Greg Starkey avoided her eyes.

Gomer was wearing his bomber jacket over a grey sweatshirt with ‘Gomer Parry Plant Hire’ on it in red.

‘Three bloody coaches on the car park, vicar.’

‘Mmm. It’s what happens these days – everything goes to extremes. Fastest growing movement in the Church and, hey, they’re going to prove it.’

‘En’t the only ones. Bunch of ole vans backed into a forestry clearing up towards the ole rectory. Lighting camp fires, bloody fools.’

‘Travellers?’

‘Pagans, they reckons.’

Merrily sighed. ‘All we need.’

‘Two police vans set up in the ole schoolyard – Dr Coll’s surgery. Another one in Big Weal’s drive – the ole rectory. Makes you laugh, don’t it? Two biggest bloody villains in East Radnor, both well in with the cops.’

Merrily dumped her cigarettes and lighter on the table. ‘You find out some more?’

‘Been over to Nev’s.’

‘Your nephew, yes?’

‘Ar. Drop in now and then, make sure the boy’s lookin’ after the ole diggers. Anyway, Nev’s with a lawyer in Llandod, plays bloody golf with him. He gived him a ring for me, off the record, like. Word is Big Weal’s favourite clients is ole clients, specially them not too quick up top n’more.’

‘Going senile?’

‘Worries a lot about their wills when they gets like that, see. Who’s gonner get what, how it’s gonner get sorted when they snuffs it. What they needs is a good lawyer – and a good doctor. Puts their mind at rest, ennit? ’Specially folk as en’t had a family lawyer for generations, see.’

‘Incomers? Refugees from Off, in need of guidance?’

‘Exac’ly it, vicar. This boy in Llandod, he reckons Weal gets a steady stream of ole clients recommended by their nice, kindly doctor. That confirm what you yeard, vicar?’