An All-Consuming Fire (16 page)

Too short, Felicity thought. The preceding week had been filled with alarms and fears. Sudden death, even. But here all was beauty and peace. She was safe. She got reluctantly to her feet and looked around for Alfred. Even here the unpleasant encroached. She needed to warn him about the intruders before they caused more trouble.

But Alfred didn’t seem to be there. As soon as the monks filed from the choir she looked around. Most of the ordinands had gone home, but a few married students, for whom this was home, as well as some of the workers who supported the community in the office, kitchen, or gardens had filled the seats behind her. But not the under groundsman. Tony, the senior groundsman, had small children and would be at home with them. Oh, well, it could wait.

Felicity and Cynthia walked back, arm in arm, across the monastery grounds, the clouds bright with ambient light against the dark sky. Felicity wondered what her mother thought of the service, but she didn’t want to break the companionable mood by asking.

It was Cynthia who spoke. “Do you have any idea how amazing that was?”

Felicity’s mouth fell open, but she didn’t say anything.

“Don’t take all this for granted. Don’t ever take it for granted.”

“Um, what do you mean?”

“It’s so civilized. So set apart. Such a unique experience. Do you realize what a minute fraction of the population get to experience such a life? Don’t take it for granted for one minute.”

“Yes, Mother.” Felicity frequently had similar thoughts, but she had no idea her mother might feel that way, too. Did that mean her mother actually approved of her choice? She gave Cynthia’s arm a squeeze in reply.

Felicity pressed the button to open the massive wrought iron gates in the stone wall surrounding the monastery and they crossed the road and slipped around the corner to the cottage. They shared a big bowl of pesto pasta, eating it in front of the Christmas tree with carols on the radio. It was as perfect as it could be without Antony there. She smiled. Next year would be their first Christmas together. The first of a whole lifetime.

The sound of Felicity’s alarm clock broke through her reverie. She had set it so she wouldn’t forget. “Antony and I agreed we’d pray Compline together at the same time every night we’re apart. We, or I, can just do it here rather than going back up to the community.” Felicity said it as a question. She didn’t know how Cynthia would feel about that. And she was wondering what kind of reaction Antony would get on his end from his sometimes prickly sister Gwendolyn.

But Cynthia wasn’t the least equivocal. “Of course. Tell me what to do.”

“Would you like to light the candles in the Advent wreath?” Felicity held out the book of matches to her mother. This was the night when they could finally light the tall white Christ candle in the middle.

“‘He comes in splendor, the King who is our peace; the whole world longs to see him.’” Felicity read the opening line, then passed the book to her mother for the response.

“‘The eternal Word, born of the Father before time began, today emptied himself for our sake and became man…’”

“‘Guide us waking, O Lord, and guard us sleeping; that awake we may watch with Christ, and asleep we may rest in peace.’” The service concluded.

They sat in the light of the advent wreath, listening to the music, “Silent Night, Holy Night.” Peaceful, warm, companionable.

Why couldn’t life always be like this? In this moment Felicity could easily believe the alarms and worries of the past days had all been phantoms.

Christmas

T
he ringing phone broke the spell. Momentary apprehension seized Felicity. What had happened now? But when she heard Antony’s voice at the other end of the line her contentment returned. Doubled even.

They exchanged news. Yes, of course they had both prayed Compline at 9:15 as agreed. Antony’s surprise at his sister Gwena’s consenting to join him and Aunt Beryl had been as great as Felicity’s surprise at Cynthia’s acquiescence. It was hard to beat the Christmas spirit.

“Have you seen anything of Derrick?” Felicity enquired after Gwendolyn’s boyfriend that Antony and Felicity had both found less than satisfactory.

“No, thankfully. He no longer seems to be in the picture.”

Felicity made a satisfied sound, then began telling Antony about the impromptu rehearsal earlier that day. Even after mentioning the smokers under the stage, the chaos of the acting, and the broken lock she was surprised at the change of tone from his end of the line. “Felicity, don’t! Er—that is, be careful.”

“What are you talking about?” He didn’t reply. “Antony—what is it? What’s the matter?” She could tell he didn’t want to say more. “Tell me,” she insisted.

“Maybe it’s nothing. I don’t know what it means. It could be anything.”

“Antony—” She sounded threatening.

“I found a note. In my coat pocket. It fell out when I pulled out my gloves. A warning.”

Felicity frowned. “What? What did it say?”

“It just said ‘This must stop. Or you’ll be sorry.’”

“That’s all? What did it mean?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know. What do they want to stop—the film, the pageant, our questions about Tara’s death…”

Felicity drew in a breath. “…our wedding?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Surely not. Why would anyone want to stop that? You don’t have a jealous old flame in the closet, do you?” His attempt at jocularity sounded strained.

“You know I don’t.” She thought for a minute. “When could it have been put in your pocket?”

“Just about any time in the last couple of days. I don’t remember when I last wore those gloves. It could have been at the college or sometime while we were filming; at the B and B or even after I got here, I suppose.”

“Could it be a joke? Surely if anyone meant real harm they would be more specific. One of your students, perhaps? Have you given any particularly onerous assignments they would want stopped?”

They were both heartened by the idea that it could be something as innocuous as an overburdened ordinand not wanting another reading assignment. Still, when they rang off a few minutes later Antony’s last words to Felicity weren’t “I love you,” but rather a reiterated, “Be careful.”

As a consequence, a short time later when she and her mother were once again walking up the hill to Midnight Mass Felicity couldn’t help looking over her shoulder repeatedly. They were almost to the church when a crunching footstep on the gravel made her spin around. She gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, Alfred. I hoped I’d see you.” She told him quickly about the broken gate.

He frowned, undoubtedly over more work to do at what should be vacation time, but merely said, “Aye.”

Instead of following her on into the church Alfred started down the path to the back of the grounds. “Alfred, I didn’t mean…” She began, but he didn’t hear. She hadn’t meant to keep him away from the Christmas Eve service. She took a step in his direction, then a rumble from the organ drew her to the lights and warmth of the church.

“Holy, Holy, Holy. This night the Word of God was made flesh and dwelt among us.” The monks in their black cassocks and grey scapulars filled the choir. Cynthia leaned over and whispered in Felicity’s ear, “I can’t believe this is real, that I’m really spending Christmas Eve in a monastery.”

Felicity smiled at her mother. Then the sound of an explosion and a blast of light beyond the rose window made her jump. What was that? Antony’s warning rang in her ears louder than the distant boom. Were they under attack?

A second flash of light tore through the sky, followed by another. And another. The monks seemed unperturbed. Didn’t they hear it? Then she smiled. Silly. This was England. Fireworks on Christmas Eve seemed to be a traditional part of the celebration.

She turned to survey the seats behind her. A good congregation filled the nave, people from the wider town, people who worked alongside the monks, several ordinands and their families. Felicity smiled at the wife of one of her fellow students, Kate, delicate and blond, beautiful with her baby asleep in her arms. A perfect picture for Christmas Eve. A picture of safety.

The choir sang the introit in Latin. The echoes ascended to the vaulted ceiling, accompanied by clouds of incense. Bells chimed high up in the tower; the high altar glowed. And beyond the rose window flashes of light continued to fill the sky like an intermittent Christmas star. One glorious bouquet of white flowers adorned the chancel, making Felicity think of her wedding flowers which would stand in the same place so soon.

After communion they sat in silence. And yet not silent. Clouds of witnesses surrounded them. The air was alive with angel wings. Holy, Holy, Holy.

Then, singing “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” they processed to the Holy Family Chapel for the blessing of the Christmas crib, which Felicity still thought of as a crèche. And this a most unusual crib: Three banners proclaiming: Word, Word, Word, Word, Word and stacks of books surrounded the holy infant. The chapel altar frontal read, “And the Word was Made Flesh.” All so appropriate for a community renown for their scholarship.

The crib was blessed with prayers, holy water and incense. Then everyone shook hands and exchanged “Happy Christmas” in hushed voices.

“I love being kissed by monks.” Cynthia almost giggled as they left the church. Walking back home was like wandering into Alice’s Wonderland garden as giant fireworks flowers suddenly burst into bloom over their heads. The glittering, erupting blossoms lighted their way home.

Felicity looked at the clock when they were back in the cottage. “Dawn mass is at 6:45, Mother. That’s just over five hours from now. Shall I let you sleep?”

Cynthia paused in the act of kicking off her shoes, sensible, low-heeled shoes, Felicity noted with satisfaction. “Certainly not. What kind of a piker do you think I am?”

“Right.” Felicity kissed her mother on the cheek. “Good night, then. And Happy Christmas.”

Felicity went to bed, but not to sleep. Not yet. Just as they had arranged Antony rang at One-thirty. He reported that they had gone into Liverpool Cathedral for a Christmas Eve Mass glorious enough to impress even Gwena with two thousand worshippers, a full orchestra and chorus and lavish decor. Felicity wanted to hear all the details, but she could feel herself fading. Her final “Happy Christmas” was a mere mumble.

It seemed like minutes later when her alarm rang. She pulled on the warm clothes she had left on the chair next to her bed and went to Cynthia’s room. Before she could knock on the door, though, Cynthia appeared, ready to go. Outside the cottage her first lungful of biting cold air brought Felicity fully awake.

“Dawn Mass, you said. So where’s the dawn?” Cynthia asked.

Felicity started to answer, then stumbled on the uneven path. She held Cynthia’s arm on the stone steps ascending the hill to the church.

The interior of the dimly lit church seemed cavernous. Only two other ordinands joined the brethren at the side altar for a brief, silent meditation before the crib. Felicity hadn’t realized this was to be a standing mass. As all masses had been in medieval times, Felicity reminded herself. She quickly found it concentrated the mind. There was no danger of a sleepy communicant dozing off.

And apparently Cynthia was concentrating, too, even if not on the spiritual. “What a gorgeous robe thingy,” she whispered in Felicity’s ear and pointed to the celebrant whose back was to them.

“Chasuble.” Felicity supplied the word. And, indeed, it was beautiful—cloth of gold with rose embroidery like a French tapestry. Very old. Quite valuable, she guessed.

For just the briefest of moments Felicity wondered if there could be any way the misfortunes of the film company could be linked to the monastery and its treasures? It was only last Easter that the theft of their priceless icon had led to murder and mayhem. And Antony did provide a link between the two. The fireworks outside his study—could they be connected to the fire at Ampleforth?

She chided herself for fantasizing. Father Paulinus and Tara’s deaths had nothing to do with the community. They were miles away and miles apart from each other..

Cynthia nudged her and they moved forward together to receive the Gift from the One whose birthday they celebrated.

They were back outdoors when the community bell rang the Angelus—three rings for each of three Ave Marias. And then the birds began. A glorious dawn chorus to welcome Christmas morning. Cynthia pointed eastward. “Ah, here’s the dawn!” Red ribbons garlanded the sky.

Returning to the warmth of the cottage Felicity tumbled back into bed, pulled the duvet up to her chin and was instantly asleep. She was in a large echoing hall—whether a church or a castle she was unsure. Tapestries adorned the walls. She reached out to touch the golden embroidery, but pulled back when she realized the figure was not a winter tree filled with birds, but a gibbet complete with a staring body. Felicity tried to run, but tripped over into a stack of books adorning an altar. The chasuble-clad priest frowned at her as the books crashed against the altar.

Finally the blows penetrated her consciousness and Felicity realized the knocks were on her door. “Yes?” Cynthia entered carrying a stocking Felicity had put in the laundry two days earlier. “What?” Felicity sat up.

“I read a blog about English Christmas customs.” Cynthia sounded inordinately proud of herself. “Apparently tradition demands opening your stockings in bed.” She placed the lumpy sock in Felicity’s lap.

Felicity felt the thrill of being ten years old again, standing in front of the fireplace with her brothers, longing to grab her stocking, yet not wanting to spoil the delicious suspense. “Mother, you really are amazing.” Slowly she drew out each object and placed it beside her on the bed as a beaming Cynthia looked on: a velvet ribbon bookmark, a pen, a small bag of licorice all-sorts… Felicity reached deeper into the foot.

“Oh, a snow globe.” She turned the little glass ball upside down and watched it snow on the snowman standing in the woods. “I loved these as a child.”

“I remember. I was so pleased when I found that in the market.”