An All-Consuming Fire (17 page)

Felicity tried to reply, but her throat closed.

“Put your robe on, Darling. I have breakfast ready.” Cynthia led the way to the little kitchen where bowls of porridge brightened with Christmas fruit mix, a platter of bacon on toast and a pot of tea awaited.

“This is delicious, Mother.” Felicity was too amazed even to question the new Cynthia she was encountering. Had this person been there all along and Felicity not seen her? Or had this time the two of them were spending together brought out a completely new woman in her mother?

“Mmm, I’d love another cup of tea, but we can’t dawdle.” Felicity pushed her cup away.

“Don’t tell me. Another service? Those monks do have stamina don’t they?”

“Yes, they do, but this one isn’t at the community, it’s on up the road—parish mass at Saint Saviour’s.”

A brisk walk up the road past the community grounds took them to a grey stone Victorian church with bells chiming merrily from the tower under its spire. Inside, the sanctuary was heaving with children. Felicity looked around and was pleased to spot Drue and Flora with two women who were apparently their mother and grandmother. The warm, family communion service with lots of carols was much more like the ones Felicity remembered from her own childhood. She could still feel the flush of pleasure she had experienced on those rare occasions when her whole family attended church together.

After the service Father Douglas invited everyone to step next door for tea and sherry at the vicarage. While Cynthia sipped her sweet sherry and talked to the vicar—Felicity hoped she wasn’t flirting—Felicity sought out Flora and her brother. “How nice to see you here this morning. Is this your mum?”

“And my gran,” Flora introduced them.

Felicity told the women how pleased she was to have Flora and Drue in the pageant. They agreed it was a fine thing for the young people and assured Felicity they were looking forward to the event. Felicity commented that she had been pleased with the excellent job Father Douglas had done encouraging his congregation to attend the Epiphany pageant. She had good hopes that Saint Saviour’s would be well represented.

As the women chatted, though, Felicity could feel Drue’s growing anxiety. Under the excuse of getting a glass of sherry, Felicity took the boy aside. “What is it, Drue?”

“You ain’t gonna snitch, are ya?”

“You mean tell your mother what you were doing under the stage yesterday? No, I hadn’t intended to. Not as long as it doesn’t happen again.”

Drue seemed to relax a little, but his forehead still creased with anxiety. “I don’t want Syd to think…” He bit his lip. “He said he’d do for us if we told.”

“You didn’t tell. I caught you. But what does Syd have to do with this?”

“Nothin’.” Drue spoke too fast and darted away.

Felicity considered. Was Syd running some sort of gang? It was obvious he liked throwing his weight around, but was it something more sinister than that? Was Syd leading the younger boys at the centre astray? She would have a chat with Corin and Nick when they got back tomorrow.

In the meantime, she and Cynthia had the rest of Christmas Day. Back at the cottage they opened their gifts in front of the fireplace—only two parcels under the tree, since Felicity and Antony had agreed to exchange their gifts when they would be together again—that a gift in itself—and any other gifts from family and friends would show up in the form of wedding presents this year.

Felicity took a red and white candy-striped package from under the tree and handed it to her mother. Cynthia tore off the paper and exclaimed over the bright sapphire pashmina stole nestled in the tissue paper. She pulled it out and wound it around her neck before handing Felicity a shiny red package containing a soft, supple pair of fur-lined leather gloves. Felicity hugged Cynthia and kissed her. “Thank you, they’re lovely.” Then she laughed. “It seems we had similar ideas—to keep each other warm.”

Cynthia shook her head. “I don’t know how you put up with it—this climate. But since you seem determined to stay here you might as well be equipped.”

Then they turned to preparing their Christmas Feast: Roast chicken with wine gravy, broiled, herbed tomatoes, grilled onions, Brussels sprouts, parsnips… Felicity set a folding table in the living room then ran outside to gather berry-laden branches from bushes along the path. By the time Cynthia had added the final touches to their dinner Felicity had the room decked and the candles lit.

When they were seated Felicity said, “We have to pull our crackers first.”

“Oh, do we need crackers? There’s some in the cupboard.” Cynthia started to rise.

“No, Mother. Here.” Felicity picked up one end of a gaily-wrapped tube she had placed on her plate.

“Oh, yes. That blog mentioned it.” Cynthia grasped the other end. On the count of “three” they gave a sharp tug. The popper snapped, the ends came off and the contents flew out.

The ritual continued with the women pulling Cynthia’s cracker, unfolding and donning the red and yellow paper crowns and playing with the miniature toys. “Okay, now the best part,” Felicity said, unfolding a slip of paper from her cracker. “The jokes. What does Santa suffer from if he gets stuck in a chimney?”

Cynthia looked blank.

“Claustrophobia!” Cynthia’s groan was louder than Felicity’s crow of delight. “Your turn now.”

Cynthia located the small piece of paper that had fallen on the floor. “Why does Santa have three gardens?”

Felicity shook her head. “No idea.”

“So he can ‘ho ho ho’!”

The meal continued in a similar jolly mood, timed just right to end with watching the Queen’s speech on the television while they ate thick slabs of Christmas cake washed down with cups of steaming tea. After the brief, encouraging message they raised their teacups in salute while “God Save the Queen” played.

“Oh, that was lovely, but I can’t believe I’m so full,” Cynthia groaned. “I’ll have to admit that cake wrapped in marzipan and fondant icing is nothing like the fruitcake I know.”

Felicity smiled and refrained from saying
I told you so
. “There’s about an hour of daylight left. Let’s go for a walk.”

Cynthia was on her feet. “Oh, yes. A nice country ramble in the fresh air is exactly what I need.”

They bundled up, Cynthia wearing her new pashmina and Felicity her new gloves and set out walking down the hill away from the monastery, toward the Dewsbury Canal. The moist, cool air was almost like walking in a thin cloud and the moisture gave a dewy freshness to the green fields and bushes. “So lovely to be only five minutes from open countryside.” Cynthia drew in a deep breath.

They came to the old towpath, Felicity’s feet picking up the firm footing of the way trodden by men and horses perhaps for centuries. Once the canal had been a major route for transportation of goods; now it was a useful recreation area. Her mind had just wandered to Mr. Toad’s time on a barge, disguised as a washerwoman, when her mother’s voice cut in on her reverie. “I know you hate my interfering, but, really, darling. Think how cold it is.”

“Hmm?” Felicity’s soft reply covered her apprehension. It had been days since her mother had meddled in her wedding plans. What would it be now?

“I know your bridesmaids’ dresses are velvet with long sleeves but wouldn’t you let me buy faux fur stoles to go with them? I saw them online yesterday and they were really lovely.” Her voice was almost pleading.

Felicity gasped—more at the tone of Cynthia’s voice than at the suggestion. Did it really mean that much to her mother?

“I do so want to help. And I haven’t been able to do anything but tie a few bows.”

Felicity still didn’t answer.

Cynthia ducked her head “Sorry. Silly idea, I suppose. I just thought—”

“No, no, Mother. Actually you’re quite right. They sound lovely. I’m sure Judy and Gwena will appreciate the warmth. And your thoughtfulness.”

Felicity turned and hugged her mother. Now it was Cynthia’s turn to be speechless. Especially when Felicity took her hand and they walked on side-by-side, Felicity thinking about the hidden depths she had seen in her mother lately. “Mother, have you ever considered becoming a Friend of the Community?”

Cynthia looked as stunned as Felicity felt at her own suggestion. Where had that thought come from? “Me? Become a nun?” Cynthia blinked.

“No, Mother, of course not. Friends aren’t nuns, just people with strong ties to the Community.” She wondered briefly if she should just let it pass, then continued, “Actually, I meant it. I know it sounds silly, but you seem strangely in tune to things here—in a different sort of way. I mean you’d get regular updates on events here and all that. It’s just that… Never mind, daft, I know.” She didn’t want to say that if Andrew never came back her mother might need something new in her life.

Cynthia didn’t reply, but she looked thoughtful.

The canal turned to the west, curving around the hill the monastery sat on, taking them beyond the back of the property. “Look.” Cynthia pointed up the hill. “Isn’t that where your quarry is?”

Felicity looked up the hill, across the road, beyond the stone wall bordering the property. Yes, indeed, halfway up the hill one could just make out the lip of the quarry. It seemed so secluded from the monastery side, she hadn’t realize it was visible from the open countryside. And there, in the stone wall, almost hidden by bordering bushes, was the rusted metal gate. “Let’s go up here, Mother. I want to see if Alfred got that gate fixed yet.”

A few minutes climb up the hill told her that he hadn’t. The lock looked solid enough, but with one twist it was in her hand and the gate creaked open. “We might as well go up this way. I hope there hasn’t been more partying in the theatre.”

Approaching from this side brought them to the lower edge of the quarry wall with the gently sloping path Felicity had suggested they might use to bring the animals in. Now she saw, though, that the way was not as disused as she had thought. Broken grass and a few footprints in the mud showed recent traffic.

And the floor of the quarry confirmed her worst fears. Spent skyrocket tubes, firework cones and Roman candles littered the stage. She had to admit it would have made an effective base for lighting fireworks and thought briefly of the slab of plywood her father had kept in the garage to bring out every Fourth of July as a launch pad for their backyard fireworks display with Jeff and Charlie squabbling over whose turn it was to light the next rocket.

Felicity bit her lip. Her brothers would be here for her wedding. But what of her father? Would he be here to walk her down the aisle as she had always dreamed of?

Felicity gave herself a little shake and returned to the business at hand. “Looks like it must have been a good show.” She held up an empty packet that had contained sparklers—always her favorite as a girl. Again she was in her own backyard, a fizzing sparkler in each hand, demonstrating her latest ballet routine.

“More than a good show it looks like.” Cynthia, on the quarry floor beyond the stage pointed to a pile of rubbish.

With a groan of frustration Felicity hurried to her side. Cynthia bent to pick up one of the discarded syringes. “Don’t touch it!” Felicity stopped her. “That does it. Why hasn’t Alfred done something about this?” Maybe she should call the police. But what would the brethren think of that? “I’ve got to find Father Anselm.” She started up the hill.

Even with returning to the community at her best speed, however, by the time they arrived the Prior was already in the church preparing for the culmination of the celebrations in the Second Evensong of Christmas. There didn’t seem anything to do but take their place in the nave.

Tonight Felicity found her concentration broken by more than the pops and bangs of fireworks beyond the monastery walls. Although, the skyrockets lighting the windows did seem oddly appropriate for the collect, “O God, who hast caused this holy night to shine with the illumination of the true Light: Grant… that as we have known the mystery of that Light upon earth…”

But what would the Superior say? Would Father Anselm withdraw his permission for use of the quarry for the pageant? What if the police closed it off? Would it be all her fault for blowing the whistle? Would Alfred lose his job? Perhaps she should give him one more chance.

She looked around, but he wasn’t in the sparse congregation scattered behind her.

She could think of only one answer. She needed to talk to Antony. Even before the echoes of the organ voluntary faded she was on her feet, heading for the cottage.

When Antony answered her ring, the comfort of talking to him was vitiated by the concern in his voice. “Wait. Felicity, don’t do anything. Whatever’s going on, I don’t want you involved.”

She knew the very hint of trouble brought back to him the anxiety of dangers they had encountered in the past months—as it did for her. “Don’t go near the quarry. Don’t leave the cottage. Is the door locked?”

“Yes, silly. Of course it is.” She frowned. It was, wasn’t it? Antony knew her habit of leaving the door on the latch to avoid having to carry a key.

“It’s almost time for Compline. Then the community will be in the Greater Silence, so you can’t bother Father Anselm tonight anyway. I’ll catch the earliest train I can in the morning.” Then he groaned. “No, wait. No trains on Boxing Day.”

“Are you serious?”

“It’s true. Let me think. Maybe I can talk Gwena into bringing me. Or I’ll rent a car. Felicity, whatever it takes, I’ll be there. You stay safe!”

Boxing Day

F
elicity was just combing her hair, still wet from the shower, when she heard the key in the latch. She flew to the hall, her arms already open to welcome Antony, when she stopped at the sight of the petite blond woman in a red coat. “Gwena! How lovely to see you.” She proceeded to embrace her soon-to-be sister-in-law.

Gwen returned the hug then pulled back to regard her. “Good to see you, too. Even if Squib here did rout me out of bed before dawn. Not that I minded that so much, it was having to reassure him every mile of the way. He was expecting to be confronted with your bloody corpse.”