An All-Consuming Fire (22 page)

An image of the mousy lay brother who had abducted Felicity months earlier flitted across Antony’s mind. He wrote down Sylvester’s name, then changed tack. “The police seem to think Alfred’s death could have been an accident. And if someone involved in the drugs business thought you had found something—something you were writing in your notebook…”

Felicity chewed thoughtfully on a piece of toast, then held up her hand. “Wait. Stop. This isn’t getting us anywhere. Take it in order. What were the first things to happen?”

“Father Paulinus. Then the fireworks explosion—if that was even part of all this. Then the camera thing—if it really was sabotaged. Then the hit-and-run, then Tara.”

“Hm, all that seems focused on the mini-series. Could someone be trying to stop the film?”

Antony frowned. “Who would want to do that?”

Felicity took another bite of toast. “Well, a competing film company? Someone with a grudge against Harry? Or Sylvia? Someone with a grudge against the mystics?” She grimaced. “Sorry. Not a laughing matter.”

Antony considered her words. Competing film company? What about that Australian company that wanted Harry to work for them? But that wasn’t competition, was it? Felicity continued probing. “Think about it—Rievaulx, Ampleforth—did you see anyone hanging around the set? Anyone not part of the crew? Were you aware of Harry or Sylvia getting any threatening phone calls?”

Antony shook his head. “No, nothing.”

“Okay, what about someone in the company? Someone Harry owes money to, for example?”

“If that were the case it seems like stopping the film would be counterproductive. Harry doesn’t give the impression of being short of a quid or two. Still…” Money could be a strong motivator. Maybe he could find out if Studio Six was behind on salaries or anything. He had seen a worried look in Harry’s eyes whenever the topic of selling the series to the BBC came up. It was likely he would be in trouble if he couldn’t sell it.

“The company must be insured. Is it possible they could collect more from a ruined project that from selling the series?”

The question hung in the air. Antony determined to find out all he could about the management of Studio Six. Perhaps he could ask some pertinent questions when they resumed filming on Monday. But first, he would look closer to home. The more recent happenings had been right here on the community grounds. That implied a culprit close at hand.

“Felicity, you stay in bed. Don’t even go out in the garden without your mother.” He spoke more sharply than he meant to, but if he let himself he could easily become overwhelmed with concern for Felicity. “I have to go to noon mass—I told Father Anselm I’d give the homily. I can’t imagine what I was thinking. Anyway, I’ll look in on the pageant rehearsal afterwards.”

“Oh, would you please? I’m sure you could give Gwen some good support. She knows all about productions, but I don’t think dealing with stroppy youth is really her thing.”

Antony kissed her and let her think his motive was purely to help with the pageant. He didn’t want her worrying with more thoughts of evil deeds. “Remember, you’ve got a wedding to get ready for.”

“And don’t you be forgetting that, either.” She waved him away.

Antony walked slowly up the hill, forcing his mind from Felicity, from the unexplained deaths and mayhem around him. He had to focus on a more ancient slaughter, one that people still struggled to make sense of. Today was the Feast of the Holy Innocents. What could he say in recalling the long-ago deaths of those blameless children in Bethlehem that could be of help to people in this day? How did one make sense of any of the evil in the world?

Today not even the peace and beauty of the community church served to order Antony’s thoughts as his feet carried him automatically to the vestry, his mind struggling to recall what he knew of the story. Estimates of the number killed varied wildly from 144,000 to fewer than twenty. Given the population of Bethlehem in the first century, a lower number was more believable. The historicity of the event itself was sometimes questioned by scholars. But there was no doubt of Herod’s use of violence to protect his power. Including murdering his own sons.

As he tied the cincture on his white alb Antony’s mind leapt ahead. Killing to protect power. A strong motive for murder. Could that be behind the present deaths? No, he jerked his mind back with a physical shake of his head. He must stay with the subject at hand.

Whatever the historical facts, the traditional account held together, especially as a spur for the Flight into Egypt and as a fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy and paralleling Pharaoh’s slaughter of the Hebrew children in Egypt. But most of all it was consistent with human nature. Antony sighed. Throughout the history of humankind there had been those who were willing to kill for their own purposes—those who would put their personal gain above the right of others to life itself.

“Hymnum canentes martyrum

dicamus Innocentium,…”

Sing praise to the martyrs,
let us say of the innocents…

The chant began and Antony automatically followed along in the procession up the aisle. In the period of quiet meditation that followed his homily Antony wasn’t sure what he had said, but he knew he could do no better than the words of the collect which he repeated again in his own mind:
Heavenly Father, whose children suffered at the hands of Herod, though they had done no wrong; by the suffering of your Son and by the innocence of our lives frustrate all evil designs and establish your reign of justice and peace…

That was it. For all who suffer innocently, frustrate all evil and establish justice and peace. Amen and amen.

He was still holding that thought uppermost in his mind a short time later as the sound of a ragged, but enthusiastically sung “We Three Kings” made Antony hurry toward the quarry. If they were already at the coming of the Magi rehearsal must be nearly completed as the visit of the Wise Men to the manger was the grand conclusion.

And Gwendolyn’s directing was geared to ensure that that fact would be lost on no one. “…Westward leading, still proceeding/ Guide us to Thy perfect light.” The carol came to an end and Gwena strode to the middle of the stage. Even in these rustic surroundings Antony was impressed with how his sister’s stage presence commanded the attention of everyone in the theatre. She barely had to raise her voice to be heard clearly throughout the quarry. “Excellent. Wonderful! You’re all stars!” She flung out her arms to incorporate all her youthful troupe. “This will be really, really good on the night. You have all the energy and enthusiasm it will take to put this thing over.

“I want you all to picture it with me. Everyone in costumes, torches flaring all around the rim of the quarry. Live animals around the stage. The theatre full of your admiring audience—family, friends—”

“Enemies,” Syd murmured just loudly enough to draw guffaws from those nearest him.

Gwena undoubtedly heard, but she ignored it as she turned to her lead Wise Man. “Melchior, you were wonderful. A natural. You have real stage presence.” Some of Syd’s assumed insouciance fell away as he puffed out his chest. “Now, we don’t want any of this to be lost on our audience. Especially when they bring in the animals. You know, we say in the business that’s the hardest thing to do—work with animals. They are terrific scene stealers and we don’t want that to happen to you.

“Caspar, Baltasar, all three of you, come with me. We shall have a deportment lesson. You are doing very, very well, but you must walk like kings.” She demonstrated. “Head up—so. Shoulders back. There now—stride like you own the earth.”

Antony was amazed as Syd and Dylan and Shaun, who normally mimicked Syd’s slouching swagger, were transformed before his eyes. “That’s it. You’ve got it. Now. Your gifts. Remember, you are carrying gold and costly spices, the perfume of Arabia. Hold them out. Higher. That’s right. Proudly. Kings presenting to a King. The King of Kings.

“Now, when you turn, feel the weight of your robes. It’ll be easier when you’re in costume, but try imagining it now. Heavy fur, velvet, tapestry hanging from your shoulders. Stand tall and turn so your capes swirl out.” Antony wasn’t sure whether they actually followed her instructions or Gwen just drew such vivid word pictures that he could see it in his mind, but he was amazed at the transformation in the scene before him.

“Now, everybody,” she turned back to the full cast assembled on the stage, “Rehearsal Monday. In the meantime, I want you to practice staying in character until then. Mary.” She pointed to Flora, peeking shyly around her mass of brown curls. “I want everyone who sees you the rest of the weekend to ask why you’re so happy. I want you to practice radiating joy. You’re the Mother of God. Think about that. All the time.

“Joseph,” Joaquin all but saluted her. “Protective. Caregiver. Strong. Everyone who comes near you feels safe. You’re the man to have around in a crisis. You can handle it. You’ve been chosen by God almighty to be the earthly protector of His Son. Got that?”

Antony could have sworn Joaquin grew four inches before his eyes.

And back to Syd and his scruffy henchmen. “Kings. Stately rulers. Wisdom. Men of knowledge and determination. Walk proud.”

She went on, inspiring the shepherds to faithfulness, obedience, courage. When Gwen finished with the angels Antony all but expected to see them fly away in their beauty and grace rather than walking the earth. He wanted to tell her how brilliant she was. Just a short time with these young people and his sister had given them a vision of whole new self-concepts. But she was busy working with Tanya, inspiring the narrator to more powerful projection, more precise elocution, so instead he approached Syd.

What could he ask him to get any idea of his possible involvement in the recent string of misdeeds? How realistic was it to suspect Syd of attacking Felicity because he feared she had spotted some involvement of his in the drug use that had gone on in the Quarry? And if Felicity had been correct in sensing a second presence could it have been Dylan or Shaun? They certainly seemed to follow every lead from the older youth. “Um, sorry I got here late. Sounds like it went well, though.” He supposed that was as good an opener as any.

“Yeah, brilliant,” Dylan said.

“Is she really your sister?” Shaun looked at Gwena in open-mouthed wonder. The implication was clear. How could anyone so stellar possibly be related to such a weedy priest?

Antony assured them she really was. “Did you have a good Christmas?” Their colorless answers told him that ploy was a washout. “Enjoying your holiday?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “What did you do last night?”

Syd frowned. “What are you—my mum?” His slouch returned, then he remembered Gwen’s instructions and squared his shoulders. “Same as any night—kicked around with me mates. Right?” He looked at Shaun and Dylan for confirmation. They agreed.

How could he get them to be more specific? What else could he ask, Antony wondered.

Then Syd continued. “Why? Somebody been slashing tires again? It weren’t us. You aren’t gonna get me on any more ASB charges. You can ask that old priest if you don’t believe us.”

“Old priest?” Antony frowned.

“Yeah, Father S. S for silly.” Dylan and Shaun guffawed. “He were at the centre all evening, weren’t he?”

Antony certainly would check that out. Did it clear Syd or implicate Father Sylvester?

He opened his mouth to ask another question, but was interrupted by a red-faced Corin. The frequently on-edge ordinand looked ready to boil over. Syd and the others made their escape. “Corin, what is it?”

“My dad.” He swiped the blond hair out of his eyes with an angry gesture that exaggerated the size of his hand. “Same old, same old—I suppose I should be used to it by now, but this time it’s the pageant.”

“What?”

“The sheep. He’s decided we can’t use them. Says he doesn’t want to stir up the beasts. As if those dumb creatures could be stirred up. It’s not the sheep. It’s just an excuse. He’ll do anything to block my work here. I’ll bet he agreed to let us use them just so he could leave us in the lurch at the last moment. I wouldn’t put it past him.” It seemed that once he’d started Corin was determined to pour out his turmoil over the long-standing conflict with his father.

“He thinks by pulling stunts like this he can discourage me from becoming a priest—get me back to that godforsaken sheep farm. I’d see him in Hades first. It comes to the same thing.”

“Have you tried to talk to him?”

“Talk? I talk myself blue in the face trying to explain about my sense of calling, my passion to be a priest. He thinks I should be able to just switch all that to a piece of land because it’s been in our family since the flood. Why can’t he see my doing that is just as likely as his taking holy orders? I’ll grow out of it he says. Grow out of it—I’m twenty-seven years old!”

Antony had been aware of the conflict between Corin and his father, but hadn’t realized the emotional power behind it. He tried to say something conciliatory to him, but the best he could think of was to suggest Kendra might know a nearby farmer who would be willing to loan his sheep. This was Yorkshire, after all.

Feeling a considerable failure for his lack of concrete counsel for Corin and wondering what helpful advice he could possibly have given the young man, Antony walked on into town to Saint James. The tall, yellow brick tower proclaimed the High Street presence of the former church now turned over to Churches Together to run as a community centre. A red-lettered banner hung over the door announcing their main focus which was the active youth program, but posters lining the porch outlined a variety of other programs: women’s aerobic morning every Tuesday and Thursday, mothers and toddlers group three mornings a week, and weekly tea afternoons for old age pensioners.

Father Sylvester, looking shrunken in his grey clerical shirt, his pale eyes hidden behind thick lenses, came suddenly alive when Antony asked him about activities at the centre the evening before.

“Yes, yes indeed. How kind of you to take an interest, Father. Yes, come. Let me show you. He led the way toward the former church hall which now served as a multipurpose room and gymnasium. He stopped just inside the door and swept the room with his arm. “Well, what do you think? It took forever to get committee approval. Of course, it isn’t a listed building or anything, but we had to be sure there wouldn’t be anything to offend the OAP’s or be inappropriate for the kiddies. They all use the space, too, you know. But I think they’re doing a rather fine job. What do you say?