An All-Consuming Fire (30 page)

But she couldn’t avoid the complication of the pageant so easily. It had to be gotten through.

Felicity and Gwendolyn spent most of the day at the quarry, making sure costumes and props were in the right places and that the stage was marked with masking tape so their young thespians would know where to stand without getting the scene hopelessly out of balance. Kendra set up her borrowed sound system and checked it repeatedly, making sure the narrative and music would reverberate from the quarry walls.

And Nick and Corin seemed to be everywhere at once seeing to the animals. “The camel and his handler will be here at three o’clock. I just put another bale of hay in his pen,” Nick said, on his way to fill the animal troughs with buckets of water which had to be carried from a hosepipe in the community garden. “I read camels eat three and a half kilos of hay a day and he’ll share his pen with the llamas.” He looked around. They haven’t arrived yet, have they? They should be here soon.”

Felicity observed the sheer drop at the far end of the quarry behind the stage. “Be sure you keep the gates secure, Nick. We don’t want any of our animals going over that precipice.”

“No worries,” Corin said, coming up behind Nick with more water. “The sheep are secure.” At that moment there was a lull in the activity and Felicity could hear the soft baa of the band of ewes Corin had secured from a local farmer. “And I brought Shep.”

“Shep?” Felicity asked.

“Our sheep dog from home.” Felicity saw the black and white collie at Corin’s heels. “Sheep won’t be led, they have to be herded. Shep can take care of that for us.”

Felicity wished she had his confidence. And what if Mary’s donkey balked, she wondered? She had visions of Shep nipping the donkey’s heels and their chubby, gentle Flora, as Mary, being dumped on the ground. Why had they ever undertaken this? It was guaranteed to be a disaster. Maybe no one would come. That seemed to be the most comforting thought she could come up with.

Antony, Jeff and two of the youth who had been installing the tiki torches around the rim of the quarry joined them. “I think I saw the llama trailer pulling off the road, Corin. You might want to go show them where to put the beasts.”

Felicity just shook her head. Antony continued his directions, “Drue and Joaquin, if you want to help us fill those braziers with charcoal I think we can take a break and go get something to eat then.”

Gwen and Kendra said they would stay there to help any early arrivals get into costume, but Felicity was more than happy to take an extended tea break.

It was starting to get dark when Felicity and Antony returned to the quarry, having sent the others on ahead to get into costume. Some of the youth were in place to direct visitors across the community grounds and Father Sylvester sat at a small table at the top of the quarry steps, selling tickets to guests who had already begun to arrive. When Felicity saw everyone’s enthusiasm and the enormous effort that had gone into organizing every detail she felt ashamed of her earlier desire for it all just to go away.

And when, halfway down the stairs, she emerged from under the bare, but still thick, tree branches, she stopped with a gasp of delight. “Antony, it’s amazing!” Torches flared, turning the rim of the quarry into a circle of fire, braziers glowed among the seats, and the ebullience of the audience supplied warmth and energy as members of the well-bundled assembly set up their folding chairs, then pulled flasks of steaming tea, coffee or mulled wine from picnic baskets, sharing leftover mince pies or slabs of Christmas cake with their neighbors. The sense of community and feeling of good will was far beyond what any of them could have imagined.

And then the disparate band began its opening number “Tomorrow Will Be My Dancing Day.” Little matter that the drums and trumpet nearly drowned out the keyboard and guitar, Felicity could have danced the rest of the way down the stairs. “Let’s put our chairs there.” Felicity pointed to an empty space halfway down the quarry slope. Before they had their chairs set up they were joined by Cynthia, Andrew, Jeff, Charlie and Judy, as Felicity had expected, but to her surprise Cynthia instructed them to save seating space for Harry and Sylvia.

Felicity frowned. Would even Harry have the temerity to come here if he had killed a man under the stage? “I didn’t think Sylvia was speaking to him after the porn film revelation.”

“I get the idea she made his giving that up a condition of her taking him back.”

“But the drugs?” Felicity insisted. “We saw him.”

Cynthia nodded. “He agreed to cooperate with the prosecution. I got the idea that was why they let him out on bail. And, by the way, I invited them to the wedding. That’s all right, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is. It’s a church service everyone is welcome.” Although Harry Forslund wasn’t her favorite person—she certainly wouldn’t want him to bark ‘cut’ in the middle of the ceremony—and she was far from convinced of his innocence. But the police would get to the truth soon. It wasn’t her problem.

In the meantime, Felicity had responsibilities of her own. “I’d better get backstage to see what I can do to help.” She glimpsed just the head of the camel in Nick’s pen above the quarry rim. “Oh, good. Looks like all the animals are in place. At least the four-footed ones.” She gave Antony a quick hug, then hurried on down to the back of the stage.

It was organized chaos. Gwena thrust a pile of surplices into her arms. “See what you can do to get everybody in some sort of costume. I swear half these youngsters never turned up for a rehearsal. Now they think they can go on stage.” She shook her head and hurried on.

Felicity threw herself into the task at hand, moving from one uncostumed youth to the next, demanding, “What role?” If they didn’t know, she pulled a surplice over their head and sent them to the corner where Kendra was assembling her angel choir. If they said shepherd, she found a charity shop dressing gown for them and tied a dark bath towel around their head. Corin or someone had even supplied a collection of small tree limbs to be used as shepherd staffs. “Shepherds on the hillside,” she pointed to the western slope of the quarry just below the sheep pen.

By some miracle Gwen and Kendra had everyone in place by the time the instrumentalists concluded the last strains of “In the Deep Midwinter” and Tanya began the narration, projecting just as Felicity had instructed her. “In those days, a decree when out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.”

“And everyone went to their own town to register.” Balram’s mellow voice came in. “So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and lineage of David.”

“Taking with him Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child,” Tanya concluded.

Now the angelic choir began “O Little Town of Bethlehem” and Felicity knew Mary and Joseph would be beginning their descent from the back, down the sloping stairs through the center of the audience. She shot up a brief plea that the donkey would be in a cooperative mood.

This would perhaps be a good moment for Felicity to slip unseen up the side of the quarry so she could circle around and take her seat beside Antony after the holy family had completed their trek onto the quarry floor.

She made her way as unobtrusively as she could around the shepherds, keeping to the shadows of bushes, so as not to attract any attention. A swift glance over her shoulder, though, told her she needn’t worry. All eyes appeared to be glued on Mary and Joseph who proceeded at a stately pace, encouraged by the slices of sugar beet Joseph had stashed in the satchel he carried slung over one shoulder.

“We hear the Christmas angels/ The great glad tidings tell/ O come to us, abide with us/ Our Lord Emmanuel.” The choir concluded as Felicity gained the rim of the quarry. Below her the narration continued with the familiar story of Joseph and Mary being turned away from the busy inn and settling in a stable for the night. Felicity knew that, leaving the donkey tethered below, they would be ascending the stairs at the side of the stage to begin forming the tableau beside the rough manger Corin and Nick had been required to construct on their own without Alfred’s help.

Had Harry Forslund really killed the handyman over a drug deal gone wrong? She forced the whole thing out of her mind with a shake of her head. No. Pageant, then wedding, then the rest of her life. The police could worry over such gruesome questions.

“And she brought forth her firstborn son and laid him in the manger,” the narration continued and the next carol floated up from the quarry floor, “Round yon virgin, mother and child/ Holy infant, so tender and mild/ Sleep in heavenly peace…”

Felicity shivered. She was in the dark now, beyond the reach of the torches, and it was noticeably colder up here out of the shelter of the quarry and the company of the audience. She just started around the outer reach beyond the sheep pen when a harsh voice made her stop.

“I told you I won’t have it. You might think you’ve shown me up by borrowing a few beasts and carrying on with your scheme, but I won’t have it.” Felicity recognized the speaker’s voice and the theme of the argument. Apparently Stanton Alnderby had changed his mind about boycotting his son’s production. “After everything I’ve done to keep your inheritance safe, I’ll not let you turn your back on the heritage of generations.”

“And there were in the same country shepherds, abiding in their fields.” Balram’s voice had taken on strength as the pageant progressed. The choir began “While shepherds watched their flocks by night…”

“That’s my cue, Dad. We’ll have to continue this later.” The gate scraped the side of the pen as Corin opened it and whistled to Shep to send the sheep down the inclined path along the hillside to where their shepherds awaited them, then followed himself, costumed as a shepherd.

“I will not be balked in this.” Stanton’s voice followed his son’s descent of the quarry side, ringing with angry determination. But what chilled Felicity more than the night air was the note of frenzied obsession. Of mania.

And with that came the certainty of the suspicion that had been roused when she and Antony found the family tree. This was a man who would kill to preserve what he saw as his own. Insane as it seemed, Stanton Alnderby had killed again and again to keep his great grandfather’s secret hidden and a slice of the Duncombe estate in his possession.

And there was no doubt in Felicity’s mind that he would kill again if he thought it necessary.

She couldn’t get to her seat continuing on this way without being spotted. And if Stanton suspected she had overheard he would also suspect she might figure out the meaning of ‘everything I’ve done to keep your inheritance’. She began backing away. She would have to go the long way round, past the steep end of the quarry, but that was better than risking an encounter with a crazed murderer.

Felicity took three steps back, almost beyond the spill of light from the nearest torch. Two more steps and she would be well hidden under a cloak of darkness. Once on the other side of the quarry and well out of range of being heard, she could ring the police.

The next step was her undoing. In the dark she failed to see the pile of stones. The top one turned under her foot and sent her sprawling sideways into a bush. She managed to stifle her cry, but not sufficiently to keep from alerting Alnderby.

“Who’s there?” He took a long stride toward her.

Felicity tried to burrow deeper into the bush, but succeeded only in breaking several branches. To her ears the snapping sticks sounded like gunshots.

“Come on. You won’t get away.” She more felt than saw Stanton grab for her, but the darkness made his aim uncertain. She rolled sideways. A jagged limb scratched her face and she felt a trickle of blood on her cheek. She scrambled to her feet and began running toward the end of the quarry.

Felicity was fast. But Stanton had the longer legs. She could sense him closing the distance between them. Below her the choir sang “Angels we have heard on high…” the “Glo-o-o-o-r-ria” reverberating around the quarry walls below them.

She had reached the far end of the quarry when she felt Stanton’s vice-like grip on her arm. He spun her around. “What do you mean by spying on me?” In the wavering light from a torch he examined her face. “You’re that friend of Corin’s, aren’t you? One of those encouraging him in his mad scheme to be a priest.”

Felicity wondered if she should try denying it, but knew nothing she said was likely to make any difference. Stanton pushed her closer to the rim of the quarry to see her better in the light. “Wait a minute. You were with that reporter, weren’t you? I saw you when you came in the pub with her. What did she tell you?”

“Nothing,” Felicity managed, but it came out barely above a whisper. She knew where they were. The deepest bend of the horseshoe that formed the quarry. Above the sheer precipice. With a drop of a hundred feet below her. And she knew what Stanton meant to do.

But she also knew that she was close enough to the edge to be visible to those below. Surely Antony would be wondering where she was. He knew she should have joined him by now. He would be looking around for her. If he spotted them up here he would see the danger. Call the police. Summon help. If she could stay here long enough for any of that to happen before Stanton hurled her over the cliff.

“Tell me. Don’t think lies will save your pretty neck.” Alnderby gave her a rough shake.

Felicity realized denial would get her nowhere. She needed to stall. “It’s true. She didn’t tell me anything. But she did give me a copy of her notes.” Felicity’s voice was gaining in assurance. “Which I gave to the police.”

For a moment her words halted her captor. He stood frozen as Balram’s announcement echoed from below: “Behold, there came wise men from the east.” The pageant was nearing its climax. If her threat didn’t make Stanton capitulate now she would truly be in dire straits. There would be little hope of help from the audience now. Every eye in the theatre would be glued on the entrance of the magnificently clad wise men accompanied by their entourage of camel, camel-drivers and llamas. Even Antony would be distracted from looking for her. A breeze carried the chime of the llamas’ bells to her ears.