The Prayer of the Night Shepherd (27 page)

Jane flung a glance into the well of the hall, where the staircase twisted out of sight. There were certain phrases you could feel like fingers up your spine – what Ben would call a
frisson
– and this was one:
Hattie Chancery’s Room
. The possessive. Present-tense.
Oh God
.

‘The Chancerys were the family who built this place, right?’

‘I think their name was originally Chance, but they altered it to sound more distinguished. Incomers from the Black Country. Industrial wealth, delusions of grandeur. Most of the big Victorian homes in this area seem to have been built by rich Midlanders, who wanted their own castles. The names are usually a giveaway. Big houses around here tend to be called “court”, from the Welsh. But they called this Stanner
Hall
to—’

‘Yeah, right. So Hattie Chancery was the one who killed her husband?’

‘So
you
knew.’

‘Not then.’

‘Because Ben only told me about this yesterday. He’d known for some time, but...’ Amber’s voice was brittle. ‘He thought the little woman might be frightened.’

‘But it wasn’t in that room, was it?’

‘Not the murder. That was in the grounds, I think. It isn’t talked about much. Probably overshadowed by the War at the time, and she
was
mentally ill, apparently.’

‘A madwoman?’

‘No, Jane, I think we’d all prefer
mentally ill
.’

‘So, like, what did people see in the room?’

‘Oh... one man said he saw the shape of a woman against the window and smelt— Look I’m not going into this now, all right?’

‘But that’s the reason you’re unhappy about the White Company, right?’

‘I just don’t think this is a happy place. But then, I’m only a cook.’

‘What did he smell, this guy?’

‘Alcohol... beer, I think.’

‘You thought maybe Mum could do something about this?’

‘Jane, look, it was just a knee-jerk thing. I was angry, all right?’

‘She’d just warn you not to let the White Company in. And you’d go along with that, but Ben—’

‘Shhh!’

Amber was looking over Jane’s shoulder. Jane turned and saw the lounge door opening, and Ben gliding out, his hair sheened back, his slim, black Edwardian jacket hanging loose. His Holmes kit. He’d worn part of the Holmes kit to welcome the White Company. Well, he would, wouldn’t he?

‘Amber, where’s—?
Jane!
’ Ben looked fit, she thought, and energized, and showed no particular surprise that she was here on a Monday, only satisfaction that she
was
. ‘Jane, you wouldn’t by any chance have brought along that little Handycam Largo gave you to humiliate me?’

‘Well, actually—’

‘In which case,
fetch
it, darling.’ Ben clapped his hands. ‘Fetch it at once. We’ve got Alistair here, the medium, and we’re testing various rooms to work out which is the best place to try and contact, ah...’

‘And where are you proposing to go next?’ Amber said.

‘Amber, it’s a positive thing,’ Ben said casually.

‘
Oh
no,’ Amber said.

‘Amber—’

‘Understand this, Ben.’ Something passed swiftly, like the shadow of a small bird, across Amber’s white doll’s face. ‘Those people will
not
go into my fucking kitchen.’

‘Maybe I could just describe these events to you without any comment,’ Merrily said. ‘And then perhaps you could just tell me what you think.’ Her ear was aching from phone use.

‘So formal,’ Canon Jeavons said.

‘I’ve been talking to a cop. It’s all forms and recorded interviews with them, now. All about covering yourself, and isn’t the Church going the same way?’

‘Oh happy day,’ Jeavons said. ‘All right, go ahead, Merrilee. Lay it on me.’

Inside her head the chorus started up.

Forgive me, this guy sounds like a nutter
.

My advice, for what it’s worth, is to avoid this man and all he stands for
.

If anyone’s on the edge of a crisis, Jeavons has been known to tip them over
.

There was no harm in listening to what he had to say. The fact was, if she’d never met Jeavons she wouldn’t have dug into Dexter’s history, and she wouldn’t have uncovered what might be the underlying cause of his condition.

‘It’s about three boys from the Belmont area of Hereford.’ The brief, bleak notes in the sermon book lay in the lamplight pooled next to the Bible. ‘Two of them are brothers – Darrin and Roland Hook, aged thirteen and nine. Dexter Harris is their cousin. This is seventeen years ago, and he’s twelve.’

Seventeen years ago. The year Jane was born. The year she quit university and married Sean. They said she could come back and get her degree, but she’d had a feeling at the time that this wouldn’t happen. Law: it had never felt right – why on earth was she reading law? Parental pressure, at the time, and the influence of Uncle Ted, family solicitor.
It’s a good degree to have, Merrily. Whatever you decide to do with your life, it will always be there for you
.

Wasted years.

‘Belmont’s an expanding suburb south of the city, close to open country. Less so now, since they built the all-night Tesco and the drive-in McDonald’s and hundreds more houses and the Barnfield Trading estate, but you get the idea. You keep going and you’re on the open road down to Abergavenny.’

She was seeing it as she talked: this widened country lane above the Golden Valley, which always seemed so aptly named on summer evenings with harvested fields aglow as if lit from underneath.

This had all happened on a warm evening in August, approaching dusk. The three kids were exploring a half-finished building site, where some of the houses were already lived in. Darrin had a plan.

Gorra wire coat-hanger down his pants
, Bliss had told her.
So it wasn’t an impulse thing, and he chose well, just like a pro: new house with high fences. People have gone out, leaving their second car in the drive. A gift.

Darrin had learned the techniques from a boy at school – how to force the window and then apply the coat-hanger to the pop-up locks. Then the hot-wire bit. The only drawback was that Darrin didn’t know how to drive.

Which was where Dexter came in. ‘Taller than the others,’ Merrily told Jeavons. ‘An unusually big boy for twelve, so he could reach the pedals, no problem. Dozens of drivers must have seen this Fiesta weaving about, but there weren’t many mobile phones in those days, so it was a while before the police got on to them. Not that you could miss them by now, because it was getting dark and Dexter hadn’t thought about lights.’

‘Already I’m sensing no happy ending,’ Jeavons said.

‘The police picked up the trail on the hill down to Allensmore, when they were picking up speed. Dexter subsequently told the police that he’d been afraid to brake. He was once on his bike and went over the handlebars, and he had the idea that if he did it now he and Darrin would go through the windscreen – certainly a possibility as neither had a seat belt on. By now the police are behind them, siren going. Not too close – volatile situation, car full of kids.’

Dexter’s well hyped-up now
, Frannie Bliss said,
the traffic lads blasting away behind them, blue lights going. He’s gorra do something. Decides the best thing is to get off the big road, dump the car and run like buggery. Sees this turning up ahead, on the other side, into this narrow little country lane, bus shelter on the corner. Decides to go for it. Just like that. No indication. Big lorry coming towards them, but Dexter reckons he’s got plenty of time. An experienced motorist now – driven all of six miles on his own.

Stupid little gobshite spins the wheel, sends the Fiesta whizzing across the road. Amazingly, he doesn’t turn it over, but it’s well out of control, as you’d expect, and naturally he’s missing the turning, heading straight for the hedge. Now even at this point, if he’d left well alone, the car would just’ve gone through the hedge into the field where, as long as it avoided trees, it’d just be a cuts-and-bruises job
.

Unfortunately, Dexter panics, stands on the brakes and the Fiesta stalls on the kerb, directly in the path of the oncoming lorry. Haulage vehicle. Melvyn doesn’t recall the exact tonnage, which is rare for Melvyn, but the driver was a Mr Evans, from Newport, carrying steel, and afterwards Mr Evans gives up his job, telling the coroner that he’ll never drive a lorry again as long as he lives
.

‘The lorry had collided with the rear half of the Fiesta,’ Merrily said, ‘flattening it into the bus shelter, which collapsed. Both front doors sprang open, so Dexter and Darrin both walked away. Darrin had a broken arm, Dexter was mildly concussed. Roland, however...’

Think of the forgotten sardine in the tin
, Bliss had said brutally,
after the tin’s been trodden on
.

‘His parents were told it was instantaneous,’ Merrily said, ‘meaning he didn’t suffer. Which, as far as physical pain goes, may be true but disregards the state of helpless terror he’d have been in for several minutes before the crash.’

‘Yes,’ Jeavons said softly.

‘Probably the last thing Dexter would’ve heard before the impact was the final screams of his nine-year-old cousin. How much of the carnage he saw in the back of the car, we don’t know.’

‘What happen to Dexter?’

‘Not much. First offence. Appeared in court as a juvenile and therefore wasn’t named. Pleaded guilty to charges related to taking and driving away and causing death by dangerous driving. No previous convictions. Said very little in court apart from to apologize and burst into tears. The view of the court seems to have been that having to live with this for the rest of his life was a bigger punishment than anything the justice system could inflict.’

‘Not always a good decision,’ Jeavons said. ‘Incarceration puts a time limit on it. Life goes on.’

‘Certainly split the family. There was an awful scene at the funeral – Roland’s mother screaming that Dexter was a murderer who should be in jail. Maybe forgetting that Darrin was the instigator, the one who’d learned how to break into cars. But Darrin couldn’t drive, so it was Dexter who killed Roland.’

‘His grandma mention any of this?’

‘His auntie. Alice. Not a word, but it probably explains why Dexter’s never been near a church since. His parents apparently felt compelled to move to the other side of Hereford, and he went to a different school.’

‘Certainly explain why he freaks when you ask him what happens in his head when he’s having an attack,’ Jeavons said. ‘He have any counselling at the time?’

‘Not as common then as it is now, was it? Especially not for offenders.’

‘And he’s working in a garage now.’

‘Tyre depot. But still working with cars, yes. Hasn’t committed any criminal offences since, according to my friend. As far as health goes, he might always have been prone to respiratory problems, but the serious asthma attacks seem to have started within a year of the incident. So...’ Merrily closed the pad, stared at the flat, pastel mosaic of the Paul Klee print. ‘Can I help him?’

‘What do
you
think?’

‘I think I know what you might suggest. While the thought of it leaves me feeling exhausted already, the logic of it’s almost too perfect.’

‘Yes,’ Jeavons said.

‘Would
you
do it?’

‘What? Say it.’

‘The healing of the living and the healing of the dead. A formal Requiem Eucharist to bring peace to the soul of a nine-year-old boy who died seventeen years ago. And to his cousin, who has it all stored up inside him like some old video nasty that keeps replaying itself in his head... until it constricts his lungs.’

‘Textbook,’ Jeavons said. ‘Unless maybe they already had a Requiem?’

‘They didn’t. I tracked down the minister who conducted the funeral. It was at Hereford Crematorium, they weren’t practising Christians and it didn’t take long. That’s how I found out about the row during the service. Which didn’t end there. When Dexter’s dad bought a new car it was vandalized – tyres ripped, bodywork scored. Their house was also broken into twice – damage rather than theft. They suspected Darrin.’

Not without reason. Bliss had said Darrin had burgled his way through half the houses in south Hereford. The family blamed Dexter for Darrin turning bad.

‘A few months ago, according to my colleague, Darrin’s mother encountered Dexter’s mother in the car park at Safeway... spat in her face.’

‘The healing capabilities of time are often overrated,’ Jeavons said.

‘So there’s a good deal more to heal here than a case of asthma.’

‘You think she wanted you to find out about all this, the aunt?’

‘I don’t know.’ Merrily lit a cigarette. ‘Alice seems to be the eldest sister. She and her husband opened a chip shop in Ledwardine about twenty years ago. He died a while back. She must be well into her seventies now but still works there part-time. And does most of the cleaning in the church. And her niece in Solihull recently went on an Alpha course, which seems to have inspired Alice to come to one of our Sunday evenings.’