The Prayer of the Night Shepherd (48 page)

‘Why would they dress up?’

‘For the exorcism. They recreated the exorcism of Black Vaughan. If you look in Mrs Leather you’ll see there’s quite a lot to go on. The dialogue between Vaughan and the priests? Total pantomime, but that wouldn’t worry them.’

‘Where did they get twelve priests?’

‘Well, they didn’t, obviously. Just got friends in – house guests, people down from London, and dressed them up like monks or something. And servants to make up the numbers. And this Erasmus Cookson, who was like some kind of showbiz spiritualist and who may have been a charlatan, for all I know.’

‘And Arthur Conan Doyle?’

‘And Conan Doyle. Absolutely. Doyle was in the area with relatives, right? In fact, one theory is that it was nothing to do with helping the community, they just – this is the kind of people they were – staged the whole thing for the benefit of this big celeb.’

‘And what happened?’

‘And they even had an actual snuff-box? You imagine that? They were probably going to tie a brick to it and toss it in the sodding pond.’

‘Hang on, Jane.’ Lol awoke the computer, brought up Matthew’s last message.

‘So what happened that disturbed Conan Doyle enough to send him into complete denial and turn the Hound into a detective story with a weak ending?’

‘This is what Ben’s asking. He videoed Leonard talking about it, and Leonard’s telling Ben what I’ve just told you, and Ben’s like, “What happened?” in his calm interviewer’s voice, like he really couldn’t give a toss. And Leonard’s sitting there with this thin little smile on his lips, and Ben’s going, “
Leonard, what happened?
” You can feel him just longing to walk into shot and shake the old guy –
I
wanted to. And Leonard’s just shaking his head sadly. “Stupid stories, Mr Foley, to frighten the children, I’m not going to pass on stupid stories.” And that’s where the video ends, with this shot of Leonard sitting there shaking his head, with a bit of dribble at the corner of his mouth.’

‘So after Ben showed you the video—’

‘He didn’t. He doesn’t know I’ve seen it. Amber gave it me to watch.’

‘So you don’t know if he found out any more after he’d stopped recording – if this guy told him the rest, off the record.’

‘No.’

‘You’re not going to
do
anything, are you?’ Lol said. Because Jane, slighted, was an unexploded device.

‘Look, if they’re planning to recreate the recreation of the exorcism of Black Vaughan – yeah, I know, where do you get twelve priests in a snowstorm? – but whatever they have in mind, it’s got to be spiritually offensive, hasn’t it? So I’ve said I’d go along with Amber, who thinks it’s time to talk to Mum.’

‘You want her to raid the joint in the name of the Church?’

‘She could
talk
to people. She’s the Diocesan Exorcist, that must count for...
Lol
...’ He could almost feel the heat of her breath in his ear, as if she was cupping her hands around the receiver. ‘You don’t think they
want
that?’

He saw where she was going. ‘Jane, let’s not—’

‘According to Amber, Ben’s original idea was that Mum would be part of the documentary – like formally protesting on behalf of the Church? But suppose what he really wanted was that she should be involved as an
exorcist
. If you were doing it now – putting Vaughan to bed – who else would you use? Lol, they—’

‘Jane—’

Jane’s voice was hoarse. ‘
Suppose they want her to take on Vaughan?
’

‘That’s crap.’

‘It’s so
not
crap, Lol. It’s the sort of thing Foley would think of as soon as he found out what my mother was.’

‘Jane.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t
do
anything. Think of all the times you’ve been wrong and the damage it’s caused.’

‘Only maybe this time I’m not wrong,’ Jane said.

Pocketing her phone, holding the videotape inside her fleece, she went out onto the upper landing and down the stairs that came out near the fire doors concealing the passage that led to Hattie Chancery’s room.

She imagined Alistair Hardy lying in Hattie’s bed, in the dark. Silverskin eyes watching him from a corner of the room. And then, as he was close to sleep, a hissing, and something cold writhing all over him:
whoop, whoop
.

Jane smirked. He’d probably enjoy it.

At least she now had an idea why Ben wanted Hardy in that room. With Hattie Chancery identifying herself with Ellen Gethin, and all that
black hound in the pack
stuff, there could be quite a strong link here...

Suppose Lol was right, and Ben
had
managed to get more information out of Leonard, even if it wasn’t on camera. Well, she couldn’t ask Ben outright without causing a row over Amber letting her watch the tape,
but
...

... but she
could
ask Frank Sampson, who’d been there holding Leonard’s hand. It was a bit late but, if they were going to try and involve Mum in this, it was very much legit to give him a ring.

Right, then.

As she walked down the red stair-carpet, the videotape tumbled out of her fleece and went bumping down the final steps ahead of her. She grabbed the box, fumbled it back under her fleece, firing glances around the reception area.

Nobody about, not even Amber.

Whom, of course, she could no longer trust either. Amber might be planning to walk out on Ben, but she was just as dependent on this crazy investment as he was. She, too, had everything to lose.

And where was Natalie? Why hadn’t she come back? Did she know about Jeremy?

This was a nightmare.

The phone started ringing behind the reception desk, Jane instinctively moving to answer it, then stopping. She stood by the desk, in the shadow-flecked light from the too-small chandelier, waiting to see if anyone else would respond. Nobody showed. Not even a demented old woman, some years dead, leaning on the ghost of a Zimmer frame.

Jane ignored the phone, ran down the steps to the kitchen to put the tape back. The snow-glare from the high windows showed her where everything was; she didn’t bother to put on lights as she walked across the echoey stone flags to the island unit, stretching away like a mortician’s slab. Something was on top of the unit: the video camera that was supposed to be welded to her hands.

Stuff you, Antony, with your Glasgow hard-boy chic
. Jane bent to the cupboard from which Amber had pulled the videotape, opened it up and slid the tape out from under her fleece, stowing it on an empty shelf. As she came to her feet, she noticed that the light in the room was changing colour, like someone had shone a torch in here.

She stood up, backing away to the nearest wall. The light didn’t go out, it swelled yellow and orange, a reflection from somewhere igniting like a match in the lens of the camera on the island unit. She looked up, and saw that it was all concentrated in the nearest high window: a billowing light around an intense core, like a gas jet.

She didn’t understand. If this was the window facing Stanner Rocks, then the rocks were on fire.

33

M
ERRILY HAD HER
coat off: no dog collar, but the pectoral cross on display.

‘Jeremy, would it be all right if I were to pray with you?’

Wearing a white T-shirt with holes in it, he was hunched forward in the rocking chair, what seemed like permanent tears, hard as plastic bubbles, on the edges of his eyes.

‘You don’t wanner bother ’bout me.’ His voice was high and gritty, as if there was sharp sand in his throat. He turned away and winced. ‘Waste of space, I am.’

Merrily put both her hands over his. ‘Don’t move your head, if it hurts.’ On her knees, she shuffled out of his line of sight, kneeling on the rag rug next to Flag, the sheepdog, in the furnace light from the range. Danny and Gomer had gone into the kitchen, leaving her to it, just her and the dog. The heat was intense, the dog was panting, Jeremy’s seared throat looked like roast ham in the firelight.

Merrily closed her eyes.

‘Oh God, only you know why Jeremy was driven to try to take his own life. Bring him from this suffocating place. Calm his emotions and his fears, strengthen him, give him the help he needs to...’

Couldn’t go on. This was trite and meaningless. She was disgusted with herself and opened her eyes because she knew that he was looking at her. His eyes were blue-grey and flecked with uncertainty like the skies in March.

‘Jeremy,’ she said. ‘
Why?
’

Jane tracked Ben out of the lobby into the porch, shooting him as he bent to lace up his hiking boots.

‘Jane, what the
hell
are you doing?’

She didn’t reply, but took care to stay well back so he couldn’t snatch the Sony 150 from her again. She didn’t even know if the battery was still active; it was the gesture that counted. Independent working woman with a video.

Beth Pollen came briskly through, dragging on her sheepskin coat, shaking out her headscarf. ‘Anyone called the fire brigade? Now I think about it, I’m sure I heard an explosion about twenty minutes ago. It’s hard to tell in snow.’

Ben looked up. ‘Amber’s seeing to it. Though I can’t imagine how they could get up there in these conditions. I don’t even understand how a fire’s even possible on snow-covered bare rocks.’

‘I was involved with a Nature Trust survey some years ago,’ Beth Pollen said. ‘Awfully weird place. The rocks retain heat, apparently.’

‘In thick snow?’

‘Strange times, Ben. Doesn’t look like a threat to the hotel, but you never know. I’ll come with you, if you like. If you don’t know the paths fairly well, it can be jolly dangerous.’

Ben snapped, ‘For God’s sake, Jane, switch that thing
off
!’

‘Just obeying instructions.’ Jane didn’t lower the camera. There was a clear image of Ben’s face, twisted with annoyance. ‘Antony says it’s supposed to be welded to my hands.’

‘Well,
I
’m telling you to take the thing away, and I’m the one who’s
paying
you, in case you—’

Jane ignored him, pushing open the swing doors with her bum and backing out into the car park, still recording. She had on her boots and her nylon parka, which was a pain because it was fairly new and still crackled when she walked, doubtless getting onto the soundtrack. But at least she was equipped for the conditions, unlike Alistair Hardy and Matthew, who were hanging around the porch door now, looking up at the smoking rocks like they were being deprived of some profound spiritual experience.

Outside, ankle-deep in snow, Jane put the camera on pause while she took up a position about ten yards away, shooting Ben and Beth Pollen as they came out and then risking a pan up towards the sky, ambered now and spark-flecked, though the flames were low, as if the gas jet had been turned down. She had no idea what this was about, but neither did Ben, and he was unnerved for once, and that made her feel empowered.

‘Jane!’ Ben was standing in the middle of the car park, at the end of a channel of light from the porch. He had on a black Gore-Tex jacket and a black baseball cap with a reflective yellow stripe. ‘You’re staying here, you understand? You are
not
coming up there with us.’

‘If I fall, I promise I won’t sue Stanner Hall.’

‘If you want to keep your job’ – and he wasn’t smiling – ‘you’ll go back.’

Oh.

Jane didn’t move, carried on shooting him. It felt warmer, as though the fire on the rocks had conditioned the ambient temperature. Speaking down the side of the camera, right under the mike, she said casually, ‘You sacking me, Ben?’

‘Not if you go back at once.’

Although it had stopped snowing now, Jane felt the night still swirling around her: dark energy, shifting destiny.

‘Tell you what,’ she said. ‘Let’s not complicate things. I quit.’

Lol was leaning over Ella Mary Leather under the Anglepoise. The cover of the big paperback had this warm-coloured Merrie England watercolour street-scene, with a drummer and a dancing woman in a white dress. Post-it markers projected from the top edge of the book, like little coloured flags, part of the scene.

Herefordshire, 1912, the most rural county in England, with the unknowable horrors of the Great War still two years away. An area still loosely held in a harness of medieval customs, an eerie carnival always flickering on the periphery.