An All-Consuming Fire (25 page)

“This reconstructed cell is like the one the Cloud author would have occupied.” He opened the door, but did not yet enter as he turned back to the camera. “A Carthusian schedule would have allowed our author an hour between nine and ten in the morning for meditation and work—following after five periods of worship and prayer which began at eleven o’clock the night before. Then again, after the office of
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at noon he would have had until two-thirty at his disposal for writing or gardening.

“That’s less than three hours a day for personal contemplation and writing to produce one of the spiritual classics of the western world. It’s easy to imagine our scholarly hermit suffering a certain level of frustration when the bell sounded at half two every day, requiring him to say the office of Colloquium privately in his cell before going to the church to sing Vespers. At four o’clock he would return to his cell where a lay brother would bring him the second—and final—meal of the day.”

Antony pointed to the small square opening beside the cell door. “Meals were delivered through a hatch so as not to disturb the monk’s solitude. At six o’clock he would recite Compline privately in his cell and retire to bed. Before beginning it all over again five hours later. This was an extremely economical schedule, requiring the use of almost no candles even in the dead of winter. It was an ascetic, austere way of life. The Carthusians alone among monastic groups of Western Europe returned to the rigors of the early ideals of the Church Fathers.

“And yet the monk who lived this demanding life is never harsh with his readers, never requires drastic self-denial from those who would pierce the Cloud of Unknowing. He had chosen this stringent lifestyle for himself, but it was not the only way to know God.”

Antony opened the arched wooden door and ascended the stairs to the first floor work room, pointing out the spinning wheel and loom, the use of which would have cut further into our hermitic author’s daily schedule.

“As would gardening.” Antony stepped away from the leaded window for Lenny to capture an overview of the walled garden below, charming even in its winter dormancy. Leading back down the wooden stairs, he continued, “The whole cell is small. There is almost a dolls’ house feeling. And it is sparsely furnished, and yet it has a remarkably cozy atmosphere—a very domestic feeling with a study, bedroom, oratory and living room.”

The camera panned the tidy bedroom and lingered on the finely carved chest. “The harshness of the monks’ required poverty was not necessarily reflected in their buildings and contents. We need to see this in relationship to other religious orders of the time, many of which amassed great wealth, and also in comparison to the higher levels of society, remembering that most of the monks came from the upper classes and would have been accustomed to great luxury at home.

“Still, they enjoyed such amenities as this sturdy fireplace in the living room where a fire would be most welcome on a winter’s afternoon when the mists rolled in over the moors.” As he spoke Antony turned toward the hearth where a fire had been kindled for the sake of the film.

Antony stopped at the unexpected sight of Zoe snoozing by the fireplace. His mental script fled from his mind. Should he mention the fact that the monks would not have kept pets? The director saved him from having to decide.

“Get that almighty nuisance out of here!” Harry roared.

That should have been enough to dislodge the animal from her snooze, but she didn’t so much as flick an ear. “Sylvia, get that blasted dog off my film set!” Harry’s ferocity seemed out of proportion to the inconvenience of needing to redo the take.

“Here, girl, come on.” Sylvia pushed forward, stooped and ruffled a long, golden ear.

Zoe was unresponsive.

Sylvia drew back with a cry. “She’s not breathing! Zoe!” Sylvia threw her arms around her dog and buried her face in the silky amber hair.

Harry charged forward and put a rough hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Don’t be daft. Come on.”

Sylvia jumped to her feet with such force it made everyone else in the small room step back a pace. “She’s dead! You killed Zoe! Murderer!” She pounded Harry’s chest with both her fists. “I knew you were desperate, but I didn’t think even you would stoop this low!”

Sylvia jerked her hands up. Antony thought for a moment she was going to scratch Harry’s face with her long nails but instead she covered her own face with her hands to stifle her sobs.

Harry stood there helplessly. Antony was wondering if he should do something. The blessing of animals was a fairly common practice, although he had never conducted such a service. Was there such a thing as last rites for pets? Certainly a prayer for the bereaved owner would be in order.

He was saved from action, however, by Cynthia entering from the hall. “What happened?” Her voice was shrill with anxiety over the dog she had so recently been walking. Without waiting for an answer she knelt by the prone Golden Retriever and put her head to the soft chest. “There’s a heartbeat.” She struggled to get her arms under the animal. “Help me. We need to get her to a vet.”

Sylvia fell to her knees beside Cynthia with a cry and the two women struggled to lift the dead weight of the animal. “Here,” Antony pulled the pewter candlestick and mug from the trestle table and lifted the top. “Use this.”

Harry turned to help Sylvia place Zoe’s limp form on the stretcher, but Sylvia spat at him, “Don’t you dare touch her! I can’t believe even you could stoop so low.”

Antony and Fred helped the women with their burden, but after a few steps Antony halted. “Wait. Lenny, take Sylvia’s corner. Sylvia, is your car in the park?” She nodded. “Good. Drive it up to the door of the manor house.” Sylvia gave a jerk of a nod and set off running across the Great Cloister.

Cynthia took her place in the back seat with Zoe’s comatose head nestled on her lap, then looked up at Antony standing by helplessly. “You may as well come with us. You can’t drive the hire car and I may be hours.”

His door was barely closed when Sylvia drove off, her tires spinning gravel behind her.

New Year’s Eve

T
he next morning Felicity, sitting up in bed sipping the morning tea her mother had brought her, listened, wide-eyed, as Cynthia recounted her adventure of the night before. Antony had rung late in the evening to tell Felicity of the startling scene and to let her know not to wait up for her mother.

“Is Zoe all right?” Felicity asked, indicating that Cynthia should make herself comfortable beside her on the bed.

“Yes, thank goodness. That gorgeous creature. Who on earth would want to harm her?”

“Did the vet think it was done on purpose?” Felicity set her half-drunk tea aside.

Cynthia spread her hands. “How do you prove a thing like that? The drug was most likely Acepromazine—I think that’s what the vet called it. It’s apparently a widely used calmative for animals, but can be dangerous. Especially in high doses. The vet thought Zoe might have eaten double the safe limit.”

“So she could have died?”

“Probably would have if we hadn’t got her to the vet.”

“Mom, you saved Zoe’s life. You’re a heroine!” Felicity leaned over and hugged her mother, then flung herself back on her pillows. “Oh, how frustrating that I wasn’t there! I might have seen something, heard something…”

“Antony was just trying to protect you, darling.”

“Oh, I know. He wants to wrap me in cotton wool. It’s very sweet, of course, but it won’t work. I’ll go cross-eyed if I can’t be up and doing.”

Felicity started to fling her duvet off but Cynthia smoothed the covers back over her. “There’s nothing to do at the moment. You can get up when Charlie and Judy arrive. Here,” she put the china mug back in her daughter’s hands, “finish this.”

Felicity took an obedient sip. “But who would do such a thing to a dog? This is England, they idolize their pets.”

Cynthia nodded. “Yes, I couldn’t help noticing that Sylvia became hysterical over her dog, but seemed to take Tara’s death in her stride.”

“Does anyone have any idea how it happened? Zoe, I mean.”

Cynthia sighed. “Not really, but something worries me. Sylvia said to let her run in the gardens after our walk. She didn’t eat anything in the woods, so it must have happened after that. I did see someone walking there when I was on the hillside, but there was no reason to think they were up to no good.”

“Do you have any idea who it was?”

Cynthia shook her head. “I wouldn’t think it was any of the film crew.”

Felicity nodded. “Besides, why would any of them want to harm Zoe? Everyone adores her, she’s the company mascot.” Felicity thought for a moment, then answered her own question. “Someone with a grudge against Harry, maybe? Someone who wants to stop the film? Someone who blames him for Tara’s death? Antony said Lenny seemed really fond of her.”

“The one built like a wrestler? I’m pretty sure he was out behind the church with all the others. It looked like everyone wanted to observe that bit of the filming.”

Felicity nodded. “Yes, Antony told me about Dr. Dedinder’s interview. He was still fuming about it.” She smiled. “I suppose it could have been someone from the catering van, Antony mentioned they were out front.”

“They were, but the person I saw seemed taller than Gill. And I think it was a man.”

“That would leave Savannah out, too. I think the grips sometimes help out with catering. Did you see Mike anywhere?”

Cynthia laughed. “Goodness, I don’t know those people. Sylvia called the police, so if someone was sowing the garden with poisoned food, they might find something. I suppose it could have been put there long before we arrived, even.”

“Yes, I remember reading the news when someone put marshmallows filled with rat poison in the park in Leeds. Horrible.” Felicity shivered. “But what did Sylvia say about Harry? Antony said she was hysterical. Do you think Harry killed Tara? Did you learn anything about the company? Could Harry be pulling an insurance scam?”

“Darling, do you still have that insurance scam bee in your bonnet? Surely you’re reaching—”

“What insurance scam? Can I get in on it?” A rich male voice asked from the doorway.

“Charlie!” Felicity just missed flinging her tea at her mother in her excitement to get to the newcomer. She bolted over the end of her bed and launched herself into the arms of the brother she hadn’t seen for three years. “When did you get here? Why didn’t we hear you knock? Did Gwen let you in? Where’s Judy?”

“I’m right here,” a voice from the hall was followed by the entrance of Felicity’s sister-in-law.

Felicity squealed and hugged her, “You’re gorgeous!” She ran her hand down Judy’s long, redgold hair as Charlie moved on into the room to greet his mom.

“And enormous.” Judy patted her rounded belly. “I wasn’t sure they’d let me on the plane—or that I’d fit once they did. I think I had the seat belt out as far as it would go.”

Felicity grinned. “Yeah, you really are blooming. Don’t worry, though, we can let the bridesmaid’s dress out if we need to.”

Gwena appeared in the hall. “I’ve got tea in the living room when you want it.”

“Yes, shoo—everyone out and let me get dressed. Go get acquainted with your future sister-in-law. She’s great. I’ll join you in a minute.” Felicity ushered everyone out of her crowded room.

A few minutes later, feeling the best she had since her encounter in the quarry and with her hair still damp from its first real shampoo, Felicity joined her family to hear the details of their flight from San Francisco and all the latest news from Silicone Valley where Charlie worked as a high-level computer engineer.

Judy, who had done some acting in college, hit it off immediately with Gwena. “Farce? Oh, how fun! What have you done?” Gwena launched into an animated account of her role as the sexy psychiatrist’s wife in an upcoming production of “What the Butler Saw” and Judy burst into gales of laughter.

Felicity sipped her tea and looked around the snug little room. It seemed as though this family thing might work out all right after all. She knew Antony had been especially worried, wanting everyone to get on well and knowing his own clashes with his sister—not to mention Felicity’s with her mother.

As if her thoughts had conjured him up, a knock at the door announced Antony’s arrival. He entered the already crowded room followed by a slightly shorter, darker, more serious-looking version of Charlie. “Found this fellow on the pavement. Claims he’s part of the family.” Antony grinned.

For the second time that day Felicity squealed and flung herself into the arms of a brother she hadn’t seen for years. “Jeff, why didn’t you let us know? We didn’t know when you’d get here. It’s so good to see you! How do you like London?” She pulled him into the room and introduced him to Gwena.

Jeff seemed very pleased to meet this striking Englishwoman who would soon be his sister-in-law. After giving his mother a warm hug he squeezed in beside her on the sofa and Antony brought in a chair from the kitchen table. Before Jeff sat, though Judy scrambled up from the depths of her chair to give him a hug, then laughed when her bump got in the way.

“Right. Meet your almost nephew. He’s definitely making his presence known. I’m afraid it’s a warning.”

When everyone was settled Cynthia and her sons dominated the conversation, catching up on family news.

Except for the piece of news Felicity most wanted to hear. She noted that Jeff and Charlie avoided the topic of their father, just as she had been doing for days, while asking their mother about her legal practice instead. Andrew was definitely becoming the elephant in the room. The wedding rehearsal was in three days. Would her father be here to walk her down the aisle or should she ask Jeff? She needed to know.

“Now, what’s this about an insurance scam?” Charlie’s question broke in on Felicity’s reverie.

“Insurance scam?” Jeff asked.

“Long story,” Felicity replied. “Do you want the details, or are you too jet lagged?”

“No, no. I slept on the plane,” Charlie replied, then turned to his wife. “Poor Judy, though. I don’t think she ever got comfortable.” He gave her a consoling pat.