An All-Consuming Fire (31 page)

Then her blood chilled as a maniacal laugh drowned out all other sounds. “How kind of you to warn me. Now I’ll be prepared when the plods come.”

“What will you do? Burn the police station like you did Father Paulinus’s hermitage?”

“That fool monk!” Stanton spit. “No one ever suspected. Four generations of clear sailing. Then he started nosing around. I thought I’d settled that. Then Corin tells me some noddy at his college has taken it up.”

“The fireworks outside Antony’s window. His car accident.” Felicity tried to keep her voice level, in spite of the rising terror inside her. “The loose wheel on the camera dolly.”

“Lame, I know. But I thought it would end it when that tart hung herself.”

“But she didn’t did she? You hung her.” Felicity couldn’t believe she was saying that to a killer holding her inches from the edge of a precipice.

“It was all part of that film they were shooting practically on my property. Filthy. She pretended to hang herself. Stark naked she was. As near as. Just her and that director fellow. And you should have seen the way she flaunted herself when he wasn’t holding a camera. The slut deserved it.

“When they slipped off behind the caravan it was easy enough to fix the rope. She came back later for her clothes—just like I thought she would. The tart was even pleased when I told her I lived near and had been watching. A little flattery was all it took to get her to show me how she did the scene. Only this time she didn’t get to pretend.”

“O Star of wonder, star of night/ Star with royal beauty bright/ Westward leading, still proceeding/ Guide us to Thy perfect light.” The increasing gusto of the music reaching up to the torch-encircled rim told Felicity the pageant was concluding. The wise men would be laying their gifts at the feet of the infant Jesus, then everyone would join in singing “Joy to the World” and there would be nothing to stop Stanton Alnderby from finishing the job he had in hand.

“But Alfred. Was he dealing drugs? Or did he try to stop a drugs deal? Why did you kill him?’

For the first time it seemed she had said something to perplex her captor. “Drugs? Surely you aren’t suggesting I’d stoop to anything so sordid. When I realized Corin had helped himself to my best carpentry tools along with a pile of lumber I came to retrieve them. That clod of a gardener accused me of stealing. My own property. One shove did for him.” The wavering light of the nearest torch twisted his features into an evil dance.

Felicity knew time was running out, but she would press her luck for just one more. “And Zoe? Why harm a poor dog?”

“Inquisitive, aren’t you? A dumb dog should be the least of your worries.” Felicity felt Stanton’s muscles bunch. He reared back to give his thrust more impetus. She closed her eyes and stiffened. She would resist for all she was worth. “Now then—”

Stanton’s words were cut off by a sharp cry of “Cut!” from the center of the audience. Stanton’s thrust toward the cliff edge halted. Felicity followed his gaze to the astounding sight of Harry Forslund standing in the middle of the quarry pointing up at the pair on the rim of the precipice.

A woman shrieked. Cynthia, perhaps? And Felicity was certain she identified a cry from Antony. She had a fleeting glance of the entire audience surging toward the path along the side of the quarry. Help was racing toward her.

Until Stanton jerked her sideways with one hand and put two fingers in his mouth with the other. A long, piercing whistle rent the air, followed by two short, sharp notes.

Felicity twisted enough to be able to see Shep herding sheep and llamas to block off the path while the camel lumbered on its long legs and enormous hooves into the middle of the crowd and the donkey brayed.

An evil hiss in her ear brought Felicity’s focus sharply back to her peril. Antony had seen her. As well as the more than one hundred people in the quarry below. All struggling to scale the wall and break through the animal barrier to come to her aid. But there was little hope they would reach her in time. Nor would the fact that there were more than a hundred witnesses stop her assailant. The frenzy of insanity had taken over.

A dazzle of light caught the corner of Felicity’s eye. She extended her free arm in a lightning
port de bras
and grasped the flaring tiki torch. Thrusting the flame toward her captor, she forced him to release her arm and recoil.

He lunged at her with a manic snarl. With split-second timing Felicity did an
élancé
to the side. Alnderby’s momentum, calculated to push Felicity over brink, carried him forward. Flailing to stop himself plummeting, he lashed out and grasped the hem of Felicity’s coat.

She screamed as he pulled her toward the brink.

The world spun. She fell to the ground, grappling for a handhold. Strong hands grasped her wrists. With a jerk that she thought would pull her arms from their sockets her rescuer pulled her back from the edge, freeing her from her captor.

In the next moment she was engulfed in Antony’s arms.

Epiphany Eve

F
elicity awoke to brilliant sunshine. She looked out her window and blinked in surprise. It had snowed during the night. The familiar green hills were dusted with white, sparkling in the morning sun. Felicity hugged herself. It was her wedding day. Her dancing day.

Finally. All the mayhem was behind her. All the puzzles solved. Finished. No more murder. No more mystery.

For just a moment she let the dark back in as she was once again on the edge of the quarry, looking down with Antony’s arms securely around her.

In her memory it was dark and cold and yet the night filled with warmth and light because she was with Antony. “Don’t let me go. Don’t ever let go,” she had cried. And she knew he wouldn’t.

The emergency services had come. They had pulled Stanton’s broken body out of the bushes and carried him away—whether to the hospital or the morgue made little difference. Nosterfield had been satisfied with all she told him.

For only a moment her confidence wavered. It must have been as Alnderby said. And yet, could he really have done all that unaided? Been in all those places without being seen? He must have been. After all, he confessed. Yet not so much a confession as a boast. As if he wanted her to think he did all that. All a credit to his own cleverness.

Then the uncertainty fled as Cynthia came in with a breakfast tray. “Happy is the bride the sun shines on.” She fluffed the pillows and put the tray on Felicity’s lap. “Even if it is bitterly cold. I had hoped for sunshine, but I didn’t think to ask for warmth.” She kissed her daughter and laughed.

Felicity had never realized before what a beautiful laugh her mother had. Musical, full-throated, like a woman half her age. “Mom, you and Dad—” Cynthia’s smile was sufficient answer.

“Enjoy your breakfast, but don’t dawdle. It’s going to take ages to make those romantic little curls around your face. And then all those self-covered buttons to do up.”

A short time later Judy arrived and Gwena returned from the train station with the aunt who had raised her and Antony. Cynthia embraced Beryl and turned her over to Andrew for company. His quiet attention would be the best possible comfort for the elderly woman who had so recently buried her husband of sixty years.

Meanwhile the rest of the cottage was swept up in a flurry of curling irons and flowing dresses. Felicity closed her eyes and set her lips, determined not to complain when the long row of fabric-covered buttons lining the way up her back caused Cynthia repeated fumbles as she hooked the tiny loops over each one. Then a single button at the wrist of each long, pointed sleeve.

Cynthia held Felicity at arms’ length, a hand on each shoulder. She bit her lip and Felicity saw the tears in her mother’s eyes. Cynthia held up a finger in a ‘wait a minute’ gesture and turned to a florist box in the corner. She rustled through a pile of tissue paper. At last she extracted a wreath of Syringa and held it aloft. “To hold your veil in place—the Idaho state flower. I don’t want you forgetting your roots.”

“Never, Mom.” Felicity took a deep sniff of the heady, sweet mock orange, then leaned forward and gave her mother a kiss on each cheek.

The Church of the Transfiguration was incandescent with clear winter sunshine pouring through the high clerestory windows. Banks of candles made the carvings of wood and stone come alive. A bouquet of white flowers filled one corner of the nave—the only decoration especially for the wedding. Felicity, waiting in the sacristy with Gwena and Judy, the choir, clergy and servers, felt her heart beating in time with the Bach prelude. In her mind’s eye she saw Jeff and Charlie seating Cynthia and Beryl on each side of the aisle. Cynthia had raised an eyebrow when Felicity explained that in an English wedding the mothers didn’t make a special entrance but she didn’t fuss.

Now Felicity imagined she could hear the gentle rustle of fabric and scrape of feet on stone as the church filled with their friends from the college and community, including the youth of the centre still flushed with their success from the night before. She wondered how many from the Studio Six crew had come.

Then all other thoughts were swept away when the choir began its procession down the north aisle behind crucifer, thurifer, boat boy and acolytes, singing the Palestrina introit she and Antony had chosen. Four priests in cloth of gold vestments concluded the liturgical procession.

When clergy and servers were in place before the attar Felicity took a deep breath and clasped her father’s arm. Choir and congregation began singing “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of creation…”

“That’s our cue, Dad.” Head up, smiling behind her veil, Felicity let her father lead her forward, followed by her bridesmaids. “Praise to the Lord! O let all that is in me adore him! All that hath life and breath come now with praises before him!”

They halted at the top of the aisle as Felicity’s eyes sought out Antony standing with her brothers to her right. He was so handsome in his cutaway coat with ascot and vest. And so intent as he followed every word and gesture of the liturgy he had chosen from the most traditional prayer books.

The choir sang the “Gloria” from Palestrina’s
Missa Brevis.
“We praise thee, we bless thee, we worship thee, we glorify thee, we give thanks to thee for thy great glory; O Lord God, heavenly King, God the Father Almighty…” The high altar gleamed, incense billowed, angelic music soared. It was all Felicity and Antony had dreamed of for so long.

Bride and groom sat side by side before the altar for the readings and wedding sermon. Father Anselm talked of commitment and quoted Bonhoeffer, “It’s not love that makes the marriage, but marriage that sustains love.”

And then, the Rite of Holy Matrimony. Bishop John, splendid in gold mitre asked, “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” The answer was not in words, but actions as Felicity’s father stepped forward and placed her hand in Antony’s, physically giving her to him.

“I, Antony Stuart, take thee, Felicity Margaret, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward…”

“I, Felicity Margaret, take thee…” Her voice rang with an intense timbre before her throat closed.

The bishop blessed them with holy water. Then the rings. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship…” Felicity’s hand shook. She had always thought those the most beautiful words in the wedding ceremony.

The Bishop wrapped their hands together with the end of his stole and thundered the proclamation, “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.” The message echoed from the stone arches: anyone who makes trouble incurs the wrath of God. They knelt for the Nuptial Blessing.

During the anthem
Exsultate justi
the bride and groom, accompanied by best man and chief bridesmaid, slipped to the side chapel to sign the civil registers.

And then, the Liturgy of the Eucharist. Bride and groom processed with the bread and wine to the high altar. “At the name of Jesus Every knee shall bow…” the congregation sang. Feeling so transported she could hardly breathe, and yet knowing she would never forget this moment, Felicity took Antony’s hand as they stood at the foot of the golden altar while clergy and servers prepared the royal banquet, the food of angels,
Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus, Dominus Deus saboath pleni sunt caeli…
“Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts, Heaven and earth are full of thy glory…” the choir sang in Palestrina’s Latin.

“Gracious God, may Antony and Felicity, who have been bound together in these holy mysteries, become one in body and soul. Let their love for each other be a seal upon their hearts, a mantle about their shoulders, and a crown upon their foreheads.”

Singing “Ye Holy Angels Bright” bride and groom led the procession out the great west door as the community bell pealed joyfully over their heads.

They paused only briefly for photographs. Warmed by the fire of her joy, Felicity hardly felt the cold, but she could see Gwena and Judy shivering even in the faux fur stoles Cynthia had provided. Only a few steps down the hill, the college hall welcomed the wedding party and guests with cups of hot punch and a bountiful buffet.

“Do you have a speech, Dad?” Felicity asked, knowing her soft-spoken father wasn’t one for much public speaking.

“It’ll be short,” he said as he rapped a fork on a glass for attention. When the room quieted he smiled at the couple beside him. “I know it’s traditional at this moment for the bride’s father to say ‘we haven’t lost a daughter; we’ve gained a son.’ In our case, however, it seems that we haven’t lost a daughter; we’ve gained a country.” The room rang with applause as Andrew shook hands with his English son.

The rest of the time seemed to go in a whirl. Felicity moved between the long tables glimmering with tea lights shining on Cynthia’s decorations, to greet their guests. Felicity felt she was reliving her entire life on this side of the Atlantic as she chatted with former classmates from Oxford, friends from London, Willibrord St. John and his wife from the retreat house on Lindisfarne, Sister Pamela from Julian’s Centre in Norwich, Ryan and Nancy from their pilgrimage across Wales, Sister Gertrude from Fairacres…