Glamorous Powers (59 page)

‘There, there!’ said Francis kindly in the manner of a nanny who had rescued a wilful child from a somewhat tiresome nursery prank. ‘It’s not the end of the world! You took a wrong turn and wound up making a fool of yourself, that’s all, but that’s not an unusual thing to happen. Thousands of men wind up making fools of themselves every day but they soon recover and bounce back.’

Anger restored my power of speech. ‘What a frivolous way to talk!’ I exclaimed outraged. ‘How dare you toss aside a case of demonic possession so lightly!’

‘There was no demonic possession.’

I stared. Then I managed to stammer: ‘But I couldn’t say “Jesus is Lord” – I couldn’t hold the cross –’

‘My dear Jon, you were merely a magnificent example of someone self-hypnotized by guilt!’

I found myself becoming outraged again. ‘But if you didn’t think I was possessed, why the deuce did you exorcize me?’

‘Because I happen to have at least a rudimentary understanding of psychology. As soon as you revealed that you thought I was Father Darcy I realized that the only way to deal with you was to behave as you expected – and wanted – the old man to behave.’

‘But the exorcism was so successful …’ For the second time outrage was displaced by confusion.

‘There was no exorcism,’ said Francis patiently. ‘How could
there be when there was no possession? I simply defused your mental disturbance by a psychological trick. In fact this whole episode can be explained perfectly adequately in rational terms without resorting to the supernatural.’ He stood up. ‘Come into the chapel so that we can both sit down in comfort, and I’ll do my best to help you understand what was really going on.’

But I shrank back. ‘Not the chapel. I can’t go in there, can’t face it … How long was I unconscious?’

‘Less than a minute at first. But then you opened your eyes, announced: “I must sleep now,” and passed out for another three quarters of an hour. You’d obviously remembered that after an exorcism the person delivered always sleeps.’

‘I don’t recall –’

‘No, probably not. Well, if you won’t go into the chapel, come and sit on the steps of the porch. A little fresh air certainly won’t do you any harm.’

I followed him unsteadily outside. The sun was still shining radiantly through the beech-leaves. I felt battered, defeated, old.

‘I know you’d much rather see yourself as a hero wrestling with the Devil instead of as an elderly priest floundering into an unholy mess,’ said Francis, speaking frankly but not unkindly as we sat down on the steps, ‘but I’m afraid this is the moment when you must cast aside illusion and face reality. Now let’s start by considering how you’ve arrived in your present unfortunate state. First and most obvious of all, you’ve been under strain for some time with your divided parish, your demanding ministry and your unresolved private problems. Then during the past twelve hours you’ve been fasting, a procedure which in adverse circumstances can lead to physical debility. Have the circumstances been adverse? They have. You endured a horrific scene this morning when you overpowered a madman by mesmerizing him into docility –’

‘I exorcized him.’

‘Quite. But you must have realized by this time that I’m unable to utter the word “exorcism” without a shudder of
distaste – it’s my own personal act of rebellion against our mentor. Why don’t we just say you dealt with the cowman? You then had a row with your wife –’

‘How do you know?’

‘She told me. And that row, I venture to suggest, was the last straw. By the time the service began your psyche needed the kind of control you were far too exhausted to provide, so is it any wonder that when you saw a man dressed as the Abbot-General you should start to hallucinate? Father Darcy always forbade you to exercise the charism of healing. I suspect that subconsciously you felt guilty all along that you were disobeying him, and because this guilt was never alleviated by an honest discussion with a spiritual director it was allowed to accumulate until eventually, in your severely weakened state, it broke into your conscious mind with disastrous results: the shock of the hallucination caused your psyche to reel around in panic and regurgitate the memory of this morning’s nightmare.’

After a long while I was able to say: ‘There was a trigger which sent me over the edge,’ and I told him how the showing had shattered.

Francis said simply: ‘I’m very sorry. But of course I couldn’t help wondering if your psyche had cleverly devised a way in which you could live with your problems without facing up to them.’

‘He seemed so real,’ I said. ‘I was genuinely looking forward to him.’ To my shame my eyes filled with tears.

‘You need food and drink,’ said Francis briskly, rising to his feet. ‘Come along, I’ll take you back to the house in the motor.’

I felt older and more battered than ever. ‘Motor?’ I said blankly. ‘What motor?’

‘The
motor,’ said Francis, and when he had succeeded in steering me down the track to the road beyond the wall I found not only Father Darcy’s cherished Daimler but my friend Edward the master-carpenter who was sitting patiently behind the wheel.

We embarked on our short journey around the perimeter of the grounds but it was some minutes before the Daimler,
swaying along at its customary stately pace, turned through the main gates of the Manor. Portman opened the front door before the motor had halted. I dared not look him in the eye for fear of what stories he had heard, but Francis said with his aristocrat’s ease as we entered the hall: ‘I trust you received the message.’

‘Yes, sir. The sandwiches are in the drawing-room.’

‘Good. You can bring the tea now. Come along, Jon.’

After I had been piloted to the drawing-room sofa I heard myself say anxiously: ‘Where’s Anne?’

‘She’s not here at the moment.’ Once more Francis sat down at my side.

‘But where is she?’

‘She’s gone to Starbridge with the Aysgarths.’

‘Aysgarth was at the service?
’ I nearly lost consciousness again. Then I said confused: ‘But why has Anne gone to Starbridge?’

‘I’ll explain later. Start eating those sandwiches, please,’ ordered Francis, and when out of habit I obeyed him he embarked on a long fluent monologue. At first I found it difficult to concentrate on what he was saying but gradually I became aware that he was casting a sympathetic eye on my troubles in order to encourage me to beat back any incipient feelings of despair. I was duly grateful but after a while my gratitude was blurred by bewilderment as I realized he was repeating himself, albeit in a most elegant and skilful way, over and over again. What did this mean? Was there perhaps a hidden reason for this interminable but stylish monologue? I tried to think coherently enough to answer these questions but was promptly distracted as he offered me yet another sandwich.

‘Francis –’

Well, yes, as I was saying …’ He was off again, weaving his mysterious verbal patterns, and again my concentration ebbed and flowed as I grappled with my bewilderment. Isolated sentences caught my attention; isolated phrases surfaced and faded away. I felt as if I were listening to a wireless which possessed an erratic volume knob. ‘… so this doesn’t mean that your original call to leave the Order was a delusion. I’m quite certain God has work for you to do in the world … equally certain
the final revelation of his will is still to come … easy to see why you went astray … ministry centred on the chapel, everything seemed to fit … tempting to see the chapel as a stone siren luring you to disaster, but in fact it wasn’t the chapel propelling you along, was it? Later we must discuss your motives, but meanwhile perhaps it’s better to see the chapel as neutral, like money, something which can be used for good or for bad … But let’s forget the bad for the moment, let’s dwell on the positive side … did a lot of good among the sick … genuine desire to serve God mixed up with your other motives … still humble enough to seek advice from Wilfred … picture by no means completely black … mistake to use the disaster as an excuse to wallow in guilt and self-pity …’ On and on Francis continued in this soothing vein until I heard him say to the butler who had returned with more tea: ‘Thank you, Portman – and fetch the brandy decanter and one glass, please.’

‘No brandy for me,’ I said with a shudder, but Francis merely confirmed the order before he tried to embark on another ramble through the pastures of sympathy and consolation.

However at this point I interrupted him by asking the question which had been bothering me for some time. ‘Why are you stuffing me with food and drink like this?’

‘Because I want you to regain your strength as quickly as possible and since you’re not interested in food and drink I know you’ve got to be force-fed. Do you remember Father Darcy saying –’ And he launched into a reminiscence which lasted until Portman returned with the brandy decanter, the soda siphon and a tumbler.

‘Francis, I really don’t want –’

‘Nonsense, of course you do. Brandy’s a splendid restorative.’

‘Yes, but –’ I waited till Portman had left the room ‘– I had a brandy before I went down to the chapel and it nearly finished me off altogether. I don’t see how I can possibly face alcohol for a second time today.’

‘Try a little will-power.’

Since it seemed less trouble to give in than to protest I began
to sip the brandy. In fact by this time I was feeling considerably stronger. Francis’ utter sanity was very bracing.

‘That’s better,’ said Francis when my glass was empty. ‘Now we’ll go upstairs. When I told your wife I wanted to wear my habit for the service, she kindly allowed me to change out of my clerical suit in a room which she referred to as your cell. I’ll just change back now into my suit and you can shed that cassock. Then Edward will drive us to Starbridge.’

I stared at him. ‘To Starbridge?’ Dimly I realized I was about to grasp the scene’s hidden dimension, and at that same moment the fear scythed through my psyche as I saw the darkness falling across the future. All I could manage to say was: ‘Something’s happened.’

‘Yes, there was a crush in the chapel when everyone panicked.’ Francis spoke calmly but with increasing speed. ‘Several people were knocked over and one of them was your wife, but very fortunately her doctor was among the congregation and when he said she should go to Starbridge Hospital the Aysgarths volunteered to drive her there. I wasn’t aware of all this at the time, of course. I was too busy dealing with you, but later a gentleman called Maitland came to the vestry while you were still asleep and –’

Terror finally untied my tongue.
‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me this straight away?’

‘Because you were in no fit state to be told!
Of course I had to keep you here while I built up your strength – I couldn’t have let you tear off to the hospital after an unbroken fast, paranoid hallucinations and a complete physical collapse!’

‘But if Anne’s dying –’

‘My dear Jon, it’s not even certain that she’s miscarrying – she may be quite all right. She’s only gone to the hospital because the doctor thought it best to take no chances.’

But I was already visualizing unutterable horrors, and without further delay I blundered from the room.

The Aysgarths and the Maitlands were in the hospital waiting-room. It was very hard for me to face them, particularly as I could sense their embarrassment mingling with their anxiety, but to my relief Francis took control of the situation. He said: ‘How kind of you all to wait, but after Jon’s very public ordeal in the chapel he would prefer this ordeal to be entirely private. Would you care to give me your telephone numbers? Then I can keep you informed of Mrs Darrow’s progress.’ Francis was hard to withstand when he was wielding authority with such ruthless tact; even Colonel Maitland hesitated for no more than three seconds before offering his telephone number and departing. Aysgarth, handing Francis his card, paused long enough to say to me: ‘I’m sorry. This is terrible for you. Please don’t doubt that you have my sympathy,’ but the next moment he too was gone and I was alone with Francis and half a dozen strangers in that large room with the cream-coloured walls and the battered wooden chairs and the floor covered with olive-green linoleum which had cracked at the seams.

I said to Francis: ‘I’m sure you now want to withdraw to Starwater. All these hours in the world must be very tedious for you and I’d be selfish if I claimed your company a moment longer.’

‘My dear Jon,’ said Francis, ‘I’d be a poor sort of priest if I scuttled back to the cloister when a brother was in such desperate need.’

I was still struggling to frame a grateful reply when a large figure in a white coat ambled into the waiting-room, spotted the two men in clerical suits and padded swiftly in our direction. At once I recognized him from Charles’ descriptions, and as he held out his hand I said before he could introduce himself: ‘You’re Alan Romaine.’

It is always curious to meet a person about whom one has heard so much for so long. I was at once aware that I knew him
well yet at the same time had never grasped the essence of his personality. I recognized the stoutness of his tall frame, the shrewdness in his bright eyes, the way he moved gracefully, lightly, like an elderly cat accustomed to prowling all manner of alleys with insouciance. But his psyche, scarred with past pain and emanating a profound intuitive sympathy, was new to me. I had thought of Romaine as a failed doctor, prevented by his past mistakes from rising to the top of the medical tree in London. Now I realized that God, by cutting him off from the worldly success which would have inevitably destroyed someone of his sensual temperament, had in fact saved him so that his gift for healing had been able to develop to the full. I thought how in my arrogance I had judged him harshly, and I was ashamed.