The Chorister at the Abbey (26 page)

‘What would it take for that to happen?’

‘Oh, if the neighbours found it was a hazard to them. Broken drains or falling masonry, that sort of thing. But there aren’t any neighbours if I remember rightly. Oh, yes, that tatty bungalow on the hill. But I don’t know who lives there.’

I do, Edwin thought. So that was David Johnstone’s end game. Hadn’t Alex said that Reg and Christine Prout had talked about a possible leisure development? It wasn’t the bungalow David was after. That was just a sprat to catch a mackerel. He had really been after the convent.

‘Thanks a lot,’ Edwin said.

‘No bother,’ said his friend. ‘And by the way, whatever happened to that lovely girlfriend of yours? Marilyn, wasn’t it?’

‘Don’t ask,’ Edwin said, and he meant it.

41

Such knowledge is too wonderful and excellent for me; I cannot attain unto it.
Psalm 139:5

In the week before Mother’s Day the weather did one of those sudden reverses which characterize early spring. Icy showers of hailstones swept into Norbridge like advancing Border reivers. In Tarnfield a sudden flurry of tiny snowflakes settled for an hour on the few hardy daffodils which were poking their heads above the earth.

For some reason Suzy felt she had to do a big clean-up at The Briars for Marilyn Frost’s visit. She started the day before. As usual she had sent her mother a bouquet, and she tried to ignore Molly’s messy attempts to paint her own card as a surprise, but Mother’s Day was on her mind.

It should really be named Mothering Sunday, she thought, as Edwin had called it. It was the traditional break in Lent, when visits home were allowed for apprentices who were indentured away from their families. In some areas the mothers had baked large spicy simnel cakes, with heavy marzipan icing and eleven marzipan balls around the edge, representing Jesus’s disciples – without Judas, the baddie who betrayed him. They hadn’t been common in Manchester, but Suzy had seen them with delight in bakers in Carlisle and Norbridge.

‘I don’t know why I’m bothering!’ she shouted to Robert as she hoovered round him. ‘I’m treating Marilyn’s visit like royalty!’

In Uplands Parish the children were always given tiny bouquets at church for Mothering Sunday. There were nearly a hundred children, and making up the little posies was time- consuming. Lynn usually did it along with one or two of the other mothers in the parish, but this year Chloe insisted on helping, torturing the flower stems and heaving sighs of quickly suppressed irritation when the flower heads fell off. Really, Lynn thought, it would have been quicker and more economical to do it herself! She had hoped that several hours spent together on the task would make Chloe chattier. There were times when she felt they almost got there. After Chloe had spoilt her fourth posy, there was a moment when Lynn felt her daughter would suddenly explode, but instead Chloe put her head down and started again, not with real commitment but with a sort of melodramatic meekness.

On Sunday morning, Edwin phoned his mother and then went to communion at the Abbey. His religious faith was so bound up in music and tradition that he was sometimes unsure if it was really there. Alex, he knew, was into church history and singing, but had no belief in God. That didn’t matter, he thought. We all get there in our own time. Or God’s time, anyway. And some of us were much, much faster than others.

He ate lunch by himself in a pub in Carlisle and then went to meet Marilyn from the train. For once it was early, and she was standing outside the station in the wintry sunshine. She was a little bit plumper, but she still looked very much as she had done the last time he had seen her. His heart didn’t lurch, and though he felt slightly nervous of her, he couldn’t have felt less romantic. Marilyn had a new, more confident, slightly earthy timbre to her voice and had acquired a flatter Midlands accent. She was oblivious of the stares she got, and strode over to meet him.

‘Hi, Edwin,’ she said, and kissed him on the cheek. ‘The train got in ten minutes before time. Astonishing.’

She got into his car, and smiled at him. ‘I’m staying in Keswick tonight and going to see the boys tomorrow morning. It’s going to be a shock on both sides, I’m afraid. What time are we meeting your friends?’

‘Three o’clock.’

‘Oh, then can we go on a little tour on the way? I’d love you to drive through Chapterhouse. And could we go via Fellside? It would be great to see the place again. It’s good to be back!’

He drove her over to Norbridge, hearing her exclaim at long forgotten landmarks. In the town, Marilyn even saw one or two people she thought she remembered – an elderly man walking a dog who was perhaps once her teacher, and a woman who looked like a neighbour. Marilyn was easy to talk to, Edwin thought, but not easy to reach. He suddenly missed the closer, more human contact that he had with Alex, with all her doubts and fears. They drove through the town, taking in the Chapterhouse estate, and then headed west to Fellside. The industrial village looked almost pretty in the clear sunshine, with the fells frosted with snow on the tops, and the occasional burst of daffodils. As they drove down the main street, he saw Rev Paul and Mark Wilson walking ahead of them with a group of kids and parishioners, on their way to St Luke’s. He remembered Suzy saying there was a rock band practice that afternoon.

‘Who are those people?’ Marilyn asked.

‘The trendy vicar at Fellside Fellowship and his coterie. Why d’you ask?’

‘I thought I recognized someone, but I can’t put my finger on it.’

The mind plays tricks on you when you revisit a place, Edwin thought. As they grew nearer to Tarnfield, Marilyn became chattier. She’s bracing herself for this, Edwin thought. It can’t be easy.

He bumped down the dirt lane towards The Briars and pulled up in front of the house. Marilyn opened the door, sweeping up her long skirts.

‘You don’t need to help me out of the car,’ she said. ‘I’m getting used to it.’

Suzy heard the car as she came into the front room of The Briars.

‘They’re here, Rob,’ she called. ‘Will you open the door?’

Alex was already in the front room, her hand stretched to take the coffee that Suzy was offering. But Suzy had stopped, with the tray on a dangerous slant. She was looking out of the window at the visitors, transfixed.

‘What is it?’ Alex asked.

But Suzy just turned back to her, eyes huge with astonishment. They heard Robert, for once fazed, say, ‘Oh! Well . . . er . . . do come in. I’ll take your coat, Edwin. Go straight into the front room, er . . ..’

Alex knew then that her mad idea had been right. She took a deep breath and got up to greet the famous Marilyn Frost. She knew she was the only one of them who was prepared for this.

‘Hello, Sister,’ she said.

Later that night, Suzy snuggled up to Robert. Their guests had stayed till late because there had been so much to discuss. And after they’d left, Jake had come home after a long rehearsal session, demanding to talk about the band. They were practising something special and exciting for Easter Sunday; Robert and Suzy would have to be there. Suzy caught Robert’s glance. After what they had been discussing that afternoon, Jake’s involvement with Fellside Fellowship was worrying.

‘So what did you make of our new friend the nun?’ Suzy asked Robert once they were alone in bed. ‘Were you surprised?’

‘Astonished! I would never have recognized her. Of course she was still beautiful, but with her hair under that veil, and having put on some weight, she looked very different.’

‘She’s not a full nun, is she?’

‘No. She told us about that when you were making tea. She said she felt called when she was in her early twenties after Edwin started taking her to church. But these days the average age for postulants is about forty. Marilyn had to work for a further six or seven years before they’d even discuss it with her.’

‘And what stage is she at now?’

‘She’s a novice. She wears the habit but she’s not been accepted for life yet. They’ll make her stay a novice for a few years because she’s so young, relatively speaking, though she must be about thirty now. But she knows that this is her vocation.’

‘How did she get into it?’

‘The old Anglican sisters from Fellside had a mission in Chapterhouse. She’d known them all her life. Her mother was drifting into drugs and alcohol, and the nuns were her stability. She was always attracted to that life, but like most people she just wanted to be ordinary in her teens.’

‘Poor Edwin.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. The Marilyn he loved was this ethereal, romantic creature he plucked from the depths of Chapterhouse. But the real woman is practical and oozes common sense. I really liked her.’

‘Yes, she was certainly down to earth.’ Suzy sighed. Marilyn had listened to their theories about the murder with a highly sceptical air. Her work in the convent in Derbyshire involved prison visiting and dealing with criminals, particularly those who had committed crimes against women. Though not alarmed by the conclusions that Robert, Suzy, Edwin and Alex had come to, she had asked searching questions.

So had Suzy. ‘Why has it taken you so long to come back?’ she’d asked.

‘My family told me they wanted nothing to do with me. I’m a major embarrassment to them. They despise me for what I’ve done – you should hear my latest stepfather on the subject. He actually practically threatened me with grievous bodily harm if I came back to Norbridge! That’s why Edwin has kept my secret.’ She laughed. ‘And it’s also because if the boys thought there was any money to be got out of the order they’d be down there hanging round. It would be terrible.’

‘But even so, why didn’t you come back as soon as they were charged? Wouldn’t that have been the Christian thing to do?’

‘The order isn’t like that,’ Marilyn had said. ‘We give ourselves up to a life of prayer and good works in the discipline of a Rule. Our Mother has to decide what I can and can’t do, with input from me of course. If every sister buzzed off whenever there was an individual family crisis, there would be no order. Mothering Sunday is a good time to come because it’s the break in our Lent observance. And anyway,’ she added practically, ‘I had no idea that the boys even wanted to see me. It could have been totally counterproductive.’

‘So have we given you anything to go on now?’ Alex had asked.

‘Yes and no. I can’t really buy into this theory about the Psalms. That’s very far-fetched. And I know what the law would say about the missing psalter – that you’re highly emotional people who are interested in music and you imagined it.’

‘But Tom and I both saw it!’ Alex had said.

‘I’m sure you did, but there’s no evidence. It’s easy to have false memories. I’ve had a few today myself, thinking I recognized people in Norbridge. That won’t wash, I’m afraid!’

‘So what makes you think there’s a case for the boys’ innocence?’ Robert had asked.

‘The fact that Morris Little had a meeting arranged with Wanda Wisley, and she told you that he was planning to meet other people too. The prosecution service needs to know all that. Thank you.’

Put like that, it seemed that they had done everything they could. Suzy felt rather flat, although she enjoyed talking to Marilyn later about the order and the social work they did, especially in the prisons. Even before joining the convent Marilyn had done some amazing work, dealing with men who had deep psychological problems with females. But underneath the chat Suzy still wanted to talk about the murder. She was surprised by the strength of her own feeling. Wasn’t she the one who was supposed to be traumatized by that series of deaths in Tarnfield? Unable to move on? Not any more. She was drawn towards this and, despite everything, she was sure that the Psalms were involved. The bullocks and the pit and Morris’s smashed teeth kept coming back to her. I feel it has to do with a chorister, she told herself. Someone who knows about singing and church music. A chorister at the Abbey.

‘I’m still intrigued by the music connection,’ Suzy said in bed to Robert’s armpit. ‘And the genealogy stuff. And Freddie and David having accidents at the convent.’ He laughed and wriggled round towards her.

‘Can’t you sleep, Suzy? I’m shattered. Look, maybe if the police drop the case against the Frosts, they’ll investigate further and it will become clear.’

‘But how did Edwin feel about it all, do you think?’

‘A bit disappointed, I suspect. I think that he’d been hoping the case would unearth something more substantial that would help in his work on Quaile Woods. But we should leave it to the legal system now. Let’s forget it, Suzy.’ He switched off the light and spooned into her. Soon she could hear his even breathing.

But she felt deeply unsatisfied.

At the bungalow, Alex sat at the kitchen table with a cup of hot milk and looked at the sleeping pill she had placed next to it. She had asked the doctor for just a few more tablets, in case. She felt she needed one tonight or she would never sleep. Meeting Marilyn had been an amazing experience. This practical, pleasant woman with her brisk attitude was so far from the romantic creature of her imagination that she mocked herself for her own stupidity. Even when she had half-guessed that Marilyn might be in a religious order, she had imagined her as a sexual rival, a sort of Cumbrian Audrey Hepburn. Alex laughed at herself.

She hadn’t spoken to Edwin since he left The Briars to take Marilyn to the sisters’ house in Keswick, where she was staying. But she knew he would phone her. She felt as if she had been through some huge but understated crisis, a little valley of the shadow of death.

Because jealousy was like death. It killed feeling. You became evil and dead to reason. But in a moment of clarity Alex thought: it was nearly always a two-way thing. Sam and his girlfriend had contributed. She had been goaded by their smug self-righteousness and their flaunting of their luck. In a flash, she understood that her husband had needed the excitement. He had ended up stuck with a small child in a little house, aged fifty, with a drab woman he didn’t love. But there had always been the drama of Sandy and her Bad Behaviour to bind them.

Edwin had been different. He had never used the issue of Marilyn to provoke. And he had persuaded Marilyn to come to Tarnfield so that Alex could see for herself. He could easily have turned her into a romantic mystery to keep Alex at bay, using Marilyn to protect himself. But he had introduced them as soon as possible. And Alex had seen that Marilyn was really a very normal woman, with no interest in preventing Edwin from living life to the full. Marilyn might be a saintly person, Alex thought, but Edwin is a good man too.

And I’m not jealous. She tried the feeling again. She even attempted to work herself up into loathing of Marilyn. But she really couldn’t. It was a wonderful, heady, warm release from the black side of her own personality. She was tempted to say, Thank you, God, but of course she was an agnostic.