The Gospel Makers (9 page)

Aimlessly, she walked through the sitting-room into the hall and stood listening. She could hear Peggy, who was cleaning the silver, singing softly to herself in the kitchen. Obviously she was alone. Impelled by something stronger than curiosity, Dilys started softly up the stairs, and, half-ashamed of herself, came to a halt outside the guest-room door. Holding her breath she stood for a moment listening, but all she could hear was the occasional rustle of paper.

Making up her mind, and after only the briefest of knocks, she opened the door. Sarah Baines turned sharply towards her. She was seated at the dressing-table, which had been cleared of its usual trinkets and was covered with orderly piles of paper and open text books. There was a pen in her hand.

‘Oh, there you are,’ Dilys said pleasantly. ‘I’m just about to have coffee. Would you like some?’

It was, she knew, the flimsiest of excuses and she could see that the young woman also knew it. A fleeting look of anger had been replaced by her usual impassivity. ‘That’s kind of you, Miss Hayward, but I’ve already had some. Peggy brought me a cup.’

Dilys held on to her smile. ‘Fine.’ She paused. ‘You look very busy.’

‘Yes, I have a — treatise to write.’ Her tone made it clear further questions would be unwelcome. ‘Seb hasn’t been disturbing you, has he?’

‘No, but I think he’s awake. The pram’s rocking.’

‘He’s quite happy lying there. I’ll take him out as usual this afternoon.’

Dilys could think of no possible way of extending this awkward conversation. She had been snooping, and Sarah Baines knew it. All she could do was retire as gracefully as possible.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to your treatise, then,’ she said brightly, and closed the door behind her.

Not a good move, she reflected as she returned downstairs. She had betrayed her curiosity and not unnaturally it was resented. What was it about that young woman that unsettled her? Outwardly she was polite and unassuming, and Susie thought highly of her. There was no doubt she was devoted to the baby; that morning Dilys had come upon them as Sarah was carrying him to his pram, surprising on her face an expression of almost maternal love which quickly neutralized at Dilys’s approach. So why on earth should being in the same room with the girl raise the hairs on the back of her neck?

She resolved to harness her too-vivid imagination into more profitable channels and, regaining her study, sat down purposefully at her desk.

*

It was mid-afternoon before Webb had a chance to contact Nina, and considering it was she who’d requested a meeting, he was surprised by her air of diffidence as she entered his office.

He leant back in his chair, surveying her with interest. ‘Well, Nina, how did it go?’

She wasn’t quite meeting his eye. ‘Fine, sir. All very pleasant and innocuous. I only looked in this morning to say I don’t think it’s worth continuing the investigation.’

He frowned. ‘What about all those allegations of brainwashing and subliminal indoctrination?’

She gave a nervous laugh. ‘A result of heightened imagination, I’m afraid. I was looking for something suspicious and convinced myself I’d found it. But now I’ve had more time with them it’s clear I was over-reacting, as I should have realized when I played back the speeches. There was nothing dangerous or threatening in them. In fact, it’s a long time since I’ve met such a pleasant, friendly bunch of people.’

Webb said forcefully, ‘Nina, they’re fanatics, that’s what makes them dangerous. Fanaticism is an unstable quality — you never know what’s going to trigger it off, and once that happens everything else goes out of the window.’

He waited for her comment but she remained silent. ‘Sit down, then, and tell me what happened.’

She hesitated and he said again, more firmly, ‘Sit down.’ She perforce sat in the chair opposite him, clasping her hands in her lap. Across the room, Alan Crombie had looked up from his papers.

‘Now,’ Webb continued, ‘you arrived at the house and then what?’

‘I was greeted like a long-lost friend.’

‘They tried to force drinks on you?’

‘I was offered something, yes.’

‘Did you accept it?’ Webb feared this might be behind her change of attitude.

‘No. At least,’ she amended, ‘not then. I did at the end of the meeting.’

‘What changed your mind?’

She smiled slightly, remembering that nonsense about pomegranate seeds. She’d let her mother’s fears make her paranoid! ‘It seemed ridiculous — and rude — to keep refusing.’

‘So what happened?’

‘We watched another short film and then split into groups for discussion. It was fascinating.’

‘The film was this Bellringer again?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what did he say this time?’

Nina said reluctantly, ‘He was telling us about the new cities they’re building, up in mountains all over the world. To be safe from the Flood.’

‘He places a lot of faith in weather forecasts,’ Webb said, watching her closely. She didn’t smile. ‘And are the animals going to be led up there, two by two?’

‘No,’ she answered seriously, ‘they’re not in danger. The Flood will be man’s punishment — animals have done no wrong. In fact, they’ve been sinned against.’

‘So they’ll miraculously survive — sprout water-wings or something?’

They’d been warned to expect ridicule. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

Webb changed tack. ‘All this building work must be costing them a packet?’

‘Yes, they’re continually trying to raise funds. Every member of the Movement’ (Webb registered she no longer referred to it as a cult) ‘pledges a tithe and there are fees for courses and instruction, sometimes costing hundreds of pounds. Also, to secure a place in Salvation City, everyone has to make regular contributions towards their own home there. If they can’t keep up the payments, they lose their place.’

Something in the quality of Webb’s silence penetrated Nina’s understanding. Her tone changed, became more flippant, as she finished, ‘Anyway, that’s the gist of it.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Well, there were warnings not to expect anyone outside the Movement to understand.’

‘And do you?’ Webb asked quietly.

‘Sir, you asked me to look into it and I’m simply repeating what happened. I thought that was what you wanted.’

‘Yes, it was. Thank you. But you felt they were genuine?’

‘Oh, no doubt about it. They passionately believe every word they say. But there’s no pressure on anyone else — they keep stressing that. Anyone can drop out of instruction at any stage they want to. Honestly, sir, I think you’ve been worrying unnecessarily.’

Webb said carefully, ‘You’re probably right. That’s that, then. Thanks for all the research, Nina. There’s no need for you to go again.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

He hesitated. ‘In fact, it would be better all round if you didn’t. The more you go, the more likely you are to be rumbled, and we don’t know how they’d react to that.’

‘No, sir.’

‘That’s understood, then? End of investigation?’

‘Yes, sir.’

He nodded and she left the room. Crombie let out his breath in a low whistle.

‘What the hell do you make of that?’

‘I don’t like it, Alan, but we’ll have to find some other way of keeping an eye on them. I don’t want Nina dabbling in it any more. She said earlier that that insidious stuff can get to anybody and if we’re not careful we’ll have her floating off to Salvation City or whatever it calls itself.’

‘It never ceases to amaze me how gullible people are,’ Crombie said, and returned to his papers.

But it was a minute or two before Webb was able to switch his mind back to the murder case. A niggling sense of unease persisted, and he found himself wishing he’d never agreed to Nina going along to that place. Thank God he’d been able to call a halt before it had gone too far.

*

Back in her cubby-hole of an office, Nina sat down at her desk. Well, she’d done what was required of her and the official part of it was over, thank goodness. She’d felt increasingly uncomfortable last night, knowing she was spying on them, betraying their friendship, and it had been a profound relief when she’d played the tape back at home and it had proved as innocent as before. She had discharged her duty and was now free to do as she wished.

And she wished — very much — to go back. There was so much more she wanted to know. Brad Lübekker had singled her out last night and they’d had a long talk about the growth of the Movement and the urgency in achieving its aims. What was more, he’d told her Captain Bellringer would be in London next week and wondered if she’d like to meet him. The thought of it made her weak. To meet in person that wonderful man who had so much strength of vision that he was able, single-handed, to hold out the hope of salvation. She felt confusedly that her whole life had been moving towards such a meeting.

And then, of course, there was Daniel — Daniel, who had been so proud for her at the attention the Elder was paying her, who had taken her hand as he walked with her to the door after the meeting. She smiled softly to herself. Sorry and all that, sir, but she was going back all right. Tonight.

Chapter 8

Hannah said slowly, ‘I don’t quite understand what you’re saying, Matron.’

The woman in front of her flushed. ‘To be honest, Miss James, I’m not sure I do myself. I just felt you should know.’

Hannah gazed at her thoughtfully. Janet Rimmer had been matron of Bronte House for the past four years. She was an efficient, sensible woman, not, Hannah would have said, over-endowed with imagination — but who wanted that in a matron?

‘When exactly was this?’

‘During the lunch break, when they should have been over at the school anyway. I was going down for lunch and heard this voice as I passed Marina Chase’s room. That’s why I stopped.’

‘And you say it was a man’s voice?’

‘That’s right. Of course, I realized at once it was either a tape or the radio, but there was something about it which caught my attention and I — I stopped to listen.’

Her flush deepened. ‘Miss James, this sounds ridiculous, but it really was most disturbing. I couldn’t have moved if I’d wanted to. It was all so plausible, yet so wrong.’

‘But was it pornographic? Is that what you mean?’

‘No, no, nothing like that. In fact it was pseudo-religious, but subversive — really quite frightening. All about the end of the world, that Satan is everywhere and people are basically evil.’

‘The dogma of original sin, subversive?’ Hannah queried with raised eyebrow.

Janet Rimmer said stiffly, ‘Perhaps I’m wasting your time.’

Hannah put out an impulsive hand. ‘No, please, I was being flippant. I’m very grateful you told me. Did you speak to Miss Anthony?’

The house-mistress was also a down-to-earth woman.

‘I went to her first, but she thought I could perhaps describe the undercurrents better, having heard them for myself. Not that I seem to be making a very good job of it. It was nasty, Miss James — that’s really all I can say.’

‘You didn’t go in and tackle Marina about it?’

‘No, to be honest I felt out of my depth. And she wasn’t alone. When the tape ended, I heard her say, “Turn it over, Steph.”’

The matron looked down at her clasped hands. ‘You heard she and Stephanie came back from exeat as vegetarians? I was wondering if there was any connection, if it was something that happened during the weekend.’

Of course! The publicity sheet David had shown her, for a meeting to be held by — what had he called them? The Revvies? Stephanie and Marina were home that night — possibly at a loose end. Had they gone along out of curiosity? And if so, what had happened to them?

Seeing the woman’s troubled eyes on her, Hannah said slowly, ‘I believe there was a meeting last Friday of this new cult people are talking about. Perhaps the girls went along.’

Miss Rimmer’s face cleared. ‘That would certainly explain it. But what were their parents thinking of, letting them go to something like that?’

‘It’s my bet their parents knew nothing about it.’ Hannah’s opinion was not high of either the Frenches or the Chases regarding their respective daughters. As long as the girls were out of the way and not making nuisances of themselves, they were left to their own devices. That much she had gleaned over the years, both from comments by the girls themselves and from what she had noted on Parents’ Evenings. But she couldn’t say as much to Matron.

‘I think I’d better have a word with them,’ she said.

‘I hope it won’t be necessary to reveal my part in this. I shouldn’t like them to think I listen at doors — it’s something I’ve always despised.’

‘No names will be mentioned,’ Hannah assured her. ‘Thank you, Matron. If this does stem from last Friday, at least we can nip it in the bud before it gets a hold on them.’

*

Mattie Hendrix sat bolt upright on her chair. They were in the meeting room at Victoria Drive and it was like a tribunal, she thought fearfully. Facing her across the table was Prelate Lübekker, with Sarah — naturally — at his side, and Adam and Daniel at either end.

Had Nina been present she would scarcely have recognized the attractive, smiling man who had devoted so much time to her the previous evening. Now the craggy face was like granite, the eyes splinters of glass.

‘You do realize, Sister Matilda,’ he said in his slow, American drawl, ‘that this is a serious matter?’

Mattie moistened her lips. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘There are thousands of people desperate for a place in Salvation City. In all fairness, we can’t keep yours indefinitely if you fall behind with your payments.’

‘But I put every penny I can spare into the fund, Prelate,’ she protested. ‘The trouble was that the last course was more expensive than I’d budgeted for, and Sarah insisted it was compulsory.’

‘She was correct. If you don’t keep up with the courses, how will you learn enough to instruct others?’

He templed his fingers and looked at her over the top of them. ‘Which brings me to another point. I see your enrolment record’s disappointingly low.’

‘Two girls from my school were here on Friday,’ she said quickly.

‘Coincidentally, I believe. Have you spoken to them since, made sure they had leaflets and cassettes?’

‘No, sir.’ Another black mark, she thought despairingly.

‘Then it’s fortunate Brother Terry supplied them, isn’t it?’

So he’d known of her shortcomings all along.

‘Can you explain why you yourself didn’t do what was necessary?’

‘I — I find it hard to speak of my faith.’

‘So do we all, at times, but if no one made the effort, where would the Movement be? You’re aware of the urgency. Time moves remorselessly on.’ He studied her with his cold, cold eyes. ‘How is your gospel progressing?’

She lied desperately. ‘Quite well, thank you, Prelate.’ If only she’d more time! But he’d just warned her it was running out, for all of them.

‘Very well, that’s all for the moment. But this has to be your final warning, Sister. Either you keep up your payments or you forfeit your place — and you know what the consequences of that would be.’

He nodded in dismissal and she escaped from the room and stumbled down the corridor to the kitchen. Lucy and Liz were finishing their tea and Lucy rose with a smile to fetch another mug. Mattie sank into a chair and put her head in her shaking hands.

‘As bad as that?’ Lucy said sympathetically. ‘Here, drink this. Nothing like tea when you’re down.’

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Mattie said simply. She was aware that she shouldn’t discuss it with them; the hierarchy was strictly maintained and Gospellers such as herself did not confide in the lower level of Seekers.

‘Money, is it?’ Liz said shrewdly.

Mattie nodded, clasping her thin hands round the mug as though to draw warmth from it. ‘But I haven’t enrolled anyone for months either, and by the time I’ve corrected classwork every night I’m too tired to work on my gospel. I’m a failure, that’s all there is to it. That’s what the Prelate was really saying.’

‘Nonsense!’ said Liz robustly. ‘You’re doing your best, anyone can see that.’

‘But it’s not good enough,’ Mattie insisted tremulously. ‘This was my final warning. If I can’t keep up the payments, I lose my stake in Salvation City.’

The girls stared at her in horror. It was obviously worse than they’d realized.

‘Then concentrate on your gospel,’ Liz advised after a moment. ‘If the Elders think it has divine inspiration, they’ll waive part of your fee. It’s happened before.’

Mattie gave her a wan smile. ‘I’ll try to, but inspiration, divine or otherwise, is thin on the ground at the moment. Thanks for the tea and sympathy. I’d better be going — I’ve a pile of work to get through.’

‘Why not do it here and stay on for supper? Daniel’s bringing a guest — Nina — do you know her? Small and dark; she was here last night. I think he’s rather smitten!’

A free meal was tempting in itself, let alone the sense of belonging, of being with friends. But the Prelate would also be there and she’d had enough of his company. ‘Thanks all the same, but I’d better not. Another time, perhaps.’ And pushing back her chair she gave a tug to her faded cardigan and hurried out of the room

*.

Mr Ray of the wine importers had identified the body and was now on his way back to London. Philip Kershaw had not made any telephone calls from his room during his brief occupancy, nor had anyone phoned the hotel inquiring for him. A blank all round.

So when, wondered Webb, had he arranged to meet the couple for whom he’d been waiting when Christina French saw him? From London, anticipating booking in at the King’s Head? If so, it was not from his hotel; he’d phoned only the solicitors from there. Why on earth, Webb thought in exasperation, hadn’t he made both appointments at the same time?

Abruptly he pulled the phone towards him and dialled the estate agents. He wanted a look at the Kershaw house; no doubt the electricity was off but he’d still about an hour of daylight, which should do him.

*

Calder’s Close was a cul-de-sac of large Victorian houses off Westgate. They all looked fusty and out of date to Jackson, an impression emphasized by the gradually darkening day. The estate agents had been keen to accompany them, but the Governor wasn’t having any of that and they’d had to give in. Lord knows what he hoped to find here.

Webb was striding ahead of him up the overgrown path and inserting the key in the door. It swung open, and they stepped over a pile of free newspapers and junk mail into the hallway.

Philip Kershaw had been here on Monday, either before or after his appointment with Soames. Why had he come? To collect some possessions of his own which had lain here all these years? Or to go through his mother’s things and pack up what was personal? In either case, what had he done with them? They were not in his room at the King’s Head.

An old-fashioned phone stood on a small oak table and Webb lifted it and listened for a moment. Dead. So he hadn’t rung from here, either.

The progress through the large, silent rooms was oddly depressing. Jackson had brought a torch with him and directed its beam as Webb systematically opened cupboards and drawers, flicked through their contents and closed them again. There was nothing of interest. If there had been, Philip Kershaw must have removed it. It occurred to Webb that he didn’t know what the old lady had died of. He must remember to ask. God, he wished they could track down Soames. There were all kinds of questions he could answer.

Following the torch beam, they went up the creaking staircase, groping their way on to the landing which the closed bedroom doors rendered almost dark.

‘You take the left side, I’ll do the right,’ Webb instructed. ‘And we’d better get a move on or we’ll be in danger of breaking a leg going back down those stairs. I’ll take the torch — give me a call if you need it.’

The first door he came to was probably Miss Preston’s room. The bed was stripped, the dressing-table bare. He wondered idly what she’d do with her windfall.

‘Guv!’ Jackson’s voice rang through the gloom, startling him. ‘Come and have a dekko!’

Webb hurried across the dark landing.

‘What do you make of this?’

Jackson was standing by the window in the last of the light, holding something in his hands. Webb joined him and saw it was an exquisite ivory carving of a Noah’s ark, some eight inches long and six high.

‘And there’s all the animals lined up and all,’ Jackson added, nodding to the fireplace behind Webb.

He turned sharply, peering through the gloom at the procession marching along the mantelpiece — miniature giraffes with delicate necks, elephants, crocodiles, tigers and many more, all neatly paired with their own kind.

‘Odd sort of thing for an old lady to have, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Ken,’ Webb said slowly, ‘a very odd thing.’

Coincidence? It must be, yet Webb wasn’t sure he believed in coincidence.

‘It’s probably valuable,’ he said. ‘We’d better take it for safekeeping — I’ll let young Soames know in the morning.’ He opened the wardrobe door and shone the torch inside.

‘There’s a box of tissue paper in here. Wrap it all up, Ken. Carefully, now. Those legs and trunks are delicate.’

‘Reckon the little French granddaughter’d like this,’ Jackson commented, as he spread the paper on the bed and began his task. ‘I’m surprised Mr Kershaw didn’t take it for her.’

‘It’s hardly a toy, Ken.’ But Webb, too, was surprised the Ark had been left behind. They’d found no jewellery or other valuables in the house, though circles on dusty surfaces downstairs indicated where ornaments might have stood. Perhaps Kershaw already had as much as he could carry — he’d not had a car, after all. He might have intended to return for the Ark later, but the queries that were exercising Webb would not have troubled him. As far as he was concerned, it would have been simply another of his mother’s belongings.

‘Hurry up, Ken,’ Webb said suddenly, ‘this place is starting to give me the willies.’

*

As soon as he reached his flat, Webb took the large bundle of tissue paper through to the living-room and laid it carefully on the wide surface of his desk. Then he poured himself a drink and lit the gas fire, briefly holding out his hands to the glow. It had been cold in the empty old house and he was still chilled.