The Snares of Death (25 page)

‘No!' Maggie spat, bristling with hostility. ‘We're not going anywhere until I've told this fascist carnivore a thing or two.'

It was Bleddyn's turn to investigate the newcomer. The dog loped up, waving his plumed tail back and forth in greeting. Dexter turned and, before anyone realised what was happening, administered a vicious kick to the dog's ribs. Bleddyn yelped in pain and went down.

‘You bloody bastard!' screamed Maggie, going to her knees beside the dog. ‘You've hurt him!' Bleddyn struggled to get up, but fell back whimpering. ‘You've broken his ribs!'

‘You should keep your vicious dog from attacking innocent people,' Dexter said self-righteously. ‘Dangerous animals like that ought to be put down.'

‘He was only saying hello.' Rhys's voice was choked with emotion and his fair skin was scarlet under its freckles.

‘He attacked me,' insisted Dexter.

Maggie lifted her face from crooning over the dog and looked up at Dexter with pure, murderous hatred. ‘He should have killed you, you monster. Now why don't you just sod off!'

CHAPTER 33

    
Confounded be all they that worship carved images, and that delight in vain gods: worship him, all ye gods.

Psalm 97.7

Bob Dexter was aware, even as he was engaged in his confrontation with Maggie and Rhys, that the church door was slightly ajar; he knew that it had been locked that morning. He determined, as he left them bent over the injured dog, to investigate. Perhaps it was his lucky day, and he'd catch the phantom flower-leaver in the act.

He entered the church quietly, almost stealthily, and crept to the chapel. Yes! There was someone there, kneeling beneath the statue. It was a woman – he could tell that much, though her back was to him and her head was bowed. He could just make out the little bunch of flowers on the floor in front of her. Dexter moved into the chapel silently, standing at the back for a moment as he savoured his triumph. He had her at last, this vexatious person who had so disturbed him with her illegal devotion to an inanimate idol. She couldn't escape from him now. He listened carefully; in the silent church he could hear the click of the rosary beads in her hands as well as her quiet voice repeating, ‘Hail Mary, full of grace . . .'

When he could stand the hateful words no longer he strode forward. ‘Stop it!' he ordered. ‘Stop it this minute!'

The woman turned, with the frozen, panic-stricken face of a rabbit caught transfixed in the glare of a car's headlamps. It was his wife.

‘Elayne!' was all he could say for a moment, and then, ‘What on earth . . . !'

In the interminable-seeming seconds of silence that followed, the stark terror on Elayne's face melted into a calmness drawn from some unknown source. ‘Bob.'

‘Is this your idea of a joke, Elayne?'

She considered the question unsmilingly. ‘No, it's not a joke.'

‘What do you think you're doing?' he demanded. His tone of voice, condescending scorn mingled with distaste, was one that he used often with her, usually to good effect.

‘I'm praying.'

‘To that piece of stone?'

‘If that's what you choose to call her.'

Elayne got up from her knees then, and her husband came towards her, not to help her but to tear the rosary from her hand. He threw it on the floor with contempt, then stepped on it deliberately, grinding the plastic beads under his heel. He folded his arms across his chest and regarded her with lingering amazement. ‘Why, Elayne? Why are you doing this? I thought that you were a good Christian woman. I thought that you loved Jesus.'

‘Oh, I do. He's up there, too, you know.' She pointed to the child in the Virgin's arms.

‘Blasphemy!' he cried. Swiftly, without stopping to think, Bob Dexter struck his wife across the face.

He had never hit her before; his weapons tended to be psychological and verbal rather than physical. The blow startled her, but as she took a step back from him, touching her stinging cheek, her strength seemed intensified rather than diminished. ‘Do you want to know why?' she asked softly.

He nodded, too horrified to speak.

‘It's because of the baby. Because of Bobby.'

‘Don't call him that.' Dexter's voice grated harshly. ‘He didn't have a name.'

‘Of course he had a name. You just wouldn't let me use it. His name was Bobby.'

‘No.' Dexter turned away. ‘I don't want to talk about it. It's not healthy to dwell on the past.'

‘He was our son, Bob. You can't just pretend he didn't exist.'

‘He wasn't a baby. He was a . . . thing.'

Elayne raised her voice at last; each word was enunciated clearly and painfully. ‘He . . . was . . . a . . . person! A person, Bob! A creation of God, given to us through our love for each other!'

‘No.'

‘Yes, Bob!' She clasped her hands together and spoke passionately. ‘That's the whole problem, isn't it? You just can't accept that God could make a mistake. No, Bobby wasn't perfect. But he was our son! And I loved him! I love him still!' The last sentence caught on a sob; she turned and gazed up at the statue. ‘
She
understands,' Elayne whispered. ‘
She
understands what it's like to lose a son. I could talk to her about it. I could never talk to you, Bob. You didn't want to talk about it – you never wanted to talk about it. You forgot about him, put the whole episode out of your mind as soon as you could. You had Becca, after all. It was always Becca, wasn't it? I don't think you ever really wanted another baby – Becca was all you needed. But the hurt never stopped for me. And when I had to leave Richmond, leave Bobby's grave behind . . . I found
her
. She understands my pain.' She went to her husband and knelt at his feet. ‘Please, Bob,' she pleaded through her tears. ‘Please don't destroy her. She means so much to me . . .'

He whirled around and regarded her with disgust; it was as though he hadn't heard a word of her tearful confession. ‘Get up, woman!' he ordered. ‘And get out of my sight! You make me sick! I've given you a good home. I've given you everything that a wife could want. I've been to you as God to the Church, just as He commanded in Holy Scripture. And this is how you repay me? This is what you call obedience? You've betrayed me, woman! Get out of my sight!'

CHAPTER 34

    
For we consume away in thy displeasure: and are afraid at thy wrathful indignation.

    
Thou hast set our misdeeds before thee: and our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.

Psalm 90.7–8

Bob Dexter had never been much for walking; now he got in his car and drove around the narrow country lanes for a long time – he didn't know how long. Eventually he found himself back in South Barsham, and on impulse turned down the lane by the old blacksmith's and bumped along until he reached Monkey Puzzle Cottage.

There were no heralding barks from Babs and Nell, and no foreshortened muzzles pressed to the sitting-room window; no twitches of the lace curtains, either, and Bob Dexter concluded that the women must be out walking the dogs. He decided to wait, sitting in the car rather than on the pink dralon sofa which, improbably, rested under the spiny limbs of the monkey puzzle tree, as if to offer a resting place for weary passers-by. But Dexter was not curious by nature, and didn't even spare a thought for this incongruous sight.

Sure enough, after a while they came up the lane, the two ugly spaniels trotting ahead of the two elderly spinsters. Alice Barnes strode purposefully, her arms swinging rhythmically at her sides, while Gwen Vernon seemed somehow to trail in her wake, all fluttering garments and flapping arms.

Gwen saw his car first. She clutched frantically at Alice's arm. ‘He's here!' she hissed. ‘I knew that he'd come!'

Alice spoke to her through clenched teeth. ‘Leave this to me, Gwen. Don't say anything. This may just be a pastoral visit! Anyway, if he looks, he won't find a thing. So don't worry!' She marched up to the car and tapped on the window with her house key. ‘What can we do for you,
Father
Dexter?'

He opened the door and got out. ‘I'd like a word with the two of you, if it's not too much trouble. May I come in?'

‘Yes, of course.' He followed Alice around the side of the house, past the sofa, the monkey puzzle tree and the polythene-tented automobile; Gwen and the dogs brought up the rear.

They were obnoxious dogs, he thought, but at least they had the good sense to give Bob Dexter a wide berth. Once in the house, Babs and Nell nosed open the sitting-room door and disappeared, presumably to fight for possession of their favourite dilapidated chair. Alice led the human members of the party into the kitchen; Bob Dexter no longer merited being entertained in the sitting room, which was reserved for honoured and welcome guests.

He'd never been in the kitchen before. It was small, as were all the rooms in the tiny cottage, and was dominated by the huge Aga, which on this warm day threw off an uncomfortable amount of heat. In the winter it would keep this room cosily warm, in contrast to the chilly sitting room; it was no wonder that the women spent much of their time here, sitting in the spindle-backed chairs with the worn flowered cushions.

Gwen automatically went to the kettle. ‘Would you like some tea?' she offered. Alice glared at her, but Dexter nodded. Gwen fussed about getting down the tea caddy, and the old brown pot. No silver pot today, and no good china cups. No cream cakes, either – in fact, she wouldn't even offer him any biscuits, not even custard creams.

Alice remained standing; it would be a bad move, she thought, to let him sit down and make himself comfortable. The sooner they could get rid of him, the better. ‘Well?' she asked after a moment. ‘To what do we owe the honour of this visit?'

Although she deliberately kept her tone of voice neutral, the irony was not lost on Bob Dexter. ‘I wanted to ask you about something,' he said, matching her neutral tone. ‘As you know, we've been selling the surplus church furnishings.'

Alice raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement, and Gwen nodded lugubriously.

Dexter pulled out a chair and sat down; after a moment Alice gave up and followed suit. ‘The sale has been going rather well. The trouble is, there's one item missing from the inventory. The monstrance. I wondered if you ladies knew anything about that.'

Gwen looked alarmed, and Alice shot her a warning glance. This was going to be difficult – how could she answer truthfully without giving them away? ‘Is that tea nearly ready, Gwen?' Alice asked, playing for time and attempting to distract Gwen.

‘Not quite.' Gwen was grateful for the opportunity to turn away, fiddling with the sugar and the milk.

Father Mark had said that to take the monstrance – steal was not the word – in order to preserve it from destruction would not be a sin. That must mean that to lie – ever so slightly – to protect it would likewise not be classified as a sin. Unfortunate though it may be, that seemed the only way.

‘Do you know where the monstrance is?' Dexter repeated.

Now that was a different question from the one he'd asked before, Alice realised gratefully. Perhaps she wouldn't have to lie. ‘No,' she replied firmly. ‘I don't know where it is.' They'd given it to Elayne a few days earlier, so presumably it was somewhere in the vicarage, but she didn't know that for sure.

‘You haven't seen it, then?'

‘Not recently,' she answered. That was just about true, depending on your definition of recent.

Gwen hovered behind his chair, grimacing. Dexter turned impatiently; she gave the tea another stir and poured it out. ‘Milk, Father? Sugar?'

‘Just milk. And for goodness' sake stop calling me Father!'

For once Alice was grateful for Gwen's dithering; it had got her out of a line of questioning that was becoming more dangerous by the minute. But the respite was only temporary. After a few sips of his tea, Bob Dexter continued his interrogation.

‘Let me ask you one more time, Miss Barnes. Did you or Miss Vernon take the monstrance from the church?'

Ah. Praying that Gwen would not betray her, Alice took a deep breath and said calmly, ‘No.'

‘You're sure?' he pressed.

‘Yes.'

‘Then I won't take up any more of your time,' he said, drinking down the rest of his tea and standing up.

At the door he paused. ‘I'm bound to tell you, Miss Barnes, that I don't believe you. I think that you took it, and that it's somewhere in this house.'

Her bosom quivered with indignation. ‘Are you calling me a liar,
Father
Dexter?'

‘I think that you're being economical with the truth, Miss Barnes.'

‘The monstrance is
not
in this house!'

He looked at her shrewdly, then looked at Gwen cowering behind her. ‘Miss Vernon. Could I have a word with you? In private?'

‘I don't believe that's necessary,' Alice snapped.

‘I'll be the judge of that. Miss Vernon, would you step outside with me, please?'

With a frantic look at Alice, Gwen followed him; her instinct to obey a priest, however unworthy he was, was too strong to overcome. He closed the door firmly in Alice's face and led Gwen out to where the sofa sat forlornly under the monkey puzzle tree.

‘Sit down, Miss Vernon.' Gwen complied; neither one seemed to find their surreal seating arrangements at all worthy of mention. ‘Now. I'll ask you the same question that I put to Miss Barnes. Do you know where the monstrance is?'

Gwen sighed gustily in relief. ‘No,' she replied quickly. ‘I don't know where it is.'

‘You're sure?'

‘Yes.' She wouldn't meet his eyes.