Black Valley (37 page)

Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.

She looked up again. There he was, Jesus Christ, forgiving the people who’d nailed him up there.
Forgive and forget.
As if you could pretend, when someone tried to kill you, that it
had never happened. It was stupid to expect that of anyone. In fact, it was wrong.

Vengeance is mine. I will repay.

The Old Testament approach. That was more like it.

Jess bowed her head and closed her eyes, bringing her hands up to her face, as if deep in prayer. But she wasn’t praying. She was thinking.

If Elinor had flown the coop, where would she go? To Black Valley, most probably. That was her bolt-hole. Exactly where she’d be camping, it was hard to say. But there were a few places up
there she’d be bound to visit. The old haunts of Augustus John and Eric Gill and Jacob Epstein, whose figure of Christ she was kneeling before.

I’ll pray for her.

The little church at Capel-y-ffin, she remembered. The one she and Dresler had visited, with the inscription by Eric Gill etched into the window. Elinor had said she liked to go there and sit
quietly inside, when she was feeling troubled.

She opened her eyes. Christ looked down at her, arms outstretched. She noticed that his face was impassive, not forgiving at all. Perhaps Epstein had meant to convey that he was standing in
judgement. Perhaps she’d got it wrong, after all.

It was worth a try, she thought. She’d go to Capel-y-ffin, and wait there for Elinor, however long it took. Sooner or later, she was bound to come by.

And then Elinor would have to start praying for herself.

It was getting dark as Jess drove into Capel-y-ffin. She parked the car by the side of the road, got out, and made her way to the tiny chapel that gave the hamlet its name. She
stopped beside the church gate, noting from the wooden board next to it that services were still held there. Then she peered through the shadows at the church itself.

It was a tiny whitewashed stone building with a wonky wooden turret at one end of the roof. Jess remembered Dresler reading out a quote about it, the day they’d toured around the valley in
the car. The Victorian diarist Francis Kilvert had noted that it squatted ‘like a stout grey owl among its seven great yews’. It was an apt description; the tilt of the turret gave it a
homely, comical air, yet there was also something a little sinister about the way it glimmered in the dusk, shaded by the ancient yews, as if watching and waiting, in the silence, for night to
descend.

She walked up the path. As she neared the porch, she heard music. Someone inside was playing the organ.

She wondered for a moment whether to turn around and come back later. Then she decided to go in. Whoever it was might be able to tell her about the people who came and went here. And throw some
light on Elinor’s movements, perhaps.

She walked into the porch and lifted the latch on the heavy wooden door. As she did, a blast of music hit her ears, cascades of Bach tumbling out of the church like water out of a floodgate.

She looked around. There was an old organ at the back of the chapel, jammed up against the wall. The pipes in front of it were tall, obscuring the person who was playing it. The rest of the
church was very simple. There were a few rickety pews lined up in front of the altar, a tiny table covered in a white cloth. A staircase led up to a wooden gallery, only wide enough to accommodate
one row of seats. The place smelled musty and damp.

She walked down the aisle, sat in a pew, and waited. In another mood, she would have relaxed into this wholly unexpected pleasure: hearing this bright, nimble music played with such vigour, in a
pretty little church in the Black Valley, with the night coming down.

Not now, though.

She looked up at the arched window above the altar. There was an inscription engraved into the glass:
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.
The lettering
was beautiful, unmistakeably Gill’s handiwork. Behind it, in the fading light, she could see the great purple mass of the mountain, rising up from the valley to the sky.

She gazed up at it and couldn’t help letting out a sigh. She could see why Elinor liked this place. There was something magical about it, a kind of modesty that you didn’t often see
in a British church. More like a Greek chapel, Mediterranean . . .

The Bach piece ended. There was a pause, and another began. A different one, with more bass chords, more pomp and circumstance. She waited patiently through it. And then she heard the player get
up.

She got up, too, and stood in the aisle, turning towards the organ. A man appeared from behind it, dressed in a full-length black Anglican cassock, a dog collar at his neck. By his side was an
enormous black poodle, who’d evidently been sitting with him while he played.

‘That was very nice.’ She greeted him with a smile.

‘Thank you.’ The man didn’t seem surprised to see her there. ‘Just keeping my hand in. The organ needs to be played from time to time.’

The dog bounded through the open door of the church, and out into the churchyard.

‘So you still have services here, do you?’

‘Evensong once every two weeks. That’s all I can manage at the moment, I’m afraid.’

Jess nodded. ‘D’you get much of a congregation?’

‘Oh yes.’ The cleric looked over her head, out at the churchyard, rather distractedly.

‘I suppose you know them all.’

‘Hmm.’ He wasn’t listening. Probably wondering where his dog had got to.

‘I’m looking for a friend, actually.’ Jess tried to sound casual. ‘I believe she comes here sometimes.’ She paused. ‘Her name’s Elinor
Powell.’

‘Elinor? Of course. I know all the Powells. Ursula was a dear friend, at one time. Such a terrible loss.’ He paused. ‘I saw Elinor here yesterday, as it happens. She often
drops by when she’s up in the valley. She’ll probably be in later on.’

‘Really? You mean, you keep it open all the time?’

‘Oh yes. We allow people to come and go as they please. We’ve never had any trouble.’ He turned to look at her. ‘I believe it’s because this is a very special
place.’

‘It is.’

‘You see . . .’ He looked away again, up at the window. ‘In this place, the skin between this world and the next is very thin.’

There was a silence. Jess didn’t break it, and neither did he.

The dog started to bark, and the priest hurried out after it without saying goodbye, his black skirts flying in the breeze.

Jess waited until he’d gone, and then she climbed behind the organ and sat down. She wasn’t visible from this position, she knew. If Elinor came in to pray, she wouldn’t be
able to see her. She could sit there and observe her, undisturbed.

It was just a question of waiting.

Jess was getting cold. The wooden bench she was sitting on was hard and uncomfortable. There were hymn books piled on top of the organ in front of her, and she could see how
the damp had rotted and curled their spines. She could feel the damp seeping into her bones, too.

She shifted her position, rubbing her hands together. It was useless, she thought. Elinor wasn’t coming. The chances of her dropping in the same night she herself happened to be there were
slim. Perhaps she’d already come by, earlier that evening. Perhaps she’d gone back to Cardiff. Perhaps . . .

The wooden door to the church creaked open. Jess caught her breath. From the position she was sitting in, she couldn’t see who had entered. That would only become clear once he or she
walked down the aisle to the altar.

She heard the sound of footsteps on the flagstones. The steps were soft, those of a person light on their feet. She held her breath, though there was no need to do so.

Elinor’s familiar figure came into view. She was wearing her old navy blue mac. Above it, her hair shone pale and translucent in the gloomy light of the chapel.

She watched as Elinor went up to the step in front of the altar and kneeled down on it. She bowed her head and began to mumble. Jess strained to hear what she was saying, but she couldn’t
make out a word.

The whispering rose and fell, swelled and slowed. Evidently, she was passionate in her prayers, whatever they were about. As she prayed, Jess felt a crescendo of emotion rise in her, too. But it
was emotion of a different kind. She was experiencing an intense urge to creep down the aisle behind Elinor, grasp her round the neck, and throttle her. Squeeze the breath out of her, until she lay
lifeless on the flagstone floor.

Jess glanced around her. Beside the organ, leaning against the wall, she saw a long iron candlesnuffer. That would do it, too, she thought. A sharp blow on the head while she was kneeling there
– the temple was supposed to be a good place, wasn’t it? A good beating once she was down, just to make sure. With the snuffer, there wouldn’t be a struggle. She could catch
Elinor by surprise and be sure of doing a proper job of it.

Elinor went on mumbling.

It would be quicker too, Jess thought. Although, of course, strangling her with her bare hands would be altogether more satisfying.

She shivered. She was shocked at herself. She’d never in her life before fantasized about killing someone. She wondered whether it was sheer anger and the desire for revenge that was
making her feel this way, or whether the concussion had changed her personality. She’d had a few clients like that, people who’d been trundling through their lives quite happily, until
a blow to the head had changed everything: cheerful people who’d become morose, good-natured souls who’d become raging bulls, conventional types who’d morphed into flamboyant
extroverts . . . Come to think of it, Augustus John, Elinor’s putative grandfather, was reputed to be one of those . . .

That was another thing. Her mind seemed to wander, constantly, these days. It sometimes felt as if there was a clot in there, a damp patch shuffling about.

She checked herself. Whatever was wrong with her mind, if her plan was to work, she’d have to keep focussed, keep calm. She needed to think straight. However murderous she might feel
towards Elinor, she needed to control herself.

Elinor continued to pray, head bowed, whispering. Then she came to the end of her prayer and raised her head, gazing out through the arched window above the altar.

I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.

No help from up there, thought Jess. Sorry about that. Not tonight.

‘Elinor.’ She stood up, and said the name loudly and clearly, her voice breaking the silence.

Elinor turned her head, a look of terror on her face.

‘Who’s that?’

Jess came out from behind the organ.

‘Jess.’ There was relief in Elinor’s voice, but it was mixed with fear. ‘You scared me. What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve been looking for you.’ Jess spoke in a low, gentle tone.

Elinor stayed on her knees as Jess walked down the aisle towards her, crouching like a cornered animal.

‘Don’t worry.’ Jess kept her tone calm. ‘I’m not angry with you. I just wanted to talk.’

Elinor glanced towards the door.

‘I’m not going to harm you,’ Jess came to a halt, standing in front of Elinor. ‘I know you’re innocent. It was Isobel, not you, who left me in the mine,
wasn’t it? You tried to protect me.’

Elinor got up off her knees. They were face to face now, Elinor’s back to the altar.

‘Let’s sit down for a minute, shall we?’ Jess extended her hand.

There was a moment’s silence. Jess wondered whether Elinor would make a run for it, and if she did, whether she’d be able to stop her. But Elinor didn’t move. Instead, she hung
her head, ashamed to look her in the eye.

‘Come. Sit down.’ Jess led her to the front pew by the altar, and they sat down side by side.

Elinor began to cry, letting her hair fall over her face so that it was hidden from view.

Jess felt her hands grow warm, the blood rushing to the fingertips. I could do it now, she thought. While she’s weak and defenceless.

She dismissed the thought, and instead, fished in her pocket for a tissue. Her long years of training had taught her always to have one handy. She was beginning to wonder if that was the only
thing she’d ever learned.

She handed the tissue to Elinor and patted her knee.

Elinor blew her nose, still hiding her face. ‘I’m sorry, Jess. I should have stopped Isobel. I wanted to come back for you, but Isobel wouldn’t let me.’ She paused.
‘Can you ever forgive me?’

‘Of course I can. It wasn’t your fault, was it?’

Elinor looked up, her blue eyes glittering in the fading light.

‘No, it wasn’t.’ She paused. ‘Are you hurt? You were in hospital, weren’t you?’

‘A bump on the head, that’s all. A few cuts and bruises. I’m fine now.’

‘Thank God.’ Elinor began to twist the tissue in her fingers.

‘Listen.’ Jess lowered her voice. ‘I’m not going to tell anyone you’re Hefin Morris. I’ll keep your secret for you. You don’t need to worry about
that.’

‘Well, I don’t know what’s going to happen about that.’ Elinor gave a sigh. ‘I’m having trouble painting now. Isobel’s furious. All this effort
she’s gone to, and then I let her down. That’s why I’ve come up here. To clear my mind.’

‘I can help you to paint again.’ Jess took her hand. ‘I can help you sort all of this out. Come back to therapy.’

Elinor looked wary. ‘You mean, you’re not angry with me?’

Jess shook her head. ‘I was. But not now. Now I realize you’re just confused. Confused, and in thrall to Isobel. I can help you break free of her.’ She paused. ‘But this
time, you must be honest with me. You must tell me everything. From the start.’

Elinor turned her head away. ‘I can’t do that. I’ve done some terrible things, you see. Things I can never tell anyone.’

Jessica leaned over and took her hand. ‘It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to help you.’

‘But if I told you, you’d have to report me.’

Jess shook her head. ‘No. I’m a psychotherapist. Anything you say to me is in complete confidence. It’s part of my job.’ She paused. ‘People tell me their secrets
all the time. I never divulge them.’