Lamplight in the Shadows (20 page)

Connie came through from the kitchen carrying the last two plates for the first course.

‘Hmm, prawn cocktail – my favourite,' said Jules, winking at James. ‘Ah, and a delicious glass of Mateus
Rosé to accompany it. Just like old times.'

James clenched his teeth, trying not to laugh at his brother's veiled sarcasm. The touching predictability of their parents was an old joke of theirs, though not a concept to throw back at them too often.
After all, perhaps we will both end up like that one day
, he thought.

‘I knew you would like it,' his father replied, pouring a glass each. ‘It is your mother's and my favourite, isn't it, Connie, love?' He glanced towards his wife, who now sat sandwiched between her two sons.

‘It certainly is. I can remember when we were first married, your father said—'

‘Well, now that we are all seated,' interjected Jules, keen not to go down the route of a story already heard numerous times over the years, ‘let's drink a toast to us all and Christmas.'

‘A toast to us all and Christmas,' re-joined James, raising his glass.

‘To us all.'

‘Christmas.'

As the general clinking of glasses settled, Connie had another go.

‘As I was saying,' she said, replacing her wine glass on the table, ‘I can remember when—'

‘Yes, Mum, we know. We've heard it all before.' James patted her on the arm. ‘Changing the subject, I see that there is a possibility of snow next week. Perhaps you will have a white Christmas this year. What do you think, Dad?'

‘If we do, then I hope it isn't as bad as some of the past ones. There have been times when the drifts in the lanes have been as high as the hedgerows. The only thing that could get through was the milk truck and then only once the farmers had cleared a way through with a tractor. Fortunately, Colin – he's the farmer down the road,' the aside was for Janice's benefit, ‘he still has a herd of milking cows, so we should be ok here. He can't afford not to get the milk out.'

‘Didn't someone get stuck in the chapel when it snowed one year?'

‘So the story goes, although it was before our time here. Apparently, it was quite a blizzard with visibility down to just a few feet. It was two men. They did not spot this house farther down the road. However, they stumbled across the chapel and were able to get in out of the weather. Rumour has it that they had no food and nothing but melt-water to drink for almost four days.'

‘They did survive, then?'

‘Oh yes. When it stopped snowing, a parishioner went to check on the chapel – to see if it had any leaks or something of that nature. Anyway, he found them in there, cold as anything and hardly able to move. He did not recognise them as local people and they seemed confused as to where they lived, so he called for an ambulance. It turned out that they had escaped from Dartmoor prison a few days before it had started snowing. The prison staff had searched the local moors, but had given up once the snow set in. They hadn't bargained for them getting as far as here!'

‘So, they missed their Christmas lunch – spent it in a form of solitary confinement, you might say – and then got returned to jail for their efforts!' said James. ‘You see, God will ensure that your sins are punished!'

‘Lucky for them that the door still had a proper latch on the outside,' said Connie.

‘Who needs a latch when you have a cigarette holder?' asked Jules, brandishing his in the air like a wand. ‘It worked wonders this morning, didn't it, Janice?'

Janice looked up sharply at her brother-in-law, but said nothing.

‘We took shelter there when the storm broke,' Jules continued. ‘You know, after we left you with that gory business in the farrowing shed.'

Jim nodded. ‘I wondered where you had got to. The broken latch is actually on the roof beam on the right of the porch. I did offer to repair it for them, but they said it keeps the vandals out.'

‘But not enterprising young men from the City,' said Jules, fixing a cigarette into the holder.

‘Jules! We are still eating.'

He paused at the rebuke from his mother, started to say something, thought better of it and meekly replaced the holder in his jacket pocket.

‘I gave Janice an organ recital.'

‘Oh, you poor dear!' sympathised Connie, turning to her daughter-in-law. ‘Whatever had you done to deserve that?'

‘He was quite good, really,' said Janice, causing Jules to attempt a theatrical bow whilst seated.

‘He said it was something you used to play, James – though I've never heard you do so.'

‘What was it, Jules?' Connie enquired.

‘Oh, it was just the theme tune from
Love Story
.'

‘And I thought the noise we heard was the storm getting worse, didn't you, Pops?'

‘That's enough,' Connie said anxiously. She had seen many a round of good-humoured banter between her men-folk end up in a mindless argument as they became entrenched within their own viewpoints. She was not allowing that to happen today. Instinctively, she looked to change the subject.

‘Wasn't it the chapel-folk who were famous for some uprising in Devon, James?'

‘Oh, that sounds interesting,' enjoined Janice, more relieved than Connie to have a new topic discussed.

‘I guess you are speaking of the Prayer Book Rebellion?' said James.

‘Not quite so interesting, after all,' entered Jules, chasing his last prawn round the glass with a fork whilst thinking that he never had understood the concept of serving prawn cocktails in wine glasses. ‘Got it!' He examined the speared prawn as though ensuring it were dead, before finally eating it. ‘Do continue, James – if you must.'

‘It was nothing to do with the “chapel-folk” as Mum put it.' Turning to his wife, he continued. ‘This part of Devon is famous for its role in the Prayer Book Rebellion, which followed the introduction of the
Book of Common Prayer
in 1549. You see, the latter was in English and it replaced the four old liturgical books.'

‘Which were in Latin,' Jules broke in with a groan.

‘Absolutely. My, I am impressed!'

‘Anything to move the story on.' Jules made a rolling gesture with his hands. ‘All this talk of religious stuff is getting me down. We are supposed to be having fun. After all,
it is
Christmas!'

‘Jules, don't.' The warning look from his mother was enough to make him back down.

‘Alright, I'll not spoil the bishop's story. Do go on, brother.' He waved his wine glass in an expansive manner before taking a mouthful.

‘Ignore his taunting, James. Do continue,' Connie said, frowning at her younger son. ‘Jules, as you have heard the story, you can help me with the next course.' She nudged him and rose from her seat.

Jules smiled and followed her bidding. James turned back to his wife.

‘As I was saying, the new version was introduced in 1549, some three hundred years before Hope Chapel was built. The book proved to be very unpopular amongst religious conservatives, especially in those areas of the country where there was traditionally a strong Catholic loyalty. Devon and Cornwall were two such counties – yes, please.' He nodded to his father, who had started to replenish the wine glasses. ‘In the end, a large group of protestors marched from Sampford Courtenay to Exeter and lay siege to the city for one month or so. On the way there, about 1,300 of them died at Sampford Courtenay and another 1000 were killed at Crediton. All in all, about 4,000 protestors died as a result of the rebellion.'

‘Which side won?'

‘Oh dear, James.' Jules' head appeared around the frame of the kitchen door. ‘Doesn't your good lady attend church very often?'

‘Evidently, neither do you, Jules, or you would know that the
Book of Common Prayer
has been superseded for some time, most unfortunately so in my view, by more modern versions of liturgy.'

‘I don't suppose God minded very much either way. After all, I expect he speaks Latin and English. What do you think, James?'

‘Ignoring my brother, the answer to your question is that the rebels lost and the
Book of Common Prayer
, in English, became widely established within the Church of England.'

‘The point being, however,' Jules responded, as he ferried in two plates of turkey and goose meat, ‘that the Devonians are a rebellious lot – something they probably inherited from the Cornish, who are all for proclaiming the “Independent Republic of Cornwall”.' He placed the plates on the table and sat down. ‘Gosh, this entertaining lark is exhausting.' Repositioning his napkin on his lap, he looked around the table with an air of nonchalance.

‘Does anyone want to pull my cracker?'

* * *

The evening laboured on, with the family staggering from one half-completed conversation to the next, whilst attending to all the elements of a festive dinner as demanded by both popular and family tradition. At times, nobody really knew who was talking to whom, as there was a great tendency for everyone to speak at the same time, often on completely different topics.

Finally, the acknowledgement that both Connie and Janice were struggling to stay awake brought the occasion to a close. James and Jules hung back as their parents and Janice headed for bed.

‘Thank goodness that is over.' Jules flopped down in an armchair, propping his feet on a small stone shelf set into the fire surround.

‘You've only got yourself to blame. It was you who declared that a pre-Christmas gathering of the clan was an appropriate thing to do.' James paused to pour himself a glass of port. ‘Some of those tales of yours had changed from the last time I heard them. Somewhat embellished, one could say!'

‘Just call it the VAT on a good story! The problem is, I tend to forget after a while as to which bits of the stories are true – which can be a problem if I start relating a tale to someone who was also there and knows the truth!'

‘One for you?' James waved the decanter in Jules' direction.

‘Yes, please – only perhaps you would be so kind to use one of those wine glasses instead of the thimbles they call port glasses. They remind me of medicinal cups. I want a drink, not a tincture.'

‘You'll have a humdinger of a headache in the morning,' James retorted, following his brother's request.

‘Wrong there, old boy. Probably won't kick in until the day after – there is still some champagne left for breakfast. Anyway, it can't be any worse than the one I experienced this morning.' He winced at the memory.

James placed a glass on a table next to Jules. ‘Goodness knows what your liver function is like.'

‘Well, I wasn't yellow the last time I looked, so it can't be doing so badly, can it?' He picked up the glass and took a sip. ‘Hmm. Not a bad port – did you bring this down with you?'

James nodded in reply.

‘Sensible move.' He drank again and then, ‘James, I think we ought to talk… about today… about the chapel, I mean.'

His brother looked at him for a few moments and then smiled.

‘Nothing to be said, Jules.'

‘Really? Aren't you cross?' Jules' expression matched his voice in revealing his genuine surprise.

‘No, not at all. I've thought about it all afternoon, but I guess I am more relieved than angry.'

‘Oh, eh, good then – I guess…'

James could not help grinning. It was not often that he saw his brother genuinely nonplussed.

‘I know you were only trying to help. As it happens, you probably have, as over-hearing what I did has made my task a lot simpler.'

Jules continued to look increasingly bewildered.

‘Let me get this straight. You earwig your wife admitting that she doesn't love you anymore and you are not cross or unhappy. Hmm. Thank God I am gay, that is all I can say. Heterosexuality is far too complex for me.'

He paused, looked at his brother, took another sip of port and, in the absence of a reply, continued with his exposition.

‘Oh, I see!
Ding-dong
– what an idiot I am.' Jules theatrically slapped his hand to his forehead. ‘Divorce then, is it? A parting of the waves based on mutual unhappiness, close the chapter, an opportunity for new beginnings – no, don't tell me – free of the matrimonial shackles, the joys of the world of monasticism beckon.'

‘Good grief, no, Jules!'

‘Oh, I always thought you wanted to be a monk?'

‘No, not that. I mean, no, I could not possibly divorce Janice. It would go against everything I stand for and believe in.'

‘Well, that rules me out of further debate. Far too logical for me.' He shook his head. ‘Let me see – man thinks he no longer loves woman; woman gives man a hard time and basically makes his life a misery; woman is heard admitting she no longer loves man; man, however, couldn't possibly use all this as grounds for divorce because he read somewhere in a two-thousand-year-old book that one mustn't do that. No, quite, what would God say? He wouldn't like it at all, would he now? He would much rather you stayed miserable for the rest of your short life, than pluck some pleasure from it. Oh boy, James. Sometimes I think being clever is not good for your health. Do you know of a good psychiatrist? I sure do believe that you are in desperate need of one.'

They sat in silence for a few moments, their eyes fixed on each other's face, until Jules spoke again.

‘I'm sorry. I have probably said too much. It is really none of my business. You do what you must. It's your life.'

‘You are beginning to sound like our father. He was saying pretty much the same this morning. However, don't be hard on yourself. I know you are only trying to help. Yes, I heard what Janice said this morning, but I think you have done me a big favour. At least I now know where I stand – and can act accordingly.'