Sacrament (38 page)

Strange stuff, Will thought, as he laid the sheets back on the blotting pad. Though the word spiritual had been
very severely ousted from the text, its presence lingered. Despite the dry humour, and chilly vocabulary of the
text, it was the work of a man feeling his way towards a numinous vision; sensing, perhaps reluctantly, that his
philosophies were out of breath, and it was time to let them die. Either that, or he'd written it dead drunk.

Will had lingered long enough. It was time he got on with the business of the day, the first portion of which was
contacting Frannie and Sherwood. They needed to be told of events at the hospital, in case Steep came looking
for them. Unlikely, perhaps, but possible. Returning to the living-room, Will found Adele busy on the phone,
talking, he surmised, to the vicar. While he waited for the conversation to finish, he juggled the relative merits
of delivering his message to the Cunninghams by phone or going down to the village to talk with them in
person. By the time Adele had finished, he'd made his decision. This was not news to be delivered down the
line; he'd speak to them face to face.

The funeral had been arranged for Friday, Adele told him, four days hence, at twothirty in the afternoon. Now
that she had the date set she could start to organize the flowers, the cars and the catering. She'd already made a
list of people to invite; was there anybody Will wanted to add? He told her he was sure her list was fine, and
that if she was happy to get on with her arrangements he would take himself down to the village for an hour or
so.

'I want you to bolt the front door when I'm not here,' he told her.

'Whatever for?'

'I don't want any ... strangers coming into the house.'

'I know everybody,' she said blithely. Then, seeing that he wasn't reassured, said: 'Why are you so concerned?'

He had anticipated her question and had a meagre lie prepared. He'd overheard a couple of nurses talking at the
hospital, he told her: there was a man in the area who'd been trying to talk his way into people's homes. He then
described Steep, albeit vaguely, so that she didn't become suspicious about the story. He was by no means
certain he'd succeeded in this, but no matter: as long as he'd sowed sufficient anxiety to keep her from letting
Steep in, he'd done all he could.

i

He didn't go straight to the Cunningham house, but stopped off at the newsagent's for a pack of cigarettes. Adele
had apparently spoken to others besides the vicar while Will had been in the study, because Miss Morris already
knew about Hugo's demise. 'He was a fine man,' she said. 'When's the funeral?' He told her Friday. 'I'll close up
shop,' she said. 'I want to be there to pay my respects. He'll be missed, your father.'

Frannie was at home, in the midst of housework, apron on, hair roughly pinned up, duster and polish in hand.
She greeted Will with her usual warmth, inviting him in and offering coffee. He declined.

'I need to talk to you both,' he said. 'Where's Sherwood?'

'Out,' she said. 'He disappeared early this morning, while I was still getting up.'

'Is that unusual?'

'No, not when he's feeling unwell. He goes up into the hills, sometimes stays out all day, just walking. Why,
what's happened?'

'A great deal, I'm afraid. Do you want to sit down?'

'That bad?'

'I don't know if it's bad or good right now,' he said.

Frannie untied her apron and they sat in the armchairs either side of the cold hearth. 'I'll keep this as short as I
can,' he said, and gave her a five-minute summary of events at the hospital. She offered a few words of
condolence regarding Hugo, but then kept her silence until he reported on the effect the name Rukenau had had
upon Rosa and Jacob.

'I remember that name,' she said. 'It's in the book, isn't it? Rukenau was the man who hired Thomas Simeon. But
how does that all fit with the happy couple?'

'They're not a happy couple any more,' Will said, and went on to tell her the rest. Her expression grew more
astonished by the moment.

'He killed her?' she said.

'I don't know if she's dead. But if she isn't it's a miracle.'

'Oh my Lord. So what happens now?'

'Eventually Steep's going to want to finish what he started. He may wait until dark, he may

'Just come knocking.'

Will nodded. 'You should pack up a few things and get ready to leave as soon as Sherwood comes home.'

'You think Steep'll come here?'

'He may. He's been here before.'

Frannie glanced towards the front door. 'Oh ... yes ...' she said softly ... . I still dream about it. Dad in the
kitchen, Sher on the stairs; me with the book in my hand, not wanting to give it to him-'she had visibly paled in
the last few moments. 'I have a horrible feeling, Will. About Sherwood.' She got to her feet, wringing her hands.
'What if he's with them?'

'Why are you even thinking that?'

'Because he never quite let go of Rosa. In fact he thought about her all the time, I'm pretty sure. He only
admitted to it once or twice, but she was never far from his mind.'

'All the more reason you should pack and be ready to go,' Will said, getting to his feet. 'I want us out of here the
moment Sherwood comes back.'

She headed out into the hall, talking as she went. Will followed. 'You said earlier you weren't sure whether the
news was good or bad,' she remarked. 'Seems to me, it's all bad.'

'Not for me it isn't,' Will said, 'I've been living in Steep's shadow for thirty years, and now I'm going to be free
of him.'

'If he doesn't kill you,' Frannie said.

'I'll still be free.'

She stared at him. 'It's as desperate as that?' she said.

'It is what it is,' he replied, with a little shrug. 'You know, I don't regret knowing him: he made me who I am,
and how can I regret being me?'

'I'm sure a lot of people do. Being who they are, I mean.'

'Well, I'm not one of 'em,' he said. 'I've got a lot more out of my life than I ever thought I would.'

'And now?'

'Now I've got to move on. And I can feel it happening. Things moving in me.'

'I want you to tell me.'

'I don't think I've got the words,' he said. He smiled. Then, seeing the quizzical look on her face, he said: 'I'm ...
excited. I know that sounds weird, but I am. I was afraid there wouldn't be closure to all of this. Now I'm going
to have it, one way or another.'

She broke her gaze, and hurried upstairs, calling back down to him as she reached the landing. 'Have you got
any way of defending yourself against him?'

'Yes I have.'

'Are you going to tell me what?'

'Just something,' he said, reaching inside his jacket and touching the knife, which he had not done since picking it up. He felt the thrill of its history in his fingers, and knew he should let it go. But his flesh refused. His fingers tightened around the gummy hilt, instantly addicted to the rush it supplied. Oh the harm this knife could do-
lt would not be hard to kill Steep; to slide the blade deep into his unhappy flesh and stop his heart. And if he
had no heart to stop, then the knife would just go on cutting holes in him, until he was a thing of scraps, with the
life pouring out everywhere.

'Will?'

Frannie was calling from upstairs.

'Yes?'

'Didn't you hear me? I've been yelling.'

Lost in the blade's brutalities, he hadn't heard a word. 'Is there a problem?' he called back, opening his jacket
as he did so. His hand was still clamped to the hilt of the knife, his knuckles white.
'I'd just like a cup of tea!' Frannie yelled back.

It was such an absurd contrast - the knife in his hand, filthy with Row's juices, and Frannie's thirst for tea - that
it snapped him from his reverie completely. He pulled his knife-hand free, and closed his jacket as though he
were slamming Pandora's Box.

'I'll brew up,' he said, and went through to the kitchen, his body aching as he moved. He could not at first
understand why. It was only as he washed his hand clean under the cold tap that he realized it was the scars left
by the bear that were troubling him, as though his system was punishing him for denying it the pleasure of the
blade by awakening old pains. He would have to be careful, he realized. The knife was not to be treated lightly.
If and when he wielded it, there could be consequences.

His hand cleansed, he busied himself about the kitchen preparing the tea, hearing Frannie thumping about
above. He had brought the threat of calamity into her life, but her sanguine manner suggested she had vaguely
expected it. Like him, she had been marked; so had Sherwood. Not as profoundly, perhaps; but then who was to
say? If Sherwood had not fallen prey to Rosa, perhaps his mental state would have improved over the years, and
Frannie would have been freed of her responsibilities to him. Courted, perhaps; married, perhaps. Lived a fuller,
happier life than had been her lot.

He was filling the enamel teapot with boiling water when he heard the front door open and close, and Frannie
calling from above:
'Is that you, Sherwood?'

Instead of declaring himself, Will hung back. Frannie was coming downstairs now. 'I was getting worried
about you,' she said. Sherwood mumbled something Will couldn't hear. 'You look terrible,' Frannie said. 'What
on earth's happened?'
'Nothing-'

'Sherwood?'

'I'm just not feeling very well,' he said, 'I'm going up to bed.'
'You can't. We have to leave.'

'I'm not going anywhere.'

'Sherwood, we have to. Steep's come back.'

'He won't touch us. It's Will-' He stopped in mid-sentence, and looked towards the kitchen door, where Will
had stepped into view.

'Is Rosa still alive?' Will said.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Sherwood said. 'Frannie, what's he talking about? We don't have to
leave. Will's just here to cause trouble as always.'

'Who told you that?' Frannie said.

'It's obvious,' Sherwood replied, staring at the floor rather than his sister's face. 'That's what he's always done.'
'Where is she, Sherwood?' Will said. 'Did he bury her?'

'No!' Sherwood shouted. 'She's my lady and she's alive!'

'Where?'

'I'm not telling you! You'll hurt her.'

'No I won't,' Will said, stepping out of the kitchen. The move alarmed Sherwood. He turned suddenly and
bolted for the front door.

'It's all right!' Frannie yelled, but he wasn't about to be persuaded. He was out of the door at a dash, with Will
on his heels. Down the path to the gate, which was open, through it and off to the left, and left again, cannily
avoiding the street, where traffic might slow him, to make for the open ground behind the house. Will pursued
him up the track, yelling vainly for him to stop, but Sherwood was too quick. If he made it out to the open field,
Will knew, the chase was lost. Frannie had outmanoeuvred him however. Out of the back of the house she
came, and ran straight at Sherwood to intercept him, catching such firm hold of him he couldn't wrest himself
free fast enough to be out of her grip before Will caught up.

'Calm down, calm down,' she said to him.

He ignored her, and turned his ire on Will. 'Why did you have to come back?' he yelled. 'You spoiled
everything! Everything!'

'Now you hush yourself !' Frannie snapped. 'I want you to take a deep breath and calm down before you hurt
somebody. Now ... I suggest we all go back into the house and talk like civilized people.'

'First he has to take his hands off me,' Sherwood demanded.

'You're not going to run, are you?' Frannie said.

'No,' Sherwood replied sourly.

'Promise?'

'I'm not a child, Frannie! I said I wouldn't run, and I won't.'

Will unhanded him, and Frannie did the same. He didn't move. 'Satisfied?' he sulked, and slouched back into
the house.

ii

Once inside, Will left Frannie to ask the questions. Plainly he was the enemy as far as Sherwood was concerned,
and there would be no answers forthcoming if he was doing the enquiring. She began by reciting a shortened
version of what Will had told her. Sherwood was silent throughout, staring at the floor, but when she told him
Hugo had been murdered by Steep and McGee -which fact she cleverly kept back (at first simply saying Hugo
was dead) until almost the end of her monologue - Sherwood could not conceal the fact that he was shaken.
He'd been fond of Hugo, according to his last conversation with Will, and became fidgety and then tearful as
Frannie described Rosa's part in it.

At last he said: 'I only wanted to save her from Steep. She can't help herself.'

He looked up at his sister now, blisters of tears in his eyes. 'Why would he hurt her if she wasn't trying to free
herself? That's what she wants to do.'

'Maybe we can help her,' Will said. 'Where is she?'

Sherwood hung his head again.

'At least tell us what happened,' Frannie said gently.

'I met her a few days ago on the fells when I was out walking. She said she'd been looking for me; she needed
my help. She asked me if I could find her somewhere to sleep, now that the Courthouse was gone. I knew I
should be afraid of her, but I wasn't. I'd imagined seeing her again so often. Dreamed about meeting her just the
way I did, up there in the sun. She looked so lonely. She hadn't changed at all. And she told me how happy she
was to see me again. I was like an old friend, she said, and she hoped I thought of her the same way. I told her I
did. I said I'd get her rooms at the hotel in Skipton, but she said no: Steep refused to stay in a hotel, in case
somebody locked the doors while he was asleep. I don't understand why, but that's what she said. She hadn't
even mentioned Steep until then, and I was disappointed. I thought maybe she'd come back on her own. But the
way she begged me to help her, I saw she was afraid of him. So I said I knew a place they could go. And I took
her there.'

'Did you see Steep?' Frannie asked him.

'Later I did.'

'He didn't threaten you?'

'No. He was quiet, and he looked sick. I almost felt sorry for him. I only saw him once.'

'What about this morning?' Will said.

'I didn't see him this morning.'

'But you saw Rosa?'

'I heard her but I didn't see her. She was lying in the dark; she told me to go away.'
'How did she sound?'
'Weak. But she didn't sound as if she was dying. She would have asked me to help her if she'd been dying.
Wouldn't she?'
'Not if she thought it was too late,' Will said.
'Don't say that,' Sherwood snapped. 'You said we could help her two minutes ago.'
'How can I be sure of anything until I see her?' Will replied.
'Where is she, Sher?' Frannie said. Sherwood was looking at the floor again. 'Come on, for God's sake. We're
not going to hurt her. What's the problem?'
'I ... just don't ... want to share her,' Sherwood said softly. 'She was my little secret. I liked it that way.'
'So she dies,' Will said, exasperated. 'But at least you haven't shared her. Is that what you want?'
Sherwood shook his head. 'No,' he murmured. Then, even more quietly, 'I'll take you to her.'