The Gospel Makers
Authors: Anthea Fraser
© Anthea Fraser 1994
Anthea Fraser has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 1994 by Collins Crime, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
This edition published in 2015 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
GREEN GROW THE RUSHES-O
I’ll sing you one-O!
(Chorus) Green grow the rushes-O!
What is your one-O?
One is one and all alone and evermore shall be so.
I’ll sing you two-O!
(Chorus) Green grow the rushes-O!
What are your two-O?
Two, two, the lily-white Boys, clothed all in green-O,
(Chorus) One is one and all alone and evermore shall be so.
I’ll sing you three-O!
(Chorus) Green grow the rushes-O!
What are your three-O?
Three, three, the Rivals,
(Chorus) Two, two, the lily-white Boys, clothed all in green-O,
One is one and all alone and evermore shall be so.
Four for the Gospel makers.
Five for the Symbols at your door.
Six for the six proud Walkers.
Seven for the seven Stars in the sky.
Eight for the April Rainers.
Nine for the nine bright Shiners.
Ten for the ten Commandments.
Eleven for the Eleven that went up to Heaven.
Twelve for the twelve Apostles.
She wasn’t to know those were the last words he would ever say to her. Later, when she did know, she bitterly regretted not having listened more closely. At the time, though, she was concentrating on Celeste’s birthday party, to be held that afternoon.
It was one of those golden October days which, particularly in the Loire valley, one associated with the
vendange
. As a child, she had helped pluck the grapes from her father’s vines, staining mouth and fingers with the rich ruby-red juice. Best of all, she was allowed to sit with the
vendangeurs
at the long trestle tables that lined the roadside while the contents of huge tureens of soup, fragrant on the still air, were ladled into bowls. The soup, the crusty baguettes, and above all, the sweet, pervading smell of the grapes: these were the memories that the word ‘October’ had conjured up in her mind.
But never again. Instead, she would remember the sun-filled kitchen and herself stirring the cake mixture in the blue and white bowl, and Philippe lifting her hair to kiss the back of her neck as he always did, and making some comment about his trip to England. But she wasn’t really listening, because there were so many things she must do before Celeste and her friends arrived back from school, and because anyway he would tell her all about it when he came back in four days’ time.
How could she know he would not come back, ever again?
Detective Inspector Nina Petrie let herself into the house and leant against the door, pushing it shut behind her. Its warmth enfolded her, welcome after the cool afternoon air. ‘I’m home!’ she called.
There were simultaneous responses from her eight-year-old daughter upstairs: ‘Down in a minute, Mummy!’ — and from her mother in the kitchen: ‘The kettle’s on.’
Nina smiled, propping her briefcase against the hall table. It was working well, this return to Shillingham. Her marriage breakdown a couple of years ago had coincided with her mother’s deteriorating health, and when her promotion came up it had seemed sensible to opt to move back here. It was to their mutual advantage; her mother had company, and there was someone in the house when Alice came home from school or when, as increasingly happened, Nina was called out at night. Also, now that the initial prickliness with the DCI had been smoothed over, she enjoyed her job: far more challenging in this busy division than it had been in sleepy Oxbury.
She pushed open the kitchen door and her mother turned to greet her, teapot in hand. ‘How did it go?’
‘Like a dream. After four weeks’ slog the case is wrapped up, and I’ve a free weekend ahead of me.’
‘About time you had a chance to relax,’ Mrs Paxton commented.
In fact, though, she was not yet ready to unwind; still exhilarated by the case, she felt restless, needing to do something positive, to go out somewhere, meet people. But since she’d no plans, the prospect of an evening’s television, though boring, seemed inevitable.
There was a crumpled sheet of paper on the table and she picked it up. ‘What’s this?’
‘Someone pushed it into my hand in Duke Street. I stuffed it in my pocket and forgot about it.’
‘Lonely? Restless? Dissatisfied?’ Nina read aloud. ‘Does the future seem bleak? It needn’t be! Don’t miss this chance to change your life for the better! Everyone welcome TONIGHT, 5, Victoria Drive at 8 o’clock.’
At the top of the sheet was a smudged logo of what looked like a triangle with a curved line above it. Nina frowned and flipped the paper over, but the back was blank. ‘Isn’t this the new cult everyone’s talking about? The Revelationists or something?’
‘Never heard of them,’ Mrs Paxton said absently. ‘Drop it in the bin, dear, tea’s ready.’
Nina tapped the paper thoughtfully. ‘They warned us at the station about this lot. They’re not nearly as innocuous as they seem.’
Alice came running into the room and flung her arms round her mother’s waist. ‘I’ve finished my homework. We didn’t have much today.’
‘Good for you,’ Nina said, patting the shining head. Then, to the older woman. ‘You know, Mum, I think I might just go along.’
Mrs Paxton turned sharply. ‘To the meeting? Are you mad? They’ll brainwash you — that’s how they get converts — turn you into a zombie, no good to yourself or anyone else. Nina, for pity’s sake be sensible. You said they were dangerous. Throw that away and forget it.’
‘But it’s an ideal chance to see them in operation. It could be useful if there’s trouble — and there’s likely to be, sooner or later. Parents complaining their kids have been alienated, and so on.’ She glanced at her own daughter, standing on one leg as she opened the biscuit tin. ‘If we can prevent that, surely it’s worth giving up an evening to suss it out?’
‘But once you’re there you mightn’t get away,’ Mrs Paxton said worriedly. ‘They’re manipulators, these people. There must be safer ways of keeping an eye on them.’
‘Mum, I promise I’ll be careful. I know what I’m walking into, unlike the other poor devils who go along. And if I’m not home by ten-thirty, you can call the fire brigade!’
*
Dilys Hayward stood in her study fighting down a growing feeling of dismay as the voice of her god-daughter, blithe and supremely unconcerned, came over the telephone.
‘They won’t be any trouble, darling, honestly. Seb’s an angelic baby and Sarah’s highly trained and efficient. What’s more, she adores him, so you needn’t worry on that score. And the chance to go with James really is too good to miss. I’d have asked the parents, but as luck would have it they’re in France at the moment, buying a house.’
Susie paused for breath and Dilys realized with a sinking heart that she must make some comment. But, heaven knew, the last thing she wanted at the moment was anyone staying in the house — least of all a nine-month-old baby. Her latest book was proving more difficult than anticipated and she had a fast-approaching deadline.
‘Susie dear, I really do think —’
‘You needn’t do a
thing
, darling, honestly! And as Sarah prepares his feeds and does the washing, it won’t affect Peggy either.’
‘You see,’ Dilys put in feebly, ‘I’m in the middle of a book, and I really do need —’
‘When you’re tucked away in your study you’ll hardly know they’re there, I
promise
! And it’s only for three weeks, after all.’ Susie paused, then tried another tack. ‘James is always swanning off to somewhere fabulous, but this is the first time I’ve been invited. If I turn it down they mightn’t ask me again. And I’ve always wanted to see Japan.’
Dilys, sensing she was beaten, made one final attempt. ‘Why not take Sebastian with you?’
‘To
Japan
?’
It wasn’t Outer Mongolia, her godmother thought waspishly. But what was the use? ‘When are you going?’ she asked, realizing even as she spoke that she’d accepted the inevitable.
Susie’s voice brightened. ‘Next Tuesday, the twelfth. You’ll take them, then? Oh darling, you’re a brick! What would I do without you?’
‘Stay at home!’ Dilys retorted incontrovertibly. ‘But if they disturb my writing, I shan’t be responsible for the consequences.’
She put down the phone and stood for a moment, her hand still on the receiver. ‘Bloody hell!’ she said, clearly and with emphasis.
She sighed, looking round the room that was her refuge, the centre of her universe. Within these walls had come to life the characters who’d won her major awards and played out their destiny on television screens across the world. Many was the night she’d spent on that faded sofa, feet tucked beneath her, scribbling in the lined notebooks which had preceded the word-processor.
The desk had been her father’s, and was massive enough to accommodate with ease computer, printer and all the other accoutrements of her craft. Behind it, a window gave on to the side of the house where, bathed in the mellow sunlight of an October afternoon, the old walnut tree stood against the faded brick wall.
And, if the ideas didn’t come, French doors leading to the garden provided an escape route. Although, Dilys reflected gloomily, for the next few weeks that sanctuary would be shared with a baby in a pram.
With a sense of impending martyrdom she walked through the adjoining sitting-room to the hall. In the dining-room opposite she could see Peggy, her housekeeper, laying the table for dinner.
‘That was Susie on the phone. Her husband’s giving a lecture at Tokyo University and she’s been invited to go with him. They intend to stay on and make a holiday of it.’
‘That’s nice,’ Peggy said comfortably, continuing to arrange the place-settings.
‘What
isn’t
so nice is that she wants to dump the baby and his nanny on us. For three weeks, heaven help us.’
Peggy straightened and looked across at her. ‘Oh dear.’
‘Precisely. Oh dear. I did my best to put her off, but her parents are in France and if I hadn’t agreed it would have meant she couldn’t go, which seemed a bit selfish.’
‘But what about your book?’
‘She insists I’ll hardly know they’re here. Nor will you,’ she added, before Peggy could voice doubts on her own account. ‘The nanny’ll see to all the baby’s food and washing.’
‘Where will she sit in the evenings?’ Peggy asked, unerringly pinpointing what to her was the major consideration. ‘With us or with you?’
‘Damn — I never thought of that.’ Peggy and her husband had their own sitting-room off the back hall. ‘I’ll ask Susie what the form is. I don’t know anything about the girl other than that she’s fully trained and adores the baby.’
Peggy made no comment except, after a moment, ‘What time do you want dinner?’
Dilys wrenched her mind from the problem which had so unexpectedly been thrust upon her. ‘About eight-fifteen, I suppose — Hannah’s due at seven-thirty. You’ll remember to take the cheese out of the fridge, won’t you?’ She glanced at her watch. Six o’clock. No chance of any more work this evening. ‘I might as well go and have my bath.’
‘When are they coming, the nanny and baby?’ Peggy called after her.
‘Next Tuesday.’ Oh,
why
had she let herself be talked into this, Dilys thought irritably. But it was too late to retract now. She could only hope Susie’s confidence was not misplaced.
*
Nina had been standing on the corner of Lethbridge Road and Victoria Drive for fifteen minutes, and was glad of the warm anorak and trousers she’d changed into. From where she stood No. 5 was plainly visible, a tall Victorian villa no different from its neighbours, except that lights shone from every window.
During that time a steady trickle of people had turned into the road and made their way to the house. Each one had paused momentarily at the gate, as though wondering whether to change his or her mind and go home. But while Nina watched, no one did. One after another they went bravely up the path and were admitted to the house — by whom, she could not see. She glanced at her watch. Nearly five to eight — time to make a move herself.
She reached the gate at the same time as another woman, approaching from the opposite direction. They exchanged hesitant smiles and Nina followed her up the path to the front door. It was opened by a young woman.
‘How nice to see you!’ she said warmly, as though they were old friends. ‘Come in everyone’s just getting to know each other. There’s tea, coffee and soft drinks in the room down the hall. Mattie’ll introduce you. Let me take your coats.’
*
At the top of the stairs, out of view of the group below, Adam Reed stood listening. Good for Sarah, striking just the right note as usual. A pity she wasn’t one of the residents. Still, she’d be just up the road for the next three weeks while her employers were away. ‘Seb and I are being sent to Mrs Trent’s godmother,’ she’d told him earlier that evening. ‘She’s a writer, and Mrs T stressed that she mustn’t be disturbed, so with luck I’ll have a fairly free rein. Should get a lot of useful work done.
‘The phone’s ex-directory, but I’ll give you the number as soon as I know it. And if you do need to ring, don’t forget you’re my cousin. It saves explanations.’
He smiled wryly, regretting the small deceit and, even more, the reason for it.
From the common-room below the subdued murmur of voices reached him, as strangers shyly responded to prod-dings to introduce themselves. Daniel and Mattie would be there, greeting, reassuring. He should be with them, but tonight he was in charge of the meeting and, as always, assailed by nerves.
Within the space of little more than an hour, he had to try to save the lost souls who’d responded to their invitation. Suppose he couldn’t reach them? Suppose the possible converts slipped through his hands?
He drew an uneven breath. The sin of pride again — he’d been warned of it. He must keep reminding himself that he was only the mouthpiece, the channel through which the power flowed. If the evening was a success, if they came back, these newcomers, it would not be because of anything he had done, but because the Captain had reached them through him — the Captain and, of course, God.
Balance precariously restored, Adam started slowly down the stairs.
*
‘It has been brought home to me, Hannah,’ Dilys commented, dropping a piece of ice into the glass, ‘that I’m a very selfish person. My world revolves entirely round my own affairs, and I resent its being disrupted. If it had been anyone but Susie I’d never have considered it.’
Hannah James took the glass from her. She knew how adept Susie was at getting her own way; ten years ago she’d been at Ashbourne School for Girls, where Hannah was deputy head. ‘I think it’s very noble of you. Especially since —’ she hesitated.
‘I’m not fond of babies at the best of times? Quite right. They’re only bearable when they’re asleep and — most importantly — someone else’s responsibility.’
‘Well, he will be, won’t he? You don’t have to get involved.’
‘All the same, I wish to heaven I’d said no.’
Hannah studied her friend’s face, noting the signs of stress. ‘Is the book still heavy going?’ she asked astutely.
Dilys grimaced. ‘As you know, once I start I usually sail through them, but this one’s the very devil. And the manuscript’s due at the end of next month.’
‘You’ll do it,’ Hannah said soothingly.
‘I’m beginning to wonder. Still, enough of my problems — how are you getting on? Have you heard from Gwen?’
Gwen Rutherford, headmistress of Ashbourne, was on a year’s sabbatical in Canada, leaving Hannah temporarily in charge.
‘Yes, she’s having a marvellous time. I had a long letter yesterday.’