An All-Consuming Fire Read online

  The canal turned to the west, curving around the hill the monastery sat on, taking them beyond the back of the property. “Look.” Cynthia pointed up the hill. “Isn’t that where your quarry is?”

  Felicity looked up the hill, across the road, beyond the stone wall bordering the property. Yes, indeed, halfway up the hill one could just make out the lip of the quarry. It seemed so secluded from the monastery side, she hadn’t realize it was visible from the open countryside. And there, in the stone wall, almost hidden by bordering bushes, was the rusted metal gate. “Let’s go up here, Mother. I want to see if Alfred got that gate fixed yet.”

  A few minutes climb up the hill told her that he hadn’t. The lock looked solid enough, but with one twist it was in her hand and the gate creaked open. “We might as well go up this way. I hope there hasn’t been more partying in the theatre.”

  Approaching from this side brought them to the lower edge of the quarry wall with the gently sloping path Felicity had suggested they might use to bring the animals in. Now she saw, though, that the way was not as disused as she had thought. Broken grass and a few footprints in the mud showed recent traffic.

  And the floor of the quarry confirmed her worst fears. Spent skyrocket tubes, firework cones and Roman candles littered the stage. She had to admit it would have made an effective base for lighting fireworks and thought briefly of the slab of plywood her father had kept in the garage to bring out every Fourth of July as a launch pad for their backyard fireworks display with Jeff and Charlie squabbling over whose turn it was to light the next rocket.

  Felicity bit her lip. Her brothers would be here for her wedding. But what of her father? Would he be here to walk her down the aisle as she had always dreamed of?

  Felicity gave herself a little shake and returned to the business at hand. “Looks like it must have been a good show.” She held up an empty packet that had contained sparklers—always her favorite as a girl. Again she was in her own backyard, a fizzing sparkler in each hand, demonstrating her latest ballet routine.

  “More than a good show it looks like.” Cynthia, on the quarry floor beyond the stage pointed to a pile of rubbish.

  With a groan of frustration Felicity hurried to her side. Cynthia bent to pick up one of the discarded syringes. “Don’t touch it!” Felicity stopped her. “That does it. Why hasn’t Alfred done something about this?” Maybe she should call the police. But what would the brethren think of that? “I’ve got to find Father Anselm.” She started up the hill.

  Even with returning to the community at her best speed, however, by the time they arrived the Prior was already in the church preparing for the culmination of the celebrations in the Second Evensong of Christmas. There didn’t seem anything to do but take their place in the nave.

  Tonight Felicity found her concentration broken by more than the pops and bangs of fireworks beyond the monastery walls. Although, the skyrockets lighting the windows did seem oddly appropriate for the collect, “O God, who hast caused this holy night to shine with the illumination of the true Light: Grant… that as we have known the mystery of that Light upon earth…”

  But what would the Superior say? Would Father Anselm withdraw his permission for use of the quarry for the pageant? What if the police closed it off? Would it be all her fault for blowing the whistle? Would Alfred lose his job? Perhaps she should give him one more chance.

  She looked around, but he wasn’t in the sparse congregation scattered behind her.

  She could think of only one answer. She needed to talk to Antony. Even before the echoes of the organ voluntary faded she was on her feet, heading for the cottage.

  When Antony answered her ring, the comfort of talking to him was vitiated by the concern in his voice. “Wait. Felicity, don’t do anything. Whatever’s going on, I don’t want you involved.”

  She knew the very hint of trouble brought back to him the anxiety of dangers they had encountered in the past months—as it did for her. “Don’t go near the quarry. Don’t leave the cottage. Is the door locked?”

  “Yes, silly. Of course it is.” She frowned. It was, wasn’t it? Antony knew her habit of leaving the door on the latch to avoid having to carry a key.

  “It’s almost time for Compline. Then the community will be in the Greater Silence, so you can’t bother Father Anselm tonight anyway. I’ll catch the earliest train I can in the morning.” Then he groaned. “No, wait. No trains on Boxing Day.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “It’s true. Let me think. Maybe I can talk Gwena into bringing me. Or I’ll rent a car. Felicity, whatever it takes, I’ll be there. You stay safe!”

  Chapter 14

  Boxing Day

  Felicity was just combing her hair, still wet from the shower, when she heard the key in the latch. She flew to the hall, her arms already open to welcome Antony, when she stopped at the sight of the petite blond woman in a red coat. “Gwena! How lovely to see you.” She proceeded to embrace her soon-to-be sister-in-law.

  Gwen returned the hug then pulled back to regard her. “Good to see you, too. Even if Squib here did rout me out of bed before dawn. Not that I minded that so much, it was having to reassure him every mile of the way. He was expecting to be confronted with your bloody corpse.”

  “Gwen, don’t!” Antony pushed past his sister and took Felicity in his arms. After a thoroughly heartfelt greeting for his betrothed he turned back. “It isn’t a joking matter.”

  Before Gwen could answer Cynthia came out of the kitchen and ushered them all in for a cup of tea. “Gwendolyn Sherwood. How exciting to meet an actress. I Googled you. What fun roles you’ve played. I want to hear all about it.”

  Felicity was happy enough to let her mother and Gwen occupy the conversation as she feasted on looking at Antony and sipped her tea, holding her cup in her left hand as he hadn’t let go of her right hand. Tightly as he was holding it, she wasn’t sure he ever would. Not that she wanted him to.

  “I did farce for years: ‘Box and Cox,’ ‘Charley’s Aunt,’ ‘No Sex Please, We’re British’. I love the improbable plots and physical humor, but I’ve been trying to break into something a bit more serious. My agent wants me to audition for ‘Comedy of Errors’ next month. But then, of course, that’s farce, too, so maybe I’m stuck.”

  Under cover of the conversation on the other side of the table Antony said quietly, “All right now, tell me.”

  Felicity poured it all out in something of a jumble: the illicit use of the quarry theatre, the broken lock, Alfred’s unresponsiveness, the boys smoking, the needles, the chaotic rehearsal, her fears of spoiling everything by calling the police. Or spoiling everything by not calling the police. Or—her agitation rose with each enumeration.

  As Antony had learned to do long ago, he cut off the flood with a kiss. “There now,” he said, pulling back. “I think I’ve got the picture. It sounds like a good dose of youthful folly, but probably nothing worse.”

  “But you said—”

  “I know. I’m afraid I spooked you with my own over-concern.” He picked up a piece of toast from the plate Cynthia had put on the table. “Tell you what, let’s have a bit more to eat, then we’ll go take a look at it together. I know Gwena is bursting to see our stage.”

  “Oh,” Felicity turned to their guest. “I hadn’t thought. We’ve got a professional! There’s a rehearsal this afternoon. Would you possibly be willing to help us? The youth would be so chuffed to have a real actress directing them. I’m sure you’ll be able to get their attention better than I was. Half are too lively and half are too stiff. And I don’t know which is worse.”

  As they walked down to the quarry, Antony was more than happy to have Felicity focus on the pageant as she began explaining the project to Gwena and telling her of the difficulty of getting the unruly cast to follow directions. He needed to decide how to proceed. Had he overreacted to Felicity’s worries? Or had he under-reacted? Was this simply a spot of antisocial behavior or an indication of something far
darker?

  He didn’t think there was any way these disturbances could be connected to Tara’s death, but what if they led to a similar tragedy? No, surely not. He was exaggerating worse than he usually accused Felicity of doing.

  Still, he was no clearer in his mind as to what should be done a short time later when the four of them descended the path to the theatre.

  “What a fabulous space!” Gwena threw out her arms as if she would embrace the whole area. “Oh, I can definitely see it all. Torches you said?”

  “Yes, all around the rim. And I thought the camel could enter from the side—” Felicity indicated the path over the far wall.

  “Camel, yes! And llamas, you said? That’s absolutely fabulous. Bells. We must have bells on all the llamas.”

  Antony hated to put a damper on Felicity’s newly restored elation, but he wasn’t here to put bells on llamas. He turned to Cynthia as the other women surged toward the stage talking and pointing. “So you were the one who found the needles?”

  Cynthia turned to him with a quizzical look on her face. “Yes, I was. Right over here.” She pointed.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “It’s so strange. I’m sure it was right here.” She looked around. “Of course it was getting dark, so things looked a little different. Still, I’m quite sure…”

  “And used fireworks, Felicity said?”

  Cynthia shook her head. “I don’t understand. It’s all been cleared up.”

  Antony gave a sigh of relief. “Well, that’s good, then.” The responsibility of reporting to the Superior or calling the police was out of his hands. “Alfred probably got back to work this morning. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has the gate repaired, too.”

  “So nothing to worry about?”

  “Nothing to worry about.” He smiled at his future mother-in-law, hoping he was right. A shout from the path behind him announced the arrival of Nick and Corin carrying several large boxes and accompanied by a short woman with dark, curly hair wearing jeans and an Aran sweater. “This is Kendra from the centre.”

  She extended her hand which Cynthia and Antony shook. “I direct the music. If I can get anything out of this lot, that is.”

  “My sister has offered to help.” Antony led the way to the stage where he introduced the women then turned to help unpack the sound equipment from the boxes.

  They were no sooner set up than the young people began arriving. Antony, who had not been involved in the work with the St. James Centre and only met a few of the youth on the initial cleanup day, was amazed at the number and the diversity of their charges. And he could quickly see the challenges Felicity had mentioned to him. He smiled to himself. He had thought undertaking a television series was a venture, but this looked much more arduous.

  He was impressed, though, at how quickly what seemed like an unruly mob settled down when Kendra introduced Gwendolyn Sherwood, “who has performed in the West End and agreed to help us, so listen up, all of you.”

  Gwen agreed with Felicity’s earlier suggestion for the placement of the narrators, but this time sent Mary and Joseph to the back of the theatre so they could make their entrance from there once Corin assured her that, yes, a donkey could descend those steps. Ralph, Eddy and two other shepherds were sent outside the quarry stage left from where they would enter with the Alnderby sheep. And after a brief discussion about bells for the llamas, which Nick promised to see to, Gwen called for the Wise Men to take positions stage right.

  Antony frowned when a tall youth with an unmistakably fractious attitude responded to the direction. Wasn’t that Syd, the one Felicity had pointed out as a potential troublemaker? But surely Kendra knew what she was doing—co-opting the opposition, no doubt.

  “Dylan, Shaun, You two with Syd also,” Kendra directed and Antony’s concern returned when Syd’s companions in grey hoodies turned out to be the other two wise men.

  That still left a goodly number on the stage. “Miss, where do you want the angels?” A thin girl with straggly brown hair asked.

  “Right where you are, Babs. All of you are angels.”

  That brought a chorus of giggles and snide remarks, including Syd’s, “Yah, fallen angels, more like.”

  But Kendra was unfazed. She handed Cynthia a clipboard and asked her to write down names and estimated height so Nick and Corin could line up surplices or albs—anything white—needed for the angel choir, then handed the mic to Gwendolyn who explained about what they were to accomplish today with the first read-through and blocking.

  To Antony, unaccustomed to youth work, it seemed like one long confusion of missed cues, garbled narration, and horseplay. Still, when Kendra put on the instrumental music CD and the ragtag angel choir began belting out, “Hark, the herald angels sing…” a tingle at the back of his neck gave him the feeling that it all could work. With lots of prayer and luck.

  A little more than an hour later the wise men made their exit, ‘returning home another way’ and the angel chorus concluded the Epiphany story with a rocking version of “Joy to the World.” Kendra turned to Antony. “I would have preferred something that tells the story better like ‘As with Gladness Men of Old’ or ‘Brightest and Best of the Sons of the Morning,’ but I thought it safest to stick with something familiar.”

  Antony smiled. “Yes, ‘Why Impious Herod, Should’st Thou Fear’ would only tell the story if your angel choir actually got the words out.”

  “Some hope of that. We’ll stick to things the audience can sing along on, too.”

  Antony was about to congratulate her on her wisdom when Nick approached carrying a sack of nails. “Borrowed these from maintenance. Now we can build the manger and get to work on all those pens we’ll need for the beasts.”

  “What about lumber?” Antony asked.

  “Corin brought a stack from the farm yesterday. And a set of great woodworking tools.”

  Antony forbore asking whether Stanton Alnderby had made his donation to the project knowingly. “Maybe we can get Alfred to help with the construction. He’s pretty handy with a hammer.”

  Nick started for the stairs when a sheaf of papers slipped from under his arm. “Here, let me give you a hand with that.” Antony picked them up and smiled at the detailed printout of instructions for building a manger.

  “Thanks, and could you bring that bag of straw, too?” Antony complied and followed Nick around to the back of the understage.

  Nick dropped his tools beside the pile of boards just inside the open doorway, but Antony suggested they move the lumber a little further in, away from the open windows in case it rained. Antony picked up a plank and stepped around Nick leading the way into the dimmer depths.

  He had taken only two steps when his foot caught something on the ground, almost sending him sprawling.

  “What—” He blinked, peering at what had nearly tripped him up.

  Then he dropped his load. Alfred would not be helping to build any stage sets.

  Chapter 15

  Detective Inspector Nosterfield glared at Antony. “You again. I should have known.” He turned to Felicity, still scowling. “So you say this gardener fellow had been helping clear out the quarry for your pageant?” Antony and Felicity both nodded.

  “And when did you last see him?”

  Felicity thought for a moment. “Christmas Eve. Outside the church. We were going in to Evensong. He’d been complaining about the trash that kept appearing in the quarry. I’d just learned about the broken gate, so I told him.”

  “And it was his responsibility to keep things like that fixed?”

  Antony answered. “Alfred was under groundsman. Tony is the head, but he was on Christmas leave.”

  Nosterfield scribbled in his notebook. “Right. And when were you last in the quarry? Before this?”

  “Christmas afternoon. My mother and I were—”

  A sharp gasp from behind Antony made them turn to Cynthia who had joined their group. “Oh, my goodness! You mean that poor man wa
s lying there dead when we were here yesterday?” She shivered. “How gruesome.”

  “We haven’t established a time of death yet. I’ll send men to interview the monks, find out who saw him last. If we can get them away from their prayers long enough. The monks, that is, not my men.”

  Antony thought about the dark stain he had seen on the back of Alfred’s head. What had happened here? Had he surprised an intruder using drugs and they lashed out at him? He couldn’t have been meeting someone could he? Alfred, doing a drug deal that went wrong? Antony shook his head.

  Or was it entirely more innocent? Alfred energetically, even impatiently picking up litter, maybe more joints and syringes, and straightening up too fast, hitting his head on the low, rough underside of the stage? Was it possible this was a ghastly accident?

  Nosterfield had moved on, but Mark Silsden was nearby. “Sergeant, can you tell what’s happened here? Could this have been an accident?”

  “Anything’s possible, Father. Early days yet.” But he shook his head doubtfully.

  Antony put his arm around Felicity as her face paled. He knew that she was thinking that she might have been the last person to see Alfred alive.

  She trembled under his grip. “I just realized—I might have sent him to his death. If he went to the quarry to repair the gate when I told him—instead of coming in to church.” She caught her breath on a sob. “If I hadn’t bothered him he might still be alive…” She turned her face into Antony’s shoulder and he led her to the back of the theatre where they could sit on a stone step.

  Felicity didn’t cry, but she clung to him as if to life. He held her firmly but his mind was in turmoil. There was so much at stake: The pageant, the film series, their wedding… He caught his breath and tightened his hold on Felicity. Their lives.

  Everything seemed threatened. Could they go on in the midst of such turmoil? Could they succeed when they had no idea what was going on—or why? It all seemed so random, starting with that first explosion of fireworks under his window. Yet there had to be a pattern. If only he could see it.