An All-Consuming Fire Read online

  Felicity frowned. Would even Harry have the temerity to come here if he had killed a man under the stage? “I didn’t think Sylvia was speaking to him after the porn film revelation.”

  “I get the idea she made his giving that up a condition of her taking him back.”

  “But the drugs?” Felicity insisted. “We saw him.”

  Cynthia nodded. “He agreed to cooperate with the prosecution. I got the idea that was why they let him out on bail. And, by the way, I invited them to the wedding. That’s all right, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it is. It’s a church service everyone is welcome.” Although Harry Forslund wasn’t her favorite person—she certainly wouldn’t want him to bark ‘cut’ in the middle of the ceremony—and she was far from convinced of his innocence. But the police would get to the truth soon. It wasn’t her problem.

  In the meantime, Felicity had responsibilities of her own. “I’d better get backstage to see what I can do to help.” She glimpsed just the head of the camel in Nick’s pen above the quarry rim. “Oh, good. Looks like all the animals are in place. At least the four-footed ones.” She gave Antony a quick hug, then hurried on down to the back of the stage.

  It was organized chaos. Gwena thrust a pile of surplices into her arms. “See what you can do to get everybody in some sort of costume. I swear half these youngsters never turned up for a rehearsal. Now they think they can go on stage.” She shook her head and hurried on.

  Felicity threw herself into the task at hand, moving from one uncostumed youth to the next, demanding, “What role?” If they didn’t know, she pulled a surplice over their head and sent them to the corner where Kendra was assembling her angel choir. If they said shepherd, she found a charity shop dressing gown for them and tied a dark bath towel around their head. Corin or someone had even supplied a collection of small tree limbs to be used as shepherd staffs. “Shepherds on the hillside,” she pointed to the western slope of the quarry just below the sheep pen.

  By some miracle Gwen and Kendra had everyone in place by the time the instrumentalists concluded the last strains of “In the Deep Midwinter” and Tanya began the narration, projecting just as Felicity had instructed her. “In those days, a decree when out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.”

  “And everyone went to their own town to register.” Balram’s mellow voice came in. “So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and lineage of David.”

  “Taking with him Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child,” Tanya concluded.

  Now the angelic choir began “O Little Town of Bethlehem” and Felicity knew Mary and Joseph would be beginning their descent from the back, down the sloping stairs through the center of the audience. She shot up a brief plea that the donkey would be in a cooperative mood.

  This would perhaps be a good moment for Felicity to slip unseen up the side of the quarry so she could circle around and take her seat beside Antony after the holy family had completed their trek onto the quarry floor.

  She made her way as unobtrusively as she could around the shepherds, keeping to the shadows of bushes, so as not to attract any attention. A swift glance over her shoulder, though, told her she needn’t worry. All eyes appeared to be glued on Mary and Joseph who proceeded at a stately pace, encouraged by the slices of sugar beet Joseph had stashed in the satchel he carried slung over one shoulder.

  “We hear the Christmas angels/ The great glad tidings tell/ O come to us, abide with us/ Our Lord Emmanuel.” The choir concluded as Felicity gained the rim of the quarry. Below her the narration continued with the familiar story of Joseph and Mary being turned away from the busy inn and settling in a stable for the night. Felicity knew that, leaving the donkey tethered below, they would be ascending the stairs at the side of the stage to begin forming the tableau beside the rough manger Corin and Nick had been required to construct on their own without Alfred’s help.

  Had Harry Forslund really killed the handyman over a drug deal gone wrong? She forced the whole thing out of her mind with a shake of her head. No. Pageant, then wedding, then the rest of her life. The police could worry over such gruesome questions.

  “And she brought forth her firstborn son and laid him in the manger,” the narration continued and the next carol floated up from the quarry floor, “Round yon virgin, mother and child/ Holy infant, so tender and mild/ Sleep in heavenly peace…”

  Felicity shivered. She was in the dark now, beyond the reach of the torches, and it was noticeably colder up here out of the shelter of the quarry and the company of the audience. She just started around the outer reach beyond the sheep pen when a harsh voice made her stop.

  “I told you I won’t have it. You might think you’ve shown me up by borrowing a few beasts and carrying on with your scheme, but I won’t have it.” Felicity recognized the speaker’s voice and the theme of the argument. Apparently Stanton Alnderby had changed his mind about boycotting his son’s production. “After everything I’ve done to keep your inheritance safe, I’ll not let you turn your back on the heritage of generations.”

  “And there were in the same country shepherds, abiding in their fields.” Balram’s voice had taken on strength as the pageant progressed. The choir began “While shepherds watched their flocks by night…”

  “That’s my cue, Dad. We’ll have to continue this later.” The gate scraped the side of the pen as Corin opened it and whistled to Shep to send the sheep down the inclined path along the hillside to where their shepherds awaited them, then followed himself, costumed as a shepherd.

  “I will not be balked in this.” Stanton’s voice followed his son’s descent of the quarry side, ringing with angry determination. But what chilled Felicity more than the night air was the note of frenzied obsession. Of mania.

  And with that came the certainty of the suspicion that had been roused when she and Antony found the family tree. This was a man who would kill to preserve what he saw as his own. Insane as it seemed, Stanton Alnderby had killed again and again to keep his great grandfather’s secret hidden and a slice of the Duncombe estate in his possession.

  And there was no doubt in Felicity’s mind that he would kill again if he thought it necessary.

  She couldn’t get to her seat continuing on this way without being spotted. And if Stanton suspected she had overheard he would also suspect she might figure out the meaning of ‘everything I’ve done to keep your inheritance’. She began backing away. She would have to go the long way round, past the steep end of the quarry, but that was better than risking an encounter with a crazed murderer.

  Felicity took three steps back, almost beyond the spill of light from the nearest torch. Two more steps and she would be well hidden under a cloak of darkness. Once on the other side of the quarry and well out of range of being heard, she could ring the police.

  The next step was her undoing. In the dark she failed to see the pile of stones. The top one turned under her foot and sent her sprawling sideways into a bush. She managed to stifle her cry, but not sufficiently to keep from alerting Alnderby.

  “Who’s there?” He took a long stride toward her.

  Felicity tried to burrow deeper into the bush, but succeeded only in breaking several branches. To her ears the snapping sticks sounded like gunshots.

  “Come on. You won’t get away.” She more felt than saw Stanton grab for her, but the darkness made his aim uncertain. She rolled sideways. A jagged limb scratched her face and she felt a trickle of blood on her cheek. She scrambled to her feet and began running toward the end of the quarry.

  Felicity was fast. But Stanton had the longer legs. She could sense him closing the distance between them. Below her the choir sang “Angels we have heard on high…” the “Glo-o-o-o-r-ria” reverberating around the quarry walls below them.

  She had reached the far end of the quarry when she felt Stanton’s vice-like grip on her arm. H
e spun her around. “What do you mean by spying on me?” In the wavering light from a torch he examined her face. “You’re that friend of Corin’s, aren’t you? One of those encouraging him in his mad scheme to be a priest.”

  Felicity wondered if she should try denying it, but knew nothing she said was likely to make any difference. Stanton pushed her closer to the rim of the quarry to see her better in the light. “Wait a minute. You were with that reporter, weren’t you? I saw you when you came in the pub with her. What did she tell you?”

  “Nothing,” Felicity managed, but it came out barely above a whisper. She knew where they were. The deepest bend of the horseshoe that formed the quarry. Above the sheer precipice. With a drop of a hundred feet below her. And she knew what Stanton meant to do.

  But she also knew that she was close enough to the edge to be visible to those below. Surely Antony would be wondering where she was. He knew she should have joined him by now. He would be looking around for her. If he spotted them up here he would see the danger. Call the police. Summon help. If she could stay here long enough for any of that to happen before Stanton hurled her over the cliff.

  “Tell me. Don’t think lies will save your pretty neck.” Alnderby gave her a rough shake.

  Felicity realized denial would get her nowhere. She needed to stall. “It’s true. She didn’t tell me anything. But she did give me a copy of her notes.” Felicity’s voice was gaining in assurance. “Which I gave to the police.”

  For a moment her words halted her captor. He stood frozen as Balram’s announcement echoed from below: “Behold, there came wise men from the east.” The pageant was nearing its climax. If her threat didn’t make Stanton capitulate now she would truly be in dire straits. There would be little hope of help from the audience now. Every eye in the theatre would be glued on the entrance of the magnificently clad wise men accompanied by their entourage of camel, camel-drivers and llamas. Even Antony would be distracted from looking for her. A breeze carried the chime of the llamas’ bells to her ears.

  Then her blood chilled as a maniacal laugh drowned out all other sounds. “How kind of you to warn me. Now I’ll be prepared when the plods come.”

  “What will you do? Burn the police station like you did Father Paulinus’s hermitage?”

  “That fool monk!” Stanton spit. “No one ever suspected. Four generations of clear sailing. Then he started nosing around. I thought I’d settled that. Then Corin tells me some noddy at his college has taken it up.”

  “The fireworks outside Antony’s window. His car accident.” Felicity tried to keep her voice level, in spite of the rising terror inside her. “The loose wheel on the camera dolly.”

  “Lame, I know. But I thought it would end it when that tart hung herself.”

  “But she didn’t did she? You hung her.” Felicity couldn’t believe she was saying that to a killer holding her inches from the edge of a precipice.

  “It was all part of that film they were shooting practically on my property. Filthy. She pretended to hang herself. Stark naked she was. As near as. Just her and that director fellow. And you should have seen the way she flaunted herself when he wasn’t holding a camera. The slut deserved it.

  “When they slipped off behind the caravan it was easy enough to fix the rope. She came back later for her clothes—just like I thought she would. The tart was even pleased when I told her I lived near and had been watching. A little flattery was all it took to get her to show me how she did the scene. Only this time she didn’t get to pretend.”

  “O Star of wonder, star of night/ Star with royal beauty bright/ Westward leading, still proceeding/ Guide us to Thy perfect light.” The increasing gusto of the music reaching up to the torch-encircled rim told Felicity the pageant was concluding. The wise men would be laying their gifts at the feet of the infant Jesus, then everyone would join in singing “Joy to the World” and there would be nothing to stop Stanton Alnderby from finishing the job he had in hand.

  “But Alfred. Was he dealing drugs? Or did he try to stop a drugs deal? Why did you kill him?’

  For the first time it seemed she had said something to perplex her captor. “Drugs? Surely you aren’t suggesting I’d stoop to anything so sordid. When I realized Corin had helped himself to my best carpentry tools along with a pile of lumber I came to retrieve them. That clod of a gardener accused me of stealing. My own property. One shove did for him.” The wavering light of the nearest torch twisted his features into an evil dance.

  Felicity knew time was running out, but she would press her luck for just one more. “And Zoe? Why harm a poor dog?”

  “Inquisitive, aren’t you? A dumb dog should be the least of your worries.” Felicity felt Stanton’s muscles bunch. He reared back to give his thrust more impetus. She closed her eyes and stiffened. She would resist for all she was worth. “Now then—”

  Stanton’s words were cut off by a sharp cry of “Cut!” from the center of the audience. Stanton’s thrust toward the cliff edge halted. Felicity followed his gaze to the astounding sight of Harry Forslund standing in the middle of the quarry pointing up at the pair on the rim of the precipice.

  A woman shrieked. Cynthia, perhaps? And Felicity was certain she identified a cry from Antony. She had a fleeting glance of the entire audience surging toward the path along the side of the quarry. Help was racing toward her.

  Until Stanton jerked her sideways with one hand and put two fingers in his mouth with the other. A long, piercing whistle rent the air, followed by two short, sharp notes.

  Felicity twisted enough to be able to see Shep herding sheep and llamas to block off the path while the camel lumbered on its long legs and enormous hooves into the middle of the crowd and the donkey brayed.

  An evil hiss in her ear brought Felicity’s focus sharply back to her peril. Antony had seen her. As well as the more than one hundred people in the quarry below. All struggling to scale the wall and break through the animal barrier to come to her aid. But there was little hope they would reach her in time. Nor would the fact that there were more than a hundred witnesses stop her assailant. The frenzy of insanity had taken over.

  A dazzle of light caught the corner of Felicity’s eye. She extended her free arm in a lightning port de bras and grasped the flaring tiki torch. Thrusting the flame toward her captor, she forced him to release her arm and recoil.

  He lunged at her with a manic snarl. With split-second timing Felicity did an élancé to the side. Alnderby’s momentum, calculated to push Felicity over brink, carried him forward. Flailing to stop himself plummeting, he lashed out and grasped the hem of Felicity’s coat.

  She screamed as he pulled her toward the brink.

  The world spun. She fell to the ground, grappling for a handhold. Strong hands grasped her wrists. With a jerk that she thought would pull her arms from their sockets her rescuer pulled her back from the edge, freeing her from her captor.

  In the next moment she was engulfed in Antony’s arms.

  Chapter 27

  Epiphany Eve

  Felicity awoke to brilliant sunshine. She looked out her window and blinked in surprise. It had snowed during the night. The familiar green hills were dusted with white, sparkling in the morning sun. Felicity hugged herself. It was her wedding day. Her dancing day.

  Finally. All the mayhem was behind her. All the puzzles solved. Finished. No more murder. No more mystery.

  For just a moment she let the dark back in as she was once again on the edge of the quarry, looking down with Antony’s arms securely around her.

  In her memory it was dark and cold and yet the night filled with warmth and light because she was with Antony. “Don’t let me go. Don’t ever let go,” she had cried. And she knew he wouldn’t.

  The emergency services had come. They had pulled Stanton’s broken body out of the bushes and carried him away—whether to the hospital or the morgue made little difference. Nosterfield had been satisfied with all she told him.

  For only a moment her co
nfidence wavered. It must have been as Alnderby said. And yet, could he really have done all that unaided? Been in all those places without being seen? He must have been. After all, he confessed. Yet not so much a confession as a boast. As if he wanted her to think he did all that. All a credit to his own cleverness.

  Then the uncertainty fled as Cynthia came in with a breakfast tray. “Happy is the bride the sun shines on.” She fluffed the pillows and put the tray on Felicity’s lap. “Even if it is bitterly cold. I had hoped for sunshine, but I didn’t think to ask for warmth.” She kissed her daughter and laughed.

  Felicity had never realized before what a beautiful laugh her mother had. Musical, full-throated, like a woman half her age. “Mom, you and Dad—” Cynthia’s smile was sufficient answer.

  “Enjoy your breakfast, but don’t dawdle. It’s going to take ages to make those romantic little curls around your face. And then all those self-covered buttons to do up.”

  A short time later Judy arrived and Gwena returned from the train station with the aunt who had raised her and Antony. Cynthia embraced Beryl and turned her over to Andrew for company. His quiet attention would be the best possible comfort for the elderly woman who had so recently buried her husband of sixty years.

  Meanwhile the rest of the cottage was swept up in a flurry of curling irons and flowing dresses. Felicity closed her eyes and set her lips, determined not to complain when the long row of fabric-covered buttons lining the way up her back caused Cynthia repeated fumbles as she hooked the tiny loops over each one. Then a single button at the wrist of each long, pointed sleeve.