I thought of sending a letter, or perhaps just a car
d, thanking Alec for his gift, but after a week spent trying to compose a short but appropriate message, I gave up and decided the moment had passed.
In every sense, our moment had passed.
PA
RT THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I broke
my long journey south at Rupert’s. I was pleased to see him again in his untidy, book-filled home. His desk was piled with paperwork, a draft sermon and copies of the parish magazine. Carrier bags full of jumble slouched in the hall beside a rusting bicycle. It was all so blessedly normal.
Over tea and
Wilma’s fruit cake, I filled Rupert in on the circumstances under which I’d left Cauldstane. Well, I tried. He listened attentively, comfortable in his worn cords and baggy sweater, his hair over-long and schoolboyish, but an attempt to describe my abortive relationship with Alec, to whom I’d said goodbye only hours earlier, left me feeling tearful. Rupert filled our cups and tactfully changed the subject to bird-watching. He asked if I’d seen any more red kites and told me he’d always wanted to go bird-watching in Scotland. I could think of nothing to say in reply. He helped himself to another piece of cake and said he’d heard May was a good time to spot puffins. After that, the conversation languished.
I knew
he was waiting for me to take the lead, so I said, ‘Rupert, can I ask you something? Have you ever felt you were in the presence of… evil?’
He was unfazed by the question and answered without hesitation.
‘Yes, I have. Only once. But once was enough.’
‘What did you do about it?’
‘What I do about anything problematic. I prayed.’
‘And did that help?’
‘Oh, yes. It always does, I find.’
‘No, I mean, did prayer make… the evil go away?’
‘Eventually. There were other factors brought into play. Light. That’s
so
important. Holy water. Salt.’
‘
Salt?
’
‘Yes, salt
can sometimes be a very useful element. Of course, as a scientist I have to point out that I have no way of knowing if the trouble would have gone away anyway. But people prayed and observed certain rituals, then peace descended. It was quite palpable. The evil – for want of a better word – departed. Naturally,
I
don’t believe that was a coincidence, but some might claim, quite reasonably, that it was. The question we should ask ourselves, I suppose, is how often can something be regarded as a coincidence before we begin to see it as cause and effect?’ Rupert was clearly into his stride now and I knew I was in for an entertaining and educational digression. I let his soothing words flow over me. ‘You see, for scientists to take something seriously, a result has to be reproduced under lab conditions, many times. We’re not impressed by anecdotal evidence, however impressive the quantity, or impeccable the source.’ Re-filling our teacups, he barely paused for breath. ‘But there’s so much scientists don’t know! Even common or garden stuff. Take birds for instance. Why do they sing? No one knows. We understand their alarm and mating calls, but why does a blackbird perch on a chimneypot on a sunny evening and sing its heart out, apparently for no reason? And why does it
vary the tune
?’ Rupert grinned, clearly enjoying his inquisition. ‘It’s hard to avoid coming to the conclusion that birds sing for their own entertainment or each other’s. But it’s a hypothesis you could never test under lab conditions.’
I leaned back in my armchair.
‘Oh, Rupert, it’s doing me a power of good to listen to you. I feel as if sanity is returning. Do go on.’
‘Glad to be of service
,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘My garden keeps me sane. If I’m feeling murderous towards an awkward parishioner – God forgive me, but it happens – I sit and watch the activity on my bird table for a few minutes, then I feel the milk of human kindness begin to course through my veins again. Will you have some more of this wonderful cake?’
Rupert’s jokey
use of the word
murderous
had put me in mind of my moral dilemma. Meredith’s journal sat upstairs in my suitcase, wrapped in several plastic bags, as if it might contaminate the rest of my luggage. I had to decide what to do with it. Return it to Sholto? Hand it over to the police? Show it to Alec? I’d been told to destroy all the journals, but this one seemed quite outside my remit. If, therefore, I had to return it, I needed to decide how and to whom. This was a problem I felt I needed to lay before Rupert. If there was a right thing to do, I was sure he’d know what it was.
‘I need to ask your advice
, Rupert. As a clergyman. And I need you to treat this information as confidential.’
‘Of course.
The seal of the confessional, my dear.’
‘
The evil spirit I’ve told you about… this
ghost
… she committed a wicked crime when she was alive. She arranged a fatal accident, then made sure someone else got the blame. A child.’
‘
How on earth do you know all this?’
‘I’ve read her confession. It’s in a jou
rnal written on the day of the accident.’
‘And you think this account is authentic?’
‘Oh, yes. Authentic and quite insane. She positively gloats about what she’s done. In any case, apart from a couple of details, her account coincides with what the family know happened that day. What they don’t know is the
cause
of the accident.’
‘You’re saying they’re unaware of
the existence of this journal?’
‘Of it
s contents, yes.’
‘
So who else knows about it?’
‘Well, that’s just it. I’m convinced no one knows about it but me. I think I’m the only person who’
s ever read this confession, even though the accident happened thirty-two years ago.’
‘And you want to know w
ho you should tell?
If
you should tell,’ Rupert added.
‘Exactly.’
He sipped his tea thoughtfully, then after a pause said, ‘It seems very wrong that a child should have been blamed for a fatal accident. That’s the sort of thing that would haunt you for the rest of your life. He or she has a right to know the truth, I’d say.’
‘Yes, of course. But it’s much more complicated than that.’
‘I was afraid you were going to say that. Tell me the worst.’
‘T
he person who was killed was the child’s mother.’
‘Good grief!’
Rupert’s cup rattled in the saucer as he set it down.
‘So if I tell him
he didn’t cause the accident in which his mother died, I’m more or less obliged to tell him how she
did
die. Because I know. Know that it was effectively murder.’
‘I see
. And it’s one thing losing a parent in an accident, quite another knowing her death was connived at.’
‘Especially when there’s no possibility of the criminal being brought to justice because she’s dead.’
‘Indeed. The son’s suffering might be even greater for knowing what actually happened. In fact, I think we can be certain of that. To discover that your mother had been
murdered
… My goodness me. It’s hard to imagine the impact that could have.’
‘It gets worse, Rupert,’ I said in a very small voice.
‘Really?’ He looked at me in disbelief.
‘The child – now a man – is the man I’ve been talking to you about.
Alec. We were… involved until he decided he should send me away. For my own safety. But I have reason to believe… I mean, I now have to assume he doesn’t want anything more to do with me.’
‘
This is beginning to sound like the plot of one of your books, Imogen.’
‘There’s more.’
Rupert raised both his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘Do your worst.’
‘The woman who killed Alec’s mother married his father. If I tell Alec the truth, I
’ll have to explain that his stepmother killed his mother. And he already knows this same woman was responsible – in her ghost form – for drowning his wife.
And
she tried to drown me using the same method, but Alec and his brother rescued me.’ Rupert stared at me, white-faced and speechless. ‘The thing is, I don’t know how much more Alec can take. I don’t know how
anyone
processes information like this. Obviously what I’d rather do is let sleeping dogs lie – I can’t bear to think of making anything
worse
for him – but does he have a right to know? Does his brother have a right to know? And what about their father? He married his wife’s killer! Should I tell him?’
‘No. I think there are li
mits to your responsibilities. The only obligation you
might
have now is towards Alec. But at this stage, I wouldn’t like to commit myself, not without a great deal more thought. And prayer. Whether Alec tells his brother, his father, anybody else, is
his
decision. You might of course decide to tell someone other than Alec what you’ve discovered. But I’m not sure that relieves you of your moral responsibility with regard to him. Certainly, as he’s been blamed for decades, it’s hard to avoid the conclusion that, if anyone should know the truth about this sorry business, it’s Alec.’
‘Yes. That’s as far as I’ve got – should I tell him
or not?’
‘
Let’s approach it from another angle. If you don’t tell him, what will you do with the journal?’
‘Well, that’s just it.
I don’t know. I was given instructions to destroy it.’
‘
Well, that seems clear enough.’
‘But the person who gave me the
instruction had no idea what the journal contained.’
‘Could you return it?’
‘Well, I don’t expect to go back to Cauldstane, so it would mean posting it. If I post it to Alec, he might read it. If I post it to his father – he’s the one who told me to destroy it – I’d have to explain why I’m returning it. So returning the journal is tantamount to sharing the information. But I think I’d rather destroy the damn thing and have that on my conscience than dump this information on them. In the post! But that would be wrong, wouldn’t it? To destroy evidence that would free Alec from a lifetime’s guilt?’
Rupert was silent for a while, then said,
‘Jen, could you leave this one with me? I need to give this some serious thought. Shall we discuss it again tomorrow? Over breakfast?’
‘Oh,
there’s no hurry. I’m not rushing in to anything. I’ve got to get this right. If I don’t, then that witch will have won.’
‘I’m sure the way will become clear.
It usually does. Now why don’t you go and unpack your things and make yourself at home upstairs? You’ll find some soothing literature by your bedside, but feel free to take a nap while I potter about in the kitchen. Will dinner at seven suit you? It’s only macaroni cheese, I’m afraid, but I’ve made it with an excellent cheddar.’
‘Tha
t will be lovely. Comfort food. Just what I need. You’re an angel, Rupert.’
‘H
ardly. But a female parishioner did comment the other day that I was looking positively cherubic. I thought she was having a dig about the weight I’ve put on,’ he added with a sigh.
I got to
my feet and stretched, aware of how tense I’d been for the last hour, but as Rupert loaded the tea tray and carried it through to the kitchen, a thought struck me, one so momentous, I had to sit down again.
When he returned, Rupert looked at m
e and said, ‘What’s the matter? Are you feeling ill?’
‘
No. I’ve just thought of something… You know the family has refused to consider the deliverance ministry?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, it just occurred to me… If I tell them what Meredith did… If I tell them
everything
, I wonder if they might change their mind? I really don’t know Alec very well, but I know how angry he is. I think he might consider anything that would destroy that woman’s power. But… supposing the knowledge destroyed
him
?’
Rupert folded his hands
neatly in front of his generous belly and immediately looked ecclesiastical. ‘Rarely have I come across a moral dilemma this complex,’ he announced solemnly. ‘Holmes would have called this “a three pipe problem”. We must tread very carefully, Imogen. And I feel I should warn you… the temptation to do good can sometimes prove irresistible. So beware.’
~
I slept well, better than I’d slept in days and Rupert served kippers for breakfast. I was indeed blessed. He’d obviously been turning over my problem in his mind and, as I would be setting off after breakfast, he delivered his advice between mouthfuls in the calm and doggedly rational way that had been, at times, so comforting, at others, so annoying.
‘I’ve tried to be clear about the moral
imperatives. Not easy, but I think we must begin with the instruction you were given: to destroy the journal. You must either do that, or you must return the journal to the person who gave that instruction. Would you agree?’