he said. He continued about his chore for a few seconds without speaking.
'Sorry, I don't meant to pry.'
'Just on whose behalf are you carrying out this research, Mr Barnes?'
Nigel weighed up his options. It was the question he feared. He knew he would not be able to lie to a man of the cloth, regardless of his atheism. It was not right.
'The police.'
The vicar's eyes narrowed, their friendliness all but vanished.
'And what would the police be doing seeking the son of a harmless old lady? She was never in trouble for one second of her life.'
'I know. We're trying to find her son. We think he may be in danger.'
'What sort of danger?'
'I do apologize, but I'm not at liberty to say.'
The vicar chewed the inside of his lip, sizing Nigel up.
He could feel his cheeks redden. He could hear voices behind him, the sound of footsteps on the stone floor.
'Tell me, Mr Barnes. Do you pray?'
Nigel was momentarily taken aback by the question, wondering if it was some sort of trick. 'No, not really,' he said eventually.
'Well, you will this evening.' He handed Nigel a prayer book. 'Evening service is about to start. Once that's completed and I've finished attending to the parishioners, we can have a chat and I'll see if I can help.'
Nigel waited. Once the service had finished and the congregation cleared the vicar invited him through to his office at the back of the church. He asked him to take a seat, offered a hot drink that Nigel refused, requesting just a glass of water.
He eased himself into a chair behind the wooden desk and sat back with a sigh. 'It's good to take the weight off after a long evening. Now, tell me, why do you want to find Mrs Chapman's son?'
'There's a chance his life could be in danger.'
The vicar nodded. The rosiness of his cheeks, a hooked nose and twinkling eyes gave him the look of a kindly Mr Punch. 'Well, if you're correct, then she was right all along,'
he replied.
SWho was? Mrs Chapman?'
Yes.' He took small sip of his coffee. 'Presumably as a genealogist you're fully aware of the Church's role in the community. With adoptions and suchlike?'
Nigel was. There were many agencies that had arranged adoptions in the past, the Church being the most prominent, mostly in transferring the unwanted offspring of the poor to the rich. Yes, I am.'
'Well, my predecessor, the Reverend Robert Daedulus, was particularly active in that regard.' He peered over his glasses at Nigel. 'And he was not a stickler for recordkeeping, if you get my drift.' The vicar took off his glasses and began to suck on one arm. 'Some years ago, when her husband died, I spent a fair amount of time helping Mrs Chapman deal with her loss. She told me my predecessor had arranged the adoption of her son in November 1964.
He was only two months old.'
The only reaction Nigel could think of was blasphemous, so he remained silent.
Was he troublesome? In some way damaged?'
'She was adamant that any problems with the boy were not behind her reasoning. Neither did she want any payment.
She said she simply wanted the boy to be safe. She told me that Reverend Daedulus had arranged a private adoption. She told me the son was a mistake. That she never planned to have children. Obviously, she did not believe in termination so she had the child, and nursed him through his first weeks. But all the time she wanted to get rid of him.'
'That sounds very cold.'
'Doesn't it just? I felt that myself. But another thing about my job is that you learn not to judge. I leave that to my boss.' He winked, took another sip of coffee before continuing.
'I think she must have sensed my own shock. She was not a drinking woman by any means, but she'd taken a few glasses that evening. She leaned over her kitchen table and fixed me with a beady stare.' The vicar did an approximation of her, leaning forward towards Nigel. 'She said, 'If the boy had stayed with me, they would have got him.
Eventually. Just like they might get me. I couldn't take the risk of them coming and what they might do. So I did what any mother should do and made sure he was safe.' I asked who 'they' were. She wouldn't say. I also asked her why she and her husband didn't move, or change their name or emigrate even. She said it didn't matter.
'She told me her Aunt Margaret said that no matter what she did, they would find her one day. Her aunt kept screaming, 'They will never relent. . . Protect yourself as if from the Devil himself.' She told her to never, ever have children.
Her grandmother had told her all this on her deathbed.
Margaret believed every word and so did Edith.
'Her grandmother told no one else. Margaret did, but her family didn't believe her. She was mad, they said.
They put her away in the loony bin. Left her there to rot.
Edith said it was an awful, awful place. She was the only person who ever went to visit her. She would go there without telling anyone. Only her husband. Until Margaret died. She believed her aunt. She told me, 'Maybe I was wrong, maybe I was right. I couldn't risk it. 'They will not relent!' she said. Margaret saw something, something awful that persuaded her.' And that was it -- she said no more about it.'
Nigel wondered who 'they' were. Someone or something so unspeakable that a woman would rather give away her firstborn to strangers than risk him coming to harm.
'That night was the only night she spoke about it,' the vicar added. 'She knew her son was all right and was doing well. That was comfort enough.'
How? Nigel thought. How could that possibly be a comfort? Here was a woman with no family, just a husband, who died well before her. Who had no other family.
Who had given away her only child. Whoever 'they' were must have terrified her to make such a sacrifice. The vicar appeared to read his mind.
'She was a very solitary woman. Happy keeping to herself. The church was her life, but she played no active part in it, to be honest. There were friends, there was the bingo hall and that was it. A woman of very simple tastes.'
'Did you ever speculate yourself about who the people were she was hiding away from?'
'Sure, but I came up with nothing other than a few wild ideas.' He drained his coffee mug. Who are the people putting his life at risk?'
We don't know.'
'Well, then. It's a mystery all round, isn't it?' He checked his watch. 'I better be getting back or my wife will be starting to worry. Pains me to say it, but there are parts of my parish where it's best not to be after dark.'
Nigel stood and put on his coat. Your predecessor left no note or record as to who the adoptive parents were?'
He shook his head dolefully. 'No, and to be fair to you, Mr Barnes, I wouldn't pass it on even if he did. Look at it this way: you show up and tell a man in his mid-forties that not only was he adopted, but there are nameless people out there who want to kill him. I don't think that'd be wise, do you?'
'No, but he might prefer the truth to death.'
'Fair enough. But it's academic. There are no records.
Or at least, none I'm aware of.'
Nigel sighed. Without that there would no chance whatsoever of them tracking down Anthony Chapman or whoever he may be now. That also meant any pursuers would struggle, too. He started to head for the door, then stopped.
