The Cure of Souls

‘Is that still happening?’

‘I believe there are new varieties of hop, so far resistant to it. But it happened here.’

‘You said you saw lights out in the hop-yard.’

‘My wife. My wife saw them. I never have. That was the first thing that happened. It was soon after we moved in. Winter. Just after dusk. We’d brought in some logs for the stove, and she was standing in the doorway looking down the hill towards the hop-yard and she said she saw this light. A moving light. Not like a torch – more of a glow than a beam. Hovering and moving up and down among the hop-frames – appearing in one place and then another, faster than a human being could move. She wasn’t scared, though. She said it was rather beautiful.’

‘Just that once?’

‘No. I suppose not. After a while we didn’t—This might sound unlikely to you, but we stopped even mentioning those lights. When far worse things were happening in the house itself, I suppose unexplained lights in the old hop-yard seemed comparatively unimportant.’

‘Hops,’ Merrily said. ‘When you say Stewart was obsessed by hops, you mean from an historical point of view, or what?’

‘Well, that too, obviously. But also hops themselves. I wouldn’t claim to understand what he saw in them. To me, they’re messy, flakey things, not even particularly attractive to look at. But when we first took possession of the house, the walls and the ceiling were a mass of them: all these dusty, crumbling hop-bines – twelve, fifteen feet long – and the whole place stank of hops. I mean, I like a glass or two of beer as much as anyone, but the constant smell of hops… no, thank you. And when you opened a door, they’d all start rustling. It was like—’ He shook his head roughly.

‘Go on.’

‘Like a lot of people whispering, I suppose. Anyway, we cleared out the bines. It felt as though they were keeping even more light out of the place. Some of them were straggling over the windows. The windows in the living room back there once looked out down the valley. Apparently.’

Through the central window in here she could see blue sky. Through the other two, blue paint. It probably hadn’t even been this dark when it was a functioning kiln with a brick furnace in the centre.

‘The barns,’ she said.

He nodded.

‘That’s awful,’ Merrily agreed, ‘but I’m afraid it’s not—’

‘Your problem. No.’

‘Have you talked to a solicitor?’

‘I’ve talked to a lot of people,’ Mr Stock said.

‘Erm – that aroma of hops.’ Merrily breathed in slowly, through her nose. ‘I almost expected you to say you’d been smelling it again.’

She thought his eyes flickered, but it was too dim to be sure. He shook his head. ‘No, nothing like that.’

‘So… what about your wife?’

He was silent. His face seemed to have stiffened.

‘I mean, how badly has she been affected? She saw the… lightform?’

‘My wife…’ He turned away, shoulders hunched. ‘Won’t talk much about it. When the hacks were here, we had to virtually manufacture some suitable quotes for her. Maybe she thinks it’ll all just go away.’

‘You mean she’s not so scared…?’

‘As me? Probably not. Obviously, neither of us likes the darkness – it’s the kind of darkness you have to fight. And you lose. In here, a two-hundred-watt bulb’s like a forty. Bills’ve been horrendous. But Stephie – perhaps she just doesn’t believe Stewart would harm her. Also, more of a religious background than me. Catholic, lapsed. But it doesn’t go away. Not like…’

Merrily smiled.

‘I’m sorry, didn’t mean to be insulting. I was raised in the C of E.’

‘All I meant about your wife,’ Merrily said, ‘is that I think she should be here too, when we do whatever we do. As a blood relative of Mr Ash.’

‘Well, she will be… She’ll be here tonight.’

‘Mr Stock,’ Merrily said, ‘if I could just make a point here. Unless you really think that for some reason it’s important for this to be done at night, I don’t necessarily think that’s a good idea. I think it might be better for all of us’ – better for the Bishop, too – ‘if we said some initial prayers, perhaps a small requiem service for Mr Ash. Without delay.’

‘Now?’ He didn’t quite back away.

‘By daylight, anyway. Personally, I always think there’s an inherent danger in making this all too—’

‘Serious?’ Almost snapping.

‘Sinister. I’ll probably need the book, but we can dispense with the bell and the candle.’

She could almost see his thoughts racing, something almost feverish in his eyes. Did he have plans to involve the media? Had something already been arranged for tonight?

He unfolded his arms. ‘All right. I can call Stephie at work. Maybe she can take time off. How long will the exorcism take?’

‘That might be too big a word for what we do. Not very long, I shouldn’t think. Best to keep things simple. Oh – and I’d also want to ask the vicar if he’d like to join us. Two ministers are better than one in this kind of situation and it’s usual to involve the local guy when possible.’

‘St John?’ Hint of a sneer. ‘He won’t want to know, tell you that now.’

‘I’d like to ask him, anyway, if that’s all right with you.’

He shrugged. ‘Your show.’

‘Yours, actually. And your wife’s. And it would actually be helpful to have a few other people who knew your wife’s uncle. Is there anyone you think—?’

‘Oh no!’ Both hands went up. ‘Definitely not! I don’t want local people in here, I’m sorry. We don’t exactly have any close friends in the area. I’d rather this wasn’t talked about.’

‘But you went to the press.’

‘I was desperate. I’ve told you, I felt threatened. I didn’t know who I could trust, especially after the vicar refused to help us. Bottom line is I don’t want any of those people in here. All right?’

‘OK. Erm, another point – at a service of this kind, we need to draw a line under the past. A big element is forgiveness. I think that means we’re looking for some kind of reconciliation between you and Stewart, which of course has to be initiated by you.’

He laughed. ‘I’d guess that for Stewart one of the best things about death would be never having to see Gerard Stock again. But… you know best.’

‘Well, I don’t really know anything for sure,’ Merrily said. ‘We’re assuming Mr Ash is what you might call an unquiet spirit.’ Huw Owen would call it an insomniac. ‘Our fundamental purpose has to be to guide him away from whatever’s holding him down here towards a state of—’

‘Look!’ He put his hands on his hips, faced her. ‘Is this going to, you know, tell us anything?’

‘I’m not a medium, Mr Stock.’

‘What if Stewart’s… spirit, whatever you want to call it, is unable to rest because it wants to get a message across? Like, for instance, that his killer’s still out there.’

‘Ah.’ Merrily looked down at the flags. Around her shoes she could now make out the outline of what might have been a stain. Hidden agenda coming out at last? ‘Who’s the killer, then, in your view?’

‘I can’t tell you that,’ he said.

‘Because you don’t know. Or maybe you’ve got ideas?’

‘I’ve got ideas. However, I might be open to legal action were I to share them with you, Mrs Watkins.’

‘OK. What’s the actual time now? I’m afraid I came out without my watch.’

He held his wrist up to the light. ‘Just after ten minutes to ten.’

God, was that all? She needed breathing space, prayer space.

‘Look, I’ll call her now,’ he said. Something seemed to have lifted inside him. ‘Daytime. Yes. I should’ve thought of that. Daytime’s much better.’