Midwinter of the Spirit

‘Well, it’s intended that they should. I’m afraid Canon Dobbs was less organized.’

‘What about the problem last night at the General Hospital?’

‘At the hospital? Was there a problem?’

‘So it didn’t come through the office?’

‘It didn’t come through me.’

‘If you weren’t there, would the Bishop have handled it himself?’

‘They wouldn’t normally get through to the Bishop. Anyway he wasn’t here last night. He was at his parents’ home in the Forest of Dean. They thought his father had suffered another heart attack but it was a false alarm, I’m glad to say.’

‘Oh,’ Merrily said, ‘good.’

‘Did you have to go to the hospital, then, Merrily?’

‘Yes, I did.’ She gripped the phone tightly. If Hunter had been away, then who had directed the hospital to approach her? Who set her up for Denzil Joy’s grisly farewell party?

‘Merrily, are you all right?’

‘Yes, I… This other job – can you tell me what that is?’

‘I’m not sure I should over the phone.’

‘You don’t need to mention names.’

‘Well, it’s… a haunting. At a home for the elderly. Near Dorstone, out towards the Welsh border.’

‘And where did that come from? Who told you about it?’

‘It came from the new vicar of Dorstone, I believe. Michael had asked me to keep him informed of any reports of this nature, and when I mentioned it to him he said he’d like you to… take a crack at it, as he put it. He…’ She hesitated. ‘What he went on to say, if I’m not speaking out of turn, is that it would be a test of how committed you were.’

‘Committed?’

‘Frankly, he feels you’re rather stalling. He’d expected a firm answer by now. When we spoke on the phone, he asked if I’d heard from you.’

‘I see. So if I sidestep this haunting, or suggest the Vicar of Dorstone handles it himself, he’ll take that as a no.’

‘I may be wrong about that.’

Sophie was never wrong. Merrily felt she could almost see the hand of fate, grey-gloved in the half-light of the bedroom.

From the landing, Jane called out, ‘For Christ’s sake, Mum!’

In Merrily’s head, the demonic Denzil Joy sat up in bed for the last time, tubes flying out of his nose in twin puffs of snot. Huw Owen’s voice echoed over the Brecon Beacons. Might as well just paint a great big bullseye between your tits.

And, she thought, it was Dobbs, wasn’t it? It was bloody Dobbs – it has to be. Dobbs set me up.

She felt light-headed with fatigue. She knew that later, when she awoke again, she was going to be very angry, but now the rage was still misty and distant.

So were the words she spoke, so faintly that she wasn’t sure she hadn’t merely thought them. ‘I’ll come in tomorrow then, Sophie. Ten? Ten-thirty?’

She didn’t hear the reply, wasn’t even aware of hanging up the phone.

There were no dreams, thank God.

14 The First Exorcist

SHE STOPPED AT the top of the gatehouse stairs, rubbing circulation back into her hands. It seemed to have become winter overnight. The waxed jacket felt as flimsy as a bin-liner. No good, she’d have to get herself a proper coat when she had time.

When she saw the office door, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or turn around and creep quietly away.

The white panels were adorned by a single, black gothic letter. Above it, a simple, black cross.

The Rev. Charlie Headland was chuckling softly in her head. More like MI5…

Too late to turn around and creep out. Sophie – grey suit, pearls, neat white bun, half-glasses on a chain – stood in the adjacent doorway.

‘Merrily, good morning. Did you see a few specks of snow? I’m convinced I saw snow. Heavens, come up.’

‘Do I have to sign in? Maybe pass through a detector?’

Sophie smiled wryly. ‘Michael’s specific instructions. In one respect I suppose it’s rather elegant.’

‘Sophie, it looks like the entrance to a bloody chapel of rest.’

‘Oh.’ Sophie looked put out. She was the Bishop’s person, whoever the current bishop happened to be.

The new arrival on the office desk was an Apple Mac and a printer, and something Merrily took to be a scanner.

‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘All I know how to do on one of these is type.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Sophie said, a little cool now. ‘I’m your secretary as well, for a while. Michael wants me to open a Deliverance database: filing and categorizing the various cases, and giving area breakdowns. He also wants me to arrange a meeting with the Director of Social Services, the Chief Executive of the Health Authority, charities like MIND – and also the police.’

Merrily flopped down behind the desk. ‘What?’

‘And you’re to have an e-mail address, possibly a website.’

She looked into the blank computer screen as though it were a crystal ball, conjuring up Huw Owen’s tired, rugged face. I don’t want stuff letting in. A lot of bad energy’s crowding the portals. I want to keep all the doors locked and the chains up…

Her new secretary stood by the window, hands linked demurely at the waist of her tweed skirt.

‘Look… Sophie,’ Merrily moistened her wind-roughened lips, ‘the thing about Deliverance, it needs to be low-profile. I wouldn’t go as far as to use the word “clandestine”, but there’s a danger of attracting time-wasters and fanatics and loonies and… other undesirable elements. The Bishop doesn’t seem to have grasped this basic point.’

‘Deliverance is getting a high priority, Merrily.’ Sophie slipped into the visitor’s chair. ‘Look… I really wouldn’t worry about this. Michael’s a very young man to be a bishop, and he perhaps feels he’s been put in place to make an impression, help push the Church firmly into the twenty-first century. He’s also a very clever man, with an impeccable pedigree which he tends to underplay. Father and an uncle were both bishops… father-in-law’s the Dean of Gloucester. Michael feels that if people are aware of the amount of work undertaken by the Deliverance ministry, they may be more inclined towards what you might call spiritual preventative medicine.’

‘You mean what we used to call “Going to Church”?’

Sophie smiled wryly.

‘I know,’ Merrily said wearily. ‘It all makes a kind of sense. I just wish there was less… bollocks.’

‘I don’t doubt that you’ll cope, Merrily. You’ll find the details of the Dorstone haunting on your computer, if you click on the desktop file marked Memo. I shall be next door if you want me.’

‘Thanks.’ Merrily shed her coat and switched on the computer.

And then closed the door and picked up the phone and rang Eileen Cullen at home.

‘Timed it well, Merrily. Come off shift, whizz round Tesco, home to bed.’ Away from the ward, Cullen’s voice sounded softer. ‘How are you now?’

‘Bit confused.’