The Fabric of Sin

who she must be and it had, as we used to say, rather blown my mind.’

‘You definitely didn’t say anything to her about that … or give any indication? I mean, if she saw you looking shocked …’

‘I don’t give anything away unless I want to.’

‘Suppose Fuchsia really didn’t know about Mary and the Master House until she actually came here. Something happened to make her go dashing into the church demanding a blessing and spiritual sanctuary from Teddy Murray.’

‘Who would’ve recommended a five-mile walk in the fresh air,’ Mrs Morningwood said sourly.

‘If someone had already recognized the resemblance to Mary the way you did and made Fuchsia aware of it … then the idea of the place being haunted, something rising from under the dust sheets, might have been her own way of externalizing her feelings. Or is that psychobabble?’

‘The past rising up to haunt her?’

‘And she’s a devotee of M. R. James, and perhaps she’s learned that James went to Garway, where something happened to disturb him — and all that goes into the emotional mix. She’s afraid she’s carrying around something corrupt, tainted. She wants to be blessed, purified.’

What is this that is coming?

‘Perhaps, for the first time, starting to question the fate of her mother,’ Mrs Morningwood said. ‘Did Mary come back to Garway, after she wrote to me and I failed to respond? Was your friend able to find that out?’

‘Mmm. I think so.’

‘So they would have known about the baby. Sycharth and the other clowns.’

‘I presume.’

Mrs Morningwood was silent. Merrily heard Jane coming in with Roscoe, big paws skidding on the flags in the kitchen.

‘Sycharth would hardly have wanted a bastard child,’ Mrs Morningwood said at last.

‘Perhaps I’ll get to talk to him tomorrow.’

‘But first, I think you need to talk to the Grays.’

It was after midnight when Merrily switched off the lamp in the parlour. Mrs Morningwood had gone to her herbal bed, taking the dog up with her. Jane had gone over an hour ago to her apartment in the attic. Merrily went through to the kitchen for the last time, put some food down for Ethel, smoked half a cigarette and listened to the answering machine bleeping in the scullery. Eventually, she stubbed out her cigarette, went through and hit the button.

‘Coming over, lass. I’ve things to clear in the morning, so it’ll be mid- afternoon.’

Huw seemed about to hang up, then came back.

‘The bloke who cleared you for the Duchy. Nowt to worry about.’

Another silence, questions drifting like steam in the scullery’s sepia light. There was a soft tapping at the window; Merrily turned sharply.

‘But don’t go near Dunmore yet,’ Huw said.

‘You did say it didn’t matter what time,’ Lol said at the back door. ‘I’ve been back an hour, but you were obviously busy.’

‘Why didn’t you just come in?’

They’d swapped keys months ago.

‘I thought I’d walk around for a bit.’

Maybe it was the light or the lateness, but he looked washed-out, stripped down, drained, as sorrowful and weary as Jesus in The Light of the World that still hung in the hall.

‘Do you want something to eat?’

‘No, thanks. Not hungry.’

‘You sure?’

‘I’m fine. Really.’

‘Come to bed, then,’ Merrily said.

46 Call it Superstition

She was at the farm by eight-forty-five. Not a problem; Roxanne reckoned she’d been up since five. A wiry woman, early thirties, in a dark blue fleece and a baseball cap over curly hair already greying at the front. Out by the gate with two sheepdogs when Merrily drove in; now in the kitchen, clinking mugs, scraping toast.

‘You’ve just missed Paul, he’s taken the kids to school, then he’s got an appointment at the hospital, which always puts him in a bad mood. Very wary of the drugs, reckons your mate Mrs Morningwood does him more good. The doctors humour him on that score, and that makes him even madder.’

‘What, reflexology?’

‘Has it once a week now. Probably just as well he isn’t here, actually — you talk to him about the Gwilyms, it takes him the rest of the day to calm down. And he isn’t even family.’

The farmhouse was red brick and pebble-dash with bay windows downstairs. Built to function, two barns in front, no name displayed. The kitchen table was scrubbed pine, the coffee as bitter as Roxanne.

‘You know they brought Foot and Mouth into the valley in 2001? You know that, do you? Way to get rid of all your stock, clean up on the compensation. Well, a lot of unscrupulous farmers did it, but rarely anything so blatant. He made no secret of it, he wanted it, he embraced Foot and Mouth.’

‘You mean Sycharth Gwilym had his farm deliberately infected?’

‘Yeah, but try to prove it. Well, we did, we told the press, but the press wouldn’t use it. He’s a big man now, Sycharth, the King of Hereford. Most of his money’s in property and he wanted his stock gone, and he grabbed the opportunity and sod the rest of us. We had a lovely herd of Herefords, wiped out in an afternoon by the trigger- happy bastards from DEFRA. Paul cried. He stood out there and he cried. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. I’m a Newton, I know what they are, the Gwilyms. Scum is what they are.’

Roxanne brought her coffee to the table, snatched off her baseball cap.

‘Adam put us in the picture about what you’re doing. I’ll be there, never fear. Well, it should be me. I’m the Newton, no way Paul should be put through that.’

‘It’s not meant to be an ordeal.’ Merrily spread some honey on a half-slice of toast. ‘Most people say they feel much better afterwards. Some people even …’

She didn’t like to mention the sense of healing. An occasional side effect of a cleansing and not necessarily restricted to residents of the affected property. But … too many false dawns in this household, you could tell.

‘I’m sorry,’ Roxanne said. ‘I didn’t mean you. Sycharth Gwilym. Always so considerate to Paul, opening doors, laying ramps. With a sneer on his face that he barely tries to conceal. Gives him a sick buzz. Or it did, when he thought we’d have to sell up and get out. So, yeah, I’ll do it, you can count on me, I’ll stand shoulder to shoulder with Adam Eastgate, and I’ll look Sycharth in his shifty eyes and I’ll pray to God for anything that remains of the Gwilyms to be eradicated from that house until the end of sodding time.’

‘Knows all the history, that girl,’ Mrs Morningwood had said when she came off the phone at seven-thirty a.m., ‘but you’ll need to keep her on track. All she really wants is to pour venom on the Gwilyms.’

Was the venom deserved? Rage could be inherited, the reasons for it long forgotten. Sins-of-the- fathers.

‘You know what this is about,’ Merrily said to Roxanne. ‘Some people refusing to work in the house.’

‘Poor bloke. I showed him round, the first time he came. He was all right, I thought.’

‘But did that make any sense to you? Why people were scared.’

‘Just the one person, I think?’