Time's Legacy Read online

  ‘Have you told David?’ Laura led the way into the garden.

  Abi shook her head. It always shocked her slightly, her mother’s casual friendship with the bishop. It wasn’t till after her appointment to his diocese that Laura had told her, smiling mischievously, of her lifelong friendship with David Paxman, of their adventures growing up together in the Mendip Hills in Somerset, where their families had been neighbours, of the scrapes they had got into, of the early signs of childhood romance. She had frowned, wondering if strings had been pulled to get her the Cambridge curacy. At the very least it explained the personal interest the bishop had taken in such a lowly newcomer to his diocese.

  ‘You have to tell him. I didn’t like that man the only time I met him. I told you not to trust him!’ Laura’s judgments were always instantaneous and usually right. She leaned forward and broke off a dead rose, crumbling the brown petals between her fingers and letting them fall on the path. ‘Abi, you are a beautiful woman. You are kind and thoughtful and loving and strong. A lot of men are going to fall in love with you.’ She snorted humorously. ‘I know, a lot already have! But when the right one comes along he will support you and cherish you and you will know to give yourself to him forever without hesitation. Until then you have to learn how to deal with this sort of thing, and, yes, I know you think it is probably some sort of test of your faith, but in the situation you are in it will be impossible for you to function properly. Tell David. Tell him you have to leave. Tell him to find you a new parish! One of your own this time!’

  Abi bit her lip, staring down into the pond and the circle of small splashes round the water jet. ‘I suppose you are right.’ She sighed. Was Kier in love with her? He fancied her, she had known that from the beginning, but it was more than that. There was something else there besides the fact that he was used to getting his own way and resentful of anyone who turned him down. Something she was only now beginning to recognise for what it was. A neediness. She thought back to the last time she had seen him. His eyes had been full of something very far from desire. She pictured the flashes of panic in his face. That was it. He was terribly afraid. She shook her head slowly and brought her attention back to her mother’s words. They had sounded wistful. Sad. The two women sat in silence for several minutes, then Abi glanced up. She smiled fondly at her mother. ‘Is that how it is with Dad? Does he support and cherish you?’

  The silence before her mother’s reply was just a second too long. ‘You know he does, sweetheart.’

  There was another long pause. Abi was still watching her mother. She seemed lost in thought. Laura looked ill, Abi realised suddenly. Her face had grown thin and there were shadows around her eyes. She reached across and touched her mother’s hand. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up,’ she whispered.

  Laura smiled. ‘We rub along fine, my darling. You know we do.’ She sighed. Then abruptly she stood up. ‘Come with me. The time has come for me to show you something.’

  The Limes was large and square, built of grey stone some time in the 1920s in the centre of an acre of gardens. It was gracious, more restrained than some of its neighbours, but still a little extrovert with the architectural details, built on three storeys with a small rather skittish turret at the eastern corner. The top floor of the house was sparsely furnished. From time to time when the cousins, the children of Laura’s two sisters, had descended into Abi’s solitary childhood the rooms had echoed with laughter and music but as they all grew older and their jobs took them across the world the family gatherings had grown smaller and more infrequent. Now only one of the top floor rooms was used. It was her mother’s den. There was plenty of room downstairs but Laura preferred this low-ceilinged attic with windows on three sides, constantly full of sunshine and, when she opened the windows, the scent of flowers and the songs of birds.

  The large table in the centre was strewn with papers and books and sketches of flowerbeds. Three chests of drawers lined the walls, some with their drawers so stuffed full of papers they wouldn’t shut properly.

  Abi had always suspected Laura loved this room because it was away from her husband’s eagle eye. She had never seen her father up here. Not once, in her whole life. Maybe he came, but she suspected he couldn’t be bothered. He had no interest in gardens other than as places to sit, or probably in anything his wife did which did not involve or revolve around him.

  She followed Laura in and as always succumbed at once to the feeling of security and happiness which filled the room. It took her back to her childhood which had been in some ways idyllic. The room smelled of flowers and paint – her mother often painted and sketched the flowers she loved so much, leaving the paintings stacked in careless heaps on the chests of drawers. She never bothered to frame any of them, laughing off Abi’s suggestion that they were worth hanging on the wall.

  Abi threw herself down on the chaise longue which stood near the open window looking out across the garden. This piece of furniture, lovingly rescued by her mother from a local house sale, draped with a succession of bright Spanish shawls, had led to the christening of the room as Aunt Laura’s Boudoir by one of her cousins. The name had stuck.

  Following her inside Laura closed the door behind her. She was pale, Abi noticed again, and she was slightly out of breath after the climb up the stairs. She sat up. ‘Are you sure you are all right, Mummy? You look tired.’

  Laura smiled at her. ‘I’m fine.’ She came over to Abi and, stooping, caught Abi’s hands in her own. ‘Sweetheart, there’s something I have to show you and I want you to promise that whatever you think of it, whatever you feel, you will do as I ask.’

  Abi frowned. ‘That sounds a bit portentous.’

  Laura grimaced. As though realising how odd it must seem she released Abi’s hands and sat down beside her. ‘Promise, darling. I wouldn’t ask you to do anything if it wasn’t important.’

  ‘Of course I promise.’ Abi felt a shiver of apprehension creep down her spine.

  ‘This is something I have kept hidden from your father. He must never know I have told you about it.’ Laura stood up again. She hesitated, then she moved across the room to the chest of drawers standing in the alcove which had once been the fireplace before the attic chimney had been sealed. She knelt before it and dragged out the bottom drawer. At the back was a tin box which she extricated with difficulty. Abi sat without moving. She felt suddenly frozen. Outside a breeze rustled through the leaves on the beech hedge far below on the edge of the lawn. Standing up with a grimace at the sudden twinge in her back Laura lifted the box and put it on the table. Prising off the lid she extricated the contents, something heavy wrapped in a white silk scarf. Returning to the chaise longue she sat down again with the bundle on her lap. Her hand rested gently on the scarf. Abi stared down at it. She didn’t say a word. The room seemed heavy with foreboding.

  Laura took a short, almost painful breath and slowly began to unwrap the scarf. Inside was a smallish round lump of rock.

  Abi glanced from it to her mother’s face, puzzled. ‘What on earth is it?’

  Laura gave a hesitant smile. ‘Take it. See if you can guess.’

  Reluctantly Abi held out her hands. The rock, although only about the size of an apple, was surprisingly heavy and she found she had to grasp it tightly to prevent herself from dropping it as in an identical gesture to her mother’s she lowered it onto her knees. Slowly she turned it over, studying every angle. ‘There are shiny bits, like windows. Rock crystal. It looks as though it is crystal inside a rock casing.’ She paused. ‘How weird. It’s almost as if my fingers are tingling.’ She looked up, startled. ‘It’s not radioactive, is it?’

  Laura shook her head. She was smiling. ‘No my darling, it’s not radioactive. And it is rock crystal. You are right.’

  Abi stared down at it for a few more seconds, then abruptly she gathered it up with both hands and stood up. ‘Here, take it!’

  ‘Why? What’s wrong?’ Laura reached out for it almost tenderly and rewra
pped it. Carrying it across the room she laid it reverently back in its box.

  ‘I could feel it moving. As if it were alive.’

  Laura laughed. ‘Not alive. Just powerful.’

  Abi shuddered. ‘Mummy! For God’s sake, tell me. What is it?’

  ‘I can’t explain while you are still a vicar, Abi. I will tell you all about it when you have left the Church.’

  ‘I’m not leaving the Church!’ Abi looked up at her, startled. ‘At least, only that particular church. Possibly. I will still be a priest.’ She stood up and moved slowly across the room to stare out of the window. ‘What on earth is there about that stone you can’t tell me if I’m a priest? Is it voodoo or something?’ She fell silent for a moment. Her mother didn’t reply. ‘I thought you were OK with me being in the Church,’ she said sadly. She stared down into the garden.

  There was a long silence. ‘I am OK with it, darling,’ Laura said at last. ‘Of course I am. How could I not be.’ She gave short laugh. ‘I am proud of you. Very proud. I misunderstood, that’s all.’

  ‘So, tell me about the rock. What is it?’

  ‘Just that. A piece of rock.’

  ‘No. There is obviously something special about it. Something weird.’ Without realising it Abi was wiping the palms of her hands up and down on the seat of her jeans.

  Laura slotted the box back into the drawer and pushed it closed. She stood up and faced her daughter. ‘I just wanted you to know about it and to know where I keep it. If anything ever happens to me you must take it and keep it somewhere safe. Understand? And one day you must pass it on to your daughter in turn. I will tell you its story. But not now. For now we will leave it alone. And I will tell you why. The story will change your view of the Church forever. It might destroy your faith. That’s what it did for me. No!’ Her voice was suddenly sharp. ‘That is enough. Not another word.’ Just for a second Abi caught an expression in her mother’s eye she had never seen before. It had gone before she could interpret it. There was anxiety there, and some kind of calculation and something else. Satisfaction. That was it. In spite of her seeming disappointment at Abi’s reaction, something had happened that had pleased her mother very much indeed.

  St Hugh’s Church stood silently in the evening sun at the end of its muddy lane. Leaving her car in the layby near the gate on her way back to her flat that evening, Abi threaded her way through the deserted churchyard past gravestones yet again sprayed with red swastikas. She found herself thinking suddenly about her mother’s old piece of crystal as she glanced at the piles of crushed lager cans that had been lobbed at the stones, the broken bottles and empty syringes lying in the grass. Her parents’ house might as well be on a different planet. She sighed sadly, glancing up at the windows, heavily wired to stop them being broken, and breathed a quiet prayer. How often had she cleared up the mess in the last couple of months, her hands heavily gloved, a huge binbag beside her? And every time it had happened again. Would changing the use of the church save it from this? Make the people care? Sadly she doubted it.

  Unlocking the door, she pushed it open and pocketed the key. Inside she was greeted by an overwhelming, almost audible, silence. It felt more intense than usual, she realised; more profound. Pushing the door closed behind her she listened to the heavy clunk as the latch dropped into place before walking softly up the aisle to stand for a moment in the semi-darkness in front of the altar. The tough walls, the lancet windows with their ancient stained glass, the breath of long-forgotten incense which seemed to hang in the air, all brought an atmosphere of deep peace to the old church. She loved it like this when she was here alone but this would probably be the last time. Her spell as pretend priest-in-charge was over. Tomorrow, if all went according to plan, Kieran was coming up here with a group of supporters from St John’s to clear up the churchyard and move all the old pews out of the nave. She shook her head, trying not to feel sad. They were going to change the church into a socialising space, bringing in toys and drawing things for the small children; coffee and mugs for the mums. That was right. That was how it should be. They hoped it would encourage people to care for the place, to love it and look after it. It would bring in the young mothers, reinforce a community feeling, introduce them to each other and to the church. She would probably be the only one to mourn the silence and the sanctity. Another thought struck her and she sighed. Tomorrow, thanks to her avoidance skills, would be the first time she had seen Kieran since his frenetic proposal that she move back into the Rectory. She frowned. It was his last chance to prove he could behave normally towards her. There would be a lot of other people here. She would be safe.

  She looked up at the cross on the wall behind the altar below the east window. It was carved and old and didn’t look worth stealing so it had been left alone. ‘This is what you wanted, isn’t it?’ she whispered. ‘We are doing the right thing here? And it is right for me to try and stay?’

  A light came on behind her in the body of the church and she turned round nervously. It was a moment before she realised that it was a last ray of sunlight slanting low through the stained glass window as the sun slipped down behind the trees, throwing gently coloured patterns onto the flags at her feet. She caught her breath, staring at it, mesmerised as near her, suddenly, someone started to sing.

  ‘Love divine, all loves excelling,

  Joy of heaven, to earth come down’

  Abi peered towards the empty choir stalls, trying to see into the shadows as the pure, breathy voice sang on, the words of the hymn barely audible. She had seen no-one there when she had come in.

  ‘Hello?’ Abi moved away from the altar rail and slowly walked down towards the choir stalls. ‘Who’s there?’ She put her hand up, shading her eyes against the sun.

  The singing stopped abruptly.

  ‘Please, don’t stop,’ Abi called out. ‘That was beautiful.’

  She could sense someone listening. ‘Where are you? I can’t see you.’ As suddenly as it had appeared the ray of sunlight disappeared as the sun slid down behind the trees outside. The church fell into semi-darkness and she sensed she was alone again.

  ‘Come back, please.’ Her own voice sounded plaintive and thin. There was no response.

  Slowly and methodically she searched the church, unlocking the vestry, peering into corners and under pews. But she knew there was no point. ‘It was a ghost,’ she whispered to herself. ‘An echo from the past.’

  The thought didn’t frighten her; since she was a child she had been aware of the world beyond the world. Ghosts were part of the wonder of God’s creation, but she had never heard anything this clearly before. It made her feel blessed.

  Reaching the far end of the church she paused and turned back to look up the aisle. A man was standing at the altar. A vicar, but not Kier. This man was taller, with white hair, dressed in a black cassock. He turned as she watched and looked directly at her. Slowly he raised his hand and she saw him make the sign of the cross and as he did so she realised the church was full of people. Shadowy figures crowded the pews, there were candles alight on the altar and in the distance she could hear it again, the pure voice echoing into the silence.

  ‘Jesus, thou art all compassion,

  Pure unbounded love thou art;’

  Mesmerised, she watched. She was being shown something so special it took her breath away.

  Behind her the latch on the door lifted and the door creaked open. She spun round, shocked at the noise and found herself face to face with Kier. ‘I saw your car.’ He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The church was suddenly still and dark and very empty. There were no longer candles on the altar. The singing had stopped abruptly, leaving not even an echo in the vaulted roof. The suddenness of the change of atmosphere left her feeling bereft and strangely empty.

  Staring round nervously he reached for the bank of switches, clicking them on one by one until the nave was blazing with light. ‘I’ve come to prepare for tomorrow.’ His voice was bleak. ‘The soone
r this mausoleum is transformed the better.’ She saw him glance at her but he made no move towards her. He seemed anxious.

  ‘It’s not a mausoleum, it’s a beautiful old country church,’ she said reproachfully. She was overwhelmed by a wave of sadness. ‘Are you sure, Kier? Are you sure this is what God wants us to do here?’

  He frowned. ‘Of course this is what God wants.’ He shivered. ‘What use is a church that’s used by only a minute ageing congregation? For goodness sake, Abi, we’ve talked about this.’ He sounded thoroughly irritated. ‘What I plan will bring in the young mothers, the teenagers. When the new development starts, there will be more families, people who want somewhere as a social centre, maybe a drop in clinic. It will still be a church. We will still hold services here. They will just be different.’ He stopped abruptly. ‘I can smell candles. Have you been burning candles in here?’

  She smiled sadly. ‘Would it matter if I had?’

  He shook his head. ‘Of course not. It’s just odd. It smells so strongly.’ To her surprise she saw beads of sweat break out on his forehead.

  Impulsively she took a step towards him. ‘Kier, I saw them. Just now. The congregation that used to worship here. The candles were their candles. The rector was here. I expect his name is one of those on the wall up there. He blessed the church. Someone was singing. I’m surprised you didn’t hear her. It was wonderful…’ Her voice died away.

  His face had gone white and he was staring at her in horror. ‘No!’ he shook his head. ‘No. That’s all your imagination.’ He seemed terrified.

  She stared at him. ‘It was real for you too, Kier. After all, you can still smell their candles.’