Bacchus and Sanderson (Deceased) (10 page)

              Freddie had been impressed and was keen that the trouble-shooter role was a stepping-stone. Then the heart thing happened. Now he needed Freddie’s advice and his understanding. A lengthy sabbatical might destroy his career prospects, or at least the chance of an early bishopric, but now he had his epiphany, the prospect of a rural pulpit was far more appealing than a ceremonial mitre and crosier.

              Dinner wound to a close and Freddie led William into the library for a nightcap and to throw ideas backwards and forwards as they had been doing for many years. Sarah came towards them down the hallway holding Freddie’s mobile phone. With her hand over the microphone she said,

“It’s Felicity, being very dramatic. Demanding that she speaks to you now. I have told her you were having dinner with an old friend but she is very insistent.”

Holding his hand out for the mobile phone he said to Sarah,

“I’ll speak to her, can you take William through and pour him an Ardberg please.” Turning he spoke into the phone,

“Good evening, how lovely of you to call, I’m a bit busy at the moment, can I call you back in the morning...?”

             
At the mention of the name Felicity, William’s interest was piqued, but he didn’t get a chance to hear anything that was said before he was ushered into the library. A few moments later Freddie joined William in the library and poured himself a large brandy before sitting opposite him in front of the fire.

“William, you appear distracted, worried. Can I help? I’m quite happy to be told to mind my own business if you would prefer your own counsel, though as the saying goes confession is good for the soul or something similar.”

William looked at Freddie judging how much he should tell him. It wasn’t a matter of trust or even a concern about honesty and your bishop. Sipping from his glass of Ardberg, he decided that for the moment, less was more.

“I wouldn’t dream of telling my bishop to mind his business, on the contrary your guidance has always been welcome and appreciated. There is very little to tell. As you know, I went to London today to see a solicitor regarding a small bequest.” Smiling with genuine pleasure, William continued,

“I have inherited a bookshop in Sherborne, the one around the corner from the Abbey. Having thought long and hard since having my heart attack last month, I feel I need a little time away from the pressures of work. So, would it be possible to request a sabbatical. It will give me a chance to regain my strength, investigate my bookshop, and decide what I am to do with it.”

              Sitting back in the armchair and having another sip of Ardberg, William waited for Freddie to respond. The response he expected would be a delayed decision, once he had an opportunity to put some sort of cover in place for William and assess the impact on the plans he had been orchestrating for William’s accession to the bishopric in a few years time. What he wasn’t expecting was:

“Absolutely, you must go immediately. There are occasions when a set of circumstances collides to offer an opportunity, which would be a heinous crime to resist. The inheritance of a delightful shop in a beautiful town and the necessity to recuperate from a serious illness are a case in point. In fact, the diocese has a small house that is empty, on The Avenue I think. Nothing fancy
,
but it will give you a base to operate from. If we were to say six months to begin with, but with the facility to extend it to twelve months, would that be acceptable? Also, there is a chaplain who covers all of the schools in the area, doing a very good job. I’ll ask her to pick you up and chauffeur you around until you’re cleared to drive again.”

William sat stunned. This thrusting, decisive decision-making wasn’t something he had experienced before with his bishop.

“Thank you Freddie that is generous of you. Are you sure you’re not trying to get me out of the way? If it’s ok with you, I’ll leave tomorrow, pick up Wooster and be on my way. Thank you once again.”

***

“With regret, I have no idea.”

Puzzled, Ernest looked at Juanita, who was herself looking flustered and awkward.

“You have no idea about what?”

“I have no idea what the outcome of your unfinished business is. God might, but she’s far too busy to bother. So, we are going to have to play it out, yours and your brothers.”

“So, what is it?” She looked disquieted, pensive. Exactly the opposite of how he wanted her to look when he asked that type of question.

“Juanita,” his voice was filled with resignation,

“Juanita, please tell me.”

Juanita straightened her back and looked him straight in the eyes

“I’ve not had a case like this for almost five hundred years, not since Lucretia Borgia, she was quite a handful.” Juanita looked into the distance and smiled a contented smile.

“Your unfinished business comes in two parts, as you would expect, as it is both yours and your brothers. His is the most straightforward, who killed him and why. As you are representing Jonas, all you have to do is ascertain those facts.  Yours, however, is both similar and dissimilar. We need to determine who killed you and why. Also once this has been established we need to address this behaviour with the perpetrators and ensure this isn’t repeated with your descendants.”

“And everything hinges on a son I’ve never met, executing tasks that we direct him to do, without complaint and without compromising his sanity.” Gesturing with his hands, Ernest added,

“Over to you.”

Smiling like a naughty schoolgirl found raiding the biscuit tin; Juanita began,

“It’s very easy, far easier than I have been leading you to believe. When I said to you that I could and would compel William if I needed to, I wasn’t wholly honest. As a last resort, I could trick him into doing what I wanted, but that would be more by luck than judgement. As I have said to you, for this to work it is important, no critical, that you have a connection, a strong connection to your chosen assistant. I have to rely on brute force and experience. You can compel them if you need to. You become one with them; unity, wholeness is achieved. With wholeness, anything is possible.”

Looking confused and irritated, Ernest thought for a moment and then asked,

“So I’m inside them?” Juanita nodded.

“Will William know I’m inside him? Is he aware of me? Is this a clandestine or an overt operation?”

“It can be either. If you choose an open unconcealed approach, it will be more difficult at the beginning and more difficult in the end. Excuse my English. What I mean is that when you have concluded the unfinished business you will have to bid William adieu. This is often more difficult than you can imagine. A covert approach has the advantage of anonymity but lacks benefits of your hosts input. It’s up to you.”

Ernest pondered his choice for only a few moments, before smiling and asking Juanita,

“Where do we start if I want to use the unconcealed, overt approach? “

“We need to find William and to introduce you to each other. This is going to be very curious for you; you know that don’t you?”

“I don’t expect anything. However, anything I get will be a step forward.”

Ernest looked over at Juanita and said,

“To introduce myself will I be in him or not?”

“In him. He can’t see you, hear you or feel you.”

Still looking puzzled and starting to feel like the slowest pupil in the class, he tried another tack.

“If he can’t see, hear or feel me how do I make my presence felt? What’s so special about inside him as opposed to outside?”

              Juanita looked exasperated. Why was he trying not to understand? She looked at Ernest, smiled and said,

“I think a demonstration would help.” She was gone.

Looking around, he realised that she had vanished and it had been instantaneous.

              Ernest sat on the armchair in the corner to await her return. Ernest contemplated the type of demonstration she would use. Not knowing her well, it was difficult to predict what she would do. He was sure it would be flamboyant and dramatic.

“Ernest” a voice called out to him. He looked around the room trying to place where it had come from. The places to hide in his virtual bedroom where limited; he had searched them all in a matter of moments.

“Ernest” the voice, her voice he thought wasn’t in the room. If she was outside, a place he could only go if he was with Juanita, then it wasn’t a very effective demonstration.

“As I can’t go outside of this room without you, it makes your demonstration a little bit silly. Whatever you want to show me you’ll have to come back in here.”

Sitting back down in the armchair, he waited for her to reappear and demonstrate.

“Ernest, walk over to the mirror on the wall and tell me what you see.” The voice that was instructing him was close to him but still not in the room. Looking above him into the shimmering ether that represented his bedroom ceiling, he wondered if she was floating above him, looking down and laughing as he obeyed her disembodied voice. Putting a hand on either side of the washbasin, he leaned in as close as possible to the mirror and waited.

“Ready?”

              Smiling, Ernest nodded trying to use the mirror to look over his shoulder at the door where he expected her to reappear.

“Ready as ready can be.”

              Still trying to look over his shoulder by using the mirror, Ernest didn’t notice what was going on in front of him. A slight flicker of movement refocused him on his reflection. The face staring back at him from the mirror was no longer his own. It was evolving, melding two faces into one until Juanit
a’
s had supplanted his features.

Smiling at his shocked expression, she delivered her coup de grace.

“As you can see Ernest, being inside means you can communicate, however, you want. You think I’ve been talking to you, a voice whose location you can’t quite place. Can you see my lips moving? Put your fingers tightly into your ears,” she watched while he lifted his hands and pushed a finger into each ear.

“Has that reduced the volume at which I am speaking to you? Is my speech muffled now? The only person who can hear me is you. Do you know why? No? Because I’m inside you talking to you and only you. That’s why inside is better. I wouldn’t recommend letting William see your face in his to start with as that can be a little freaky, sorry I scared you. Do you understand now?”

              As Ernest nodded, his features returned to normal and his reflection in the mirror took on its own comforting appearance. Juanita reappeared next to him, put her arm around his shoulders and led him to the armchair.

“It’s always a shock the first time. Now we need to go and introduce you to William and get this show on the road. You both have an awful lot of ground to cover. From the letter you wrote him, will he know anything about what happened to either you or your brother?” Her brusque business like tone snapped him out of his reverie and back to the present.

“The letter let him know he was my son, that he now owns a bookshop and that there is a flash drive containing all the documents in the bookshop's safe. The documents detail all my research into Jonas’ death, the circumstances surrounding it and who I thought where the possible suspects. All of the possible suspects had a brief biographical sketch, background information, etc., and any lines of connection to Jonas, however tenuous. That was the point at which I had become mired in the complexity and found I couldn’t see the wood for the trees. I also left him my diary and Jonas’.”

Juanita looked pensive,

“A good start, now we need to let William look at everything and draw some conclusions before we introduce you. I think it’s going to be better for us to observe for a while and see what his take on all the detail will be. Shall we descend to Sherborne?”

William exited Sherborne station at a run, hauled by a large, excitable black Labrador.

“Wooster heel. HEEL! Sit, lie down, just stop. STOP!”

              He managed to haul the dog into an approximation of ‘sit’ and stood gasping for breath. His puce complexion and gasping evoked concerned glances from his fellow passengers but none of them could overcome there natural British reticence to ask if he needed help. For this he was grateful. As his breathing became less laboured, he turned his attention to the people on the station concourse to see if he could identify his guide and chauffeur, Annabel, the schools chaplain. He couldn't see anyone with an ecclesiastical air, so he leaned against the station wall to the left of the entrance and enjoyed the warm sunshine. The station was a small two-platform whistle stop, the platforms running east, west. London Waterloo to Exeter St Davids.

              Opposite the station stood the Pageant gardens, funded by the Pageant of nineteen hundred and five to celebrate the twelve hundredth anniversary of the founding of the town and bishopric. The Abbey stood at the far side of the gardens and William could see the bell tower standing above the trees.

              The honking of a car horn brought him out of his daydream. An ancient estate car of uncertain lineage swung into the station forecourt in a cloud of exhaust smoke and groaned to a halt. The driver’s door exploded open and an attractive; Rubenesque woman with long chestnut brown hair; wearing a dog collar, ripped denim jeans and training shoes bounced out.