Darkness Falls (14 page)

‘Is Coleridge actually buried under here?’ asked April.

‘Yes, he is. But only for the last fifty years or so.’

April looked at him curiously.

‘But wasn’t he ancient? I mean, didn’t he live in seventeen something?’

The vicar laughed.

‘Yes, born 1772, died 1834. He was originally buried in the graveyard of the Old Chapel next to the boys’ school, but there was some falling out with the trustees in the sixties and he was moved here.’

April pulled a face. ‘I wouldn’t like that. I mean, aren’t you supposed to be allowed to rest in peace?’

The vicar nodded. ‘I rather agree with you. When I’m gone, I want to stay wherever I’m put. It didn’t do anything to help all the rumours about vampires in the area at the time, either.’

She looked at him, her eyes wide. Maybe Mr Gill had been right to point her in this direction after all,

‘Vampires?’

He shook his head.

‘A lot of silliness of course. Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote the first vampire tale, a poem called
Cristabel
about a young woman who encounters, or perhaps is a vampire. So obviously when the author rose from the grave, so to speak, some people’s imaginations ran away with them.’

‘So that must have been the same time there were all those rumours about the cemetery?’

The vicar’s smile dimmed slightly.

‘Ah, well that was something different. St Michael’s may back onto the cemetery, but it isn’t ours. As you are aware, we do hold services for the departed souls who are to be interred there, but only rarely.’

‘Why’s that?’

The vicar chuckled, but there was an edge to his laugh, as if it was a question he didn’t want to answer.

‘Well, the cemetery has its own chapel of course, and more to the point, very few people are buried there nowadays.’

‘But surely …’

‘My, you are inquisitive, aren’t you?’ he said, walking to the entrance and closing the door. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised, knowing your father.’

‘How did you know my dad?’

He gestured back towards the altar. ‘Do you have time for a cup of tea? One of the ladies from the choir will insist on making me these enormous cakes and’ – he patted his belly – ‘I really could do with a little help.’

He led her to the left, down the line of pews and through a small door to one side of the aisle, then along a corridor into what April assumed was the rectory.

‘Have a seat,’ said the vicar, showing her into a comfortable sitting room with chintzy sofas and polished oak furniture as he went off to prepare the tea. The walls were lined with glass-fronted cupboards, most of which were stuffed with books, and April wasted no time in looking at them. They all seemed quite old, but they were mostly maps and novels, nothing like what she was looking for. She turned her attention to the other most striking aspect of the décor: a number of glass cases containing stuffed animals. There was a weasel, two pigeons and a coiled snake. And in pride of place on the sideboard was a fox with a slightly wonky eye. April went over to examine it.

‘Are these yours?’ she asked as the vicar came back in carrying a tray.

‘Well, they’re not to my taste, but the rooms came furnished and I didn’t have the heart to throw them out. So they stayed and I’ve come to rather like having them around.’

‘What’s the deal with the foxes anyway?’ April asked. ‘They seem to be a theme in the church, what with the weathervane on the spire and the fox in the window.’

‘Oh, it’s one of those visual jokes the artist put in. You know how the people who built cathedrals used to base the gargoyles on real people? People often ask me about it. The fox represents the hunter, which is why his foot is on the sword.’

‘Someone once told me foxes represent witches.’

‘Oh no, not at all,’ said the vicar, waving a hand to dismiss
the idea. ‘I think people like to read too much into these things. There are all sorts of local superstitions based on the idea that there is some ancient evil buried under the hill here and, because they live underground, that foxes must somehow be touched by it.’

April held her breath. That was one of her father’s ideas: that there was some sort of disease which had come from underground and was being spread the same way.

‘There’s evil underground?’ she said.

‘Merely local legend, my dear. Given that Highgate is dominated by a huge cemetery, it’s only natural people would dream up such fantasies from time to time.’

‘Seems a little hard on the poor foxes.’

‘Indeed. Anyway, it’s likely much more straightforward: the artist probably just saw a lot of foxes in the area at the time – this was almost two hundred years ago, remember, when this part of London was out in the country.’

He turned to the tray of tea things and began cutting into a huge sponge cake, jam and cream oozing from the sides.

‘Anyway, why don’t you tell me how I can help?’

How
could
he help? Mr Gill had suggested a visit, but now she suspected he was trying to get her to seek religious advice, which wasn’t exactly what she’d been hoping for. Not that she didn’t believe in God, well not exactly. She was certainly starting to believe in the devil – how could she not, after all she had seen? But what could the vicar tell her that might help her find the White Book? The books in his cupboards weren’t that old.

‘I wondered how you knew my father?’ she finally asked. ‘You said you were old friends, but we’d only been in Highgate a few weeks.’

The vicar smiled indulgently and poured the tea.

‘Hard for you to imagine, I know, but I wasn’t always the vicar here. I met your dad at university.’

‘Really? Wow,’ said April, wondering if her dad had really looked as old as the vicar did. As if reading her thoughts, the vicar laughed.

‘No need to be so coy – yes, I am older than him. I was working there on my doctorate and spending some time as the chaplain of his college. That’s like a university in-house vicar, if you like. But as you can imagine, excitable young teenagers don’t have much interest in going to church.’

‘But my dad wasn’t a church-goer, was he?’

He paused.

‘Not really. But young people often have a crisis when they’re away from home for the first time. Nowadays, I’m sure they have counsellors to turn to, but back then it was the chaplain or nothing if you got yourself into a pickle.’

‘What sort of pickle?’

‘Ah. There is a certain confidentiality to these conversations. But let’s just say he had a crisis of faith.’

‘Faith? I didn’t think he was religious.’

‘Not in such a straightforward way, no. But you’ve seen the books he wrote – your father was a man who wanted to believe in things, who was looking for answers. Who was always hoping to prove the myths true. When we first met, he was … well, he wasn’t sure which side to choose.’

April was feeling more confused than she had when she came in.

‘You mean my mum? I know my granddad didn’t approve of him. I always got the feeling they only got married to annoy Gramps.’

The vicar shook his head, frowning. ‘Oh no, I can assure you there was much more to it than that. Your parents were, and remained, very much in love.’

April shrugged.

‘It didn’t feel that way at the end. They were always arguing.’

‘Well I can’t comment on that. Adults always seem to find a way of buggering things up for themselves, don’t they?’

April laughed. She liked Mr Gordon. Most adults wouldn’t speak to a teenager so frankly.

‘So when did you last see my dad? Before he died.’

Mr Gordon glanced at the stuffed fox, seeming to gather his thoughts before he spoke.

‘It was about a week before he died. He came to see me just after that poor girl was found in the cemetery. It was partly a social call as you’d just arrived in the village, but he also had his journalist’s hat on too. Wanted to know what I knew, especially as Isabelle …’

April leant forward. ‘You knew her?’

‘Oh yes, she was in the choir as a younger girl, and then in the girl guides in the village and so on. Always used to say hello. Until that funny business with the book.’

‘The book?’

‘All very curious. She had stopped coming to church, she’d fallen in with quite a bad crowd, I think. Some sort of nastiness involving drugs of some kind, and a few people died. After that, she moved away. University in Central London, I think. Anyway, out of the blue, she came to see me, asking about some book or other she was looking for. We have quite a collection of books here, as you can see. I’m no expert though, they were all here when I arrived. I’m rather afraid I prefer John Grisham myself.’

‘What was it? What was the book, I mean?’

He shook his head. ‘Some sort of mythology or magical thing, as I recall. I felt a bit uncomfortable talking to her about it, to be honest.’

‘Why? Do you think she was a witch?’

The vicar laughed.

‘No, my dear. I was concerned for her. As I said, she had fallen in with the wrong crowd and I was worried she was turning down a rather dark road. It seems I was right. It broke my heart to hear that she had been murdered, and so close by, too.’

April nodded. She wasn’t about to tell him she had been there and had almost stumbled over Isabelle’s body.

‘Well, thanks for the tea and cake,’ she said, getting up. ‘It was nice to talk too.’

The vicar put a hand on her knee.

‘I think I’ve disappointed you, April,’ he said. ‘Perhaps if you told me what you wanted to find out?’

April hesitated for a second. Could she trust him? He was a friend of her father’s and a vicar to boot. But she could hardly lay the whole vampires, Fury, Dragon’s Breath thing on him, could she?

‘I was just hoping I might find out what he was investigating before his death,’ she said, feeling bad for lying inside a church, ‘If I can work that out, maybe I can find out why he was killed.’

‘But surely the police …’

‘I know, I should leave it to them, but the police don’t seem to be getting anywhere and I feel I’ll go mad if I can’t make some sense out of it.’

The vicar looked thoughtful for a moment, then crossed to the sideboard, rummaging in a drawer underneath the fox.

‘I can see you’re going to pursue this, so perhaps this might be some help.’

He handed her a small business card.

‘Isabelle gave this to me in case I needed to contact her. I think she was working here. She may even have found what she was looking for. But please April, be careful?’

‘I will,’ said April, holding the card tightly, as if her – and Gabriel’s – life depended on it. ‘I will, you can count on that.’

Gabriel was waiting for her outside the church. He was leaning against the wall, his hands thrust into his pockets and his collar turned up against the cold. As April walked over, she could see his skin was pale and waxy and he seemed to be shivering. She longed to run to him, throw her arms around him and kiss the warmth back into him. To check, after his collapse last night, that he was okay. But she reminded herself of his instructions.
People might be watching
.

‘Are you waiting for me?’ she asked casually.

‘We need to talk.’

‘Yes, we do,’ said April in a low voice. ‘I think I’ve got a real lead on the
Albus Libre
…’

‘Not here,’ snapped Gabriel, taking her arm and leading her down the hill.

April frowned, a little hurt and angry that he was being so short with her, plus she was concerned that he was blowing so hot and cold all the time – maybe it was something to do with the illness? She glanced at his face – he didn’t look good, that was for sure. She had hoped that last night’s dramatic collapse had been down to the fight, but seeing his grey pallor and the way he had started coughing, it was time to stop fooling herself: he really was sick.

‘I was so worried about you at the party,’ she said. ‘You haven’t been answering your phone – didn’t you get my messages?’

Gabriel coughed again and shrugged. April balled her hands into fists, trying to control her irritation. She knew he was trying to maintain his facade of strength, but she was only trying to help him, couldn’t he see that? Maybe he was still
angry about the Ben thing – she couldn’t blame him, really. Sighing, she tried to change the subject.