The Magic Cottage (20 page)

‘So, Margaret,’ said Sixsmythe, having swallowed half his drink in one go, ‘are you working on a new book at the moment?’

‘Oh no. Mike and I decided we wouldn’t take on any more work for at least a month, not until we’d made ourselves comfortable in Gramarye. You could call it an adjustment period, too.’

‘Very wise. And what is your line of business, Mike? Are you an artist also?’ He was genuinely interested, his clear, schoolboy’s eyes eager bright.

‘I play guitar, write songs when I can.’

He seemed disappointed. ‘I see. You don’t work regularly then?’

Midge and I laughed.

‘Yes, he does,’ said Midge, still amused but indignant too. ‘Mike plays at recording sessions mostly, although occasionally he goes on the road.’

‘On the road?’

‘I back other performers,’ I told him. ‘You know, as part of a touring band.’

‘Ah.’

‘And when he’s not doing that, he works
very
hard at song writing. In fact, Mike’s got the basis for a musical—’

‘Midge . . .’ I warned good-naturedly.

‘Sorry.’ She squeezed my leg, then said to Sixsmythe, ‘We have an agreement that we never talk about ideas for future projects in company. Mike and I feel it takes out some of the energy for the work itself.’

‘Yes, I think I understand that. I suppose pre-explanation can take the edge off creativity.’

‘You got it,’ I said. ‘Too many good ideas, particularly in my business, get talked to death before they even get off the ground.’

‘My word, but what an exciting time you both must have.’

We chuckled again at that.

‘When a new book is published, or work’s going really well – that’s when things get exciting,’ said Midge. ‘Otherwise, it’s usually self-disciplined hard slog.’

‘Nevertheless, you must meet some very interesting people,’ he insisted. ‘I do hope you won’t get bored too easily with us simple folk.’

‘Believe me, half the reason Mike and I moved here was to get away from certain so-called “interesting” people. We find country life quite refreshing.’

‘Yes, I was being somewhat harsh on myself and my parishioners. You’ll find that many of us are not quite as dull as you might at first think.’ He nodded to himself, then gazed up reflectively at the cottage walls. ‘Yes indeed,’ he mused, ‘there are quite a few interesting characters in these parts. I think you’d have found Flora Chaldean fascinating, for instance. A most extraordinary individual.’

Midge rested her elbows on the table, clasping her hands before her. ‘Did you know her well?’ she asked.

‘Flora? No, I’m afraid nobody knew her well. Very much of a recluse, you see. But the villagers and many of the local people came here to see her in time of trouble.’ He smiled almost wistfully. ‘In fact, many of those I failed to help would visit her, and perhaps she was of greater comfort to them than I. Oh, they never let me know of their visits, kept them very much a secret. But I knew. I knew their old country ways.’

I shifted on the bench, and I could tell Midge was intrigued.

‘What sort of help did Mrs Chaldean give them?’ I asked. ‘Was she just one of those who people like to tell their troubles to?’

‘More than that. Yes, much more, I believe.’ He suddenly frowned. ‘She was a great healer. A healer of the spirit as well as the flesh, apparently. Sadly, I’m hopeless at the latter, and only sometimes good at the former. It seems that Flora had a gift that was centuries-old.’

Birds fluttered close, landing near our feet. If Sixsmythe hadn’t been there they would have been on the table itself, chirping for food.

‘Her solicitor did mention that she was a healer of sorts,’ said Midge. ‘Are you telling us now that she was a faith healer?’

‘Not exactly. Oh, I’m sure that much of her effectiveness was due to people’s utter belief in her powers to cure, but that wouldn’t have explained everything. She made up potions of the kind you might find in books on ancient remedies, those that are passed down from generation to generation, but she also had the ability to cure without any such medicines, by talking, or laying on of hands. Not that she would oblige just anybody! Goodness no! There were some she would not let inside her garden gate!’ He shook his head, grinning like a ventriloquist’s dummy. ‘And then, of course, she had a wonderful way with animals. Could cure them of ailments almost overnight, I’m told.’

Midge stole a quick glance at me.

‘You’d quite often find a sick cow or pony tethered outside here for a day or so, who were inevitably in fine fettle by the time the owners arrived to take them home again. Dogs, cats – quite a menagerie on occasions! Now you can’t tell me that animals had faith in her powers, so it’s hard to fathom how they became well again. Yes, yes, a wonderful gift had Flora. Pity that I only got to know her towards the end of her life. May I have another glass of lemonade, Margaret? It’s rather cooling on a day like this.’

She poured and was obviously engrossed with the cleric’s account of Gramarye’s previous owner. ‘I’m surprised her fame wasn’t more widespread from what you’ve told us.’

‘Heavens, no! All kept very secret in these parts, you know. Yes, very hush-hush. Flora would bind those who came with their problems to secrecy before she would even attempt a cure. However, as with all such delightful mysteries, there were always whispers, a confidence here, a hint there. I think the locals felt that to admit these things openly would somehow break the old lady’s spell.’

‘That’s an odd word for a vicar to use,’ I remarked.

He looked reasonably abashed. ‘Yes, I admit “spell” has certain mumbo-jumbo connotations, but I’m merely recounting what went on in the minds of the local folk. I think it’s quite charming, don’t you?’

‘Uh . . . yeah, I suppose so. I’m just surprised to hear a vicar talk in those terms.’

He laughed aloud at that. ‘Quite so! I can understand your surprise. But spells, incantations and yes, Magic itself, have a lot to do with my particular trade, wouldn’t you agree? When we clergy preach the almighty power of the Lord’s divine goodness, we are, after all, speaking of Magic.’

‘I . . . hadn’t thought of it like that,’ I admitted.

‘Of course not. And I’m teasing you a little. Remarkable though Flora Chaldean was, I’m afraid that such sorcery went out of fashion a few hundred years or so ago. The microchip is the new Magic, isn’t it?’ He gulped down more lemonade, obviously very thirsty. (I learned from Midge later that Sixsmythe had cycled from the village in the belief that the exercise on such a fine day would do him the world of good. Although the over-sized trilby had kept his neat-lined hair in place, it hadn’t done much for his body temperature.)

‘Mike,’ he said, placing his glass back on the table and regarding me with a beagle-eyed expression. ‘These Synergist people – you told me yesterday they’d visited you here a number of times.’

Wondering what was coming, I nodded a ‘yes’.

‘They also used to visit Flora Chaldean.’

I had no particular comment on that; it seemed reasonable enough.

‘The point is, they were very unwelcome. Flora hated this pseudo-religious group with all her heart. So much so, in fact, that she even complained to the village constable, but there was very little he could do to stop them coming here.’ He gestured at the landscape behind him. ‘These woods are common land and so are the paths around the cottage: they had the legal right to pass by or linger at any time they chose to do so.’

‘Wait a minute. Are you saying they harassed the old lady?’

‘From what I’ve been led to believe, yes, most definitely.’

‘But why should they do that?’ cut in Midge. ‘The three we’ve met couldn’t be more friendly, or more harmless. Why on earth should they try to upset Flora?’

He raised his hands slightly, then let them fall onto the table. ‘Who can say? Flora was a very private person, despite – or perhaps more correctly, because of – the discreet services she provided to those in need. She was certainly eccentric, not to say a trifle cranky on occasions, so she might have taken a particularly strident dislike to them for any number of personal reasons.’

‘I got the impression yesterday that not many of the locals
do
care for them, so she wasn’t alone in that respect,’ I said. ‘I still can’t understand why they’re so unpopular, though. What have they done to pis– to cause such resentment?’

‘They’re strange people, and they live in a strange way.’

I sighed. ‘That’s hardly reason—’

‘They’re a suspect organization, Mike, not unlike a few others I could mention that are around nowadays. They came here five years ago, led by a man named Mycroft. There were only a few of them at first, and they moved into Croughton Hall, keeping very much to themselves. Others followed, though, people from different parts of the world, assembling on the Croughton estate as if it were some focal point for their religion. And it wasn’t long after that they set out to recruit more followers, many from around here, locals, mainly youngsters, enticing them away from their families, brainwashing them to accept their ways, Mycroft’s teachings, so that they never wanted to leave, no amount of persuasion from their families or loved ones drawing them back into the real world again.’

‘Surely the authorities would have stepped in if it’s as bad as you say.’ Midge’s eyes were sharp with concern.

‘Since there were no minors involved, and no laws have ever been broken, they deemed they were in no position even to investigate. Odd cults and religions are hardly rare these days, after all. The Synergists aren’t even registered as a charity, so even their financial status cannot be questioned as long as their records are carefully maintained and presented.’

‘Isn’t there some law against secret societies?’ I asked.

‘The Synergist Temple is hardly that. They keep very much to themselves, but I wouldn’t describe them as a secret society.’

‘Have you ever met this man Mycroft?’ Midge watched the vicar over the top of her glass while she drank.

‘No, never, even though I’ve called at the house more than once. I suppose I should refer to the place as their temple, but it’s awfully difficult for me to regard it as such. No, our Mr Mycroft always appears to be either indisposed or away on business at the time of my visits. As a matter of fact, I don’t believe anyone hereabouts has ever set eyes on the man.’

‘You haven’t explained why they should be interested in Flora Chaldean,’ I said. ‘She was a bit ancient to become one of their fosterlings, wasn’t she?’

Sixsmythe raised his eyebrows. ‘You know how they refer to their followers?’

‘One of the three who’ve been visiting us regularly dropped by yesterday evening to thank me for helping out the girls in the village. He told us something about the Synergists.’

‘I see.’

I grinned. ‘Don’t worry, he wasn’t trying to convert us. We were interested, so we asked. And he gave us answers.’

Sixsmythe was quiet for a moment or two. Then he said, ‘I firmly believe that you both should take the utmost caution where these people are concerned. Yes, I’m well aware that they appear to be extremely affable, even rather innocent, yet I can’t help but feel there’s something more to them than they would care to admit.’

‘That sounds very sinister.’

‘Perhaps so.’

‘Oh come on, you’ll have to give us something more than that,’ Midge scoffed mildly.

‘I’m afraid I can’t. Call it a gut-feeling, one that’s shared by many of my parishioners. If it was anything more, any evident acts of misconduct on the Synergist’s part, then our local council might have been able to exercise its authority and have done something about their presence in the district. As it is, they keep to themselves and, so far, haven’t committed any public offence.’

‘Then why all the fuss?’ Midge was quite irritated by now. ‘Just because they don’t conform to the natural pattern of life around here, it’s no reason to shun them.’

‘Dear girl, if only it were that simple. As I said, call it gut-feeling, intuition – whatever you like, but the locals are wary of them and, as a man of God, so am I. There’s an air of secrecy about them that we find extremely disturbing.’

Midge giggled and Sixsmythe frowned.

‘I didn’t intend to amuse you,’ he said, somewhat crossly I thought. ‘We may lead rather sheltered lives in this part of the country, but I can assure you we are not all superstitious country bumpkins. I’ve proffered my advice, and there’s little more that I can do.’ He reached for his hat and made ready to leave. ‘In my view, this Synergist sect is not to be trusted; however, I leave you to make up your own mind about that.’

I was taken aback by his touchiness. ‘Hey, look, we’re not mocking you and we really do appreciate your coming out all this way to tell us about them. We hardly know these people, but they seem neighbourly enough, so it’s difficult for us to blindly accept what you’re saying. You’ve gotta own up, you haven’t offered any firm evidence.’

His miffed expression softened, but he stood anyway. ‘Yes, I do understand how it must look to you,’ he said. ‘I imagine I sounds extremely foolish, yet all I ask is that you take heed of my words. And if you should have any concerns whatsoever – anything at all – promise me you’ll phone me at the vicarage. Can we agree at least on that?’

‘Sure,’ I replied, rising with him.

Midge was less obliging, and I could see why: the first arrow had been fired at her Shangri-La; she didn’t really want to know about bad neighbours, especially when she had already taken a shine to them. Nevertheless, she politely got to her feet and we accompanied the vicar back to his bicycle. Sixsmythe was well aware of her mood and probably felt a tiny bit contrite, because he did his best to direct the conversation onto other, more pleasant matters – Gramarye’s beautiful situation, the wonderful garden, the loveliness of the forest itself (even lovelier, according to him, in the autumn months when the trees held a vast canopy of countless shades of russet golds), and whether or not he could welcome us to next Sunday’s services at the church (I knew that would come up). Synergists didn’t get a mention.

I opened the gate for him and he went through, slid clips around his trouser ankles, then pulled his bicycle upright from the fence where it had reclined as if exhausted by the journey.