The Snares of Death (24 page)

Mark looked at the assorted odds and ends, then scanned down the list. ‘No luck with the rest, I'm afraid. It
is
rather the dregs. But I'll keep trying.'

Dexter paused for a moment, then asked abruptly, ‘What about the monstrance? Do you know where it is?'

‘The monstrance?' Mark furrowed his brow. ‘Isn't it here?'

‘No, it is not here,' Dexter snapped. ‘I'm not in the habit of employing one, certainly, but I
do
know what a monstrance looks like, and it is
not
here.'

Mark examined the heap of candlesticks and vases more closely. ‘I'm sure I haven't sold it. I wonder where it could be?'

‘You're sure that you don't know where it is?'

‘No. Come to think of it, I haven't seen it for several weeks.' The young priest shook his head in a puzzled way. ‘Still, it isn't worth very much. No one would have nicked it for its value. I suppose it's bound to turn up.'

‘I wonder,' Bob Dexter glowered thoughtfully. After a minute he went on. ‘Now, the other thing. It's time for that last statue to come down. It's stayed there far too long as it is. I want it down by the weekend.'

‘How do you aim to get it down? Will you hire someone to do it?'

‘I'd like to do it myself,' he replied with a chilly smile. ‘It would give Bob Dexter great satisfaction. But I'll need a very tall ladder. Do you know where I might be able to borrow one?'

Mark considered. ‘I think so. I seem to remember that one of the parishioners . . .'

‘Tomorrow, if possible,' Bob Dexter emphasised.

‘I'll see what I can do,' Mark promised. ‘Leave it with me, won't you?'

‘Thank you.'

Hesitating slightly, Mark went on. ‘About that . . . other matter.' Dexter watched him inquiringly as he drew an envelope from his cassock pocket. ‘I believe that this is what you wanted.'

‘Ah.' Dexter took the envelope and pocketed it, unopened. ‘Thank you, Mark. I'm very grateful. And I must tell you that Pimlico is looking very promising. I may have some news for you quite soon.' He smiled, adding, ‘Bob Dexter always remembers a favour. And you've done me more than one, young man.'

CHAPTER 31

    
But now they break down all the carved work thereof: with axes and hammers.

Psalm 74.7

At breakfast on the last morning of his life, Bob Dexter had a sudden thought. ‘Elayne,' he said as he raised a piece of toast to his mouth, ‘has anyone been round asking to borrow the church key?'

His wife darted a quick look at him, then frowned. ‘No, Bob. Not that I know of. Perhaps when I was out, Becca might have –'

Becca was tucking into her cornflakes. ‘No, Daddy,' she put in promptly. ‘No one's ever asked me for the church key.'

‘Oh, there were those tourists, about a fortnight ago,' Elayne amended. ‘But I didn't give them the key, I let them in myself. They didn't stay long – they said it was nothing like the description in their guidebook.' She turned enquiringly to Bob. ‘Why, dear? Is something missing?'

‘Well, yes. The monstrance.' He paused, waiting for her to ask what a monstrance was – there was no reason why she should know – but Elayne merely poured him another cup of tea. ‘And that's not all,' Dexter went on. ‘Someone has been sneaking in at odd times, leaving flowers under that statue.'

Elayne turned to top up the teapot with fresh boiling water from the kettle. ‘Oh, really?'

‘Yes. I just wondered if you might have given the key to someone. Perhaps you've forgotten, Elayne. Try to think now – it's important. Someone from the congregation, say Miss Barnes?'

She kept her back turned and began running hot water into the sink for the washing-up. ‘No,' she insisted. ‘I would have remembered.'

‘But if someone keeps coming in, Daddy,' reasoned Becca, ‘they would have to borrow it more than once.'

‘Not necessarily. Not if they took it and had a copy made.' Dexter took a sip of his tea. ‘It's the only explanation that makes sense.'

‘Maybe you should have the lock changed,' Becca suggested.

‘I shall do better than that.' Dexter dabbed at his mouth with a satisfied expression. ‘I'm taking the statue down. Today.'

A handful of cutlery clattered in the sink. ‘Today?' asked Elayne.

‘Today. As soon as I can get a ladder. This nonsense has gone on long enough. Far too long, in fact.'

‘And . . . what will you do with it?' she queried faintly. ‘With the statue?'

‘I've made my mind up,' asserted Bob Dexter. ‘When I get that statue down, I'll take a hammer to it. Before the day is over, I'll see it in a million pieces.'

He had not yet finished his breakfast when the doorbell went. ‘I'll get it, Daddy,' Becca volunteered cheerily. She returned a moment later, looking unsettled. ‘It's Stephen Thorncroft, Daddy.'

‘Stephen Thorncroft?'

‘You know,' Becca explained nervously. ‘That Walsingham priest . . .'

‘I
know
who he is, Becca! What on earth does he want at this time of the morning?'

‘He said he'd like a word with you.'

‘Well, bring him in.' Dexter frowned, then amended, ‘No, don't bring him in here. Take him up to my office – I'll see him there when I've finished my tea. He can wait a few minutes.'

Just the few precious moments that he'd spent in Becca's company, waiting for Bob Dexter, left Stephen feeling distinctly weak. His heart was pounding and his hands were clammy, though the knowledge that her father could appear at any moment constrained him from saying any of the things that he wanted to say to her in their short time together. His emotional turmoil put him at a distinct disadvantage when Dexter finally arrived; he was terrified of betraying his feelings to Becca's father.

‘Yes? What can I do for you?' Dexter made an effort at cordiality, but he was clearly impatient.

Stephen looked out of the window, towards the long, low bulk of the church, and took a deep breath. He
must
not think about Becca. When he turned back to Dexter, he had regained some measure of self-control. ‘It's about the statue,' he said. ‘The Virgin and Child.'

‘What about the statue?'

‘Mark tells me that you're planning to remove it today.'

‘Yes, that's right.' Dexter nodded.

‘Well, I was wondering . . . that is, I would be interested in buying it from you.'

‘It's not for sale,' Dexter stated firmly.

‘You mean you've already sold it?'

‘I mean that it's not for sale,' he repeated.

‘But what are you going to do with it? You're not going to keep it?'

Dexter raised his eyebrows. ‘It's not really your affair, young man. The statue is my property.' Stephen flushed, and Dexter went on with satisfaction, ‘But since you've asked, I shall tell you. I intend to destroy it. With my own two hands. It is a Graven Image, forbidden by the Ten Commandments.'

Stephen gasped. ‘But surely you wouldn't –'

‘Surely I would.' He narrowed his eyes. ‘And now, if that's all . . . I have quite a busy day ahead of me.' He began walking towards the door.

‘But . . . but . . . you can't!' Stephen didn't move.

Dexter turned. ‘Why not?' he asked pleasantly.

To Stephen, as an Anglo-Catholic, the statue represented the continuity between the Anglican Church and its Catholic past, and affirmed the validity of his Orders, so its symbolic importance to him was great. But he knew Dexter couldn't possibly understand unless he put it in monetary terms. ‘It's a very valuable statue! It's medieval – worth a great deal of money!'

For a fraction of a second, Dexter wavered. If he really could get a lot of money for it . . . But he must stay firm; Noah would be proud of his adherence to principle, and since he didn't have the monstrance to destroy . . . He imagined his own feeling of satisfaction, pounding the hated idol into dust, and knew that that was worth any amount of money that the young priest – or anyone else – could offer. ‘No. Bob Dexter's mind is made up.'

‘Please think about it,' Stephen pleaded. ‘Don't do anything right away. Have it valued, if you like. I'll pay the market price.'

‘Good day, Reverend Thorncroft,' Dexter said firmly, guiding him to the door. ‘I'll see you out myself – there's no need to bother my daughter again.'

Becca! Cold terror touched Stephen's heart. Surely Dexter didn't know,
couldn't
know . . .

CHAPTER 32

    
Thou makest him to have dominion of the works of thy hands: and thou hast put all things in subjection under his feet;

    
All sheep and oxen: yea, and the beasts of the field;

    
The fowls of the air, and the fishes of the sea: and whatsoever walketh through the paths of the seas.

Psalm 8.6–8

Bob Dexter spent the morning dictating letters to Becca. If she was more distracted than usual, he didn't notice; there was a great deal of work to be done in the three weeks or so before the Walsingham National Pilgrimage and his mind was focused on that. He'd taken much of the burden off Noah's shoulders by offering to keep in touch with the key volunteers around the country, and to coordinate their plans. There was a lot to think about: many of the volunteers would be coming from great distances, and would need accommodation in the homes of local Christians. And of course he had to keep track of who might have an extra seat or two in their van, and who might need a lift. Noah was busy enough printing up the tracts to hand out to the misguided pilgrims; Dexter congratulated himself that his own gift for organisation had helped to free Noah from the drudgery of all these details. One day, he thought, he'd get himself a computer; that would be a great help in the administration of ‘MISSION: Walsingham'. In the meantime he had to make do with a comprehensive card index and his own very good memory.

They worked through lunch – he was too busy to take the time out to go downstairs for a family lunch, so Elayne brought up a plate of sandwiches and some coffee for them to consume while they worked. But mid-afternoon he looked out of the window to a most curious sight: a bright blue van with the inscription ‘BARC' on the side, parked in the field by the side of the church. A huge black dog capered in the field, and several scruffily dressed young people seemed to be setting up tents. Those young crackpots who had made such fools of themselves at the Deanery Synod meeting back in March! He frowned and stopped abruptly in mid-letter. ‘That's enough for now, Becca. You can start typing. I'm going out for a few minutes.'

Subsequent events in Becca's life had pushed BARC to the back of her mind; she had completely forgotten that today was the day for them to arrive for their camping weekend, and had consequently not mentioned the matter to her father. From where she was sitting she couldn't see them, and merely replied, ‘Fine, Daddy.'

‘Elayne!' he called as he went down the stairs. There was no reply. Impatiently Bob Dexter left the house and stalked the short distance to the field where the van was parked. The bearded red-haired chap had seemed to be in charge, he recalled, or perhaps it was the mouthy girl with the stringy brown hair.

It was the red-haired chap who popped his head out of a tent with a cheerful grin. ‘Good afternoon, Reverend Dexter.'

‘What exactly do you think that you're doing on my land?' Dexter challenged.

‘Camping!' Rhys waved his arm at the tents and smiled. ‘Just what it looks like, in fact.'

‘This is private property, you know!'

Rhys crawled out of the tent and stood up. With his small stature, he was no match for Bob Dexter, who towered over him. But Maggie, who was throwing a stick for Bleddyn, quickly came to his side. ‘Rhys, is this Holy Joe hassling you?' she demanded.

Rhys shook his head. ‘It seems we have a small misunderstanding.'

‘There's no misunderstanding. You are on my land, and you have no right to be here,' stated Dexter. ‘If you leave now, I'm willing to say no more about it,' he added magnanimously.

‘Just a minute, mate!' Maggie's eyes glittered dangerously behind her spectacles. ‘We were invited to come here!'

‘Invited? Don't be ridiculous! Bob Dexter didn't invite you!'

‘Reverend Dexter.' Rhys's voice was quiet but firm. ‘It was your daughter who invited us. Becca.'

‘Becca?' He took a step backwards, stunned. ‘I don't believe it!'

Maggie shot Rhys an aggrieved look as the penny dropped and she realised who the girl at the meeting was, then turned her fury on Dexter. ‘It's true all right, you disgusting pig! And if I'd known she was
your
daughter, I would never have agreed to come here! I would never have allowed her and her boyfriend to come to our meeting! She must be a stupid cow if she's
your
daughter. I heard the ridiculous things you said at that meeting. All that crap about man having dominion over all living things! You're an ignorant cretin!'

Dexter stared at her, his mouth open. How dared she! No one had ever talked to him like that. ‘Young woman,' he said at last, ‘as a Christian, I will ignore your insults to Bob Dexter personally. But to insult my daughter, and to insult the Word of God –'

Gary ambled up at that moment, wearing a beaded Indian headband round his forehead. ‘Hey, man! What's happening?' They ignored him; Maggie and Dexter glared at each other, breathing heavily. ‘There's some bad vibes coming down here. Come on, guys, be cool,' Gary pleaded.

‘It's too late for that, I'm afraid,' Rhys said. ‘It's clear that we're not welcome here, so I think we'd better be on our way. There's some common ground not far away where we could –'