Ordinary People: Part Vii

By Phil Boast

This is the seventh book in the series of novels which comprise the saga which is Ordinary People, a tale of the lives and loves of the people who live in and around a village Green in the small, fictional English village of Middlewapping, somewhere in the south of England. Most of the characters in the book will be familiar to those who have read the first six parts of the saga, and here we see how their lives go on in the face of new and challenging circumstance. As with previous parts of the story, there is a link to the past, and the present day story runs in parallel with events which occurred in the 17th century, which profoundly effect our modern - day characters. In the historical part of our tale, England is in the throes of civil - war, and certain of those who now live around the village Green face a danger of a quite different nature, the roots of which go back into the mists of uncertain time. Here we encounter death, and new life, a dark legacy from the past, and new hope for the future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jun 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490761107

Phil Boast

Phil Boast, a native of the UK, now lives in Sulawesi, Indonesian, where he owns and runs a tourist lodge for SCUBA divers and naturalists. As well as his novel writing, (the ‘ORDINARY PEOPLE’ series is now 13 volumes long), Phil, with his partner, Paula, has written and published an autobiographical account of their experiences of moving to and living in Indonesia, which they then re - wrote in narrative form for a radio series, which has been broadcast on English radio.

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Copyright 2015 Phil Boast.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN:

978-1-4907-6108-4 (sc)

ISBN:

978-1-4907-6109-1 (hc)

ISBN:

978-1-4907-6110-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014921057

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Trafford rev. 06/03/2015

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Of Soldiers, Nannies and Witches

Chapter 2 Sediment

Chapter 3 Spice

Chapter 4 Walking on Ice

Chapter 5 Casting Adrift

Chapter 6 The House Guest

Chapter 7 Concerning Jacob Cleves

Chapter 8 The Blessed Rain

Chapter 9 A Means to an End

Chapter 10 Where the Heart is

Chapter 11 The Foreboding

Chapter 12 To War

Chapter 13 The Fulfillment of a Dream

Chapter 14 No Better Place

Chapter 15 Complex Karma

Chapter 16 The Waiting Game

Chapter 17 The Placebo Effect

Chapter 18 The Contemplations of Sophia

Chapter 19 A Life of some Significance

Chapter 1

OF SOLDIERS, NANNIES AND WITCHES

On a bleak early morning in November, the soldiers came. They had enjoyed good fortune so far, but he had known that it would only be a matter of time, and they had been vigilant, and as far as could be were prepared for such an eventuality. There were six of them; one was clearly the captain and another probably his second in command. The only other Englishman was in fact no more than a boy of thirteen or fourteen years of age, but he was old enough to carry a pike, and so old enough to fight. The other three were not of English extraction, and did not speak except quietly between themselves, so probably they did not speak English; mercenaries, no doubt, from France or Spain, brought in to swell the ranks of the army, now that so many had died. The captain rapped hard on the timber door, and called out.

‘In the name of parliament, I demand that you open the door.’

He opened the door; he had no choice, after all.

‘I do not need your demand, for I will admit you willingly.’

The soldiers entered; all of them, and at once the small house was a blaze of shining metal and weaponry. The house became cold with the door so open, and each breath briefly became a cloud of condensation.

‘What brings you to my home at so early an hour?’

‘They are escaping; one of them was brought here overnight. They reach the coast under cover of darkness and are taken to France by boat at dawn, curse the French bastards, and all else who aid them.’

‘Who is escaping?’

‘You know very well of whom I speak; those who have for too long lived in privilege and luxury whilst the rest of us go hungry, and pay their accursed taxes to keep them in their ungodly lifestyle, and pay for their pointless wars.’

‘No one has been brought here, for as you see there are only myself and my wife.’

‘Nevertheless they are brought hereabouts, we are sure of it; someone is giving them safe refuge, for now there is no sign of them now on the road, and one in particular we seek. Do you have horses?’

‘We have a horse, but it is a working horse and has been at stable this night, as it always is.’

The only other soldier who was English and worthy of the name reentered the room, and shook his head.

‘There is nothing; just one horse and no sign that anyone has been here. The outbuildings are empty.’

‘What business do you have, coming here and disturbing honest folk at such an hour, or at any hour?’

‘Be silent, my dear wife; let the soldiers do their work, then they will be gone and will trouble us no more.’

‘So you have seen nobody; no strangers upon horseback have ridden this way since the dawn?’

‘No, we have seen nobody.’

‘And your master; is he at home?’

‘I know not, for oft times now he is away, but you know well enough his standing on the issue; he has never been for the King and has ever said so. If you search the Manor House you will find nothing, as you will find nothing that you seek in my humble home, for I stand for - square with my master; I am no lover of the King or his cohorts, nor ever was I.’

‘Very well, I see that we have wasted our time in coming here.’

‘Will you take beer before you go, for it is bitter cold this morning, and you have walked far, I think.’

‘A soldier marches, he does not walk, and we do not have further time to waste, although I thank you for the offer. Come men; let us leave these folk to their tasks; we must look elsewhere but here.’

The soldiers departed, the sound of their metal armour loud in the morning air, talking and cursing amongst themselves. The day was indeed cold; a north wind blew and the sky was dark with rain; it was no morning to be abroad, and theirs was a thankless task.

He went to his wife, who was now near to tears for fear of what may have happened.

‘You see now, husband, what risks you take with our lives?’

‘They found nothing, dear wife, and they are gone now; we will not be found out, but must from now on be ever more careful.’

He went to the living room, removed the rug from where he had placed it, and reached down to lift the loose timber boarding.

‘I am afraid, husband; I curse that this should ever have come to be.’

‘I know my dear Mary, but think how it will be for us, and so for our…for our daughter, Rachel, when this bloody war is finally over; think what rewards and favours will be ours.’

‘Favours..? You talk of favours when this war has already cost us so much, and those rewards will be as nothing if we are dead, Jacob, and if the king is killed, what then?’

‘Then we will say that we were ever for parliament, for this has always been our stance. In any case, they will not kill the king, for never has this nation been without its’ monarch.’

‘Yes; God’s representative on earth, but sometimes it feels as though God has utterly forsaken us, and be not so sure that they will not kill him, husband, for we know not what may come to pass.’

‘No indeed we do not, but if we do not do this then all will come to naught.’

He must put a brave face to it for the sake of his wife, he knew this, but this had been the first time that they had been this near to discovery; perhaps it was the coldness of the morning, but as he lifted the board and spoke quietly into the darkness below, Jacob Cleves noticed that his hands were shaking.

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‘She’s a lot younger than I’d expected.’

For Victoria Tillington, the idea which she had fixed in her head of a nanny was of an older, comfortably proportioned woman of firm but kindly and matronly disposition. The young woman who mother and daughter were now watching as she walked up the driveway to the Manor House appeared to be considerably younger than Victoria herself.

‘She’s brought a suitcase. We haven’t even interviewed her yet.’

‘She has come long way, Victoria, the Andersons live in Scarborough now.’

‘It’s a little presumptuous though, don’t you think?’

‘Well what else was the poor girl supposed to do? She comes highly recommended, dear.’

‘Yes, so you say, and by none other than the Andersons, but still….She can’t be more than twenty five years old.’

‘She has a nursing qualification with a diploma in pediatrics, and Margaret has spoken very highly of her; it is only their going abroad which has forced them to terminate her employment; apparently child –care facilities are a part of David’s contract in India; we were lucky to get her, I think.’

‘Yes, well, I suppose age is no indication of ability.’

‘Indeed not, and of course she will be on trial, and if you are not completely happy with her then we can soon make other arrangements.’

Victoria’s insistence that nothing be put in place until her child had been brought safely into the world had meant that even something as fundamental as the hiring of a nanny had been left until this late hour, and nobody had yet so much as met Abigail Angelina Brightman. If everything worked out then this young woman could have Henry in her charge until he began school, and she would until that time be integral to the household. She would have her own room and would cook her own meals, but here was the person who would share with Victoria the most intimate aspects of the upbringing of her child. And as for being on trial, that which Victoria knew about the raising of children could be writ upon a fairly small piece of paper; she may as well be assessing the abilities of a brain – surgeon.

‘You’ll have to keep an eye on her for me; you know, make sure she’s doing everything right.’

‘Of course I will; little Henry is my grandson remember, and currently next in line for your brother’s title; I’ll be watching her like a hawk, discretely, of course.’

An unexpected and largely unidentified feeling had just now begun to make its’ presence felt in Victoria’s mind; it felt something like resentment, although she knew not what of, and such a feeling had no basis in rationality. Still, hitherto for the first few sleepless days of Henry’s life it had just been her and her baby; she very much wanted help, and would need help in the months and years to come, and she knew this full well, but suddenly this felt like an intrusion. The absolute intimacy between mother and child was about to be broken, and whosoever was to break that intimacy would come under careful scrutiny, in more ways than one.

‘And I’ll have to get on with her.’

‘Of course you will, dear, as will we all. Anyway, don’t you think that you should go and let her in; you should be the first person that she meets, don’t you think?’

‘Yes…yes, of course.’

Victoria had opened the door before Abigail Angelina Brightman had completed the lugging of her heavy suitcase up the steps to the front door, one step at a time. The young woman who now stood before her was of medium – height, closer to short than tall, fairly slim as far as could be seen. Green eyes and mid – brown hair, stout green leather shoes, jeans and a duffel – coat; matching woolen hat and gloves and a pale, clear complexion; quite pretty, and a broad, enquiring smile which made her more so.

‘Hello; you must be Victoria?’

Nice voice; important for telling stories to young children.

‘And you must be Abigail.’

‘Yes, but please call me Abi; everyone else does.’

‘Abi…right, well then, please come in.’

Abi struggled with her case over the threshold and placed it in the grand hallway, before removing her glove and extending her hand; she was a little out of breath after her exertion.

‘Pleased to meet you…’

‘You too; that looks like a heavy case.’

‘I weighs a bloody tonne…Oh Christ, sorry, good start…I never swear in front of children…’

So there it was; the ice – breaker if one were needed, and much to Abigail’s relief her new employer smiled.

‘No; I’m sure. Well then, would you like coffee?’

‘I could murder a cup.’

‘Leave the case; we’ll deal with that later.’

They walked together to the newly appointed kitchen. This was located at the opposite end of the house than had been the case before the extension, and Victoria, in common it seemed with all of her family and if of distracted state of mind, would still sometimes instinctively head in the wrong direction in search of a hot drink or sustenance. Lord Tillington in particular had the habit of reading a newspaper or letter whilst making for his intended destination, and had on more than one occasion opened the door to find himself in completely the wrong place; (‘Oh bugger; I must stop doing that.’). This time, however, Victoria got it right first time, and she and the new intended nanny sat at the kitchen table; Victoria having poured coffee from the percolator.

‘Wow; this is a lovely house; it’s absolutely huge…I mean I’m sure you’re used to it and everything…’

‘Yes,’ said Victoria, smiling again; she was warming to this young woman by the minute, ‘one gets used to it.’

Abigail’s previous employers, the Andersons, who had been friends of the family since before Victoria had been born, had always lived in large houses, but they had not been Manor Houses.

‘So then,’ said Victoria ‘I suppose this is to be something like an interview…’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘You’ll meet everyone else later, there’re my father and mother, the Lord and Lady, and currently my brother Michael, and his new wife, Rose.’

‘And little Henry, of course…’

‘Yes, of course.’

Victoria considered that it was a funny thing, but everybody it seemed automatically and without prompt referred to her son as ‘little Henry’, apparently even before they had met him.

‘So; tell me about yourself….I understand that you have until now been employed by the daughter of friends of my father and mother; was that your first job, as it were?’

‘Yes; well it was my first private job anyway; I was a nurse before that. Lawrence was a boy too, of course; I’ve only done boys so far…’

‘Indeed; well you have impressive credentials and come highly recommended.’

‘Thank you…I mean, wh…’

The interview was terminated before it had really begun by the sound of a child crying over the recently purchased intercom system. Victoria’s reaction was instinctive, Abigail’s reaction was practical.

‘Don’t you think we’d better, ummm.…’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Victoria ‘it seems that my son is impatient to meet you.’

‘And I’m dying to meet him, of course.’

‘Well then, shall we….? We can finish our discussion later, but it looks as though we had better start and see how we get on, doesn’t it?’

‘Sounds like a plan…’

In fact the interview was never formally completed; Victoria would find out about her sons’ nanny by degrees and during the course of their time together, which as it turned out was to be a long time, for Henry would only have one nanny during his lifetime, who now walked together with his mother, to meet her charge for the first time.

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The first of the witches to discover the death of the high priestess had been a woman called Rosalind. She had entered the white house in the quite early morning; there was a matter which she wished to discuss with the mother before any of the others arrived, if indeed they did, for nothing was certain in this regard. The coven was a centre; a focus; a place where arranged meetings would be held, and a place where the mother could be contacted by the inner circle if there were matters to be raised, or if advice were needed. The only person to live permanently in the house was the head of the order herself, and for the past one hundred and seventy years, since the building had been obtained, the highest place in the coven had been held in succession by five of the high witches. For the most part those in the sisterhood went about their daily lives; they worked, they raised families, and were largely quite unaware of one another; two of them could work in the same office, or live in the same street, and neither would know of the other, or of their common association with the coven. Such had always been the way of the healers, and only those who were closest to the mother, the inner circle, knew of the location of the white house, and these were six in number.

Had Rosalind arrived a few minutes earlier on this morning, she may have encountered somebody who should not have been there; somebody who should not have known the location of the white house, but she had missed Rebecca by those most significant few minutes. She entered the house and made her presence known, as was the tradition, but there was no response. This was strange; the mother seldom if ever slept late; the early morning had always held significance for her, as it did for all of them; the beginning of the new and sacred day; the time of reawakening. But this morning there was no sound; the house was silent, and waiting. She quietly searched the rooms on the ground floor, finally noticing that the door to the mother’s study stood open, and this too was unusual.

The sight of the mother lying across her desk, her head in a pool of her own now dried blood, made Rosalind pause at the threshold to give herself a moment to absorb the shock of that sight. She brought her breathing under control, and then her thought processes. That the high priestess was dead was beyond doubt without closer examination, but she nevertheless approached the prone figure, stood where Rebecca had stood, and checked for any sign of pulse or life, but there was none, as she had known there would not be. The wound to her neck was not visible, but of the cause of her death there could also be little doubt; the artery through her neck had been severed, and death from such a wound would have been quick. She looked for a weapon, but saw none, and then for any sign of an assailant, but the room appeared to be otherwise unchanged. She must think, and she must think quickly, and clearly; two things could have caused her death; she had either taken her own life, in which case there would surely be a knife, and in any case this scenario was highly unlikely, which left the only other possibility; that she had been murdered. Without further thought she cautiously now left the room, and carried out an extensive and thorough search of the coven, from the ritual room to the upper chambers, but whoever had been here was gone. She took in every detail of each room, looking for any indication that any unusual activity had taken place, and in the largest bed – chamber, the place where the mother slept, she came upon the final master – stroke of the assassin; bedside drawers and cupboards had been removed or opened, their contents strewn on the floor; there was even a ring which had been dropped on the floor - boarding in the thieves’ hurry to leave the room. So; a robbery, then, and the thief or thieves would by now be long gone.

Rosalind retraced her way to the front door and sat for a moment on the steps, where but a short time ago another witch had sat; she needed to breathe the fresh air, and to be in the cool embrace of nature, for this was not right, and she needed to think. She knew full well that the mother had not locked the front door, but even so, to have got so close to her without detection would have been quite beyond a common burglar, and by every appearance the mother had been taken by surprise. She had not been the greatest healer of them; her leadership had been born rather out of her knowledge and wisdom, and the ability to impart that wisdom to others, but nobody that Rosalind had ever met had been so in tune with the world around her; she could detect the aura of those close to or approaching her without need of sight of them, so how could this have happened? Under different circumstances one might have surmised that she had known the person, and so had trusted them, and so let them close to her before they had struck a quick and lethal cut, but she could read intent and emotion in people without their knowledge, and in any case nobody was allowed entry to the coven save the seven who, including the mother, had formed the highest circle, and nobody else knew of its’ location. Still it might be thought that she had fallen asleep at her reading and so had been taken unawares, or perhaps had been drugged in some way, but these things were so unlikely that they could be dismissed as nonsense, for there was no sense to them; she simply would not have allowed either to happen. So had there been betrayal…? Had one of the other five have had reason to kill her, who was so respected and revered? This thought too she could dismiss; she knew each of the others well, and none would have done such a thing; the idea was unthinkable, though she needs must think it in order to consign it to its’ rightful and only place. And so, for now there could be no answer, and she could take the matter no further, and could reach no likely conclusion; that which had happened was simply a mystery, and the mystery she must present now to the others; to Sophia, Amanda, Sylvia, Maria and Charlotte; there must be a meeting, and it must be soon. The authorities must be informed, there would be a police enquiry which would not be welcomed, of course, but it had to be; to the police she would be an eccentric woman who had lived alone in this big house, and had been murdered for her worldly goods; it would be a simple case to catalogue, but likely an impossible one to solve, for there was more to this than they would know, since she herself did not know how it could have happened, who knew so much more than they. The matter of life and death was well understood by the sisterhood; all things had birth, and death, as did all people; this was natures’ cycle; all things which are pass away, but this was too soon, and the death had been as unnatural as it had been untimely. She looked around her, at the still mist – shrouded beauty of the early winter woodland in the dim morning sunlight; a moment of further reflection; somebody had been here; somebody had come in the darkness and by some unfathomable means had murdered the highest witch of their order. Well, there was nothing more to be done now; Rosalind sat for a few more minutes in quiet contemplation, then she took out her mobile telephone.

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‘Hello little Henry….’

Abigail picked Henry out of his cot and gave him to his mother.

‘I’m sure that you and I are going to be good friends. He’s a big baby, isn’t he; heavy little chap.’

‘Yes’ said Victoria. She sat down on her seat by the window where she had taken to feeding her son; she had always loved the view.

‘I can do the night – feeds sometimes if you like; let you get a good sleep.’

‘How…I mean, you’re not, are you…?’

‘You’d uuum; you’d have to leave me the milk….’

‘Oh; right…do you know I’d never thought of doing that.’

‘It used to work okay with Angela; that was Lawrence’s mum, my last child, as it were.’

‘Yes, I know Angela, although we haven’t seen each other for a long time.’

‘Anyway it’s up to you of course. Generally speaking there’ll be a lot more for me to do as he gets older, but I’m happy to do feeding duties for now if you want.’

‘Right, well thank you; I might just take you up on that.’

‘Well we’d better buy some feeding bottles then.’

‘Yes of course; I’m afraid I really don’t have very much by way of baby things.’

‘Babies don’t need much, really; most people buy far too much then throw most of it away. They just need to be warm, safe and fed at this age. Do you sing to him?’

‘Good lord no; you’ve clearly never heard me sing.’

‘It doesn’t matter what your voice is like. Babies just like being sung to.’

‘I see; well perhaps you should make that your first duty then.’

‘Sure, okay, and I’ll make a list of things that I think we’ll need then go into town tomorrow if that’s okay; I’d like to get my bearings anyway, and I need to buy some food.’

‘Yes of course; good idea. Look I’m really sorry but we haven’t even shown you where you’ll be sleeping yet, have we?’

‘That’s okay; I don’t really need much either; as long as I’ve got a bed and a bathroom…Look, Victoria, I realize of course that you’ll have to put me through my paces, as it were, before you make any final decision; I mean I can look after children okay but there’s more to it that, isn’t there? All I’m saying is that just because I turned up with a suitcase it doesn’t mean I’m making any assumptions.’

‘That works both ways; you have to be sure you can live in this place as well, don’t you?’

‘I think I’m going to love it here, if you’ll have me.’

‘Well then Abi; I’m sure we’re all going to get along very well.’

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The ambulance arrived within the hour, and shortly afterwards the police car; two policemen and a forensic specialist, and at once the white house became busy with examination and photography of the murder scene and the scene of the robbery. Finger prints were taken and one of the policemen took particulars and a statement from Rosalind; yes, Helen had lived here alone; yes, Rosalind had been a friend of the deceased, and had been visiting for morning coffee; no, she had no idea who would have done this. They were particularly interested in the cellar, and took that which seemed to Rosalind to be a long time studying its’ contents, and so yes, the deceased had taken an interest in unconventional, spiritual matters, but no, she had not been a witch to the best of Rosalind’s knowledge. When the policemen were satisfied that nothing else could be done, the body was finally removed to the ambulance, the vehicles departed, Rosalind having agreed to contact the next of kin. The priestess had had two children born of two different fathers, neither of whom had been any longer in regular contact with the mother. She had an address and telephone number for the son, Tristan; Helena was one of the sisterhood. There would be a conventional, Christian funeral, despite the mother not having been a Christian, but such there must be in the interests of maintaining appearances, and for the fathers of her children. The healers would carry out the last rites in a quite different way and in a different place, to give thanks for the life of such a woman as she had been. This evening there would be a gathering of the inner circle; they were to meet at the house at eight o’clock, but for now there was nothing more that Rosalind could do here. She looked once more at the last place that the priestess had drawn breath; all that now remained was a pool of dried blood on her desk, and a great mystery. She tried once again to imagine the scene that would have taken place there, but got no further, so she left the house, locking the door behind her. She would be late for work now, but under the circumstances nothing would be done.

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Later that day Abigail sat on her bed wearing her dressing – gown, having showered and unpacked her suitcase. She had by then met the Lord and Lady of the Manor, and had liked them both very much on first impression, particularly his Lordship. She had yet to meet the brother, Michael, or his new wife, but she was feeling happy with her new appointment, and would try hard to make herself indispensible the better to secure it. She did not think that this would be a difficult thing, since it was becoming quite clear that Victoria knew almost nothing about childcare. Still, that was her job, and little Henry had given no early indication that he was going to be a difficult child. She had heard some horror stories from others in her profession; some children it seemed came into the world with a bad attitude, but Henry seemed to be a contented wee soul, so far anyway. Her former employer had told her something of Victoria Tillington. Apparently everyone was rather taken aback by her becoming pregnant at all, since everyone had assumed that she was a dyed – in – the – wool lesbian, but anyway, it had happened, and apparently there was no man in her life; single mums, it seemed, happened everywhere and even in the highest echelons of English society. Anyway Victoria seemed okay in a scatty kind of way, and my god, what a house this was! Her bedroom was probably one of the smallest in the Manor, but it was bigger than she was used to, and had a lovely view to the back of the estate, and she had her own shower – room and toilet. The whole place had a kind of decaying grandeur about it; the kind of place, and family for that matter, that people wrote books about which were later turned into television series. She would be quite close now to her family who lived on the east coast, so going home sometimes would now be easy, and all in all she was, as we have learned, feeling happy. Hungry, though; she had been invited to eat with the family this evening, which was nice, and she would meet Michael and Rose, who was apparently his second wife, and word on the street was that she had been a prostitute. Abi had also heard that Victoria’s significant other of the female gender was called Rebecca, and people said that she was a witch. A witch…! Just imagine. Abigail wondered how on earth these ridiculous stories got about, but anyway, she would find out everything soon enough; she would work on Victoria until she found out her most intimate secrets. Abi was a people person, she loved children and she loved her life, and was now rather looking forward to this next part of it. So; time to get dressed for dinner, or supper, or whatever they called it around here.

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Rosalind, Sophia, Amanda, Sylvia, Maria and Charlotte; these six now sat around the rectangular wooden table in the ritual room; that which had once been the cellar of the white house; there was no light save from the fireplace and from aromatic candles which were burning from wall – mounted candle holders around the walls. They were leaderless now; there was really no second in command, and this was one issue which these six, who now constituted the highest echelon of the sisterhood, would have to discuss, and decide upon. Rosalind had found the priestess; she had come early to the house in the evening to set and light the fire, since the room would otherwise be quite cold, and so it was appropriate that she should chair the meeting, and she sat at the head of the table where the mother had always sat, with Sylvia and Maria to her left, Sophia and Amanda to her right, and Charlotte seated opposite her. After the usual formalities had been observed and tea had been made, the meeting could begin, and Rosalind began proceedings.

‘So then, let me begin by saying that….that very obviously this is a great tragedy to have befallen our sisterhood, and one which will live in our collective memory as long as the sisterhood endures….’

At forty eight years of age, Charlotte was by some six years the oldest of the assembly, and so it was natural that the others deferred to her, and that she should reply.

‘Obvious it may be, but we thank you, Rosalind, for vocalizing that which we all feel. Helen was a good and wise leader for twenty three years, and her wisdom will be greatly missed, as will she. That her tenure has been cut short in so terrible a way can only add to our sadness and sense of loss.’

‘Indeed,’ said Sylvia, who at thirty nine years of age was the third eldest, Rosalind was forty two years old, Amanda and Maria were both thirty, and at twenty six years of age Sophia was the youngest of them ever to have been initiated into the inner circle, ‘to have been murdered by a common thief; it seems almost…..it seems almost too much to contemplate. She was a good friend to me, as she was to all of us, and a great inspiration. The years of her leadership were good years, and much has been achieved. She has never shied away from modern innovation in the practice of healing, whilst remaining true to our ancient traditions, and that is often not an easy balance to achieve.’

‘We will honour her in due time and in our own way;’ said Charlotte ‘if I may I will organize this at a time suitable to us all; perhaps we can agree that one week hence we will carry out the ceremony. Does this suit all of us?’

Nobody raised objection or difficulty.

‘Very well then, we will meet here at an appointed time, and I will make the arrangements.’

‘So who will take her place?’

This was Sophia, who of all of them seemed the most moved by the death. In truth she had always been a favourite of the priestess, who had invited her into the circle despite reservations by the others, in view of her youth. Sophia had great skill in healing, in advance of her years, and so in the end and for this reason the will of the mother had prevailed.

‘Sophia, you raise the matter that we must all have been considering’ said Charlotte ’and will of course have to address in due time.’

‘Why don’t you do it; you’re the oldest, after all.’

‘Sophia my dear,’ said Rosalind ‘we have scarce had time to consider the matter.’

‘Well let’s consider it now, then. I mean it’s going to have to be one of us, isn’t it; Charlotte is the obvious choice, surely?’

‘It is an onerous task to undertake; perhaps Charlotte cannot or will not undertake it. Whoever we decide will lead us from here on will have to live in this house; there will be much upheaval.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘I agree with Sophia,’ said Maria, who now spoke for the first time; ‘I think it should be Charlotte, if she will do it. We all know that the mother surrounded herself with people much younger than herself, but Charlotte is the oldest of us; to me she seems like the natural choice.’

‘What you say is true;’ said Rosalind ‘that whenever one of our beloved elder sisters passed away, Helen would always bring in a much younger woman in her stead; this I think was very much in keeping with her forward – thinking and progressive philosophy. I think there can be no doubt that we assembled are the youngest ever people to constitute the highest circle.’

‘It seems quite obvious to me’ said Sylvia ‘that the mother intended Charlotte to be her successor.’

‘She did not expect to die so young, and had not formerly named her choice.’ Said Rosalind

‘Of course she cannot have foreseen this terrible day, but nonetheless I for one would welcome Charlotte as our new leader.’

‘As I am sure would we all; Charlotte knows well enough that I have the greatest respect for her, as we all do.’

‘Well then,’ said Sophia ‘will you do it?’

‘Sophia….’

‘It’s alright,’ said Charlotte, smiling to all assembled despite the occasion, and particularly to Sophia ‘I am quite sure that this is not the way that this decision has been made in the past; there would have been a great deal more formality to the matter, and I thank my dear friend Rosalind for attempting to protect me from such youthful haste, but if I may I will let you know my feelings on the matter.’

‘Please do.’ Said Rosalind

‘Very well then….First may I say how deeply I personally regret that this decision must be made so soon; we all of us had expected that Helen would head our order for many years to come. May I also say that whether or not she had intended that I eventually take her place, she has said nothing directly to me on the subject, and in truth we cannot yet know for certain her thoughts or intentions. It may well be, of course, that once her journals have been formerly read that the matter will be clarified, and until that time no final decision can be made, and so none of us can or should try to preempt anything which may be discovered. I in any case thank those of you who have indicated your support, and given your blessing, should this indeed prove to have been her intention. We all know each other well, I think, and have all supported and helped one another at various times; we have become friends, and this is something which I feel is of vital importance. To be a member of the inner circle of our sisterhood is to carry great responsibility; our heritage stretches back further than we can now know, and to a time that none of us can now imagine. Nor can we know or truly appreciate how our predecessors suffered at the hands of a less tolerant world; how so many of us were persecuted and put to death for our wish to heal. We are all here because we believe in our sisterhood and know at least something of its’ achievements, but we all know that we do not necessarily and always chose to become that which we are; our gifts are given to us, and often passed on from mother to daughter, and this has made us see the world in a way that others do not. Today we have all received tragic news, and can barely have had time to absorb the shock of this event, but in common with all of you I have of course if only briefly considered the matter of the succession. So I will for now say only this; that if it is proven to be the will of our former leader, or if we decide between ourselves that I should become the next high priestess, then I will undertake the role willingly and to the best of the abilities that have been given to me. If on the other hand it becomes clear that another of us was meant to be the leader, then that person may rely on my wholehearted and unconditional support.’

There was a moment of reverent silence around the table at the eloquence of these words. Nobody had in truth doubted that Charlotte would become the next high priestess, and now she had given a monologue which confirmed that which the others had expected. Nobody for a moment quite knew what to say, and it was Charlotte who once again spoke.

‘Still, however that may be, nobody is our leader yet, so I suggest that we leave the matter for now and concentrate our thoughts on our beloved former leader; has anybody anything that they wish to say on the matter, for now is the forum in which to do so.’

‘I have something to say.’ Said Rosalind

‘Of course,’ said Sylvia ‘you of all of us have suffered the most this day, since it was you who found her and had to deal with the official formalities. Please unburden yourself to us, who can scarce imagine how it must have been for you.’

‘Thank you, Sylvia; I know I can rely on the support of all of you, in this and in all things, but I have a question for Charlotte; a moment ago you searched for a word which would describe Helen’s death, and in fact said that it was too much to contemplate, and I would agree with you, but I have nevertheless spent a good deal of time today in contemplation.’

‘So what is your question?’ said Charlotte

‘I wondered; were you thinking something else? Was there another thought which could not find expression?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean’ said Rosalind ‘that does nobody else find this unbelievable? The house is so remote that there can be few people beside ourselves who even know of its’ existence, but even if somebody had known, and had not known who lived here, for surely had they known they would not have attempted such a robbery; but even then, how could this have happened? How could the most powerful of us all have been taken so unawares, when we all of us know of her abilities?’

‘What are you suggesting?’ said Amanda, who had yet to speak, but had been listening intently to all which had been said.

‘That a common thief could not have done this, and would in any case surely stop short of murder for the few things that they could have found here; Helen was not a rich woman, and cared little indeed for worldly goods; I for one can never recall her wearing any jewellery of any great worth. Consider the scenario; I suggest that it would have been all but impossible for somebody to have taken whatever was taken, and to have then quite by accident come across our dear Helen in her study, and then to have killed her in cold blood; she would have been aware of them long before this could have happened. So perhaps then the thief or thieves went first to the study and murdered her before they had searched the house, but in that case why were they so rushed in their theft, as they clearly were? Somebody so callous and coldly calculating would surely have taken their time; not everything was stolen after all; there were small ornaments of some obvious value which had been gifted to her and were left untouched. I have thought much on this matter and however I think of it, it does not make sense.’

‘I agree and have thought so myself,’ said Amanda ‘although I could not have expressed it so clearly and until now had not understood the nature of my confusion.’

‘So’ said Charlotte ‘if as you suggest this was neither an opportunist theft nor what might be called a professional operation, then what possibilities remain…?’

‘I don’t know’ said Rosalind ‘and was hoping that others may have ideas.’

‘The assassin may have been known to her,’ said Sylvia ‘and thus be allowed to such close proximity without raising suspicion as to their intent.’

‘I had thought of that,’ said Rosalind ‘but once again we are left with puzzle as to who this could have been, since nobody else knew the location of the house; Helen was always most fastidious in this regard, and had not even told her own children exactly where she lived. I have met her daughter, Helena; she is a member of the sisterhood and even she was denied this knowledge, although her mother loved her above all others.’

‘We cannot know what happened,’ said Charlotte ‘but I agree with Rosalind, that having been prompted to consider the matter further, nothing now appears clear about this most dreadful day.’

‘It seems to me’ said Amanda ‘that there is another implication here; that somebody could have made this appear to be something which it was not. The police will no doubt see it as a clear – cut case of a thief having been disturbed, or having found somebody in the house that they were not expecting.’

‘The light would have been on;’ Said Sophia ‘whoever this was would not have been expecting an empty house, would they?’

‘No, they would not, but the police will not consider such things; why should they? To them Helen would have just been an ordinary woman who could not have defended herself; they cannot know who she was.’

‘But even so;’ said Maria ‘even if we assume for a moment that somebody….that somebody….I am sorry, I can scarce say it.’

‘It’s quite alright, dear Maria,’ said Amanda ‘this is not an easy discussion for any of us; take your time.’

‘If we assume that…that somebody murdered our beloved leader and then made the appearance of a theft, who in any case could have….’

‘You are right, of course,’ said Charlotte ‘however this was done, it remains a mystery as to how anybody could have done it. Rosalind; can we ask you to tell us more about what you found? Were there signs of a struggle, or fight?’

‘No, there were none; it was as though she had been standing behind her…behind the desk, and had simply fallen forwards. Otherwise, other than the disturbed chamber, there was nothing to indicate that anybody other than the sisterhood had been here.’

‘So it seems most likely that somebody had been standing at the front of the desk, and had somehow struck the blow from there; the mother can have had no warning of it, but how could that be; she who could predict peoples’ actions and intentions so clearly. Now that Rosalind has brought this to our notice I do find it strange indeed, and confess that I can find no explanation. Have any of our number beside we six been to the house recently?’

‘Only, uuum…only Rebecca.’ said Amanda

The name hung for a moment in the air; even to say the name brought a strange darkness to the assembly, and to their collective thoughts, and gave all of those who were present cause to stop in their intellectual tracks. None of them had had any substantial involvement with Rebecca, even during her time spent with the mother, indeed neither Charlotte or Maria had so much as met her, but all knew well enough who she was, and that which she was. To these women she was the very embodiment of evil, and of how somebody could turn the powers of healing to such bad intent and action.

‘When was she here, and who brought her?’

‘It was I;’ Said Amanda ‘Sophia also. She…she requested an audience with the priestess, and was granted it. Sophia it was who met her at the café, and together we drove her here, but she was denied sight and sound, as is always done; I was sitting beside her the whole time, and tied the material around her head myself; she can have seen nothing; she could not….she could not have known the location of the house.’

‘I see…’

‘Her mother was also bought here.’ Said Sylvia

‘When…?’ Said Charlotte

‘Some four weeks ago, I think; perhaps more; she also requested a meeting with Helen, and I brought her here, but again she was blindfold the whole time.’

‘I have never met Florence….’ Said Charlotte ‘All that I know of her is that she had long ago refused to join the sisterhood; a matter which I know has caused the mother and her predecessor great consternation. It makes her being allowed to come here at all a strange matter; I believe it is quite without precedent for anybody… So was this before or after Rebecca was here?’

‘After….’ Said Amanda ‘It must have been afterwards; her journal will give us the dates.’

‘And then’ said Sylvia ‘the last time that Rebecca came to the café, the mother would not see her.’

‘Did she give a reason?’

‘No, she gave no reason.’

‘And when did this happen?’

‘Two days ago.’

Again there was a pause in the discussion; everyone was trying to turn this collective intelligence into some kind of conclusion, but nobody was succeeding. Charlotte had naturally now become the chair of the meeting, and all others were waiting for her to find a way to make sense of it. After a moment, she spoke, although it was clear that she too was far from understanding.

‘What happened, Sylvia, when you brought Florence here?’

‘I do not know; the mother told me that I could leave; that there was something that she had to discuss with Florence and that she would see to it herself that she returned to the town.’

‘Was anybody else here?’

This was addressed to the whole assembly, and all looked at the others.

‘No,’ said Sylvia ‘there was nobody else here.’

‘And she then refused to give Rebecca audience….That also is a strange thing, is it not? I am sure that she will have had good reason, but Helen had put a great deal of time and work into trying to bring Rebecca back to the ways of the sisterhood. Why, I wonder, would she refuse to see her? Is anybody aware of where either of them is now?’

Nobody knew.

‘We have in any case no way of contacting Florence;’ said Rosalind ‘aside from Rebecca, of course, I do not think anybody so much as knows where she lives.’

‘And what of Rebecca…?’

‘She….has gone away;’ Said Amanda ‘at least she has not been seen in the village since…since her attempt to meet with Helen.’

‘Who watches her there?’

‘I no longer know; somebody has been reporting to the mother recently, but I believe that only she knew who that person was.’

‘All of this is so very strange….’ Said Charlotte ‘Helen granted audience to Rebecca’s mother, then refused to see Rebecca herself; I don’t understand this at all, but in any case it seems to bring us no closer to knowing who murdered her.’

‘Perhaps not….’Said Rosalind

‘And yet you perhaps think that it does?’

‘Rebecca could have killed her. Rebecca could have entered the house undetected; she has become a black witch of great power.’

‘But how could this be, since Amanda has told us that on the one occasion that she was here, she was blindfold? I am quite certain that she never came here when Helen brought her back into the sisterhood, otherwise I would have met her, or at least known of it; Rebecca stayed at a location which was unknown to me, and Helen went to her there. Helen never entirely trusted Rebecca, even when she deemed it safe to let her go.’

‘Rebecca is clever;’ said Rosalind ‘she could perhaps have found her way here.’

‘But even if she had, surely she has not become so powerful that she could kill the mother in cold blood?’

‘We do not know how powerful she has become. Somebody killed Helen, after all. Somebody stood across the desk from her and cut her throat; we must I think ask ourselves how many people could have done that.’

‘I still find the possibility beyond belief.’ Said Charlotte ‘Perhaps the journal will throw light into our darkness, for that I think is the only way that we will learn if any of this is true. I do not think that we can accuse Rebecca simply by deducing what could or could not have happened, or guessing what she was capable of.’

‘So couldn’t we just confront her?’ Said Sophia

‘She could lie, and we would never know.’ Said Amanda

‘Has she become so powerful?’ Said Charlotte

‘You have never met her, I think; she has such an aura as I have never felt. I fear that she may now be more powerful than any of us.’

There followed a moment of contemplation. Whilst none of them knew Rebecca well, all knew her well enough by reputation, and her reputation alone was enough to warrant contemplation. Once again, the room seemed to be waiting for Charlotte.

‘Well,’ she said finally ‘nothing now I think will be gained by further discussion until the journal has been read.’

‘So read it.’ Said Rosalind ‘Traditionally it has always been read by the next leader in succession, but I for one do not think that in this instance we should stand on ceremony. Nor do I think that anybody here will raise objection?’

‘If I may;’ said Maria ‘everybody here I think is in agreement that you should become the next high priestess, and you have expressed your willingness to do so, so unless the journal contains anything which specifically contradicts that, I think we should take it as given. It is therefore only proper that under the circumstances it should be you who reads it.’

‘I agree’ said Rosalind

‘Then I think we all do.’ Said Amanda

‘So be it then;’ said Charlotte ‘we will reconvene in a few days, before we say our final farewell to our former leader, though her spirit will live on in all of us, and in the sisterhood. And there I think we should end this meeting, so let us close it in the traditional way. I will make whatever arrangements I must and will stay here as from tomorrow night.’

‘Do you need anybody to stay with you?’ said Maria

‘No, I will be fine; I think whoever came here has what they wanted, whatever that may have been, and I do not think that they will return. In any case I will be on my guard, and I am not without power myself, my dear Maria.’

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Charlotte moved to the white house. She ceased the tenancy on her rented apartment; she had no family