Sacrament

He did not imagine that killing the conduit would heal his deepening anguish. He was in its thrall now, and would be swallowed utterly. But when he finally succumbed to it, he would do so with his wits his own. There would be no trespasser amongst his thoughts, treading where his griefs lay tenderest. He would die alone, in the belly of his despair, and nobody would know what last thoughts visited him there.

It was time to go. He had put off the moment long enough, fearful of his own weakness. He would have liked to have his knife in his hands as he strode down the hill - it knew the business of slaughter more intimately than even he. But no matter. Murder was an old art; older than the beating of blades. He would find some means by which to do the deed before the moment was upon him. A rope; a hammer; a pillow. And if all else failed, he had his hands. Yes, perhaps that was best, to do it with his hands. It was honest, and simple, and like the error that would be connected with the deed, the work of flesh and flesh. The neatness of this pleased him, and in his present state a little pleasure, however it was won, was not to be despised.

CHAPTER XIII

There had been no butcher's shop in Burnt Yarley since the passing of Delbert Donnelly, and since the demolition of the Courthouse, no Donnellys either. His daughter Marjorie and her family had gone to live in Easdale, and his widow had departed for the high life in Lytham St Armes. The shop had passed through several hands - it had been a hairdresser's, a thrift shop, a greengrocer's and was now once again a hairdresser's. The Donnellys' residence, however, had never been sold. There was no suspicious reason for this - Delbert was not reported to walk its bare boards, chomping on pork pies - it was simply an ugly, charmless house that had been overpriced for the market. For a buyer interested in privacy it was an ideal purchase, however, surrounded as it was by a seven-foot privet hedge which had once been Delbert's pride and joy. Had he paid as much attention to his personal appearance as he had to his hedge, some had observed, he would have been the smartest man in Yorkshire. Well, Delbert was probably more unkempt than ever, under St Luke's sod, and his hedge had run riot. These days the Donnelly house could barely be seen from the road.

'Whatever made you think of bringing Rosa here?' Frannie asked Sherwood as he pushed open the gate.

He gave her a guilty look. 'I've been coming here on and off as long as it's been empty,' he said.

'Why?'

'Dunno,' he said. 'So I could be on my own.'

'So all those times I thought you were out walking the hills you were here?'

'Not always. But a lot of the time.' He picked up his pace to get a little ahead of Frannie and Will, then turning said: 'I have to go in without you. I don't want you frightening her.'

'Frannie should stay out here by all means,' Will said. 'But you're not going in alone. Steep may be in there.'

'Then the three of us go in,' Frannie said. 'No ifs, ands or buts.' And so saying she strode up the gravel path to the front door, leaving the men to catch up. The front door was open, the interior relatively bright. The source of illumination was not electric light but two gaping holes, the larger six foot wide, in the roof, courtesy of the storms that had raged the previous February. Ninety-mile gusts had stripped off the slates and icy rains had pummelled the boards to tinder. Now the day shone in.

'Where is she?' Will whispered to Sherwood.

'In the dining-room,' he replied, nodding down the hall. There were three doors to choose from, but Will didn't have to guess. From the furthest of them came Rosa's voice. It was weak, but there was no doubting its sentiments.

'Don't come near me. I don't want anyone near me.'

'It's not Jacob,' Will said, going to the door and pushing it open. There were shutters at the window, and they were almost closed, leaving the room murky. But he found her readily enough, lying against the wall to the right of the chimney breast, her bags around her. She sat up when he entered, though with much effort. 'Sherwood?' she said.

'No. It's Will.'

'I used to be able to hear so clearly,' Rosa said. 'So he hasn't found you yet?'

'Not yet. But I'm ready when he does.'

'Don't deceive yourself,' she said. 'He'll kill you.'

'I'm ready for that, too.'

'Stupid,' she murmured, shaking her head. 'I heard a woman's voice-'

'It's Frannie. Sherwood's sister.'

'Bring her here,' Rosa said. 'I need tending to.'

'I can do it.'

'You will not,' she said. 'I want a woman to do it. Go on,' she said.

Will returned to the hallway. Sherwood was closer to the door, eager to be inside. But Will told him: 'She wants Frannie.'

'But I-' 'That's what she wants,' Will replied. Then to Frannie: 'She says she needs tending to. I don't think she'll let us take her to a doctor. But try and persuade her.'

Frannie looked more than a little doubtful, but after a moment's hesitation she slid past Sherwood and Will, and entered.

'She is going to die?' Sherwood said, very softly.

'I don't know,' Will told him. 'She's lived a very long life. Maybe it's time.' 'I won't let her,' Sherwood said.

Frannie was back at the door. 'I need some gauze and some bandages,' she said. 'Go back to the house, Sherwood, and bring whatever you can find. Is there still running water in the house?'

'Yes,' said Sherwood.

'You can't persuade her to let us take her to a doctor?'

'She won't go. And I don't think they'd be able to do much for her anyway.'

'It's that bad?'

'It's not just that it's bad. It's strange. It's not like any wound I ever saw before,' she shuddered. 'I don't know if I can bring myself to touch her again.' She glanced at Sherwood. 'Will you go?' she said.

He was like a dog being sent from the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder as he went to be certain he wasn't missing a scrap. At last, he made it to the front door and slipped away.

'What do we do once she's bandaged up?' Frannie wanted to know.

'Let me speak to her,' Will said.

'She said she didn't want either of you in there.'

'She's going to have to put up with it,' Will said. 'Excuse me.'

Frannie stood aside, and Will stepped back into the room. It was darker than it had been a few minutes before, and warmer; both changes, he guessed, brought about by Rosa's presence. He couldn't even see her at first, the shadow around the mantelpiece had become so dense. While he was trying to work out where in the darkness she was standing, she said:

'Go away.'

Her voice gave him her whereabouts. She had moved four or five yards to the corner of the room farthest from the door. The shutters, which were to her left, remained open a little way, but the daylight fluttered at the sill, stopped from entering by the miasma she was giving off.

'We need to talk,' Will said.

'About what?'

'What you need from me,' he said, attempting his most conciliatory tone.

'I killed your father,' she said softly. 'And you want to help me? You'll forgive me if I'm suspicious.'

'You were under Steep's influence,' Will said, taking a tentative step towards her. Even that stride was enough to thicken the atmosphere around him. Though he stared hard into the corner where she stood the murk resembled a picture taken in too low a light-leveclass="underline" a patch of granular grey.