6
Stonewall
THE LOOK ON Sophie’s face was beyond outrage, bordering on disbelief. Down in Broad Street, air brakes gasped.
Bishops came and bishops went, Hereford Cathedral remained.
And Sophie.
She sank down at her desk, almost fading into it like a ghost. Merrily shut the window of the gatehouse office, usually a refuge under the cathedral’s calming façade, where the Bishop’s lay secretary applied cold cream for the soul.
Today, the air up here was tainted with dismay, Sophie’s snowy hair disarranged. Merrily had phoned her before leaving for Monkland, outlining the brief, and this was when Sophie had gone over to the Bishop’s Palace to elicit some hard facts from Bernie Dunmore. And been unaccountably, shockingly, stonewalled.
Merrily sat down opposite her, with her back to the window.
‘That doesn’t happen, Sophie.’
‘It certainly never has before. I actually thought at one stage that he wasn’t going to tell me about any of it.’
All the time Merrily had been telling her about Fuchsia and Felix, Sophie had been rearranging the correspondence on her desk, lifting up the pile and stacking it like a pack of cards that she was about to shuffle. Finding things to do with her hands as if she was trying to stop them shaking.
Autumn at last: twinset time, but no real need for that extra scarf. The idea of Sophie feeling the cold was disturbing to Merrily; she stood up again as the kettle came to the boil.
‘I’ll make it.’
‘I should perhaps take one sugar,’ Sophie said calmly.
‘Jesus.’ Merrily pulled down the teapot and mugs. ‘So … all in all, there’s probably more to this than either of us knows.’
‘You know rather more than I do.’
‘Until last night, I didn’t even know how heavily the Duchy was into the county.’
‘I’ve made a point of finding out.’ Sophie put on her chained glasses to consult a computer printout. ‘The serious involvement with Herefordshire happened fairly rapidly. According to the Duchy of Cornwall’s website, major investment here began with scattered segments of the once-vast estate, around Hereford and Ross, owned in the seventeenth century by Thomas Guy. Of Guy’s Hospital fame.’
‘I should know about this, shouldn’t I?’
‘Held more recently, of course, by the footwear magnate Sir Charlie Clore. And then, after his death, by Prudential Assurance, who sold it to the Duchy in, I think, 2000. This probably means there’s now more Duchy investment in this county than anywhere outside of Cornwall itself.’
‘Royal Herefordshire?’
‘The showpiece being the very impressive Harewood Park. Which, of course, one can’t miss because it’s right next to the A49.’
‘Why here? I mean, why Herefordshire?’
‘Beautiful. Unspoiled. Perhaps the Prince wants to help keep it that way. He’s famously keen on Green issues. Seems likely to ensure that the land will be treated sympathetically, with an eye to heritage, conservation and organic farming.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Nothing overtly sinister, Merrily. Nothing for, say, Jane to rail against. Which is why I can’t understand—’
Sophie, cathedral person, confirmed royalist, closed her lips and turned her head, ostensibly fixing a clip in her hair.
‘Nothing about Garway on the Duchy website.’
‘Nothing.’
‘Do you know Garway, Sophie?’
‘Haven’t been over there for many years. Not since our hiking days.’
‘Hiking days?’ Merrily blinked. ‘Bobcap … knapsack … flask of soup. You?’
‘I’m not in the mood, Merrily.’
Merrily sighed. ‘Maybe you could tell me what you remember?’
‘I remember the church. Small and rather strange.’
‘Built by the mysterious Knights Templar.’
‘In fact, one of the best-preserved examples of Templar architecture in the country. Especially since the London church was badly damaged in the Blitz. And there’s a medieval columbarium nearby, said to be absolutely the finest of its kind anywhere.’
‘Columb—?’
‘Dovecote. The Templars kept doves and pigeons as a food supply. The whole area had, I suppose, a sense of isolation – self-isolation, in a way – that I wouldn’t imagine has gone away. Not an area, I should have thought, that anyone visits without a particular reason. I printed out some general background material for you, Merrily. After the Bishop dropped what crumbs of information he deemed it necessary for me to have.’
OK, time to deal with this. Sophie hadn’t seemed so screwed-up since Siân Callaghan-Clarke’s attempt to turn Deliverance into a branch of social services. Merrily dumped two tea bags into the pot and brought the kettle back to the boil.
‘What exactly did he say when you first mentioned it?’
‘It’s not so much a question of what he did or didn’t say said as of what he did next. Which was to telephone Canterbury.’ Sophie scowled. ‘On his private line.’
‘How do you know he did that?’
‘About twenty minutes later, someone returned his call on this line.’
‘Who?’
‘Suffice to say, the voice was instantly recognizable.’
‘Not—? Aaah!’ Pouring boiling water into the pot, Merrily had scorched the back of a hand in the steam. ‘Shit. Sorry.’ What was the matter with her?
‘Some issue of Church politics here,’ Sophie said. ‘Obviously.’
‘It isn’t obvious to me.’ Merrily held her reddening hand under the cold-water tap. ‘All I can see is a conflict of loyalty over a woman who could well be emotionally disturbed.’
‘You think the girl’s delusional?’
‘Don’t know enough to say one way or the other. She has a complicated history. Seems to be looking for a kind of stability she’s never had. Likes old churches and ceremony. You might’ve seen her in the cathedral. Big eyes. Doesn’t smile.’
‘And what were you able to do to help her?’
‘Protective blessing. In church. With oil, which seemed appropriate.’
‘You don’t look entirely convinced.’
Who is this who’s coming? Outside, she hadn’t even remembered saying it. Merrily dried her hand on the towel.
‘I’ll keep an eye on her. Meanwhile, check out the house at Garway. Actually, I’ve got some stuff here …’
She came back to the desk and brought out the folder that Adam Eastgate had given her, with the plans and a photo of what looked like a traditional Welsh longhouse, stone-built, one end extending into the barn or cowshed.
‘We haven’t had any reports about this house before, have we, Sophie? Nothing on the database? Even peripheral?’
‘Nothing. I checked the files and correspondence going back to Canon Dobbs’s time and earlier. You haven’t been there yet?’
Merrily shook her head. She’d driven directly over to Hereford after picking up the Volvo in Monkland. Sophie brought out more printout.
‘I looked up the Master House on the Listed Buildings database. It’s given as fourteenth century, but they usually play safe so it could be earlier.’
‘If it dates back to the Templar occupancy of Garway, which is what Felix Barlow reckons, that would be thirteenth century … maybe very early fourteenth. I think the order was scrapped around then, wasn’t it?’
‘The order was officially – and rather brutally – dissolved in 1307. In France, anyway. This was less than two centuries after it was formed. The Templars would have survived a little longer in Britain, but not in any organized way.’