Spectred Isle (Green Men #1)(47)
Come and find me. And another card, which, given what he’d said about the last card, seemed promising. Saul would have to find Major Peabody first and discover if he still had a job, but after that he would unquestionably pay a visit to Randolph.
Mrs. Allan said, “Now,” in a businesslike way, and put a gigantic plate in front of him. Fried mushrooms flecked with parsley, a fried egg, sausages, bacon, two slabs of black pudding. It looked like more food than he usually ate in a day; he just about managed to murmur thanks before diving in. Mrs. Allan watched him eat with an expression of professional satisfaction, refilled the teapot, and departed.
“There,” the Vicar said as Saul devoured the black pudding. It wasn’t normally his favourite but the savoury richness was grounding, somehow, making him feel less like a confused, lost man in someone else’s pyjamas. “You’ve got some colour back. I suppose you had rather a bad time of it.”
“Rather, yes. Did Mr. Glyde tell you what happened?”
“Only in the loosest terms. It’s not really my area, you know.” He indicated his clerical collar. “It ought not be at all, I suppose, but St. Mary’s is special. A responsibility. I’m too old for it, I fear. I have asked to be relieved of my duties, but there are so few of us now. The War, of course, and I quite understand we must all pull together now, but I’m an old man and I was never trained to this, merely chosen. I have asked for the cup to pass from my lips, and I shall be glad to retire. The world is changing, Mr. Lazenby, and we who are old must leave it for younger men to tackle.”
Saul briefly considered pointing out that the younger generation had a fair bit on its plate already, thanks to the decisions of old men, but swallowed the thought along with a mouthful of bacon. The Vicar rambled on, rotating his teacup in his hands. “I have never been active in hidden matters. I am merely the custodian of the church, and its special features. This is a troubled area and St. Mary’s is a bulwark. A bulwark and a beacon, Mr. Glyde’s father observed to me once. Well. In any case, Mr. Glyde brought you here and asked me to ensure you were kept safe and well, and I have done that. Yes, I’m quite sure I have done my duty there.” He gave a firm nod, apparently to himself.
“How did Mr. Glyde get me here?” Saul asked. “I remember falling in the water, and darkness.”
“Oh, you’d have to ask him about that. He was carrying you—he looked exhausted, poor chap. Mrs. Allan has cleaned and pressed your jacket and trousers but I’m afraid you had no shoes, or indeed anything else. Shirt and so on. I don’t envy the time you had.”
“No.”
“I do think it’s best for this to be handled by those with knowledge,” the Vicar said. “I’m simply not in a position to help, truth be told. Would that I could. Naturally, if there is any spiritual reassurance I can offer...?”
I’d like to know what happened to me between seeing a silver woman and waking up here, Saul thought, but it was evident the Vicar neither knew nor cared to know.
Once he’d finished eating, having cleared the heaped plate, he stood, feeling decidedly less wobbly. “Thank you, sir. Ah, my clothes?”
“Yes, yes. I’ll ask Mrs. Allan to put them out.”
“And I’d like to return to London as soon as is convenient,” Saul added. “I don’t know if there’s a car that might take me to Cambridge station?” He’d have to check he had enough money for a ticket, he realised, and if not, to borrow some.
“Oh, there’s no need to worry about that,” the Vicar assured him. “I’ve arranged transport, which should be here within the hour.”
“That is immensely kind. Thank you very much. Would it be possible for me to see the church before I leave?”
“Absolutely. I’d be delighted.”
Saul’s luggage and cleaned, pressed jacket and trousers were waiting in the room when he went up. No drawers, no vest, no shirt. He couldn’t imagine how Randolph had wrestled him into those sodden clothes, or dragged him here, or got them both out of those dreadful castle grounds at all.
He’d passed out and Randolph had been left to defend him, alone for God knew how long in the darkness. Or not, of course, because Randolph could see in the dark, because he’d spent days and nights hanging off a tree in some kind of appalling ritual. The idea made Saul feel sick, and the thought of the night Randolph must have spent in the Fens, or wherever they’d been, made it worse.
Saul still couldn’t remember why he’d passed out. He remembered Randolph’s hands though, his lips, the desire. The noise of the fen-grendels and their stink, too. A wave of light; a silver woman walking through darkness; anguish in Randolph’s voice.
There were toiletries set out for him. He washed and shaved, then dressed in what he had, his smart new shirt and black shoes that he’d worn for the evening along with his usual jacket and trousers. It felt better to be dressed and clean, and he ignored the slight feeling of dizziness that persisted. It was probably the effect of a couple of days without food, followed by a meal that would have done for three.
The Vicar indicated that he’d wait for Saul’s lift and meet him in the church if Saul wasn’t back by then, so he left the vicarage on his own and stood outside for a moment, breathing clean air. It was a beautiful day, the endless Fenland sky early-summer blue. It would have been a lovely day for a walk, if Saul had ever again intended to go for a walk in this countryside without carrying weapons. He checked he could see the sun just in case, blinked away the resulting spots on his vision, and went to the church.