Farther swallowed. ‘Where’s that dog got to?’ he said quietly.
‘There,’ said Father Bernard and pointed to where Monro was jumping up at a long dark shape suspended from the bough of an oak tree, surely one of the oldest in the wood, swollen and contorted by its own weight.
We stopped short and Father Bernard called Monro to heel, which he complied with at the third, more irritable command.
‘What have you found, old man?’ he said and put the light on what Monro had been sniffing.
The beam illuminated a leering, bone face for a second before Father Bernard dropped the torch.
‘Jesus,’ Farther said again, his breath shivering out of him. ‘What is it?’
‘Well,’ said Father Bernard, with a little relieved laugh and knocking the torch back into life on the palm of his hand. ‘It’s not a man, thank God.’
He put the light back onto the face again and held it there. From inside a dark cowl, a sheep’s skull rubbed with boot polish lolled against the pull of the rope by which it had been strung to the bough, its snooker ball eyes knocking against the bone. The rest of the body, as we discovered when Father Bernard poked at it with a branch, was made of sandbags and wood covered in a rough woollen blanket.
‘Then what is it?’ said Farther. ‘A scarecrow?’
‘No, I think you were right first time, Mr Smith.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I think ’tis meant to be Himself,’ said Father Bernard. ‘See the crown of thorns there.’
He put the beam back on the head and lifted the cowl with the stick. Farther winced at the twisted band of barbed wire that had been hammered into the skull.
‘Who’d do something like that?’ Farther said.
‘I couldn’t say, Mr Smith,’ he said, moving closer and moving the folds of the cloak covering the torso. ‘But they’ve obviously spent some time on it.’
Father Bernard glanced at me and I knew that he suspected, like me, that the effigy had been strung up here by the men Clement had warned us about. Parkinson and Collier. But, he kept it to himself and showed us how the chest had been made from what looked like an old rabbit hutch.
‘There’s something inside,’ said Father Bernard and he poked it with the stick.
‘What is it?’ asked Farther.
Monro was jumping up again, sniffing the air. Father Bernard popped the latch on the wire mesh door and it swung open and something landed at his feet. Monro leapt upon it immediately and took a chunk out of it before it slithered out of his jaws.
‘Bloody hell,’ Farther said and backed away, taking me with him.
Father Bernard grabbed Monro’s collar and hauled him off.
‘Let’s go,’ he said and we made our way quickly back through the trees, almost running by the time we got to the field above Moorings.
Back on the lane, we walked three abreast, Farther’s boots squelching with mud. Monro padded along just ahead. No one spoke. Each of us was thinking how we might explain what we’d seen in the wood. We’d tell them that there was no man hanging there. It was a joke. There was nothing to worry about.
There was nothing else we could say, because it had been agreed instantly and silently between the three of us at the moment it had fallen from Jesus’ chest and onto the ground that we would tell no one about the pig’s heart stuck through with nails.
Chapter Fourteen
Everyone was waiting in the hallway, and as soon as we got through the door, they all broke off from their conversations and moved towards Father Bernard. What had happened? Had someone really hanged themselves? Should they fetch the police? Father Bernard sent Monro off to the kitchen, closed the door behind him and waved his hands to quieten everyone down.
‘It was nothing,’ he said. ‘Someone’s strung up an old blanket for a joke, that’s all.’
Farther nodded in assent and took off his coat.
‘There, Joan, you see. It’ll just be kids from the village messing about,’ said Mrs Belderboss, patting Miss Bunce on the shoulder.
She was still sitting at the foot of the stairs, biting the edges of her fingernails, puffy eyed and cross with herself for being hysterical in front of everyone.
Mr Belderboss clicked his fingers. ‘That’s probably what we heard the other night,’ he said. ‘The noises.’
‘Aye, well, there you go,’ Father Bernard replied.
‘Honestly, some people have got nothing better to do,’ said Mrs Belderboss.
‘Not round here, they haven’t,’ said Miss Bunce, directing her resentment at Mummer.
Mummer’s face began to open with indignation and before anything could flare up Father Bernard took her by the shoulders and steered her away.
‘In my room there is a bottle of brandy on the dresser. Would you be so kind as to go and fetch it for me?’ he said.
‘Brandy, Father? It’s Lent,’ said Mummer.
‘I brought it for Monro. The cold plays havoc with his chest. I thought a drop of it might do Miss Bunce some good,’ he said. ‘For the shock.’
Mummer folded her arms and rolled her eyes.
‘She’s been sat there for half an hour, Father. I should think the shock will have subsided by now.’
Father Bernard gave her a straight look. ‘Even so.’
‘Will you need to call the police, Father?’ said Mr Belderboss.
Father Bernard looked at Mummer for a moment and then shook his head.
‘To be honest, I can’t see them taking it too seriously.’
‘Well, I’m not staying here, Father,’ said Miss Bunce.
‘Oh, will you talk some sense into her,’ said Mrs Belderboss to Father Bernard. ‘She’s sent poor David upstairs to pack her bags for her.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Miss Bunce. ‘This is an awful place. I said we ought to have gone to Glasfynydd.’
‘But how will you get home, dear?’ Mrs Belderboss said, sitting down next to her and taking her hand.
Miss Bunce looked up at Father Bernard.
‘I was going to ask Father if he’d drive us to Little Hagby,’ she said. ‘We’ll be able to phone for a taxi to take us to the station in Lancaster.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Joan. You can’t expect Father to go out now,’ said Mummer. ‘It’s gone nine. You’ll have missed any trains to London.’
Miss Bunce squared her face.
‘There are rooms at the pub,’ she said. ‘We can stay there overnight and get a train in the morning.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Mummer.
‘Mrs Smith,’ Father Bernard said abruptly. Then, calming his voice, ‘Would you please go and have a look for that brandy?’
‘Go on, Esther,’ said Farther.
Mummer looked at Miss Bunce a second longer and then went off along the hallway. Everyone turned to Father Bernard. He regarded Miss Bunce and then took off his coat and hung it up on the rack by the door. He rubbed his eyes, kneading them with the heels of his palms.
‘Miss Bunce,’ he said, sitting down on the chair next to the grandfather clock. ‘I know you’ve had a fright, but I should try and forget about what you’ve seen in the woods and make the most of the time we have here.’
Mummer came back with a glass tumbler of brandy and handed it to Father Bernard, who in turn passed it to Miss Bunce.
‘I don’t want it, Father.’
‘Just take a sip and you’ll feel better.’
Miss Bunce wetted her lips with the brandy and screwed up her face.
‘You may not agree at the moment,’ said Father Bernard, taking the glass from her as she held it out. ‘But, given what I know of your commitment to your faith, I think that in the cold light of day you would regret it very much if you went home so soon.’