The Stranger House - Reginald Hill 3 стр.

His mothers objections were English and social. Behind every great man there is a great woman, telling him hes driving too fast. This was Cristina Maderos role in the family, and she found it hard to accept that her control of her husband did not extend to her son. She also felt things would have been managed better back home. The rich Catholic families of Hampshire provided the Church with money, congregation, and voluntary workers, but saw no reason to provide priests, not when the poor Catholic families of Ireland needed the work.

Only Migs young brother, Cristo, inspired by a vision of his future which did not involve being perpetually second-in-command, encouraged him.

Father Adolfo was the one who most vigorously questioned his vocation. It means a calling, he mocked. Are you sure its not just an echo of your own vanity?

Often Mig was tempted to silence him with the revelation of his experience of the stigmata, but a natural reluctance to make such an enormous claim kept him quiet.

But one day when Father Adolfo sneered that he had so far seen precious little evidence of that special spirituality he looked for in a postulant, Mig could not resist the temptation to put him in his place by revealing his other special gift.

Far from being impressed, the priest reacted as if hed confessed a mortal sin.

You foolish child! he cried. Such trafficking with the alleged spirits of the departed is a common trick of the devil to seduce susceptible minds. Remember Faustus. The Helen he saw was no more than a succuba, a demon that comes in the guise of a naked woman and steals mens seed. Be not deceived, my child. These fancies of yours are the first steps toward the mouth of hell which gapes wide to receive errant souls.

Far from being impressed, the priest reacted as if hed confessed a mortal sin.

You foolish child! he cried. Such trafficking with the alleged spirits of the departed is a common trick of the devil to seduce susceptible minds. Remember Faustus. The Helen he saw was no more than a succuba, a demon that comes in the guise of a naked woman and steals mens seed. Be not deceived, my child. These fancies of yours are the first steps toward the mouth of hell which gapes wide to receive errant souls.

Mig was horrified. Adolfos words quite literally put the fear of God into him, though he couldnt repress a small regret that so far the demons hadnt come after his seed. For he was already wrestling with that more common danger to a young man with a sense of religious vocation, the tendency for images of naked girls to invade his devotions.

There was no question which was the stronger urge, and after Adolfos terrifying admonition, there were times when he allowed the lesser sin to divert him from the greater. Lying in bed, he would sometimes feel one of these perilous ghostly presences forming in the darkness, but all he had to do was conjure up an image of some girl of his acquaintance spreading herself before him lasciviously, and it was goodbye ghost!

But this was mere equivocation. In his heart he knew he had to learn to deal with all temptation, great and small.

How he wrestled with his adolescent lust! He mortified the flesh by running till exhausted and he spent so much time under icy showers that he had a permanent cold.

In the end he found less dramatic strategies to master his own body. At the first hint of arousal, he would turn to certain spiritual exercises which sublimated carnal longings into Marian devotion, and if he felt himself backsliding, he would reinforce the sublimation process by adopting positions of great physical discomfort, such as kneeling across the sharp edge of a doorstep. But gradually the need for this reinforcement diminished. The grace of God and his strong human will was enough. And enough also, so it seemed, to save him from that other tendency which had so disturbed Adolfo.

Girls and ghosts. By the end of his teens he believed he had them both under control. His sense of vocation felt strong and real. But still, in deference to his parents who urged him to be absolutely certain before taking the final step, he tested it further. He enrolled at Seville University to study history and laid himself open to all the temptations of student life. With these successfully resisted and a degree in his pocket, he demonstrated that his inner strength was not merely self-denial, which can be a self-congratulatory and ultimately sterile form of virtue, by joining one of the Churchs missions to South America as a voluntary helper. Here he spent eighteen months in the rain forest, facing up to the best and the worst in his fellow men, and in himself.

Finally he was ready. His vocation felt powerful and permanent. Every year in the spring the pain returned as strong as ever, though the stigmata had shrunk now to a few spots of blood. Still he kept silent about the experience. When all else failed, this was Gods private earnest of the rightness of his choice.

So he entered the seminary in Seville at the age of twenty-three at the same time as eighteen-year-old Sam Flood entered Melbourne University, both convinced they knew exactly who they were and what they were doing and where the paths of their lives were leading them.

And neither yet understanding that a path is not a prospectus and that it may, in the instant it takes for a word to be spoken or a fingerhold to be lost, slip right off your map and lead you somewhere unimagined in all your certainties.

In the cases of Sam Flood and Miguel Madero, this place was situated far to the north.

In a county called Cumbria.

In a valley called Skaddale.

In a village called Illthwaite.

PART TWO. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

1. Hilberts Hotel

So whys it called Illthwaite? asked Sam Flood.

She thought the bar was empty except for herself and Mrs. Appledore but the answer came from behind her.

Illthwaite. An ill name for an ill place. Isnt that what they say, Mrs. Appledore?

She turned to see a man emerging from the shady corner on the far side of the chimney breast.

Almost as skinny as she was and not much taller, with a pallid wrinkled face swelling from a pointed chin to a bulbous brow above which a few sad last gray hairs clung like sea grass on a sand dune, he had the look of a superannuated leprechaun, a similitude underlined by the garish green-and-orange checked waistcoat he wore under a dark gray suit jacket, shiny with age. His voice was high-pitched without being squeaky. He could have been anything from seventy to ninety. But his eyes were bright and keen.

And where do they say that, Mr. Melton? Down at the Powderham, is it, where theyve got more tongue than brain? said the landlady. If you think silly gossips worth an extra ten p on your pint, maybe you should drink there more often.

She spoke with a mock menace that wasnt altogether mock.

The old man was unfazed.

Ill take it under advisement, Mrs. Appledore, he said. Though we shouldnt forget that the Powderham also offers Thai cuisine and live entertainment, not large incentives to a poor old pensioner, but strong attractions perhaps for a swinging young tourist. None of my business, you say. Quite right. Good day to you both.

He saluted them with an old peaked cap which matched his waistcoat, set it precisely on his head and went out.

Pay him no heed, Miss Flood, said the landlady. Ill s nowt to do with sick or nasty. It comes from St. Ylfs, our church, and thwaites an old Viking word for a bit of land thats been cleared.

So how come the old boy bad-mouths his own village?

Old Noddy Meltons not local, said Mrs. Appledore, as if this explained everything. He retired here a few years back to follow his hobby, which is getting up peoples noses. Poor old pensioner indeed! What he gets now is more than most ordinary folk take home while theyre still working. And you need plenty to pay the Powderhams fancy prices, believe me!

Sam had noticed the Powderham Arms Hotel as she turned into Skaddale. In fact, not knowing what Illthwaite might offer by way of accommodation, shed tried to get a room there but found it was booked up. The Stranger House on the other hand, despite its unfancy prices, had been able to give her a choice of its two guest rooms, though not before she and her passport had been subjected to the same kind of scrutiny shed got from Heathrow Immigration who had broken open five of her Cherry Ripes before being persuaded they werent stuffed with crack.

She must have passed some kind of test because Mrs. Appledore had become quite voluble as she led the way upstairs. Wayfarers had been stopping here at the Stranger for more than five hundred years, shed proclaimed proudly. Its curious name derived from the fact that it had once been the Stranger House of Illthwaite Priory, meaning the building where travelers could enjoy the monks hospitality for a night or two.

Thats fascinating, said Sam without conviction as she inspected the bedroom. For once she was glad she wasnt any bigger. Even at her height, if shed been wearing her Saturday-night heels, the central low black beam would have been a real danger.

Its a bit spooky, though, she went on, looking out at the mist-shrouded landscape through the one small window.

Well, it would be, seeing that weve got our own spook, said the landlady. But nowt to be afraid of, just this dark fellow, likely an old monk, wandering around still. Youll only ever catch a glimpse of him passing through a slightly open door and you can never catch up with him no matter how fast you move. Go after him, and there hell be, passing through another door.

What if you follow him into a room like this, with only one door?

They say once you start following the Dark Man, theres always another door, no matter how long you keep chasing.

Bit like Hilberts Hotel then, said Sam, trying to lighten things.

Dont know it, dear. In Windermere, is it?

No, said Sam. Its a made-up place in math that has an infinity of rooms.

Doing the laundry must be a real pain, observed Mrs. Appledore. Im glad Ive only got the two to show you. Unless we come across the Dark Man, that is.

She spoke so lugubriously that Sam couldnt help shivering. The pubs low ceilings, shadowy corners, narrow windows and general air of not having been tarted up in living, or dead, memory didnt make the prospect of such ghostly company appealing. What am I doing here anyway? she asked herself. Illthwaite would probably turn out to be a pointless diversion, any chance of real fact lay in Newcastle Upon Tyne, some hundred miles further on. Here all she was doing was chasing one phantom at the risk of sharing a room with another.