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  To Tobias, Phillip quite truthfully disclaimed all responsibility and Tobias also quite truthfully assured him he bore no ill will. Events had been tragic but preordained.

  Soon only Mr and Mrs French retained any bitter or suspicious sentiments but they were old and without influence.

  CHAPTER 9

  In which our hero is busy about God’s work.

  In February 1984, almost a year to the day since he’d conceived his son and thus sealed Diane’s fate, Tobias was fully behind the reins again. Any lingering difficulties had been safely settled and in a state of tranquil order he was gliding through his last few months prior to becoming a full priest of the Church Universal. His typed thesis and degree papers had been submitted to Canterbury and he had sat his final priestly exams; to his mind, they had gone well and he was confident of a favourable result. That is to say, of becoming Father Tobias Oakley BA (Thau) by May. Once these elementary prerequisites were achieved, only the extent of his ambition could limit him, and that seemed to be, like the Church, universal and boundless.

  After these labours he was available to the Deans Temporal and Spiritual once more and Obadiah Cocroft, after a thorough briefing, instructed him to become involved in what was developing into the ‘Avon Street Group affair’.

  Characteristically, Tobias felt matters would best be served by proceeding straight to the heart of the matter in only a quasi-official capacity. He went to see the two leading lights of the group at their decidedly humble home one evening and more or less invited himself in for dinner. Mr and Mrs Cherry were as hospitable as their religion could ask and were content to allow companionable chat, despite the obvious fact that Tobias was enquiring into things other than their home cooking. He was wary of any talk of ‘pure’ religion since it was an endless obsession with people like the Cherrys and far removed from the deeply practical religion known to himself. However, Tobias at length managed to steer matters on to the Church in Rugby rather than the general nature of prayer or transubstantiation. He adopted the manner of the Dean Spiritual, authoritative, condescending and corrective. This was a disastrous failure.

  ‘So, you see, there is a growing disquiet about the direction your group is taking; in fact there are misgivings within the clergy about its very existence, Mr Cherry.’

  ‘James.’

  ‘Er, yes, well: as I’ve said, just what concrete assurances do you think you can give the Church Universal that your meetings, conducted outside the Church’s auspices, are not conducive to error and unorthodoxy?’

  ‘Or heresy?’

  ‘It hasn’t gone that far has it?’

  ‘It hasn’t gone anywhere at all, dear Curate Oakley, except perhaps a little further in the footsteps of Christ; more tea?’

  This rejoinder served to throw Tobias off his mental balance just when he’d been getting to grips with James Cherry’s sweet reasonableness. He accepted another cup and thought about another line of approach.

  The fool’s being truthful in what he says, thought Tobias. But he’s no milksop. In what Cherry thought was right Tobias considered that he’d probably be unbreakable. He had seen that light in other eyes.

  Emma, his wife, was out of a different mould but strong enough in her own way. She had taken just as much a part in the conversation as her husband, declining to speak only when an air of controversy crept in – (duly confirming Tobias’ original opinion that of these two leaders of the group, James Cherry was the fountainhead of inspiration). It seemed clear to Tobias that it was she who would be more open to persuasion, or seduction, being a warmer, less spiritual soul than her spouse. From time to time he caught nuances of look or speech that suggested the spirit of the flesh was not yet laid in the plump, friendly Mrs Cherry. The ribbons on her dead-black dress served to confirm the notion.

  He had to admit he liked the couple, religious lunatics though they were, probably because they were also everything he, now, would never be. They were everything Tobias purported to hold in no regard. They clung on to the qualities he had relentlessly dug out of himself and thus he should not have been surprised at the attraction of different poles. Perhaps on a more simple level, Tobias was charmed by their display of openness and motiveless friendship – a rare commodity in his circles.

  At any rate, despite this attraction, Tobias felt a very great, if illogical, desire to end the evening as soon as possible and to eschew the Cherrys’ company. To do so, he abandoned subterfuge and stated his case honestly.

  ‘Look – listen to this, you two – the path you’re following, you’re going to be smashed, scattered and probably killed. You’ve built a separate Church and you’re holding private services in it and the Church, the real one, is not going to tolerate it – do you understand? They’re … I am … going to break all of you if you carry on. A small prayer group was just about tolerated – just – but a separate Church! You’re signing your own death warrants!’

  ‘I can’t see how, Curate,’ said Emma Cherry. ‘We told the Dean’s deacon and we’ve told you – there’s no harm or wickedness in our little chapel, we just meet there to pray and sing.’

  ‘That’s just so’, confirmed James, ‘we all of us go to mass as regularly as ever before, save that now we meet in our chapel as well – there’s no harm in that is there?’

  Tobias sounded almost angry in his eagerness to get his message across. ‘You don’t understand, listen – The Church Universal will brook no rivals – however small, however sincere, however innocent. We will destroy you regardless … ’

  James Cherry attempted to interrupt. ‘But … ’

  ‘Shut up – look, the Dean’s man obviously didn’t make anything clear to you, so I’m stating things in terms even you in your virtue can understand. You have formed a prayer group which makes such an exhibition of its piety that you’ve come to the notice of the Dean Spiritual – you’ve survived that – because of public indifference and because we have a good Bishop. Where I was trained, the Bishop would have had you arraigned for blasphemy before your third bloody meeting. Never mind – you survived – but now your group has bought a shed, decorated it and called it a chapel; you all meet there several times a week for services – because you say our services are lacking in certain spiritual fields. Well that may be, I don’t know, but with true Christian tolerance the Bishop still hasn’t moved against you, despite pleas from many church quarters. No – instead he’s sent two churchmen telling you to stop and you haven’t. Now I’m here – I think it’s the last visit you’ll be getting – of this sort at any rate. Will you please do as you’re told and save yourselves.’

  James seemed lost in thought but spoke all the same.

  ‘Curate Oakley, you’ve given us some very straight talk, delivered out of good intentions I think, but with no conviction behind it. You seem to wish to preserve us from a danger I did not know was so great, but your good wishes stand unsupported by anything stronger. We, too, have opinions, firm ones based on truths above mere good intentions. I’ll speak as straight to you as, perhaps ill-advisedly, I did to the Dean’s deacon. We, the group that is, worship in our chapel to supplement the Church worship that we think is weak and incomplete. For all your ceremony and dogma, material aids to heaven and relics of saints, you’re worshipping a shrunken God; we can’t see Him fully for all the human-imposed obstacles in the way. So our group supplements this worship by trying to perceive God completely, looking Him in the face without need of intercession from the Holy Mother, from saints and angels. All we’re doing is spiritually enriching ourselves according to our own perception of things, Curate. Do you see?’

  Tobias no longer felt motivated. ‘Did you tell the Dean Spiritual’s man all this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Emma entered the conversation; of the three she was the only one who did not seem to believe in the inevitable wrath of the Church.

  ‘The Church wouldn’t persecute and destroy us, would it, surely not if we remain good churchgoers all the time?’
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  ‘I’m very much afraid it will, Mrs Cherry,’ said Tobias with a hollow laugh.

  Although his desire to flee was growing stronger by the minute, he saw one last avenue of negotiation open. ‘James Cherry, will you not consider others out of charity? If you insist on bringing doom on yourself, don’t you see that it’ll descend on a good many others as well – consider them, balance in your conscience a recantation on your part and the consequences of your actions to others; surely to God you can see the sense of that?’

  With this, Tobias got up to leave. He expressed his regrets and noted Emma glancing in bewilderment, and something more, between her husband and himself. There was hope there at least.

  At the door Tobias turned, ‘Mr Cherry, James, consider one other thing – the Bishop may be a soft man but he’ll have to move on you before news spreads, otherwise the Holy Office will be in Rugby. That’s the choice he has to face you see. What decision would you take?’

  ‘I take your point, Curate,’ Cherry shook Tobias’ hand. ‘Thank you, Tobias, I will consider what you have explained tonight and we shall all pray on it.’

  Tobias sighed and walked off. As he strode home through a light misty rain, he realised what had been wrong with him during his meeting with the Cherrys. He had been sickly jealous of the evident bond between the two, their inner security and selflessness, and was reminded that he had unhesitatingly destroyed just such a relationship not a year ago. Now, however, a date had been irrevocably put upon the Cherrys’ happiness and that of his own past meant nothing to Tobias.

  In March of 1984 the world was as busy as ever:

  Young Master Wiltshire of Rugby finished his first year at Loyola College, Oxford. Academic life had shown him to have a mind of quite unsuspected ability. He was heading for an outstanding degree and supported by his father’s railway holdings, profitable as ever, he would go on to write many, vastly respected, books on liturgical development. Wiltshire senior, as he moved on into his dotage, felt this to be both a source of pride and of disappointment. True, the name of Wiltshire became known in the very best circles just as he had once wished, but could a theologian safeguard his expansive haulage concern? Already, several highly dubious sharks were scouting round his daughters always looking to the old man’s demise. It was a great worry to him.

  The day before Tobias’ twenty-fourth birthday his father died; the news would reach Tobias a few months later. His mother had died several years earlier but no one had bothered to inform him. He celebrated his birthday by getting terribly drunk in Coventry with Haraldsson and Chitty.

  A papal legate, no less, was ambushed and killed along with his escort by ‘unincorporated’ Aborigines in Australasia Secundia. To avenge this unprecedented insolence, regiments of neatly uniformed incorporated Aborigine infantrymen were sent out to wreak promiscuous destruction in the bush. News of the murder and the ensuing pogrom reached European newspapers seven months later.

  Whether James Cherry’s prayers had any issue at all, Tobias never knew, but the meetings in the Avon Street Chapel continued and so their fate was sealed.

  Curate Oakley reported back to the Dean Spiritual and the Dean Temporal; they in turn reported to the Bishop and he with heavy heart began writing explanatory, moderating letters to various authorities above his head.

  Tobias felt impelled to dash into the threatened, smouldering building and pull at least one person to safety before the edifice collapsed; perhaps two could be saved if his plan worked well – all the better.

  Why he felt so is unanswerable; perhaps it was one of his occasional impulses to good, perhaps sympathy with other people caught up in the Church’s stern duty. It was undeniable that even now he sought to express some of the little good left in his own self.

  He went to the Cherrys’ house again. James was at the Bishop’s palace, receiving formal notification of impending anathema proceedings. He would be gone some hours. Emma Cherry was pleased to see the Curate, who was, she felt, their one terrestrial ally in a world of enemies.

  He was conducted into the parlour and provided with wine and small-cake.

  ‘They’ve pronounced anathema against you all, effective in two days unless you make public penance before the Bishop – any chance?’

  ‘Curate, I don’t rightly see how we can … ’

  ‘I’m talking in terms of saving skins rather than honour.’

  ‘Probably a half of the group will recant, family people and so on, plus a few faint hearts.’

  ‘It’s a stupid thing to die for and it mayn’t be quick – the inquisitors might be here to enforce the notice, you know.’ But Tobias knew this to be a lie; the Bishop had prevailed on the Archbishop of Canterbury to stave off the Holy Office wolves.

  ‘Curate … ’

  ‘Call me Tobias, please.’

  ‘Tobias, I don’t think you believe at all, do you?’

  ‘Frankly, no.’

  She looked shocked and gestured at his gown and general person. ‘Then why all this, why help us?’

  ‘It is a very long and improbable story. As to your second point – it should be obvious to you of all people that the Church is very far from having a monopoly of human kindness – my experience suggests quite the opposite. Please recant.’

  ‘I cannot – I cannot deny God.’

  ‘You needn’t, just say what they want, all the while believing something else – who cares?’

  ‘God cares.’

  ‘Oh,’ Tobias sighed, ‘Yes – well, maybe. Strangely enough you’re probably more qualified than me to judge that. My dear, it’s very sad. You’re going to die the day after tomorrow.’

  Put this baldly, the abstract idea that Emma had been steeling herself against was suddenly before her eyes and became master of her mind. ‘Oh Tobias – help us!’

  ‘I’ve done everything I can – you must recant and then forget this ever happened: a closed chapter in your life rather than the closing chapter.’

  ‘But James will never recant.’

  ‘We shall see; I will speak with him.’

  Emma was still undecided and gently tearful.

  ‘Recant and I will see that no retribution is taken against you, I have some influence with the Bishop. Who knows? A man as good as he might protect your whole group from harm.’

  Emma, fully tearful now, hurled herself at Tobias and wept copiously on his shoulder. He held on to her by the backlaces of her bodice.

  ‘I really don’t want to die, and leave the world behind but … what will be left of me if I recant?’

  ‘Everything safe and sound as I have explained.’

  She raised her reddened face and, collected, now said, ‘Not the priest at all are you, Tobias? A man first, magician second and nothing after.’

  His consoling embrace became more intimate, he looked into her face and raised his eyebrows in an inquisitory manner.

  She nodded and they went up the stairs together.

  Emma Cherry was a woman on a mental knife-edge and accordingly Tobias found their coupling somewhat demanding and dramatic, but not without a bizarre sense of enjoyment – and, as always, there was the cold joy of conquest.

  He calculated that James Cherry would be home in a half hour or so and so had time for some conversation with Emma as they dressed and she rearranged the room.

  ‘I think James is going to be very disappointed in me.’

  Tobias was genuinely astonished and paused in mid hair-brush. ‘God’s teeth woman, you’re not going to tell him are you?’

  Emma looked surprised. ‘But of course!’

  Tobias made as if to say something but changed his mind. He continued brushing his hair shaking his head in a disbelieving manner. It saved him a lot of bother of course; he had planned on staying till Cherry arrived back home and informing him in plain terms of his wife’s adultery. This he hoped would sow sufficient discord to break the filial bond that was the core and strength of the Avon Street group’s recalcitrance. One or perhaps two reca
ntations would ensue and thereafter the flock would probably follow. If Emma was so truthful then all the better – it would save Tobias a distasteful interview with a man he liked and admired.

  Accordingly he left with little further ado. And the next day Mrs Coley brought a letter up to him in his study where he was quizzing an early medieval manuscript of spells. The note read:

  Dear Tobias,

  I freely forgive you as I have my wife, as the Lord has always forgiven me. Thank you for all your attempts at succour – both conventional and otherwise; alas we continue staunch in the Lord.

  Bless you.

  It was signed ‘James Cherry’. A postscript in a different hand read, ‘I now understand; we will pray for you – EC.’

  Tobias fell into a black temper and that evening had recourse to the bottle.

  And so it was that Tobias found himself, one dull, cloudy morning in early April 1984, standing before a converted stable and coachhouse just off Avon Street. It was this shaky building that the group had sacrificed much to lease and for which they were now to sacrifice much more.

  About half of the Avon Street group had recanted yesterday, just under twenty people – clad in penitential black and the paper-cone hats of the heretic, they would have to do the same again, in public, before the Bishop and higher clergy of Rugby tomorrow. The recalcitrant balance had gathered together in their chapel to see the matter draw to an end. This made things much easier for the Bishop’s forces and saved the group’s face. Far better to await the end together than to be routed out individually like rats from a hole – they thought their cause deserved better than that.