Chapter Seventeen
Bishop Oliver French's home, Stephen decided upon first entering it, was an anthropologist's haven. There were cabinets ranged around his spacious drawing-room containing ritual masks, Voodoo dolls, carved representations of nature deities and even some specimens of ancient weapons, including a bone knife like the one that he had seen carried by the Conjure Woman's guardian Michel. He hoped that this richesse of ceremonial art and artifacts indicated a man who was open to the uncanny ideas which seemed to float on the fitful winds of these islands, but as the Bishop himself entered, his hopes were dashed almost entirely to pieces.
"So," he said. "you're a Jesuit."
"Yes, Your Grace," said Stephen.
"And you're an anthropologist as well?"
"Yes, Your Grace. I was admiring your collection here."
"Oh that! I inherited it along with the residence. My predecessor was quite interested in the ancient rituals practiced in these parts, and in these days of tolerance and political correctness, I thought it best to keep them around. Besides, they make wonderful conversation pieces."
As Bishop French showed him to a wing-chair, Stephen regarded him for a moment. He was a tall, bony sort of man with white hair and beard, aquiline features and a stern look in his green eyes, and he moved around the room as quietly and gracefully as a cat.
"Now, Father," he said, taking a seat across from Stephen. "What have you come to see me about?"
"It is rather a delicate matter, Your Grace," said Stephen, trying to figure out a way to approach his request carefully. "I know that I am not under your jurisdiction, Your Grace, but you are the local Bishop here, so I thought I should come to you."
"Alright. Go on, please!"
"Well, during my time in these islands, I have come to learn of the island of Maljardin."
"Ah yes," said the bishop dismissively. "That piquantly-named place! What about it?"
"Well," Stephen said, "you are aware of the death of a man at the Port French Leave Hotel recently, I think?"
"Yes. I believe he was working for Miss Julia Desmond on her own hotel project on the afore-mentioned island. It was very unfortunate."
"It was indeed," said Stephen. "I was the priest who administered the last rites."
"Yes," said the bishop. "I recall hearing that. It was very good of you."
"Well, Your Grace," said Stephen, "on that occasion, he told me that he had been murdered, and he said that there was evil on Maljardin. I also had an experience as he was dying. I felt a chill which could not have been caused by the temperature of the room. It felt evil, spiritually evil, Your Grace."
"I see," said the bishop. "And?"
"I met Julia Desmond some days later, and I saw her looking at me at one point, and there was something strange in her eyes. I can only describe it as conscious malice."
"I must tell you, Father," said Bishop French, "that I do not like where this is going."
"Well, then I suppose I'll just get to the point. I would like permission to do an exorcism on Julia Desmond and perhaps a blessing of the house she is rebuilding."
"Do as many blessings as you like," said the bishop, "but there is no way that I can sanction an exorcism. If any of this were to be picked up by the media, it would be disastrous not only for the church, but for tourism in these islands and for the reputation of Julia Desmond and her family. The Desmonds have always been very good to the local arm of the church down here, and we don't want this beneficent fountain of funds to suddenly dry up."
"I understand," said Stephen, trying very hard to control his anger.
"I'm not certain you do," said the bishop. "There are other reasons that would lead me not to sanction this. You really have not brought me any proofs of possession except your own experiences and a second-hand account of a man's dying words. Where are the supernatural manifestations of power? Where are the proofs of a change in behaviour? You yourself state that you did not meet Julia Desmond until she had been allegedly possessed."
"That's true, Your Grace, but there is this letter." He took from his pocket a print-out of an email and handed it across to the bishop. "I got this from Miss Kathleen O'Dell, Miss Desmond's personal assistant. It testifies to Julia's strange changes of mood." Stephen had managed to procure this letter from Kathleen during the last two days, and he had thought it would carry some weight.
The bishop perused the letter intently, but from the dismissive way in which he laid it aside, Stephen could almost guess what he was going to say.
"This letter does contain some startling facts: her change of dress, her strange manner and her obsession with a portrait which she had seemed to hate on first seeing it, but there is not enough here to warrant such a drastic step. Besides, this letter is not from anyone qualified to judge these things. You know that no exorcism can be performed without a psychiatric assessment on the allegedly possessed individual."
"I know, I know, but there just isn't time!" Stephen knew that his temper was getting the better of him, but he found that he did not care in the slightest.
"As far as I'm concerned," said the bishop, "the man who died had a heart attack. That was the cause of death. This, I think you'll agree, means that no supernatural force was involved."
"But what about the passage in the letter where Miss O'Dell talks about the Voodoo doll that was dressed in workman's clothes with the pin through its heart?"
"I simply do not credit it, Father Dawson," said the bishop. "These islands have been riddled with this kind of thing for long enough. They're like worm-eaten apples. They look clean on the outside, but inside there is only corruption and stupidity. If you're asking me to give you permission to fight a non-existent fantasy of a religion by using time-honoured Christian rituals, I'm not going to do it."
"No, Your Grace," said Stephen, biting his lip to keep his voice steady. "With all due respect, I believe the Voodoo spell was a means to an end, and I believe that there really is a demonic influence in control of what goes on over there."
"As I say," said the bishop, "bless the house. Do what you can, but don't bring exorcism into it! Now, I have no more time to argue this point with you. Please, go into the library. Martine will have tea for you there. I myself have business to attend to. Good day, Father."
"Good day, Your Grace," said Stephen. "Thank you for seeing me."
As Bishop French left, Stephen still sat in his wing-chair and looked at the ritual objects surrounding him. He wished that he could buy them all from the bishop and could present them to Vangie or to Barrett, or, perhaps, even keep them for himself. Any home would be better than this man's study in surface-meanings. Here was a chance for him to be a real priest at last, to confront something real and hopefully find new faith in himself and in Christ, and the bishop's red tape and regulations stopped him.
"Father?" Stephen jumped at the melodious voice of the young woman who had just entered the room. "I'm sorry I startled you, Father, but your tea is ready in the library. Will you come with me?"
"Thank you," said Stephen.
The library was as much of a treasure-trove of books as the drawing-room was of artifacts. Stephen scanned the stacks greedily, finding many leather-bound and gilt-bordered first editions that would be the envy of any serious collector. He even found copies of Barrett's books there, likely also acquisitions of the famed predecessor of Bishop French, whoever he was.
"I don't think what you want is there," said Martine, placing a tray on a small table, "but I can get it for you."
Stephen was perplexed.
"What do you mean?"
"The book with the exorcism in it," she said. "I heard what you said to His Grace, and I'm sorry he treated you the way he did. The fact is that my mother was housekeeper to the old His Grace, and there's a reason he kept all these books around. He respected the ways of our people."
"Your people?"
"Yes," said Martine. "We believe that there is a devil over there on that evil island, and if you want to help to get rid of him, then I want to help you do it. Now, just drink your tea, and I'll be back in a minute."
Stephen drank the tea which had been liberally sweetened with honey and pondered what Martine could be planning. It was true that he had not brought a copy of The Roman Ritual with him, the only book she could have meant, but how could she have known that? He wondered if she was as open to impulses and vibrations as Vangie Abbott, and then he wondered if he would ever be back in the world that he knew: the world of academic debate and simple interaction with life through his five senses.
"Look," said Martine, coming back. "Here is the book you should have. Please take it with you. His Grace won't miss it."
"But I wasn't looking for that book," said Stephen. "I was just looking at the books."
"Oh," said Martine, "trust me. You were looking for that book, or rather someone you know wanted you to have it."
"I wondered if she had a hand in it," said Stephen.
"She told me that if you showed up here, I was to give you the book. Do not refuse it, Father! I don't know everything about what you and the Conjure Woman are planning, but I know that you can help her."
"Martine," said Stephen, "how did you come to work here?"
"Well," said the girl, laying the book beside his teacup, "I applied for the position."
"Yes," said Stephen, "but I mean, well--" He wasn't sure how he should continue.
"You mean that because I am a practitioner of the Conjure Faith, how did I end up working in a Catholic bishop's residence? It's simple!" She laughed. "I'm a Catholic as well. I attend church. Most of us do, actually."
"Right," said Stephen. "I should have guessed. I really don't know why it's any of my business anyway, but I will take the book."
"Bless you, Father, and may God be with you!"
Stephen finished his tea and picked up the heavy book. Here, within these pages, were the words and rituals which he would use to combat that creeping evil which sought to destroy everything sane and normal around him. This was actually how he had come to think of it. He had made it personal, and though he knew that this was a dangerous thing to do, he felt it necessary in order for him to be strong enough to do what had to be done. This evil had disrupted his life. It had killed his uncle and had deprived Stephen of knowing him. It was endangering the lives of Kathleen and Vangie, and he did not want to see either of them destroyed. Last of all, it had crept under his radar and had murdered a man under his very nose. He had seen the pain and agony in Bill Temple's eyes, and he could not forgive the torture that this man had gone through. In short, he was determined to do whatever was necessary to avenge all these misfortunes. If it was true that he was picking up where his uncle had left off, then he was going to see things through to the end, no matter what the cost.
That evening, as the fire again burned brightly in the cabin of the Conjure Woman, Stephen told her the outcome of his conversation with the bishop.
"I thought that he would react that way, the pompous fool," Said Barrett, who sat with them. "I'm just glad that Martine was there to help you."
"Indeed," said Vangie. "She is a very trustworthy girl. Now, what is the plan for our departure?"
"Well," said Barrett, "after conversing with Miss O'Dell, I have made arrangements for her to meet us at the marina with the sea-plane. You'll have to travel in street clothes, Evangeline."
"I've done it before," said Vangie. "I can do it again."
"You're going as my secretary."
"Very well," said Vangie, "but if Miss Desmond recognizes me, I'll tell her who I am, and I certainly cannot disguise myself from Jacques Eloi des Mondes."
"No," said Barrett, "but I think we'll be able to get more accomplished by quiet observation than by going in with guns blazing."
"I think he's right, Conjure Woman," said Stephen. "I'll carry my priestly things with me, but I'll not be going as a priest. I'm simply helping you and Barrett with his book."
"Very well," said Vangie.
"So," continued Barrett, "we will meet at the marina at noon tomorrow, and we will allow Julia to see to our needs while we observe the climate in the house, and then we'll plan what is best to do first."
"I do have one question though," said Stephen. "In my uncle's journal, it speaks of the extreme stress that Jean Paul Desmond's guests were under, and that included you, Vangie. How will you protect yourself from it?"
"I cannot deny that it will be difficult," said Vangie, "but I have learned much in my time as Conjure Woman, and I intend to bring all my powers to bear in order to keep myself above it all, and to help all of you to do the same."
Stephen gazed at her face with the firelight dancing on it, and in her eyes he caught the glint of something hard and unyielding. It was, he realized, determination, and the intensity of it frightened him. She must have noticed him staring, for all at once, her eyes rested on him in the same direct manner and she asked:
"Well, what is it you see, Stephen?"
"Oh," Stephen said, uncertain of how to continue. "Oh, I don't know. It's just that you look, well, fierce, I suppose."
"The battle that is coming," she said slowly, "is not for the faint of heart, but we have no means of trying our strength before it comes. So, it is not ferocity that you see, Stephen, so much as resoluteness. I left others to face this thing on their own once. I do not intend to do so again."
"And again, my dear," said Barrett, rising from his chair and going to stand near her, "what about you? What about the prophecy?"
"It is words, Robert." She turned to him and Stephen saw an unmistakable look of tortured concern in the old man's eyes. "I do not pretend that I am not subject to its import," Vangie continued, "but neither can I run away from it."
"Responsibilities lightly taken bear the seed of death," Stephen found himself saying almost without meaning to.
"And where, dear Dawson, did you hear that little gem?" Barrett was upset and this made him sarcastic. Stephen recognized the attitude as one which he himself often shared.
"My uncle liked it and wrote it down. I'm sure you can guess who said it to him," was all his reply.
"Yes, Robert," said Vangie, "and do not forget that you too have a responsibility. I made you a priest because you seemed sincere. Are you?"
"I will do anything I have to in order to fight this evil," said Barrett, "but I see no reason why you have to put yourself directly in its path like this!"
"Are you sure you do not?" Vangie was standing now and facing him, and she gently took his hand in hers as she continued speaking. "I know how you feel about me, Robert. I know what happiness we have brought to each other during these past few years, but it is not your job to keep me from my appointed destiny, any more than it is my job to keep you from yours. Our paths are laid, and it is for us but to tread them to whatever end they may lead. I would not have you go on this journey in your condition, but I know that you would do so anyway, even going against the authority of her who is the Conjure Woman." She gave one of her gentle laughs just then, and Barrett bowed his head in token of the reasonableness of what she had said.
"Very well," he said, resuming his seat. "We're all going, and we'll all be forced to eat of whatever bitter fruits we will find in the garden of evil."
"That's the spirit," Stephen said now, and for some reason, he began to laugh uproariously. "What a jolly lot we all are!" he said finally.
"Indeed," said Vangie, still composed as ever. "I never dreamed that it would come to this, but so long as the bonds between us are strong, we'll be able to fight the power of that island and defeat it once and for all."
"But I'm going to do an unsanctioned exorcism with a book I stole from the house of a bishop," Stephen said, laughing again. "Don't you see how absurd this all is?"
"One might even say 'foolish,' mightn't one?" Vangie smiled at him. "Come now, Stephen! It will all work out. Somehow and finally, all will be well."
"You have more faith than I do, I'm afraid," said Stephen, "but I'll trust in your faith if you'll trust in whatever it is that I have."
"Robert calls you 'one of the good ones,'" said Vangie.
"High praise indeed," said Stephen. "He never likes anyone if he can help it."
"That's true," said Barrett. "I'm not, for instance, looking forward to dealing with La Julia whether she is possessed or in her right mind."
"You are capable of being a gentleman, though?" Vangie turned the most winning smile upon him that Stephen had ever seen her wear.
"Well," said Barrett, "yes, when I have to be."
"Good," said Vangie. "Then do it and don't complain." They all began to laugh at this, and Stephen and Barrett's shouts of mirth echoed as they wended their way back to the French Leave Hotel so that Stephen could get some much-needed sleep before the journey to Maljardin.
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