Doctor Who_ Daemons - Barry Letts [7]
Police Constable Groom lifted the stone above his head... a moment later Miss Hawthorne's worries would be over. For ever.
However, at this very moment, her words seemed to take effect, for the wind dropped as suddenly as it had sprung up. The evening air was still once more. The stone dropped from Groom's hand and he swayed on his feet.
'Mr. Groom!' exclaimed Miss Hawthorne as she turned and saw the pallor of his face. 'Mr. Groom! Are you all right?'
The Constable rubbed his forehead. 'I... I think so... I just felt a bit faint for the moment...'
Miss Hawthorne nodded wisely. 'I'm not at all surprised. Not at all. It will pass, Mr. Groom. It will pass.'
Groom essayed a weak smile. 'I'm okay, now,' he said.
Olive Hawthorne looked at him, looked past him and through him. Her eyes were distant, as if she were seeing such things as cannot be spoken—things not of this world. 'We must be on our guard,' she said, 'all of us.' She turned and walked up the path, between the rows of gravestones and disappeared round a buttress of the church.
In the bar Montmorency Winstanley downed his second Scotch and gratefully accepted the offer of a third. 'Just this one,' he thought, 'and then I'll go off and have a natter with the Vicar. Get him to have a chat with Elsie Bates. Soon set her right.'
All his fears were now forgotten.
Miss Hawthorne came round the back of the church and was making for the Rectory gate when a sour-faced man appeared in front of her, as if from nowhere.
'What do you want?' he asked aggressively.
Miss Hawthorne, jolted rudely from her reverie, was very angry indeed. 'How dare you jump out at me like that, Garvin' she said. 'Get out of my way.'
'I said, what do you want?'
'If you must know,' she answered acidly, 'I wish to see Mr. Magister.'
Garvin smiled. 'Well, you can't,' he said. 'What do you want to see him about?'
'I'm hardly likely to discuss my affairs with the verger. Kindly let me pass.' She made to continue on her way but Garvin stepped into her path again. Miss Hawthorne shook with anger. 'You wouldn't dare behave like this if the Vicar were here,' she said.
'Mr. Magister doesn't want to be disturbed. He said so.'
'Not him! The real Vicar!'
Garvin laughed. 'What'd you call Mr. Magister then?'
'I meant Canon Smallwood, our old Vicar, who left in such mysterious circumstances.'
'Nothing mysterious about it. Taken ill and had to retire, that's all.'
Miss Hawthorne was regaining her control. 'In the middle of the night? And where is he now? Why hasn't he been in touch with anyone? Tell me that.'
Garvin grunted. 'I've got no time to listen to your nonsense. I've got work to do.'
Miss Hawthorne stood her ground. 'I repeat. I wish to see Mr. Magister.'
'And I tell you again. He doesn't want to be disturbed.'
'Then he can say so himself. Let me pass, do you hear?' Saying this, she raised her old umbrella, the weapon which had routed Harry that afternoon. Garvin eyed it uncertainly.
'You're wasting your time.'
Miss Hawthorne flourished the brolly. 'If you don't stand aside, Garvin, I shall be forced to use violence!'
'Violence won't be necessary.'
The curiously gentle, yet firm voice at once dominated the situation. Miss Hawthorne swung round, momentarily quite discomfited, as if she were abruptly thirty years younger, an eight-year-old surprised in some naughtiness.
'Ah... Mr. Magister. Good evening.'
Slim and dapper in his dark suit of clerical grey, the new Vicar was a striking figure. His handsome, yet almost Mephistophelean, face was curiously ageless. True, the neat black beard had streaks of pure white in it, but these seemed merely to offset and emphasise the smooth skin and youthful eyes.
And yet, as Miss