gns.thedruidconnection-第16章

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　　'You　bloody　hypocrite！'　she　whirled　on　him；　a　stinging　slap　that　caught　him　across　the　face　and　banged　his　head　back　on　the　headrest。　'Like　I　said；　I　was　a　bloody　fool。　But　you've　been　screwing　other　women　for　years。　Away　for　days　at　a　time　〃on　business〃；　and　you've　had　dirty　little　whores　in　your　bed。　Now　this　Lola。　She's　nothing　but　a　slut　tarted　up　by　you　in　an　attempt　to　make　her　look　presentable。　But　her　pedigree　is　all　too　clear　beneath　those　layers　of　make…up。　What's　she　getting　out　of　this　deal？'
　　
　　'She　happens　to　be　my　private　secretary；'　Hurst　wiped　his　lips　with　a　tissue；　dabbed　at　a　trickle　of　blood。　'She　has　her　salary；　nothing　else。'
　　
　　'A　hooker's　wages！'　Marion　was　on　the　verge　of　hysteria。　'I　wish　you'd　set　her　up　for　Stone。　That　way　I　could've　walked　out　and　left　you　to　your　hussies。　Don't　you　ever　touch　me　again；　Darren。　I　don't　want　a　dose！'
　　
　　'You're　being　ridiculous；'　he　eased　the　car　door　open。　'Let's　take　a　waik　and　survey　our　new　kingdom。　Within　two　months　the　diggers　will　be　here　getting　the　footings　out　for　the　first　few　houses。'
　　
　　'You　hope！'　she　got　out；　slammed　the　door　shut　behind　her。　'There'll　be　an　appeal。　I've　heard　that　nearly　everybody　in　the　village　has　signed　a　petition。'
　　
　　'A　mere　formality　and　a　waste　of　everybody's　time。　Our　planning　permission　will　stand。　Enjoy　what　you　see；　my　dear；　for　you　were　instrumental　in　bringing　this　about。　Without　your　help　it　would　probably　have　remained　in　trust　to　the　church　forever　because　nobody　else　would　have　dared　to　even　think　of　building　on　it。　What　a　waste　that　would　have　been。'
　　
　　Marion　Hurst's　torment　of　guilt　had　escalated　these　last　few　hours。　Ever　since　they　had　left　St　Monica's　church　she　had　been　unable　to　get　the　whole　thing　out　of　her　mind。　Oh　God；　she　wished　she　had　never　gone　there；　set　foot　on　that　tract　of　land　which　up　until　today　had　meant　no　more　to　her　than　an　area　shaded　in　on　an　Ordnance　Survey　map　and　a　few　lines　on　a　sheet　of　planning　permission。　It　was　akin　to　a　surgeon　entering　the　theatre　to　carry　out　an　operation　and　discovering　that　the　patient　was　a　close　friend　of　his；　or　a　vet　being　asked　to　put　an　animal　to　sleep　and　developing　a　relationship　with　it　while　he　prepared　his　syringe。　No　longer　was　it　impersonal。
　　
　　Darren　had　gone　out　shortly　after　they　returned　home；　she　had　not　expected　him　to　stay　in。　She　didn't　even　go　to　the　trouble　of　making　him　invent　an　excuse。　Lies　were　meaningless　now。　Far　better　had　he　said　'I'm　taking　Lola　for　a　meal　and　afterwards　I'm　going　to　screw　her　on　the　back　seat　of　the　car！'
　　
　　No；　it　wouldn't　be　on　the　back　seat　of　the　car；　nothing　so　lowly　and　basic　as　that　for　Darren　Hurst；　recently　admitted　to　the　elite　ranks　of　the　nouveau　riche。　There　were　rumours　that　he'd　taken　a　flat　somewhere　in　town。　Lola　probably　lived　there；　his　own　private　whore…house！
　　
　　Bitterness　welled　up　inside　Marion　Hurst。　She　was　a　whore；　too！　Oh　yes；　she'd　gone　only　too　willingly　with　Walter　Stone　that　time。　Seduced　him。　He　had　tried　to　back　down　at　the　start　but　Marion　had　ways　of　getting　men　to　do　what　she　wanted　even　if　she　was　past　forty。　Surprisingly；　the　guy　had　been　quite　good　and　she'd　enjoyed　it。　They　had　just　been　wiping　themselves　off　with　tissues　when　Darren　had　walked　into　the　bedroom　…　as　she　knew　he　would；　of　course。　Damn　it；　that　had　spoiled　it　all　for　her。　She　wished　she'd　seduced　Stone　some　place　where　Darren　didn't　have　to　show　up；　didn't　even　have　to　know　about　it。　Then　it　would've　been　her　own　little　secret　and　nobody　would've　got　hurt。　As　it　was；　hundreds　of　villagers　were　going　to　have　their　locality　desecrated　and　Stone　and　Darren　might　end　up　going　to　gaol　。　。　。　herself　with　them！
　　
　　God；　she　hated　that　bastard　of　a　husband　of　hers！　She　meant　what　she'd　said　earlier；　he　wasn't　going　to　have　her　again。　Every　time　he　lay　on　top　of　her；　or　did　whatever　took　his　fancy；　he　degraded　her。　Now　she　was　his　pawn；　just　like　the　others。　If　you　looked　at　it　logically；　she　was　the　focal　point　of　all　this　corruption。　Without　her　opening　her　legs　for　Walter　Stone　none　of　this　could　have　e　about。
　　
　　She　helped　herself　to　another　malt　whisky；　her　third。　Darren　was　going　to　bloody　well　pay　for　all　this。　She'd　shop　him　to　the　police！　No；　that　would　involve　herself；　not　only　that；　there　was　some　legal　point　about　a　wife　not　being　able　to　give　evidence　against　her　husband；　she'd　read　about　it　somewhere　a　long　time　ago。　Anyway；　what　evidence？　She　didn't　have　any　proof。　Doubtless　the　others　had　covered　their　tracks　well　enough。　And　in　the　end　she　would　be　made　to　look　a　fool　and　a　liar；　a　woman　scorned；　trying　to　gain　revenge　on　her　husband　and　his　mistress。
　　
　　She'd　leave　the　bugger　then！　No；　that　would　be　just　what　he'd　want；　conveniently　get　her　out　of　the　way　so　that　Lola　could　move　in。　Oh；　Jesus　Christ　she　was　trapped　as　surely　as　a　fly　caught　in　a　spider's　web！
　　
　　Anger　and　guilt　mingled　with　alcohol。　She　contemplated　killing　Darren；　she　could　poison　him　or　even　stick　a　knife　in　his　guts　whilst　he　slept。　Temporary　revenge　because　before　long　they'd　put　her　away　and　she'd　suffer　a　lot　longer　than　he　had。　And　the　deal　with　the　bishop　would　still　go　through；　it　just　meant　that　without　Darren　Hurst　the　others　would　get　a　bigger　share。　And　the　loser　would　be　Marion　Hurst。
　　
　　She　felt　slightly　dizzy；　swayed；　and　had　to　hold　on　to　the　cocktail　cabinet　as　she　poured　herself　a　fourth　drink。　It　was　the　folk　in　the　village　who　would　be　the　real　losers。　Her　eyes　misted　up　and　she　pictured　them　going　into　the　church；　devout　honest　people　who　believed　in　God。　And　she　had　betrayed　them！
　　
　　Somehow　she　had　to　cleanse　her　conscience。　Funny　how　things　dropped　into　perspective　when　you　really　thought　about　them；　how　little　things　like　people's　feelings　were　overlooked　where　money　was　concerned。　Not　just　the　villagers　…　God！　She　was　a　female　Judas。　She　had　sold　her　Maker；　mitted　adultery　to　bring　about　her　crime。
　　
　　Marion　Hurst　could　not　hold　back　her　tears；　sobs　which　shook　her；　had　her　lying　on　the　Chesterfield　begging　for　forgiveness；　not　bothering　to　put　on　the　light　when　dusk　turned　to　deep　darkness。
　　
　　Sometime　later　she　heard　a　voice；　more　of　a　whisper　on　the　night　air；　that　might　have　been　inside　or　outside　the　house；　but　she　knew　only　too　well　that　it　was　addressing　her。
　　
　　'You　have　sinned　and　now　you　seek　repentance。　But　to　do　so　you　must　e　and　confess　your　sins　on　the　sacred　ground　which　by　your　own　efforts　will　soon　be　sacred　no　longer。　Your　tears　must　dampen　the　hallowed　soil　if　your　soul　is　to　be　cleansed。'
　　
　　She　raised　her　head　but　it　was　too　dark　to　see　if　anybody　stood　outside　the　window。　She　trembled；　listened；　but　the　voice　did　not　e　again。　Shame　and　fear；　for　her　Maker　knew　she　had　sinned　and　he　had　summoned　her　to　go　on　a　pilgrimage　of　repentance。
　　
　　She　went　through　into　the　hall　and　put　on　her　coat。　Funny；　the　light　was　out　and　she　always　left　it　on　when　Barren　was　out。　But　she　didn't　need　it。　She　opened　the　door；　saw　the　weling　glow　of　streetlamps　beyond　the　rhododendron　shrubbery　which　lined　the　garden；　made　out　the　silhouette　of　her　Cavalier　parked　in　the　drive。
　　
　　From　then　onwards　her　actions　were　jerky；　robot…like。　She　stalled　the　engine；　then　over…revved　it　and　sent　gravel　flying　up　on　to　the　patio。　Braking　too　hard；　shooting　out　on　to　the　deserted　road；　no　co…ordination　with　the　gears；　like　a　learner…driver。　She　had　only　been　to　St　Monica's　once；　with　Darren；　and　she　had　not　made　a　mental　note　of　the　route　but　somehow　now　it　all　seemed　so　familiar。　Two　miles　of　dual…carriageway　before　taking　the　first　junction　off　on　to　a　narrow　B…road。　Driving　flat…out；　tyres　screeching　on　unexpected　bends。　Hardly　any　traffic；　just　an　occasional　pair　of　headlights　ing　in　the　opposite　direction。　Usually　oning　lights　blinded　her；　had　her　slowing　right　down；　but　tonight　she　scarcely　noticed　them；　drove　flat　out　all　the　way　with　no　thought　for　her　own　safety。
　　
　　That　cinder　track　seemed　so　much　wider　than　it　had　earlier　in　the　Jag。　Parking　in　exactly　the　same　place　as　Darren　had　parked。　Getting　out；　closing　the　door　quietly　in　case　she　disturbed　。　。　。　someone。
　　
　　It　was　dark；　the　moon　was　not　due　to　rise　for　another　hour。　Marion　Hurst　stood　there　undecided；　not　knowing　exactly　what　to　do。　Her　guilt　was　a　thousand　times　worse　now　as　though　she　had　brooded　on　it　during　the　five…mile　drive　down　here。　She　experienced　an　urge　to　shout　to　the　elements　'I'm　the　one　who　did　this　to　your　land。　Just　me；　nobody　else。'
　　
　　And　then　she　heard　voices；　a　kind　of　low；　rhythmical　chant　ing　across　from　where　the　yew　trees　and　that　big　oak　were　just　faintly　visible　against　the　night　sky。　Her　feet　began　to　move；　unsteady　steps　across　the　uneven　grassy　surface。　On　more　than　one　occasion　she　caught　her　foot　against　a　tuft；　stumbled；　but　did　not　fall。
　　
　　It　was　lighter　now；　a　kind　of　ethereal　glow；　not　bright　enough　for　the　moon　but　maybe　the　stars　…　she　did　not　really　give　it　much　thought。　She　could　make　out　moving　shapes　that　materialised　into　human　forms　as　she　got　closer。
　　
　　They　were　certainly　dressed　strangely；　long　knee…length　gowns　with　capacious　sleeves　and　frilly　necks；　girded　with　sashes。　Sandalled　feet；　and　they　each　carried　a　small　branch　of　some　kind；　twigs　recently　snapped　off　a　living　tree　because　the　leaves　were　still　fresh　and　had　not　wilted。　Hats　of　some　kind；　like　caps　made　from　animal　skins；　the　tails　left　on　when　the　beasts　were　flayed。　Foxes；　probably；　there　were　no　wolves　left　in　England。　Or　were　there？　She　tried　to　make　out　the　faces　of　those　around　her　but　it　was　impossible　because　their　features　were　bathed　in　shadow。　They　were　obviously　expecting　her；　hands　reaching　out　for　her；　gripping　her　wrists　with　icy　fingers；　leading　her　forward。　She　tried　to　put　into　words　the　questions　her　confused　brain　was　asking。　Why　am　I　here？　Who　are　you　and　what　do　you　want　of　me？　But　somehow　her　brain　and　vocal　chords　refused　to　co…ordinate。
　　
　　These　people　were　talking　in　whispers　just　like　the　voice　she　had　heard　in　her　own　home。　She　managed　to　make　out　some　of　the　words。　'This　is　she。　。　。　the　one　we　summoned　。　。　。　she　has　e　to　be　judged　by　Alda　。　；　。　'
　　
　　Marion　found　herself　being　helped　up　on　to　some　kind　of　raised　platform；　a　soft　spongy　surface　as　though　it　was　constructed　of　turf　like　that　pile　the　landscape　gardeners　had　delivered　when　she　and　Darren　first　bought　their　house；　peaty　blocks　which　they　had　stacked　in　the　drive　until　they　were　ready　to　lay　them。　Marion's　feet　sank　in　and　only　then　was　she　aware　that　she　was　barefoot。
　　
　　The　light　was　getting　stronger。　She　couid　make　out　various　features　of　the　landscape；　and　her　fear　began　to　mount。　Trees　and　thorn　bushes；　but　where　were　the　distant　lights　of　the　town；　the　orange　glow　that　lit　the　night　sky　for　miles　around？　The　church　should　have　been　visible；　too；　its　steeple　reaching　skywards。　And　everywhere　so　silent；　not　even　the　hum　of　a　distant　car　on　the　main　road　which　could　not　be　more　than　a　mile　away。
　　
　　Now　the　moon　was　up；　its　silvery　light　bathing　the　whole　scene　around　Marion　Hurst；　bringing　a　scream　to　her　lips　but　no　fur