The Disciple: a gripping psychological mystery (The Sister Veronica Mysteries Book 2) Read online

  A wave of exhaustion swamped him. Yes, he would do the right thing and talk to the police, he decided, as sleep crept through his brain. Mona might not want to be found, but the fact that the police were looking for her made him worry. What if something had happened after all? She’d been so excited to get that invitation. And surprised. She’d told him not to bother looking for her after she’d left, that she didn’t need him and his bloody family ruining her life again. ‘How did Gareth know my address?’ she’d yelled in his face. ‘How? He’ll tell Art. Just leave me alone,’ she’d said. So he had. But now he knew he’d tell the police everything she’d told him about where she was going, about the strange invitation and who it was from. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to Mona, not after what she’d been through. And it was the least he could do after she’d taken him in. Yes, he reflected before the veil of sleep finally dropped. It would be the first positive choice he’d made for a while.

  15

  Sister Veronica sat in The Chocolate Berry’s garden next to a statue of a large wicker stag, minding the now slumbering Hope, full and content after a bottle of milk. Waiting for Melissa to appear with the tea and biscuits, she gazed around with the observation of the writer she yearned to be, drinking in the unfamiliar – yet strangely enjoyable – environment. As in Celeste’s room, fairy lights abounded, arranged tastefully along the fences and across the Emerald Green shrubs. Wisteria cascaded down and peeping out between its vines were hanging baskets and wrought-iron decorations in the shape of masks and hearts. Broomsticks, propped in the garden corners, received Sister Veronica’s most suspicious stares; clearly people round here worshipped relics of witchcraft – or Wicca, as Melissa insisted on calling it. She wasn’t a judgemental person, she told herself, but broomsticks and cauldrons were pushing her limits of acceptance just a bit too far. Although, she reflected, many Catholic relics were still worshipped around the world today, and surely only God and the universe can say who’s got it right and wrong?

  Melissa appeared at the doorway, balancing a tray laden with goodies, soon weaving her way round the tables where couples and groups laughed and chatted. Minutes later, the welcome taste of tea, and the tang of a pumpkin coffee cake – apparently custard creams weren’t on the menu – were soothing her soul.

  ‘Well,’ Melissa said a little while later, licking her lips. ‘What did you make of Celeste then, Sister?’

  ‘A complex character.’ Sister Veronica glanced at the baby, still snoozing – her green-and-yellow hat drifting down over her eyes, before laying her fork down. ‘She became more and more guarded as we asked the questions, which perhaps is understandable given that we imposed ourselves unexpectedly, but she certainly wasn’t going to give away much, was she?’ Melissa shook her head. ‘What we know so far from her,’ Sister Veronica went on, ‘is that she is Mona’s sister, she claims they had a falling out and haven’t spoken for nearly three years and she had no idea she was an aunt to Hope. One of her most interesting revelations was that she still lives in a commune, or cult, called New Avalon – well done for getting that out of her.’

  ‘Yes, I thought we could look that up, now we’ve got a name for it,’ Melissa said, reaching for her bag and pulling out her laptop.

  She tapped in her password and soon, the two of them were staring at a webpage on the screen.

  ‘New Avalon looks like a veritable utopia,’ Sister Veronica said, taking in the photos of orchards and fields full of smiling children and adults as Melissa scrolled down slowly.

  ‘Yeah, looks like paradise,’ Melissa breathed. ‘They’re all wearing old-fashioned clothes, how sweet. And they’ve all got long hair. Look at those wooden huts, they look like something pixies or fairies would live in.’

  ‘Hang on, what does it say here?’ Sister Veronica rested her hand lightly on Melissa’s arm. ‘“New Avalon is a low impact site two miles from Glastonbury Town, made up from thirty acres of land”,’ she read. ‘“The land consists of fields, orchards, woodland and gardens. We own cows and chickens, so can access milk and eggs every day. We also grow our own vegetables; everyone here works together on the land, although several members also hold jobs in Glastonbury and Wells. Residents at New Avalon have taken on the spirit of King Arthur and his knights, in the very best tradition of Somerset history; King Arthur was taken to Glastonbury Tor to heal following his injuries in the Battle of Camlann, and New Avalon pays homage to the return of the messianic king.”’

  ‘Interesting,’ Melissa said. ‘I kind of want to go and live there myself.’

  ‘But have you noticed,’ Sister Veronica sat back and folded her arms, ‘they are not giving much detail away here. It’s all presented in a vague kind of way, the photos only show groups of people some way off, never up close. There is no mention of a leader, or individuals who run the place. It’s almost like an image is being presented here to the world, but not much of the actual reality of it. And what’s all this about the return of King Arthur?’

  ‘Oh, Sister, you’re getting cynical in your old age.’ Melissa laughed, reaching for the teapot. ‘Haven’t you noticed how alternative it is round here? It’s a safe place for people to want to express themselves outside mainstream looks and beliefs; the amount of witches, druids, pagans and goddesses I’ve seen today is unreal. And the myth of King Arthur has always been attached to Glastonbury, hasn’t it? They’re probably a group of peaceful hippies, living the way they want to, not doing anyone any harm.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Sister Veronica’s brow furrowed. ‘Appearances can be misleading though. Why shut yourself away in a commune to do all this? Why not just live among the townsfolk?’

  ‘But what’s wrong with having some privacy and being a bit different from everyone else?’ Melissa smiled. ‘If I didn’t know you better, Sister, I’d think you were being a teeny bit judgemental.’

  ‘I am not.’ Sister Veronica sat up. ‘I rather like it here, actually. But remember we are investigating the disappearance of Mona, Melissa, and to be quite frank Celeste didn’t seem at all bothered that her own flesh and blood may have come to some harm. The only loyalty and care she showed was for New Avalon. And Sister Catherine called it a cult.’

  ‘Sister Catherine would probably call the Liberal Democrat party a cult, Sister,’ Melissa said. ‘Remember, I lived with you guys for a while, and I wouldn’t exactly describe any of you as socialists.’

  ‘Well I hope you’re right.’ Sister Veronica picked up her mug. ‘But I think it needs more investigation.’

  ‘Excuse me.’ A tall, bearded man – seated with a quiet group of friends at a nearby table – turned his chair round and stared from Sister Veronica to Melissa. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing. I heard you talking about New Avalon.’

  ‘Yes?’ Sister Veronica said. ‘Do you know it?’

  ‘Know it? I used to live there,’ the man said, a dark cloud passing over his face. ‘And if you have any intention of visiting it, I would advise you to forget that idea right away. The place is evil. Best decision of my life to get out of there.’

  ‘Ha,’ Sister Veronica said, her eyes glinting. ‘Would you be so kind as to join us for a while? I think there are some questions we need to ask you.’

  16

  Art lit a cigarette and stared at Morgana, anger making his eyes appear darker than normal.

  ‘You fucking what?’

  ‘Lance,’ Morgana repeated, tucking her black hair behind her ears, ‘is in intensive care in St Francis’ Hospital in Peckham.’

  Art smashed his fist down on his desk with venom.

  ‘And you know this because?’

  ‘I do a regular call round of the hospitals since Gareth told me he was sure Lance would have got back into drugs. You know what he was like when he was here, got himself in a right mess a few times. I pretended to be his mother. They told me he’s in a serious but stable condition.’ Morgana regarded Art with motherly concern. He was her everything; she revered his power to lead and control, always had
since joining the commune in 1998. She hated how Mona had nearly destroyed him, had spent many nights soothing, cajoling and listening as he ranted about revenge. Deep down Morgana knew she was in love with Art, but she was also intelligent enough to know she wasn’t his type; too old, too plump. So she settled for second best, which was to be his confidante. And recently, his spy. She knew she was useful to him, knew her ability to research – she had been a rising academic before deciding to join New Avalon, a piece of ethnographic research into fringe religious groups had resulted in her actually joining one – meant that she was good at finding things out, tracking down information, even the stuff that people wanted to hide. She was a details person, always had been. Wasn’t satisfied until she had researched any matter that interested her to the absolute limit of available knowledge.

  ‘What fucking right does that bitch have to destroy my boy?’ Morgana noticed Art’s hand was shaking as he puffed on his cigarette. ‘It’s bound to be her doing, it’s always Mona’s fault when things go wrong. You mark my words, she’s been feeding him drugs, making him weak so he will do her bidding. It’s her fault that he left, and it’s her fault that he’s come to harm. I’m going to fucking kill her.’

  Morgana sighed. Life had just begun to take on a semblance of normality following Mona’s accusations of abuse. It had taken her nearly three years to build Art up, to bolster his spirits and help him regain the belief in the community that he’d once had. And now she could see all that crumbling before her eyes. Art would not recover from this news quickly, and she’d debated whether or not to tell him. But if he ever found out she’d kept this knowledge from him, he would punish her, quite rightly, like he punished all transgressors. Morgana knew she was good at keeping secrets; it had been necessary to become like that at an early age given what went on in her family back in Aberystwyth as she was growing up. The things that had gone on in her home, away from prying eyes, had definitely been at odds with the strict Baptist faith her parents pretended to follow. She’d never told anyone about all of that. But the only person she shared most things with was Art.

  ‘Does Gareth know?’ Art flicked his cigarette into an ashtray and stood up.

  ‘No, not yet. I’ve only told you.’

  ‘Good, don’t tell him, or anyone else. He’ll only go and do something bloody stupid. I can’t believe it.’ Art picked up a book from the corner of his desk and hurled it across the room. ‘My son. Come to this.’

  ‘Calm down,’ Morgana soothed. ‘There’s every chance he’ll pull through. He’s got your genes, remember, he’s a strong fighter.’

  But Art wasn’t listening. He walked round his desk, bent down, opened a cupboard, and started throwing items onto the floor.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Morgana stood up, worry etched on her face. Maybe she shouldn’t have told Art after all…

  ‘Looking for my bag. I’m going to London.’

  ‘Oh, Art, do you think that’s wise? After everything that happened?’ She couldn’t bear being away from him for more than a few hours, needed to be near his presence to keep her feeling centred and balanced.

  ‘You don’t have children, Morgana, so you won’t understand.’ Art turned, fury in his eyes. ‘Of course I’m going to fucking London. Now get out of my way and stop whining at me.’

  Morgana turned and walked out of the study, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. That had stung.

  No, of course Art was right to speak to me like that, she concluded after a few minutes thought as she walked towards her hut. He’s a powerful, passionate person, and I’ve just given him terrible news. I probably said it in the wrong way, it was my fault. I deserved it. Leaders are always assertive, they have to be. I love him. But still, the tears flowed down her cheeks.

  17

  Sister Veronica and Melissa introduced themselves to the man as he pulled his chair up to their table. The noise levels were rising around them as people relaxed, and by the looks of the drinks being brought out by waitresses, The Chocolate Berry café turned into a bar in the evening.

  ‘I’m Carter,’ he said. ‘Although at New Avalon I was known as Lamorak.’

  ‘Why the two names?’ Melissa asked, leaning forward. Their new friend was certainly attractive. If she wasn’t so in love with Chris, well… she might be very interested.

  ‘All the men are given new names after they join, when Art knights them during the initiation service. He never seemed so bothered about the women, although some chose new names for themselves. The men’s ones are names of the original King Arthur’s knights, although at one point, when the commune was very popular, I believe Art ran out of those and had to start being creative. Lamorak was apparently one of King Arthur’s more successful knights.’

  ‘Humble brag,’ Melissa said, laughing.

  ‘Sorry,’ Sister Veronica said, blinking. ‘Can I just stop you there. Who is Art? And why is he knighting people?’

  ‘Art,’ Carter said, taking a sip of his beer, ‘is a psychopath, pure and simple. He is the self-professed returned King Arthur, and he set up the compound himself back in the 1980s.’

  ‘You can’t have been there for that long, you don’t look that old?’ Melissa said.

  ‘No.’ Carter smiled. ‘I joined in 2012 and left two years ago.’

  ‘So you believe this Art to be a psychopath?’ Sister Veronica said, leaning over to check on Hope. ‘My, this baby is having a good sleep. Probably means she’s going to keep me up all night. That’s a strong word to label another human being, Carter. Are you sure?’

  ‘It’s not a strong enough word, Sister.’ Anger flashed through Carter’s eyes. ‘If you knew what I do, you’d understand.’

  ‘Tell me then,’ Sister Veronica said gently, smiling up at one of Carter’s friends, who was placing a fresh drink in front of her. ‘What’s this, it smells like elderflower juice?’

  ‘It’s elderflower champagne,’ the friend said. ‘A speciality round here. Try it, it’s amazing.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know…’ Sister Veronica raised the glass dubiously to her lips. ‘I usually only have one glass of eggnog on Christmas day.’

  ‘Oh, Sister, you have to try it,’ Melissa said, putting down her own glass. ‘It’s so soft and fruity, hardly tastes alcoholic at all.’

  Sister Veronica sipped her drink and smiled.

  ‘Yes, you’re right, it’s delicious,’ she said. ‘Sorry, Carter, do go on.’

  ‘Art – or King Arthur – as he seems to genuinely believe he is, was accused of abusing one of the girls there, Mona Adkins.’

  Sister Veronica jolted forward, and Melissa put her drink down.

  ‘Who accused him?’ Sister Veronica asked.

  ‘Mona did, herself. Up until that point, I’d really enjoyed my time at New Avalon. There was a great community spirit and everyone worked very hard on the land. I made some good friends there. But as the years went by, I noticed a change in Art’s attitude towards me. At first he’d been so welcoming, so loving. He really seemed to believe in me, and it was something I needed as I’ve never known my own father. He made me, and all the other new recruits, feel special, you know?’

  Sister Veronica nodded.

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘Then bit by bit, it seemed as though I wasn’t good enough for him anymore. He started telling me I was lazy, that I needed to get a job and start paying money into New Avalon, instead of living off his land like a leech. So I did, got a job in Wells as a waiter in a restaurant, and gave all my earnings to Art, like everyone did. Then one night there was a big showdown during a meeting. Art’s very big on loyalty and honour, and he doesn’t like people talking about him behind his back. Mona, who’d been born at the cult, hadn’t been happy for a while. She’d lost a lot of weight, and people were worried that she was on drugs like her mum.’

  ‘What happened to her mother?’

  ‘Died from a drug overdose a while back. Drugs used to be acceptable at the cult, LSD was actually
encouraged as Art said if you take it with the right intentions it can open your mind. But people started taking too much of it, and smoking so much dope they forgot to come to meetings. When Lance got hooked on cocaine Art forbade anyone else from touching the stuff. Anyway, Mona’s father left when she was small, had a falling out with Art and hasn’t been seen since. Art has a way of pulling people into the centre of meetings and humiliating them if he’s not happy. He calls it justice, but it’s really horrible to watch. You aren’t allowed to have any privacy at New Avalon, Art wants to know what you are thinking, feeling and doing at all times. He said it was for our own good. Anyway, Mona had been making it known that she wanted to leave. She kept telling people that Art was a fraud, and this made a lot of people angry with her as they really trusted Art. Most of all it made Art livid, which is why he shamed her that night at the meeting. Started telling everyone to look at the mess she was, how weak and ugly she was becoming. Then Mona suddenly shouted, “Yeah, well that’s your fault, isn’t it? If you’d kept your hands to yourself all these years maybe I wouldn’t be so fucked up”. No one could believe it, but yet most of us knew it was true, just from looking at her standing and shaking in front of Art, her face as white as a ghost. Mona told everyone how he’d first raped her when she was eleven, and had carried on since then.’