Episode 98

Yaxley Farcett rose from the ancient seat and addressed the small audience before him. Unknown to him only three days previously, they had become inextricably woven into his life over the past fifty-four hours. He had shared moments of extreme tenderness and passion with Fiona Morgan and Anne Worthington. His encounters with Cedric Morgan and Graham Trent had been explosive and occasionally violent. Clunch Parsons and Hummer Thompson had proved to be loveable and vulnerable rogues that typified the Fenland character he had observed so far. John Worthington sat brooding in a corner, his face made ugly by the shadows cast by the architecture of the Peace Chapel in Ealham Cathedral. John's son, Darren, seemed oblivious to the unfolding drama as he gazed round at the walls reading the inscriptions on dozens of plaques dedicated to the fallen of countless wars that had been fought since the Cathedral had been built over seven hundred years before.

 

'I don't know what to make of you lot, I really don't' said Yaxley, the exertions of the past three days now beginning to show. As he had come over to Ealham with Fiona he had dispensed with his trademark jeans and tee shirt and now sported a pair of khaki chinos, blue shirt and a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches. He also wore a very stylish tie, which could easily be mistaken for a cravat. Stylistically and ascetically, he looked the part.

 

'Yeah...In your parlance, Yor a rum lot o' buggers' he continued. 'Although it is Mr.Morgan's fault we are all in here now, I think we know the real reason fate has thrown us together'. He paused, 'The killer of Reg Dixon is in this chapel...'

 

Graham Trent looked up and spat out, 'Yeah..And I've already told you..I gave him a slap in the car park..nothing more !' Yaxley strolled slowly toward Trent and looked him up and down, unable to hide the contempt in his face. 'Yes..you've told me. And I believe you. You may be capable of boorishness, violence, fraud and many other things but I know you didn't kill Dixon. Once the Serious Crime Squad has finished with you, you'll see your day in court, but not for murder'.

 

Farcett gave Trent a last withering look and made his way to where Morgan sat, still rubbing his wrists following his incident with Hummer. The honourable member for Fenland South looked up, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked tired and beaten. 'Don't even ask', he said. 'My career and my marriage are in tatters and there's a strong chance of going to gaol for something I did on the spur of the moment in a committee meeting twenty years ago. No...I didn't kill Dixon'.

 

Before answering Yaxley looked across to Fiona. She smiled and he continued..'No, you will have to wait for your chance to put your side of the story. I know what you were up to when Dixon was killed...that's between you and your conscience'.

 

He moved round to Clunch Parsons. 'Clunch here as also been less than honest in the last couple of days, but I think we have reached an understanding that 'Parsons and Worthington-Purveyors of Fine Tinctures' has now been closed down for good. Clunch lowered his head shamefaced, and nodded agreement. On hearing his family name, John Worthington perked up. 'What's all this about? Tinctures ? Yew daft buggers aren't still messing around with that stuff are you ? I'll crown that Brian when I get hold of him'.

Farcett looked over to John and pursed his lips. '...and you... John Worthington. I've deliberately left you until last. I have it on good authority that you were the last man to see Reg Dixon alive'. Farcett then remembered that he had been given that information by Trent and he qualified it by adding 'My enquiries have led me to discover that you were, in all probability, the last person to see Reg Dixon alive. 'What happened John ? What made you snap ? Did Dixon tell you something you didn't want to hear ?' Was it worth killing him for ?' Farcett circled Worthington while he fired the questions. He hoped that the pressure of an audience would draw out the truth from the dour farmer.

 

Worthington cast his eyes around the room, resting his gaze on each one for a fleeting second before speaking. ' How would you feel if you had a wife that was growing further away from you every day of your life. I met and loved that woman..' he pointed to Anne angrily...'from the first moment I set eyes on her. Then a few years ago she set about 'bettering' herself..meaning better than me. She took to studying, going out all the time to evening classes and then in the end going off on summer schools, getting up to god knows what. The last straw were when she got tangled up with Dixon. I couldn't stand it'.

At the admission of the affair, eyebrows raised around the room. It was the first time the village had heard of Anne's activities. Farcett stood protectively beside Anne Worthington and said, 'So you met him in the field on Friday morning ?' John nodded, 'Yeah. He knew the Trent was coming down to see me and he must have followed him down the drove. I'd just seen Trent off. He'd had a wasted visit as I already knew about their dirty little Thursday meetings. Dixon came staggering across the field. He looked like he'd been up all night drinking and he could hardly speak...looked bloody awful..and I gave him a piece of my mind. Anyway, he kept on and bloody on, calling me everything under the sun and in the end he started telling me about him and Anne and how he'd given her everything I hadn't...like my time. He kept saying that the greatest gift you can give someone is your time. Just kept screaming it in my face like a bloody Hari Krishna'. Farcett moved away from Anne and stood by the altar. 'And what did you do John ?' Worthington covered his face with his huge farmers hand and mumbled, 'I pushed him in the chest and he went over like a cardboard cut out...and when he laid there looking up at me in that pathetic way, still bloody going on about 'time', I kicked him...good and hard in the guts. The bastard..I just wanted him to shut up. I gave him a few good uns and left him there in the muck, where he deserved to be. I should have chucked the bastard in the drain to drown'

 

During Worthington's admission, his wife had sat staring at him.Unable to believe his hatred. She leapt from her pew and rushed towards him, grabbing the candlestick from the altar as she passed. John saw her approach and jumped from his chair with a look of horror. He dashed through the chairs and pews and nipped behind a heavy velvet curtain in the corner of the chapel. Yaxley grabbed Anne's arm and prevented her from giving chase. 'Let him go...we'll get him'.

 

Clunch looked across to Yaxley and said, 'I think you'd better go after him now. That's the corridor that leads to the Tower. God knows what he'll do in this state'.

Yaxley Farcett ran, skidded across the tiled floor of the Peace Chapel in pursuit of John Worthington. He reached the bottom of the stairwell, and although still afternoon, found it difficult to see in the dimness. He could hear Worthington ahead of him and they both made their way up the three hundred and twenty seven steps of the Great East Tower of Ealham Cathedral. Eventually, Yaxley crashed through the door at the top of the stairs and looked round to get his bearings. The roof was topped with a lead covering and around the castellations were eight ancient and frightening gargoyles, which were probably as old as the cathedral itself.

 

The wind howled and Yaxley could barely make out what Worthington was shouting at him... Yaxley moved closer and his smooth soles slid on the lead as he slithered over the roof towards Worthington. 'I told you didn't I Farcett ! Remember ! I'd sooner kill myself than Dixon !' He moved closer to the wall. 'She wants time...she'll get bloody time...all the bloody time in the world for the rest of her bloody life'. He leaned against one of the gargoyles and made to lift his leg up onto the low wall.

 

Yaxley took a leap forward but he slipped on the lead and fell. Worthington, with a face that registered equal measures of fear and hatred shifted his weight against the wall and the crumbling gargoyle finally disintegrated and began to fall outwards taking Worthington with it. As Yaxley looked up from his horizontal position he saw John Worthington's legs disappear over the wall on their journey of a hundred and fifty feet to the pavement at the base of The Great East Tower................