Bye, Bye, Lully, Lullay - Paganpunk2 (2024)

Chapter 1: A Bish and A Wish

Chapter Text

“Hmm...” Father Cleary paced the stage that had been erected at one end of Kembleford’s green, his lips moving as if the length and number of his strides meant something to him. “It’s smaller than I imagined it would be.”

Was a comment like that, Sid thought bitterly, what had driven Cleary into a life of celibacy? He certainly hadn’t joined the priesthood to spread joy and light.

“And shorter, too.” Cleary peered across the grass, his slightly jaundiced visage twisting with dissatisfaction. “I’m not convinced that the people nearest the booths will be able to see.”

On Sid’s left, Father Brown shifted his feet and spoke. “They’d be too far away to make out the details even if the stage was higher, I think. And some people will be more interested in the booths than in the shows.”

“Well, their choice of focus will be limited during the plays, since the booths are required by law to be shuttered.”

“Ah...” This rejoinder came from Sid’s right, where his boyfriend standing. “No? Standard permits like the one you have allow sales to occur for the full duration of the event.”

Cleary’s eyes narrowed even further as he glared down at Sullivan. The overcast early morning light made it look as if there might not be anything behind the drawn-down lids. It was a wince-inducing effect, though having no eyes wouldat least have explained why the visiting priest couldn’t see how little he was liked by the trio before him. “I specifically asked for a permit with sales limitations!”

“Yes, and you have one.” Sullivan’s voice was steady, but Sid could hear the tension winding up underneath it. Five minutes. They’d only arrived from one of Mrs. McCarthy’s simple but filling pre-event breakfasts five minutes ago, and Cleary had already driven all three of them to the edge of civility. “Sales have to end at eight tonight, when the event officially closes. No one can vend fireworks, and only licensed establishments can vend alcohol. You can’t get a more limited event permit without banning sales altogether.”

“That is not what we wanted! People must have distractions taken away during the plays, so that they are forced to absorb our message!”

The Father frowned. “I haven’t found force to be a very successful method for bringing people to God.”

“Yes, well, His Grace doesn’t seem to think your other methods are terribly useful, either. Besides, some people must be forced, or they will never atone.”

Sid waited for Cleary’s gaze to fall on him after that remark. It didn’t, though, and for a moment the man on the stage seemed lost in his thoughts. Good. As scary as it was to not know what kind of scheme he was cooking up or which puzzle pieces he was putting together, at least that grating voice had stopped.

Sullivan was the one who broke the brief silence. “You do have the right to impose your own restrictions on sales hours and products, if you want. But if you make a change like that day-of you'll have to give back the booth fee you charged to any vendor who decides they don’t want to sell under your new rules.”

“The law says that?”

“It’s what a magistrate would tell you, if it came before them. They’d say the rule change annulled the original contract.”

A violently disapproving sniff sounded. “We’ve made little enough profit from the booth fees. We won’t be handing any more of it out than is absolutely necessary.”

He wasn’t bluffing; he hadn’t even wanted the parishes to pitch in for the materials to build the stage, or the labor, either. Fortunately, the event being in Kembleford meant that Mrs. M. had hold of the purse. The stage’s wood had been accepted as part of the lumbermill owner’s tithe, and she made sure that Sid had sufficient nails for the job. “Take this, too” she’d urged, handing him more money than he needed for his supplies. “Your usual rate. I would give you extra to make up for having to work to that man’s order, but it would look strange in the ledger.”

And Father Cleary was sure to ask for a copy of that for his own records, since the mystery plays were a joint effort. Every penny had to be in place, or Mrs. M. would hear about it. “...Another cheesecake would do just as well, if you’ve got time.”

She gave him a rare near-smirk, as if she’d expected that to be his answer. She probably had expected it, since he’d been going on about his craving for cheesecake ever since Cleary had been denied access to the she'd made a month before. Revenge was, in Sid’s opinion, a dish best served cold, firm, and smothered in blueberry sauce. “If you come to dinner tonight, there will be one waiting for you.”

Cleary was going on. “Let it be a test, then. I’m sure none of my flock will spurn a sacred show so they can shop, but seeing who amongst yours does so, Father Brown, will tell you which souls are most in need of guidance.” His attention returned to the boards beneath his feet. “Though I don’t know how anyone is meant to realize that the plays are the purpose of the day when they will have to be presented on so small a stage.”

Father Brown let out a sigh. “The stage was made to your measurements, Father Cleary. I handed your note to Sid personally.”

“Impossible. This is not what I ordered.” Now, finally, Cleary looked at Sid. “Why didn’t you make this stage the size I said?”

He couldn’t take it anymore. He’d kept his mouth shut all through Cleary’s haranguing because the technique had kept the prick mostly off his back every time they’d met over the past month and because he didn’t want to cause trouble for the Father. But this was too much, especially after all Cleary's other indicators of ingratitude. Sid reached into his pocket, then held out a much-folded and slightly sweat-stained piece of paper. “Here.”

Cleary bent to take it, pinching the corner between two fingers held rigid with disgust. His nose wrinkled. “What is it?”

“Your numbers. If you’re so sure I didn’t make the stage like you wanted it, measure it yourself.”

As he walked away, Sid heard Cleary call after him in a splutter. “If you are more than an inch misled in any dimension, the Church will want compensation!”

“Gladly!” Sid snapped over his shoulder. The dimensions weren’t off by so much as half an inch – he’d measured about a hundred times at each step specifically to avoid that – but if Cleary demanded the money back anyway, he could have it. Sid would be happy to let Mrs. M. make up the difference in cheesecakeand savor his triumph while he ate it.

Bishop Talbot, never one to spend more time in Kembleford than was strictly required, arrived at the church a bare fifteen minutes before he was scheduled to give the Corpus Christi Mass. A light drizzle had started as Sid drove Lady F. down from the House, and Talbot hustled from his car to intercept them halfway up the walk. “Lady Felicia! Delighted to see you. Here, I’ll take this...”

In a second his hand had claimed the umbrella Sid was holding over her, and he’d neatly hipped him past the edges of its protective dome. Lady F. sent an apologetic glance over her shoulder. Sid shrugged back and retreated to the Rolls. What could she do, really? Sure, she was a countess, but Talbot was a bishop, and the one set over Father Brown, at that. Someone in their group had to stay in his good graces, and she was the best candidate for it, hands down.

The rain stopped just as the steamy warmth of the car was threatening to send Sid into dreamland. It was good timing, as the church door opened not a minute later and released the first parishioners. Stifling a yawn, he climbed out and went in search of his employer.

Two doors were used on major holidays, when St. Mary’s saw bigger crowds than at normal Masses. The Montague pew was located on the far side of the nave, so Sid circled around to the exit nearer Lady Felicia’s seat. She wasn’t outside yet, and neither were Mrs. M. or the Father. He leaned against a dry stripe of stone under one of the protruding roof drains, lit a cigarette, and waited.

Ian Travis appeareda few puffs in. He stopped just after the door and let his eyes skate over the little groups that were scattered across the lawn. He paused when he found Sid, but he made no move to come over for a chat. Funny; he’d had plenty to say the last time he’d been in the village. Maybe it was because Sullivan was already at the green, and Sid was alone. Then again, wouldn’t it make more sense to approach him now, when he could flirt and try to get a response without any policemen as witnesses?

Before Sidcould decide, someone else exited the building. The flow of worshippers had slowed to a trickle, but this figure would have stood out even if he’d emerged in a crush. It took Sid a moment to remember that the tall man’s name was Sam. By the time he did, Ian Travis had taken his farmhand’s elbow and was leading him around the corner toward the back of the church.

...Well, what the hell was that all about? First Travis had run to intervene when he saw Cleary talking to Sam at the cricket match, and now the two of them were sneaking around like they had secrets to share with each other. Just like a couple of spies...

He sauntered after them with as unhurried a look as he could manage. There were still a dozen-odd people standing around, a few of whom looked like Hartwell folk, and he didn’t want his cover blown by rushing. The church door had to be considered, too; if Talbot or Cleary stepped out and saw him striding off somewhere, it might cause uncomfortable questions later. So he walked along easily, still smoking, until he could snug his shoulder blades against the wall just shy of its end.

He didn’t dare peek, but he could hear them clearly enough to tell that they hadn’t moved far out of sight before stopping to talk. Travis’ voice went first. “Are you ready to go? You have everything you need?”

“I do.” Sam’s answer was breathy but firm. Higher-pitched, too, than Sid would have expected from a man with so much height to him. But maybe that was just youth. He didn’t look to be more than twenty or so, and Sid could recall his own voice still having a little way to fall when he was that age.

“And you’re sure you want to do this?”

“It’s the only way.” A beat passed. “Are you sure? You have more to lose than I do, if you’re caught.”

“We have the same amount to lose, Sam, when it comes to what matters.” A long breath was blown out. “You remember how to get there?”

“Yes. You showed me the path from the green on that map, and I saw the way to it between the houses when we drove in this morning.”

“Good. Good. And when are you to go?”

“During the first play.” Feet shuffled. “Ian, we’ve been over this a dozen times. I’m not a child. I know when and what to do.”

“...Oh, hell. Yes, of course you do. I’m sorry, I’m just worried.”

“Me, too, but it’ll be fine. It has to be.”

“I wish I had your confidence. Something feels off about today. Maybe we should postpone-”

“No! We agreed, there’s no better time! It has to be today, I can’t take it anymore! I have to get out of here!”

“All right! All right. Today. Just...for God’s sake, Sam, be careful.”

“You know I will be.”

Sid strolled away before the conversation could end with him too close to hand. So Sam the oversized farmhand was planning to sneak away during the first of the day’s two play cycles. But why? It was a free country; he could leave Hartwell, or rather, Kembleford, any time he wanted. Even if he was in a work contract, Ian Travis clearly didn’t mind his going. What was all the secrecy for?

A crime. Sam must have done something that he was afraid of being arrested over. It couldn’t have been anything too major, because juicy felonies were talked about in the village even when they’d occurred in neighboring jurisdictions and Sid hadn’t heard anything from Hartwell of late. Something petty, then. Maybe Hartwell’s constabulary was threatening to sniff Sam out and give him a little holiday behind bars. Sid knew the fear that haunted a person when they were suspected of something that they’d actually done. He’d run his first time, too. It hadn’t done any good, but he’d tried.

Well, Ian Travis would lose his farmhand, but so long as Sid was the only person who’d overheard their plans he might not lose anything more than that. Sullivan would be ticked if he ever found out that Sid had kept quiet while a probable thief or counterfeiter or something ran off, but that wasn’t today’s concern. And even if he was annoyed, would he really be surprised?

No, and neither would any member of the quintet that spilled out onto the lawn as Sid drew near to the door once more. Even Talbot and Cleary would expect nothing ‘better’ of him in such a situation. In fact, the bishop already looked dismayed by Sid’s approach. “Must you smoke here?”

“Outside, ain’t I? But...” The fa*g was nearly done, so he sucked the last life from it, put it out, and palmed the end. “I’ll stop.”

“For today only, I’m sure,” sneered Cleary. “Especially since you couldn’t even be bothered to attend His Grace’s service. I am surprised, Lady Felicia, that you employ such an irreverent person.”

“Lady Felicia,” Talbot inserted, “like Father Brown, enjoys her...projects. Although considering how long you’ve been working on this particular one, your Ladyship, it seems that your time might be more efficaciously directed elsewhere.”

The unspoken plea for self-restraint in Father Brown’s gaze, plus the angry flush and clamped-down lips of Mrs. M., helped Sid hold his tongue until Lady F. could step in. She did so literally, moving to Sid’s side and taking his arm. “I appreciate your concern, of course. But Sid is the finest chauffeur I’ve ever had, whether he comes in for Mass or not. I think I’ll keep him.

“And,” she went on as Talbot opened his mouth, “since there are bound to be puddles between here and the green, I think I’ll have him drive me there. Perhaps that’s slothful, but these are new shoes, and I’m sure it would be sinful to waste them. Will you join us, Mrs. McCarthy? You’ve had almost no rest these past few days, getting everything ready. You’ve more than earned a little reprieve for your feet.”

“That is very kind of you, Lady Felicia. I would like a ride, thank you.” Then, holding her head high, she nudged her way between Cleary and Talbot and took Sid’s other arm.

Lady F. gave the three clerics a sympathetic smile. Father Brown, who was slightly behind the other two, was the only one who returned it, though his expression was one of relief rather than regret. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, that there isn’t quite enough room for all of you to come with us. We’ll just have to look forward to seeing you later.” A beat passed. “Sid? Is the car where it was last?”

He had, he realized as she squeezed his elbow discreetly, missed his cue to lead them away. Cleary had distracted him by being distracted himself. Although Sid couldn’t turn to look, he was sure that the priest’s stare had slipped over Lady F.’s shoulder to focus on something beyond her. It had only been a few minutes since Ian Travis and Sam had been speaking behind the church; had they reappeared together just now, and right in Cleary’s line of sight?

“Yeah! Er...yes, your Ladyship. Right this way. Watch your step, Mrs. M., bit of mud came down through the drain in front of you there...”

“I only pray,” the parish secretary murmured when they were out of earshot, “that we can maintain a similarly sufficient distance from our visitors for the rest of the day. I have no idea what will come out of my mouth otherwise, but I am sure the penance will be heavy.”

“The nerve of them,” added Lady Felicia, “ganging up like that! Not that I expected anything different, but still. I hope Father Brown forgives me for abandoning him with them.” She squeezed Sid’s elbow again, playfully this time. “What do you hope for today, Sid? Mrs. McCarthy and I have had our turns.”

The first thing that leapt to his mind was a plea that Cleary hadn’t seen Ian Travis and Sam leaving their private conference. Sid didn’t know what the situation was between the two of them and their priest, but Cleary knowing they’d been having a secret chat couldn’t be good. Especially not now, when Talbot’s presence had the man practically rabid. “...Twin lightning bolts’d be nice.”

Lady F. chuckled. “I think that’s a singeing Father Brown would be happy to endure, if it meant there was suddenly no one on either side of him.”

“The grass would grow back eventually,” allowed Mrs. M.

“Better yet, we’ll leave the spots black and try to have them proclaimed the site of a miracle. The Revelation of the Cassocked Hypocrites.”

Sid couldn’t help but grin. “Would standing in the middle and bein’ untouched be enough to get the Father a sainthood?”

The parish secretary shook her head. “He would need at least one more miracle.”

“He’s got all his cases he solves when no one else can. Don’t they count?”

“I think we would have a hard time convincing the Holy See of that.”

“Well, let’s not worry about it just yet.” They’d reached the car, and as she released Sid’s arm Lady Felicia glanced back towards the church. Father Brown had just come around the corner, with Cleary and Talbot in deep discussion behind him. “After all, we’re still waiting on the lightning.”

Chapter 2: Lightning Strikes

Chapter Text

Mrs. M.’s prayer for a bane against Cleary and Talbot went unanswered. No sooner had she, Lady F., and Sid staked out a spot on one end of the stage than that unwanted pair arrived and started towards them.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” sighed Lady Felicia. “You’d think they’d want to stand as far away from us as possible, given how much of a reprobate they think Sid is and how obvious you make your dislike, Mrs. McCarthy.”

“Me? This from the woman who refused a seat in her car to a bishop?”

“Well, if I’d known you preferred to have him come with us, I would have invited him.”

Sid eyed the distance between them and the fast-approaching annoyances. “Nah, Lady F.,” he said quickly. “I’d never have gotten all the blood out’ve the upholstery. Never mind having to hide the body.”

“Hmpf! As if I would murder a bishop, even our own!”

“Well, not if he kept his mouth closed. Anyway, Sid’s right, the stains would never come out.” The wide smile that Lady F. always put on when she needed to look sincere but wasn’t feeling it spread suddenly across her lips. “Oh, how lovely! You both made it with plenty of time.” Her brow knit. “But where’s Father Brown?”

“He stopped to talk to someone,” answered Talbot. One hand gave a small wave, as if Father Brown’s absence was unremarkable. “Your Inspector, I think.”

Cleary scowled. “It was the Inspector, Your Grace. The one who didn’t give us a permit that shut down all sales during the plays so that people would pay attention.”

Sid could absorb insults against his own character, but he wasn’t going to stand silent while his absent boyfriend was abused. “He told you this morning, that kind of permit doesn’t even exist!”

“He should have told us sooner! We can make our own rules,” he informed Talbot, “but making them today might cause us to have to refund some of the booth fees.”

“I see. Well, it would have been ideal to stop sales during the performances, but as things stand the fees are of greater importance. Though he really should have told you sooner if he couldn’t fulfill a specific request.”

“And I was very specific.”

“You might find it helpful in the future, Father Cleary,” put in Mrs. M. through pursed lips, “to read the permit ahead of time. I know I always take care to do so when I pick them up for our events throughout the year.”

Talbot’s eyebrows rose. “But you didn’t read it this time, Mrs. McCarthy?”

“I was not the one who arranged it, so I left it in its envelope after I picked it up. These joint parish events make it difficult to know where the line of privacy lies, and I would never stick my nose into Hartwell’s business unless I was invited to do so.”

Blushing, Sid noted with interest, gave Cleary’s yellowish complexion an orange tinge. The visiting priest caught his amused glance and turned even more apricot in response. “I maintain that Mrs. McCarthy’s...assistance...shouldn’t have been necessary. The Inspector should have told me that what I asked him for wasn’t something he could strictly provide. Just as you,” he aimed at Sid, “should have told me that the stage was not going to be the proper size!”

Hearing this, Talbot looked concerned for the first time since his arrival. “It’s not the proper size?” He turned to take it in. “...It does look smaller than I imagined.”

“Thank you, Your Grace, I thought the same when I saw it for the first time this morning.”

“Yeah, he should thank you, since it was made to your measurements.” Talbot had gone still and appeared to be listening, so Sid went on. “You said you wanted it to be a certain size. I built what you asked for.” He leaned in towards Cleary, who he wagered wouldn’t dare to tell an outright and provable lie in front of his boss. “Didn’t I?”

Cleary gave an annoyed sniff. “...Yes. The stage’s dimensions are within an inch of all the numbers I provided you. However,” he continued sharply when Sid straightened, satisfied, “you, like the Inspector, should have said something when you realized that what you could provide me did not meet my needs.”

Mrs. McCarthy’s hmpf drew the attention of several people nearby. The crowd around the stage had grown while they’d been talking, though neither Father Brown nor Sullivan were in sight. “Really, Father Cleary, how was Sidney to know that additional space would be wanted?”

Emboldened, Sid crossed his arms. “Yeah! How am I s’posed to know how much space a bleedin’ mystery play takes?”

“Perhaps,” Cleary hissed, “by attending them more frequently. Doing so might also teach you to keep a civil tongue in front of men as holy as His Grace.”

Before Sid could get started on what he thought of Talbot’s supposed holiness, one of Lady Felicia’s new shoes trod on his foot. “Ow!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sid. I suppose these shoes were a silly choice for uneven ground. Would you go and see if I have a pair with a lower heel in the car?”

She didn’t need different shoes. Lady F. had worn higher heels on rougher ground plenty of times without missing a step, and Sid knew it. She was trying to save him, to give him an out before he lost his temper. He could only manage to be half-grateful for the self-inflicted ding to her dignity. Cleary had had a dressing-down coming for ages, and to give it to him here, now, in front of Talbot, was almost as good as a well-aimed lightning strike would have been. “Yeah, course, your Ladyship.”

“Mightn’t it be better advised,” Talbot inserted, “to have him look after the play is over? I believe the first one is about to begin, and as Father Cleary pointed out, it certainly won’t hurt him any.”

The countess' eyes went wide at this unexpected rebuttal. She recovered immediately, though, and batted her lashes. “Naturally, I don’t want him to miss the play, but I don’t want to interrupt it for everyone if I shift wrong and twist my ankle, either.”

“He can always attend the afternoon cycle,” said Mrs. M.

Cleary smiled tightly. “You’ll make sure of that, will you, Mrs. McCarthy? For the good of his obviously black soul?”

“We both will,” Lady F. volunteered as the parish secretary imitated the priest’s expression. “I’d planned to stay through the second set of performances anyway, so he’ll still be here, too.” She glanced at Sid, who hadn’t yet moved to follow her order. “Go on, Sid. Check thoroughly, please.”

In other words, don’t come back until the mystery plays had both had their first presentation of the day. He hated to leave the ladies with Cleary and Talbot for that long, but he’d better go, go and not come back before both his and Cleary’s tempers had calmed.

Damn it, why couldn’t that prick have kept his mouth shut? Barring that, why couldn’t he have stayed quiet, himself? Sid grimaced at his loss of control. If he’d said nothing – if he’d just channeled the Father and let the comments roll off his back, or only answered back mildly when they were especially rude – he’d be able to stay and lend silent moral support. Fat lot of good that would do to put Cleary in his place, but at least he’d still be the priest’s target. Now he might well turn on the others.

Well, maybe the Father and Sullivan would find them in the few minutes left before the show began. And once the show did start, Cleary wouldn’t dare make a peep. As soon as it was over, Sid could come back. It would be fine. All he had to do was wait, and stay out of trouble.

The one perk of being sent away was that he’d parked the Rolls just up the street from the path Sam would most likely take when he made his escape towards the cricket field. Sid had no intention of trying to interact with him, but it would be nice to see him safely on his way. Like a guardian angel of sorts, he smirked as he settled onto the running board and lit a fresh cigarette. Cleary’d go apoplectic if he heard that. He’d have to figure out a way to work it into their next conversation without giving anything away.

The church bells rang noon. Distant music rose as soon as they’d quietened and was followed by applause. The first cycle had begun.

“Right on time,” Sid sighed to no one. He really had to do better this afternoon, if Cleary and Talbot were still around. The shows they’d put all this effort into for the last month were religious, but they were still shows, and different than any he’d seen before. He’d like to be able to go to the second performance.

It would help if Sullivan was able to watch with him. Even if Cleary was there and awful, he’d be able to keep calm if he had his boyfriend’s presence to remind him of what backtalk put at risk. Yeah, that’d work for sure. After all, it had before. He’d figure out a way to make sure Sullivan was close during the later show, and then it wouldn’t be half as impossible to be good.

Just as he came to this decision, there was a flash of movement in the corner of his vision. At first Sid wasn’t sure it was Sam. Then he realized that the man towered a little less than usual because he was stooping protectively over the small knapsack clutched close to his chest. A narrowed glance was sent in both directions down the road. Then, seemingly having not noticed Sid sitting behind the Rolls’ front wheel fender, Sam trotted across the driving surface and vanished between two houses.

A little – well, not so little, really – birdie flown the coop successfully. Sid raised his cigarette to the spot where he’d disappeared. “Good luck, mate.” Maybe he’d get lucky and find someplace where he could settle down a bit. Sid hadn’t technically been running from the law when he’d stumbled into Kembleford, but that didn’t mean Sam deserved any less happy an ending. Might be he’d even come upon some giantess of a milkmaid or shop girl, fall in love, and have a few gargantuan babies. Whatever made him happy, so long as his crimes didn’t hurt anyone.

His smoke burned down to nothing while a strong sun erased all traces of the morning’s rain. This side of the car was shaded, but he was still starting to sweat. He stood up and tossed his hat onto the seat, then reached for the top button of his jacket. No doubt he’d be inviting fresh remarks from Father Cleary when he went back to the green with his uniform half undone, but being cooler physically might help Sid keep his emotions from boiling over.

He’d only opened one closure when applause rose from the out-of-sight crowd again. End of the first play, and on to the second. Another twenty minutes or so, and he could go back. As soon as he found the others, it would be time for a drink. No booze allowed when he had to drive, as Lady F. had reminded him when he’d picked her up, but Mrs. Fermin had her lemonade stand up. That’d do to quench his thirst. And hopefully Cleary would stay miles away from it, since he was sour enough without adding any lemons.

A smirk was still dancing around his lips at this thought when a dark-clad figure caught his eye. It moved toward him up the sidewalk, walking upright and fast, full of intent. “Ah, Christ,” Sid muttered. Had the priest’s ears been burning or something, to send him storming this way in the middle of the show?

No; no, that wasn’t Cleary approaching, but Ian Travis. He’d put on a deep blue jacket at some point since the church, and there was a duffel bag slung to ride across his back, but the moustache was unmistakable.

His watchful stare landed on the Rolls, then on Sid. A single step went wrong, but Travis caught himself and kept coming. As he turned off the sidewalk and prepared to cross the street exactly where Sam had, he raised a finger to his lips. Sid nodded back, sent him a baffled thumbs up, and watched him slip out of sight, too.

The running board welcomed him back, though he sat much more heavily than he had last time. Travis, it seemed, was running off just like his farmhand was. But why? Could he be complicit in whatever Sam had done? Covering for him, even helping him escape, wouldn’t carry a heavy enough penalty to be worth leaving a successful farm for. Not for a petty crime.

What if it wasn’t a petty crime, after all? The sweat on his skin was suddenly icy. What if they had done something awful, a murder or the like, and it just hadn’t been discovered yet? It wasn’t impossible, though the Hartwell cricketer hadn’t struck him as the killing sort. Oh, God, he had to go, had to find Sullivan, right now, before they managed to hop a train or get on a bus-

Another person bolted across the street, looking neither left nor right, dead set on the gap that had already absorbed Sam and Ian Travis. Sid’s jaw dropped. He wouldn’t have given Cleary credit for so much speed, even in the pursuit of sinners. But if he was following them, then he must know something. He wouldn’t have made an excuse to Talbot, let alone walked away without explanation in the middle of the show, just to follow a man he didn’t suspect of any serious wrongdoing.

If he knew about the crime and saw Travis leaving, though, why not tell the police immediately? He’d seen Sullivan around, and there were supposed to be several constables on duty in the crowd, too. It didn’t add up.

And if Sam was a killer, or Travis, and Cleary confronted them out in the woods, or at the empty clubhouse... Yeah, Sid had joked about lightning strikes with Mrs. M. and Lady F., but he didn’t want the man to be murdered. Someone had to follow them, and fast.

So much, he thought as he stood up and ran across the street in Cleary’s wake, for staying out of trouble...

“You will not run from your due penance!”

Sid had an advantage over the Hartwell men in that he was familiar with the path they were all flying along. He didn’t dare run full-out, partially because the trail was muddy once it entered the trees between the village and the cricket field and partially because he didn’t want to come around a corner and find himself in the middle of a murder in progress, but he caught up quickly anyway. Hearing Cleary’s declaration beyond the next bend, he halted to listen.

“Father Cleary...” Ian Travis sounded equal parts worried and exasperated. “You’re welcome to think whatever you want about us. Damn us to hell all you like. Pray for us to burn. I don’t care what you think, what you pray for, anymore. I consider myself a good person, and Sam, too. We both do what we’re supposed to do; we go to church, we do our work, we try to listen to you. We tried to listen to you, to do what you told us. But we couldn’t, and now you’re holding our failure – no, our truth , I don’t consider it a failure – over our heads like the sword of Damocles.”

“And we’re done with it!” Sam, now, his voice higher than earlier, shrill with upset. “It’s not living, being at your beck and call, always looking over our shoulders. It’s not right!”

“You owe recompense to God!”

“Maybe so,” answered Travis, “but it’s only your place to assign what we owe, not to drive us like chattel, adding on more and more, until we drop.”

“And half of it’s not even to do with God! Spying on people, giving you the best stuff off the farm so you can impress the bishop at dinners...that’s not penance! It’s blackmail!”

It sure as hell stank of blackmail to Sid. And he didn’t know what the sword of Damocles was, but it didn’t sound good, either.

“It is all to do with God, Samuel! Rooting out other sinners so that they, too, can work towards their salvation; ensuring that the emissaries of Christ can nourish their physical bodies in the rare moments when we pull our attention down from Heaven to attend to such mundane things; these are worthy acts!”

Travis laughed darkly. “I think Talbot finds enough earthly nourishment on his own without you raiding my farm on his behalf.”

Sid stifled a snicker, but too late. All sound further down the path ceased. “...Did you hear that?” Sam breathed.

“I don't think it’s anything to worry about, Sam.”

“No?” Cleary sounded more concerned that someone might overhear them than either of the supposed criminals did. The brush was just thin enough to let Sid see the priest’s shadow move as he bent to peer through the greenery. If he’d ever been more grateful that the Montague livery was green, he couldn’t remember the circ*mstance. “I’m sure there’s someone listening...”

“There isn’t. We’re alone.”

“Hmm...perhaps.” The limb Cleary had pushed down bounced back into place, and Sid allowed himself to breathe again. “So, you accuse me of blackmail? And you’re willing to run away, to turn your face from God and spurn your earthly comforts, too, just to defy me?”

“To be together, you bloody fool! All the earthly comfort we need is to be together!” Sam’s voice had been spiraling higher and higher, and it broke on that final word. “It doesn’t hurt you at all, so why can’t you just let us go?!”

...Oh. So it was like that. They hadn’t murdered anyone. They hadn’t stolen. They hadn’t even damaged anything, except Cleary’s ego. All they’d done was dared to be two men in love, one parish too far over.

“I’ll let you go. But I won’t make it easy.”

“What?” Travis scoffed. “You don’t seem to understand, Cleary. We aren’t under your control anymore. We’re leaving. We’re gone. It’s done. Give up on us.”

“I have. But the law will not, once they’ve been informed about your private activities.”

The rapid, urgent tic-tic-tic call of a robin sounded somewhere to Sid’s left. When it ended, he had to strain his ears to hear Travis’ whisper. “...You only found out about us because we confessed our love to you. You can’t say a word against us.”

“I can say enough. And I am sure His Grace would understand if your actions forced me to break the seal of the confessional.”

“No. No, you can’t do that.”

“I will do that. And there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

“We came to you for help.” Travis’ words were more disbelieving than angry. “...We came to you, on our knees, because we didn’t know what to do with ourselves. Because we feared for our souls but couldn’t resist each other’s temptations. And you would do this? I thought you were just being heavy-handed, overzealous, but this...this is a death sentence, or as good as. And you know it. You know you’re destroying us if you turn us in and we’re caught.”

“If it brings you to God in the end, it is worth the earthly sacrifice.”

“Sam’s hardly more than a boy!”

“He was man enough to do what he did with you.”

“He-! No. No.” A wet thunk suggested that Ian Travis had fallen to his knees. “Father Cleary, please. Let Sam go. I’ll...I’ll stay. I’ll serve.”

“No!” Up to now everything had been kept below the level of a loud argument, but Sam’s negation came out in a full shout. “I won’t leave you!”

“Sam, please! It’s my fault, I’m older, I-”

“Ian, I won’t do it!”

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” Cleary’s tone was all twisted triumph. “I’ll see you both make your amends, one way or another.”

“...We’re not going back. Ian, get up. We’re not...we’re going. We’re leaving.”

“Sam-”

“No! He can’t win like this. We’ll run. We’ll hide. I don’t care what else happens, but I’d rather die than live without you, or under his thumb!”

“Sam, listen-”

The priest cut him off. “He’s obviously made his decision. For both of you. Although it is a shame. Your poor wife. At least she is free of sin in all this mess.”

“Father Cleary-”

“I will be praying for you, Ian. And for you, Sam.”

It suddenly occurred to Sid that Cleary was about to round the bend and catch him eavesdropping. Before he could do more than begin to backpedal – maybe he could hide in the bushes, his uniform had hidden him a few minutes ago, so it might do again – an odd sound, more metallic than melodious, cut through the stunned quiet. Then-

“Sam, no!”

Shcrunch.

Something heavy hit the earth just outside of Sid’s clear view. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see it; he knew what it was. If Cleary had still been able to walk, he would have been right in front of him now, drawing in an outraged breath, preparing to launch a fresh crusade or perhaps try to entangle Sid deeper into this one. Instead there was nothing, no apricot expression, no scheming gaze, not even a sound, except for Sam’s watery gasp behind the greenery.

“I didn’t mean it, Ian. Oh...oh, God, I didn’t...I’ve killed him...but he...I...we-!”

“Hush.” Sam’s sobs grew muffled, as if his face was now buried in his lover’s shoulder. “...Hush.” Travis spoke slowly, though whether because he was as much in shock as Sid was or because he was trying to puzzle things out, Sid couldn’t tell. “It...it isn’t the end.”

“They’ll hang me!”

“They’ll never find us. We can still vanish.”

“How?!”

“I’ll manage it. I promise you that. And even if they do catch us later, Sam, I want you to remember something. Remember one thing. No; two things, Sam.”

“Wh-what?”

“First; this was self-defense. Do you understand? Self-defense. And second; I love you.” A pause then, perhaps for a kiss. “...Do you believe me?”

“Y-yes.”

“On both counts?”

“Yes, Ian.”

“Then go to the clubhouse.”

“But-!”

“Go, Sam! Go, and wait for me there. Just like the original plan. Why you stopped here, I don’t know. No, don’t tell me, there will be time later. Just go. Take my bag, and put...that...back in it, and go.”

“You’ll be all right?”

“So long as you follow the plan, yes. I’ll be fine.” Another beat passed. “...Go.”

Hurried rustling suggested that Sam was obeying. Sid took the covering noise as his cue, too, and fled.

Chapter 3: Morals and Ethics

Chapter Text

It didn’t seem possible that the final round of applause for the plays was just dying out when he came in view of the Rolls again. Ten minutes, or a quarter hour at the most, and yet so much had changed...

Sullivan. He needed to find Sullivan. No one else, not even the Father, would immediately understand all the emotions that were taking turns coursing through him. Later, of course, he would have to try and explain his feelings to the priest, because he was sure the dominant one shouldn’t be this giddy, disbelieving relief. But for the moment it was his boyfriend he wanted most, even if the news that there were fugitives they had to help get away wasn't likely to make his day.

The crowd around the stage had dispersed by the time he got back to the green. Women were spreading out picnic blankets, sending their menfolk off to fetch lemonade or something a bit stronger from the booths, chatting as their little ones tumbled on the grass by their feet. Older children scampered between the family plots, whooping and laughing with innocent joy. The whole thing was like a painting Lady F. had lingered in front of one time at a gallery in London. ‘Idyllic,’ she’d called it. The perfect summer afternoon in the country.

No summer afternoon in Kembleford was complete without a body, however, and Sid felt panic growing the longer he remained the only person on the green with knowledge of that final piece. He gave a numb smile and a brief hello to most everyone he passed, but none of them were the person he wanted to find. Where was he?

There! It wasn’t Sullivan, but Sergeant Goodfellow could at least point him in the right direction. When asked, though, Goodfellow shook his head. “Sorry, Mr. Carter. I haven’t seen him since the show ended. He might be around, or he might have gone back to the station. I think he said earlier that he had a couple of calls to make.”

The station. Halfway across the village, and who knew if that was even where he was. “Well, what about the Father? Seen him?” He didn’t want to tell the Father first, because the police were going to have to be involved sooner or later and it would all be easier if Sullivan knew everything from the beginning, but he couldn’t maintain his façade for much longer.

It must have already been cracking, because Goodfellow was studying him. “Is something wrong, Mr. Carter?”

For the space of a heartbeat, Sid was tempted. Goodfellow’s name suited him, and if he knew the whole story he would surely agree that Cleary’s death had been a form of self-defense. But this was neither the time nor the place for the whole story, and Sid couldn’t be sure that his word would be enough to convince the Sergeant to stray from police procedures. And if it was enough, he’d hate to risk getting such a decent copper in trouble without at least giving him all the information he needed to make his own decision. “No. Just looking for one or the other.”

Suspicion knit Goodfellow’s brow, but he didn’t push. “All right. I’ll tell them you’re looking for them if I see them.”

Sid drifted through the crowd with his head held stiffly high, searching. No Sullivan, and no Father Brown. Even Talbot seemed to have vanished from his precious event. Oh, sh*t; Talbot! As soon as he noticed that his lackey was nowhere to be found, he’d want a search party formed. If anyone else had seen him leave, attention would quickly focus in on the area where he’d been killed. Then, unless Ian Travis had just dragged the body into the brush and was already on his way out of town, hand-in-hand with Sam, it would be too late.

And Travis was not already on his way out of town, because there he was up ahead, in the throng around an ice cream stall. He’d shed his dark jacket, and he looked a little overheated, but no one would question that with the midsummer sun beating down. Sid began bee-lining through the crowd toward him. What was he still doing here? Why even come back to the green? The longer he was in Kembleford, the less distance he and Sam were putting between themselves and a charge of murder.

Unless, of course, that was the entire point. Once upon a time Sid’s first and only thought would have been to run from whatever crime he’d just been part of. Between five years of watching the Father solve murders and months sharing Sullivan’s bed, though, he’d learned that sometimes staying put was the smarter move. Travis had told Sam to wait at the clubhouse, out of sight, but had then come back to the green himself. He was either establishing an alibi for them both by letting himself be seen, or he was preparing to betray Sam to the police. Sid couldn’t credit the second option after hearing the way Travis had said ‘I love you,’ so it had to be the first.

“Sid!”

He turned automatically toward the sound of Lady Felicia’s voice. She slipped up beside him, not tottering a bit in the same shoes that had allegedly threatened to turn her ankle earlier. “There you are! I thought you’d be back ages ago.”

“I came straight back at the end of the play. Just didn’t see you. Sorry.” Damn it, and now he didn’t see Ian Travis, either. Had he spotted Sid coming toward him and decided it was best to go, after all? He’d trusted Sid enough to raise a finger to his lips when he’d been heading for the forest before, but that was before anyone had died. Might he have been lying when he told Sam and Cleary that he was sure there was no one standing around the bend? If so, and if he’d guessed that it had been Sid listening in, it made sense that he was in no hurry for a chat.

A hand brushed his elbow. “...Sid? What’s wrong?”

Christ, was he that obvious? First Goodfellow, and now Lady F., though to be fair she’d proven before that she could read him like a book. “I need to find Sullivan. Or the Father.”

“The Father’s at the presbytery.”

“With Talbot?”

“Yes.”

“That won’t work, we’ll never get him away without Talbot going looking for Cleary.”

“Get him away from the bishop? I’m sure he’d appreciate it, but why?” She touched his arm again, her expression growing concerned. “Sid, what’s going on?”

“Seen Sullivan?” He was going to have to try the station if she hadn’t. At least he could tell her some of what was happening along the way, and the rest when they found one of the two people best suited to aid and abet a pair of unfortunate lovers.

“No, he said he was going to- oh, actually, here he comes now, behind you.”

Had it just been the three of them, Sid would have kissed the other man in relief before spilling everything. Since they were in a crowd, he bit his tongue until he tasted blood, instead. Sullivan’s eyes flashed over his face, then narrowed. “...What?”

“Not here.” Where, though? Privacy, they needed privacy, and to be close to where it had all happened. “The car. Now.”

“I’m coming, too,” said Lady Felicia, taking Sid’s elbow once more.

“...Maybe you shouldn’t, Lady F.”

“No. You’re pale, Mrs. McCarthy is stuck at the presbytery with Bishop Talbot and the Father, and something’s obviously going on. Besides, it’s my car.”

Sid couldn’t say he was surprised by her insistence, though she’d regret it when she was led to a corpse. “Come on, then. Follow me.”

Cheers reached their ears just as Sid finished telling his tale. “...What’s that French thing?” he asked. “When something’s already happened to you before?”

“Deja vu,” the other two answered simultaneously.

“Yeah, that.” Had an hour really passed since he’d last sat on the running board that was supporting him again now and heard that same opening applause? How could it be that it had taken him four times as long to find the right person to inform about the murder as it had taken that murder to happen? He shook his head. “...f*ck. Sorry, Lady F.”

“It’s all right, darling. I’d say the language is warranted, considering what you’ve just told us. Inspector, what do you think?”

“I’d say his language isn’t strong enough.” He’d crossed his arms at some point, and he looked so sour that he might have been channeling the spirit of Father Cleary. “This is a bloody mess.”

“...I meant what do you think we should do next.”

“Yes, I know. Or rather, I know what you meant, but I’ve no idea what the answer is.”

Sid looked up at him. “You agree we’ve got to let them get away, though.” A long, terrible second passed. “Don’t you?!” Disbelief drove him to his feet. “That could’ve been us in the woods with him!”

“Sid...”

“Didn’t I say the bit about Cleary making Travis spy for him?” He gripped his boyfriend’s forearm insistently. “I was right about that!”

“Sid-”

“No, listen!” A gentle shake then, because Sullivan just had to listen, had to see this the way Sid did. “He’d have been after you and me next, and then I might have been the one who-”

“Sid!” After a quick glance around, Sullivan took the hand that was squeezing his arm and held it tight. “...Sid, I know. I...I do agree with you, morally. It’s the ethics I’m still trying to work out, that’s all.”

Sid wrinkled his nose. “Ain’t those the same thing?”

“He means that personally he agrees,” explained Lady Felicia, “but that his work position makes things difficult.”

“Exactly. Cleary would absolutely have outed them, and I can’t blame Sam for what he did in the face of that threat. But a murder, albeit one in self-defense, was just committed in my jurisdiction. That’s not something I can be seen ignoring, no matter how unpleasant everyone knows the victim was.”

“Should...should I not’ve told you, then?” Sid shook his head, confused. “I thought it would be better if you knew first, even before the Father. That it would make it easier to cover up.” Had he done it wrong, after all? Sold out Sam and Ian Travis with the best of intentions? “You’re not really gonna arrest them, are you?”

“I...I don’t know what I’m going to do. This is an impossible situation.” Sullivan stared down at the asphalt and blew out a long sigh. Then his eyes rose to Sid’s again. “I’m glad you told me first. It does help. If Father Brown had taken any steps of his own before I knew what was going on, it would have made things even more complicated.”

“Should we tell him now, then?” Lady Felicia glanced up at the tower of St. Mary’s, where the clock showed a little more than half past two. “They must have come back to the green for the second cycle. I might be able to pull him away from Talbot without an excuse being needed.”

“...No.” Sullivan dropped Sid’s hand after a final squeeze and looked towards the fateful gap between the two houses across the street. “No, let’s see the crime scene first.”

“Lady F. doesn’t need to see that!”

“I’m sure I’ve seen much worse, Sid.”

“You say that, but you didn’t hear the sound I did.” He shuddered as he remembered it. “Like when you hit a sure run, but...meatier. It’s nasty, I know it is.”

She winced, but she held firm. “Even if it’s unpleasant, I can’t help from here. And if the Inspector decides that he’s ready for the Father once we’ve found the body, I can go and get him while you two figure out the next steps.”

She was right again, just like she had been when she’d insisted on coming with them to hear the story. “Fine. Then let’s keep going.” It wasn’t far, really. On a normal day someone would have probably stumbled on the body by now. All he could hope as they started off again was that there was no longer a body to be found. Time had been funny all day, but maybe it would cooperate and give both them and the fugitives a little extra of itself to put to good use.

“...So Travis did get it moved,” said Sullivan a few minutes later.

“Must have.” Sid knew they were in the right spot; he’d never be able to walk this path again without replaying the conversation he’d heard from around this very bend. “There’s some blood there, I think. See it?”

“Yes.” Sullivan crouched and examined the dirt. “It’s not much, though. It must have been fast. Instantaneous, really, if he hit him in the head.” He frowned up at Sid. “You didn’t see what Cleary was hit with, did you?”

“No. There weren't any weapons that I saw. Just a knapsack and a duffel bag.”

Lady F. let out a low hum. “You can fit almost anything into a duffel bag.” When both men sent her curious glances, she colored. “What? It’s common sense, whether I’ve ever owned a duffel bag myself or not.”

Sid wagered not, especially since he’d loaded her luggage on more than a few occasions and had never seen anything so unstylish as a duffel in the mix. But she had a point. “There was a noise right beforehand,” he recalled as a robin – the same one as earlier, maybe – chirred nearby. “I thought it was a weird birdcall, but maybe it was a zipper instead.”

“Took something out of the duffel,” mused Sullivan, “and hit Cleary with it hard enough to down him.”

Now Lady Felica was the one frowning. “They were fleeing for their lives, though, or as good as. What would he be carrying that could kill someone with a single blow?”

When none of them could come up with an answer to that, Sullivan rose. “Will you check the brush for the body, Sid? I’d rather not see it myself and have to lie about it in the paperwork later, but knowing where it’s been moved to will give me an idea of how long we might have before it’s officially found.”

“You are gonna let them run, then?”

“I...I’m not letting them run.” His swiftly raised hand and pleading gaze halted Sid’s heated protest. “Wait. Wait, let me think this through. I can’t let suspected murderers escape and keep my job. But right now I have no evidence that they’ve committed murder, or any other crime. All I have is an allegation by someone who has a history of lying to the police, and who didn’t actually see anything violent happen. Right?”

“...Right.”

“So I have no cause to arrest them, or even look for them.” His speech sped up as he built his argument. “My indirect knowledge of their characters suggests that they’re decent, hard-working farmers who are in good standing with their parish priest. Why would such men murder said priest? Why would they leave the village green at all? And if they did, how would they all three know about this path, let alone come to meet on it and have an altercation?

“With so many doubtful questions outstanding and zero physical evidence of foul play, besides a few drops of blood and some scuffed dirt that could have come from anything, no reasonable detective would start pulling in so-called suspects. Especially,” he added with a self-satisfied smile, “since the accuser admits that he saw one of the ‘murderers’ hanging about an ice cream stall without an apparent care in the world a full hour after the deed was done.”

Lady Felicia smiled proudly. “Well done, Inspector.”

“Yeah. That’s smart, love.” Feeling safe behind the verdant shield of the forest, he bestowed a congratulatory kiss. “Keeps you out of trouble with work, gives them a chance to get out of town...’s really brilliant.”

“Thank you. I...you do know that I’m on your side, don’t you? And theirs?”

“I do. I do, I just...” His upset had untangled as he’d heard Sullivan logicking his way through their troubles, but its disappearance seemed to have taken all of Sid’s energy with it. He leaned his forehead against the other man’s shoulder. “‘M sorry. This is bloody exhausting.”

“I’m sure it is.” A familiar soothing stroke began to run up and down his spine. “You’re involved in plenty of murder investigations, but you don’t normally witness the murder itself. It was bound to be a shock.”

“Never mind all the searching afterward, when you could find any of us,” put in Lady Felicia. “Why don’t you take a minute, and I’ll have a look around?”

“No!” Sid straightened, shaking his head. “No, Lady F., that’s not...that’s not right. I’ll find him. You see enough stuff like that without trying.” And she always got over it, or at least as over it as one could get, but he hated the pall such discoveries tended to cast over her demeanor.

“I can’t say I relish the idea of finding yet another body, even if it is that of such a wholly unpleasant person. But I don’t want you to push yourself too far.”

“You don’t pay me to stand around while you go corpse-looking.”

“Technically, all I pay you for is driving my car. But you’ve never been content to do only that.” She hesitated, her expression grateful but anxious. “If you’re sure it won’t be too much...?”

“I’m fine.” He had to be, didn’t he? It wouldn’t do Sam and Ian Travis any good if he fell apart and couldn’t help cover for them. Obvious emotional distress might hurt Sullivan’s cover story, too, not only by worrying him but because he’d surely be expected to take Sid’s claims more seriously if they were made in tears. He managed a smile. “You can’t go tromping around in the woods wearing those shoes, anyway. Not when Talbot thinks the green almost crippled you.”

He moved carefully through the undergrowth, Sullivan having warned him against leaving noticeable signs of a search. It was cooler in the shade of the trees than it had been out in the open, and he’d left his uniform jacket with Lady Felicia, but he was still sweating well before he gave up and returned to the path. “There’s nothing here. I don’t even see anywhere he might’ve tried to hide him and failed.” Sullivan’s handkerchief was held out. “Thanks, love. And Sam must’ve listened and taken whatever he hit him with, because I didn’t see it, either.”

“Mm...” Sullivan chewed his lip. “That isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

“I thought you wanted to know where he was, though?”

“I do, personally. But for our official purposes, this is better. Now I’ve followed up on your claims and found nothing to support them. If Cleary’s discovered later in a different location, it’s no reflection on me or my men. We – or rather, I – followed procedures to the letter, and then went on with the day.”

“Oh. Yeah, alright, that makes sense.” Christ, it was hot. He’d never gotten the lemonade he’d promised himself earlier. It sure would be good about now.

“Yes,” objected Lady Felicia, “but it also leaves you looking as if you made up a story to waste police time, or to try and incriminate the others.”

Sullivan waved this off. “It won’t come to that. The body’s been moved, obviously, but I doubt it’s well enough hidden to stay that way for long. What Sid heard will be vindicated soon enough. Probably sooner than we’d like.”

“I could lie.” He would lie, if he had to. It’s what he’d hope that Sam and Ian Travis would do for him and Sullivan, if their positions were reversed. “I’ll say I didn’t know the other voices, only Cleary’s.”

“But you saw them all go into the woods. Why would you even have followed Cleary unless he looked like he was chasing someone? Honestly,” Sullivan mused, “the best-case scenario would be if he’s found in a way that takes your story out of it completely. He appears somewhere, dead; the others have had time to make their escape, which will be incriminating in and of itself, since they’re hardly homeless; and you being out here, or having seen any of them at all, never comes into common knowledge.”

Lady Felicia leapt on this possibility. “Do you think that’s likely? You’ve been through enough with that man,” she directed at Sid. “If you can get out of being connected with his death, so much the better.”

“I don’t know what I think, Lady Felicia, besides that continuing to stand around out here isn’t going to do any good, and might do harm.” Sullivan reached out and laid the back of his hand against Sid’s cheek. “...You’re damp, and hot, too. Let’s get you something to drink.”

Sid perked up. “Lemonade?”

“Whatever you want, so long as it’s hydrating.”

Spurred on by the prospect of finally getting his lemonade, Sid led the way out of the woods and between the houses. There was the Rolls, the fresh wax job he’d given it in preparation for today reflecting the sun in eye-stabbing glimmers. Another line of houses beyond it, then one more street, and finally, they’d be at the green. How long had they been searching for Cleary’s body? The first play of the second cycle, the one with that song Lady Felicia had sung all up until Christmas, must be over by now, but the Weavers’ one might still have some left he could catch.

The shriek rose from the center of the village just as he stepped off the curb. So much for his drink. “Well, you were right about one thing,” he groused as he and Sullivan fell into a run and Lady Felicia’s suddenly-rapid taptaptaptapping began to fall behind. “This is definitely sooner than I’d’ve liked.”

Chapter 4: Dead Man Talking

Chapter Text

Sergeant Goodfellow was up on the stage, kneeling beside a long wooden chest that had been brought in as a prop. The lid was open, and he seemed to be talking into the box, though his words were impossible to make out over the hubbub of the crowd.

Sullivan's loud “excuse me! Police!” cut a swathe through the onlookers. Sid stuck close behind him. The Father was up on the stage with the Sergeant, and once Sullivan banished him from the crime scene for propriety’s sake Sid could get him away and explain everything.

Father Brown came down to meet them where a pair of constables were holding the curious throng back. “It appears,” he greeted in a low voice, “that someone tried to murder Father Cleary.”

A low buzzing filled Sid’s ears. It was a calmer hive than the one that had assaulted him on Boxing Day, but it had the same effect of muffling the world. “‘Tried?’” he repeated at the same time as Sullivan.

“Yes, tried.” The tiniest flinch of an eyebrow suggested that the Father had sensed something off about their reaction to his news. “He was hit in the head with something wide and flat. My guess is that he was unconscious until just a few minutes ago, when he began to moan and alerted the players to his presence.”

“All he’s said,” reported Talbot as he barged into their circle, “is ‘Ian Travis.’”

Bloody f*cking hell.

“His parishioner,” mused the Father.

“Is he? I’ve no idea.”

Catching Sid’s glance, Father Brown went on. “Yes, I believe he is. But it probably doesn’t mean anything, after a blow like the one Father Cleary took.”

Talbot’s mouth opened, but Sullivan spoke over him. “Well, it’s our top priority, obviously. I’m afraid everyone who’s here will have to stay until they can be processed. Except,” he narrowed his eyes at the Father, “for you. And you, and you,” he went on, pointing at Sid and then Lady Felicia, who had just arrived in a fluster. “And Mrs. McCarthy, wherever she is. All of you will wait at the presbytery. Constable Mathis will be on the door, so don’t any of you try to come back here and meddle.”

“Yes, Brown, I’d say you’ve done enough already.” When four gazes were turned on him, Talbot drew himself up. “This is your event, after all. And Father Cleary has told me that he never feels welcome in Kembleford. I'm sorry to say that I'm not surprised he was assaulted here, if he was going to be assaulted anywhere.”

“Talbot!”

A reedy squawk split the judging silence the bishop’s declaration had been met with. The crowd went quiet, too, and stared towards the box on the stage. Sid felt Lady F.’s hand on his elbow and leaned his head into her whisper.

“Is that-?”

“Yeah. He’s alive.” How, Sid couldn’t begin to imagine, but that voice was none other than Cleary’s.

“Taaaalbot!”

“Father Cleary, sir,” begged Goodfellow, “you really should be quiet until the ambulance comes.” He leaned into the chest suddenly, as if Cleary had tried to sit up. “And be still, too, don’t try to get-”

“Taaaalbot!”

Talbot blinked hard. “I’m sure you don’t want me to go to him?” he asked Sullivan. “I wouldn’t want to do anything that might interfere with the investigation, or worsen Father Cleary’s condition. That...that terrible-looking wound...”

Sid bit back a smirk as recognition of blatant cowardice flashed across his boyfriend’s face. “I don’t think you’ll interfere with the investigation at all. And given his condition, he might be calling you to take his confession. I try not to stand in the way when someone wants spiritual comfort in a time of crisis.” He stepped to the side and gestured Talbot forward. “Please, go right ahead.”

“...Ahem. Thank you, Inspector.”

Just as the bishop mounted the stage, the voice from the chest rang out again, almost singing. “Taaaalbot! Talbot the turbot!”

Gasps, murmurs, and more than a few chuckles broke out in the audience. Talbot froze. “What...what did he say?”

The chorus came again. “Talbot the turbot! While Rome slaves for a bald Nero, in the sight of the shrine of Venus the marvelous expanse of the turbot appears!”

Whatever all that poetry meant, it didn’t sound like the praise Cleary usually heaped on his superior. Sid stole a look towards Father Brown, who had covered his mouth with one hand and was struggling to keep the upper half of his expression concerned and shocked. So it was a dig at the bishop, and more of one than just calling him a fish. Excellent.

“Not the sort of citizen,” Cleary declared, “who is able to offer up the free words of his heart and stake his life on the truth!”

Sullivan was puzzling. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“It reminds me of Shakespeare,” said Lady Felicia.

Father Brown shook his head. “No. I think he’s citing Juvenal. You probably read the Satires in school, Inspector, or at least part of them.”

“Oh! I did, you’re right. And there was another part with fish, too, I thought-”

“Beware, children!” shrieked Cleary, driving Goodfellow backward with his hands clapped over his ears. “An eel awaits you, close relative of the long snake, or maybe even a Talbot fish with gray splotches!”

Much of the crowd was in stitches, and so was Father Brown. “...That part, Inspector?”

“He’s paraphrasing a bit, isn’t he?”

“Yes. I recall it being a Tiber fish, not a Talbot fish.”

“Well, I like this version better, so I’ll grant him an artistic license.”

Lady Felicia nodded her agreement. “It’s only fair. The poor man’s had a terrible knock on the head, after all.”

Sullivan, his shoulders shaking with laughter, began to move away. “I’d better help the Sergeant with him.”

“Give the bishop a nudge on your way by,” Sid snickered. “He looks half-dead himself.”

Talbot had gone as pale as the underside of the flatfish that both Kembleford and Hartwell would now associate with him for all time. Only his cheeks showed real color, burning with an embarrassment that warmed Sid as thoroughly as any fire ever had. “The man’s...the man’s outside himself! He doesn’t know what he’s saying!”

“It is to be prayed that the mind be sound in a sound body! Ask for a brave soul that lacks fear of death, which places the length of life last amongst nature’s blessings!”

Goodfellow was back in the chest, and struggling. “Inspector, I don’t think I can hold him!”

“I will reveal what you are able to give yourself; what you suffer, turbot, are the misfortunes of many!”

Father Brown winced as Sullivan leapt onto the stage and rushed to help Goodfellow. “He’s weakening.”

Sid frowned. “What? He got up there just fine.”

“No, I mean Father Cleary. He’s mixing up his quotations more as he goes along. And the fighting...this is quickly moving from farce to tragedy. If he doesn’t calm down-”

“You are hardly able to endure the least tiny particle of ills, however slight! They burn in your frothing guts. Does a man who has already left sixty years behind his back get stupefied by events like these? Or have you advanced nothing to the better from so much experience?”

Talbot gaped, and Father Brown shook his head sadly. “I don’t think he’ll outlive this rally.”

“I’m not sure I know how I feel about that,” said Lady Felicia.

Neither was Sid. It was better for Sam and Ian Travis if Cleary wasn’t dead, at least so long as the priest kept abusing Talbot without mentioning who had set his tongue loose. A case of attempted murder could go cold with less commentary than one where the attempt had been successful. The problem was that a live man might recall the buried past in five, ten, or twenty years, and unleash his old woes on more people than himself.

The crowd had also swung toward uncertainty. There was no laughter now, just a restless rumble. As if he’d picked up on the change in the atmosphere, the tone of Cleary’s next words was almost generous. “But let’s lay off the excessive groaning. Pain shouldn’t be sharper than what’s called for, nor greater than the damage.”

The stage went silent. Goodfellow raised his head to look at Sullivan, who gave him a small nod. Seeing it, the onlookers released a collective breath. “...Is that the last bit?” Sid asked Father Brown.

“Not of the Satires, no. But for Father Cleary, I’m afraid it might be.”

“Ian Travis!”

Everyone jumped at this renewal of hostilities, and several women – including, to the misfortune of Sid’s eardrums, Lady Felicia – gave short screams. “Or not,” the Father allowed.

“Whittaker! Stafford! Get up here!” Sullivan called out his orders over Cleary’s repetitive babbling of Ian Travis’ name. “Paulson, Everidge, crowd control! We’re moving him away, send the ambulance after us when they arrive. Ready, men? One, two, three-”

Four faces strained as they lifted their heavy load. When the cortege reached ground level, Sid started forward to take some of the weight from his boyfriend’s end of the chest. Twin hands, one on each of his elbows, stopped him. “They need-!”

“-Us to go to the presbytery, and wait.” Father Brown pulled him gently back. “That’s what the Inspector told us to do, and we’re going to listen.”

“No!” Talbot spluttered this command as he stumbled back to the group. “...No. Brown, of all the times to not color outside the lines...you must solve this!”

Lady Felicia scoffed. “A few minutes ago you practically called the Father culpable for what’s happened!”

“Yes,” Father Brown agreed, co*cking his head slightly. “I’m afraid I’m confused, your Grace. Do you want me to defy the police and try to learn the details of this case, or am I on the list of suspects?”

“Don’t be obtuse, man! You know I didn’t mean that.” Talbot smoothed his cassock fretfully. “Just as Father Cleary didn’t mean anything he said.”

“You take a bleedin’ great whack to the head, too, Bish?”

“Sidney!”

“...Sorry, Father.”

“Father Brown,” Talbot ground out, his teeth bared, “I will not rest until whoever is responsible for the madness that came out of Father Cleary’s mouth today is brought to justice! And if the police can’t make that happen, I expect you to!”

The only madness Sid had heard Cleary speak today had been of the man’s own making, and he seemed to be paying for it at pretty high interest. Father Brown, he was sure, was thinking the same thing, even without any knowledge of what had happened in the woods. Despite that, his response to Talbot’s demand was far more even than Sid’s would have been. “I understand, I think. And I think it behooves us to at least give the police a chance to solve this mystery. After all, sometimes things that the police learn before I get involved prove to be essential.

“So, for now at least, Sid, Lady Felicia, and I will go to the presbytery, and wait. Mrs. McCarthy was there earlier, as you know, but I imagine she’s come to the green by now. If you see her, would you send her our way? I’m sure Constable Mathis – ah, and here he is, hello, Jacob – will be happy to let her inside.”

“I’d planned to come with-”

Father Brown had already turned away. Sid was pulled along with him, but he glanced back just in time to see Lady Felicia paste on her society smile as she passed Talbot. “Thank you so much for staying and keeping an eye out for her. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.”

They left the bishop gaping after them, looking more like a turbot than ever.

“I wish you had any interest in being a bishop, Father Brown,” Lady Felicia complained as the presbytery door closed behind them. “I’m sure it wouldn’t take long to get you elevated, once I put my mind to it.”

“We’ve discussed this before, Lady Felicia.”

“I know, I know, you prefer to work directly with people at the parish level. But I can’t help imagining how pleasant life would be in more parishes than just this one if we had a bishop like you in place of Talbot the turbot.”

Sid guffawed at the way her nose wrinkled when she said the bishop’s new moniker. “Cor, I was hoping that name would stick.”

“It will for me. Father Cleary was right, the man is an utter bottom feeder.”

“If Father Cleary was right about something, I will be very surprised.” Mrs. McCarthy stepped into the hall from the kitchen and looked them over. “I see you shook off the brambles that were clinging on this morning. But where is the Inspector?”

“He's attending to some unexpected business,” Father Brown half-explained. He dropped his voice as he went on. “Which I think Sid has more information about. I'm glad you’re here, and not out on the green.”

“Hmpf. I had had quite enough of both of our guests before the first cycle started. I thought it prudent to avoid the second altogether, since they were sure to be there.”

“Oh, they were certainly there. And now Sid will only have to tell his story once, unless there are things the Inspector doesn’t know?”

“No, I told him and Lady F. at the same time. Just have to catch you and Mrs. M. up.” And figure out what the hell they were going to do from here, but that was getting ahead of things.

Mrs. McCarthy’s lips pursed even thinner than they had when she’d mentioned their ‘guests.’ “You will drink something while you do so. Come in here and sit down; you’re peaky, you spent too much time out in that warm sun.”

It wasn’t lemonade, but Sid was parched enough that plain water was almost as good. He threw back the first glass in a few gulps, then waited for a re-fill before he began. “Right. So, it’s been a day...”

Lady Felicia pitched in when he got to their search for Cleary’s body, and Father Brown joined the telling once the story reached the stage. Sid leaned back in his chair and let them talk, his focus sliding to the sandwich Mrs. McCarthy had put down in front of him. When had he eaten last? Breakfast? Must have been, he’d been too busy running around when everyone else had been having lunch.

“Let me make sure I understand,” Mrs. McCarthy said slowly when she’d heard everything. “Father Cleary is not dead?”

If Sid hadn’t already swallowed the last bite of his sandwich, the disappointment underlining her question would have made him choke on it. “Never heard a dead man holler like he was last time we saw him. Or saw the box he was in, at least.”

“So, these two men from Hartwell are not murderers.”

“Nope. Well, not yet; Father doesn’t figure Cleary’ll make it.”

Father Brown nodded. “It was a nasty blow. Had I first seen him while he was still unconscious, I would have called checking his pulse a formality. And he was raving before he was carried away.”

“I dunno,” Sid smirked, “I thought he was bang on. That Juvenile bloke he was quoting wrote like he’d met Talbot personally.”

The Father’s answering grin was bitten back with obvious difficulty. “I shouldn’t laugh, but Father Cleary’s selective citing of the Satires did paint an accurate picture. And it was Juvenal, Sid, not...not juvenile.”

“Oh.” Close enough. “So what, he was raving because he’d never have said all that stuff about Talbot normally?”

“That, yes. But I’m also surprised that he had deep enough knowledge of Juvenal to be able to mix and match sections of his work. I’m sure I remember him stating that pagan authors were unworthy of his – or my own – time.”

“He must have had a life before he became a priest, though,” Lady Felicia pointed out. “If the Inspector read Juvenal in school, there’s no reason to think Father Cleary didn’t. He might have memorized all those details years ago, and only scorned them later.”

Sid squinted at her. “You mean you think there’s a whole other person under all his...Clearyness?”

“Why not? People change, you know that.”

“Yeah, but going from threatening to out a couple of guys who’ve done nothing wrong except love each other to calling Talbot a turbot in front of two parishes is a hell of a change for one afternoon.”

“It is,” agreed Father Brown, “but it isn’t unheard of. Especially if there was some trauma that caused him to become the unpleasant person we know to start with.”

“If someone disliked the old him enough to knock him on the head and force a change, I’m not sure we’re winning by having him get smacked back into it.”

Mrs. McCarthy cut into the discussion. “I will consider almost any change to Father Cleary’s character to be a positive one. There did not seem to be much room for worsening, in my opinion. But whether he is living some old life or the one we have been subjected to, the point is that he is still living.” She looked at Sid. “Will they run?”

“That’s what it sounded like the plan was. And even if they stuck around longer than when I saw Travis at the ice cream stand, hearing his name coming out of that box probably got him moving.” It would do for Sid, calculations about looking innocent be damned.

The parish secretary turned to Father Brown. “Should they run?”

“...I don’t know. If Father Cleary survives but doesn't remember who hit him, and if they can hide the weapon successfully, I would say that going on with their lives and saying nothing about what happened was the safest option. But it’s a gamble, especially if he recovers well enough to return to the parish and have regular contact with them. If he dies, staying put is still probably their best bet. I assume, Sid, that there’s no hurry on the part of the police to find the responsible party?”

“Only as much as is required for our public image. Sorry,” Sullivan added as everyone at the table whipped around to face the doorway. “I thought it would be more believable for Mathis if I took advantage of the unlocked door to try and catch you all discussing the case. You can relax, he’s still outside.”

Mrs. McCarthy headed for the sandwich makings she’d left on the counter. “Did you manage to eat lunch? Or did you end up as distracted as Sidney?”

“I wasn’t half as distracted as Sid was, but I didn’t eat. And I’m afraid I don’t have time now. I have to lead a search party.” He glanced at Sid, then Father Brown. “Cleary's head wound hasn’t made him any less irritating. He must have repeated Ian Travis’ name a hundred times before the ambulance crew sedated him.”

Lady Felicia closed her eyes. “In front of no fewer than four policemen.”

“Yes, exactly. He didn’t accuse Travis of anything, but it will look strange if we don’t try to find him, just in case.”

Sid was on his feet. “Let me out. I know where they’re meeting, I’ll tell ‘em to run if they’re still there.”

“Wait, Sid.” Father Brown raised one hand, though his gaze remained on Sullivan while he thought. “...Ian Travis is a Hartwell man. He would run toward home.”

Sid shook his head. “No, that’s not where he sent Sam-”

“He knows, Sid.” Lady Felicia tugged him back down into his chair. “You told us all where Sam’s hiding.”

He had. Maybe he shouldn’t have? Now they’d all have to lie if the question ever came up. No wonder Sullivan had been so frustrated when he’d first heard the story. This was even more impossibly complicated than Sid had realized. “...What, then?”

Sullivan picked up the thread the Father had been following. “I agree with Father Brown. If all I knew about this situation was that Ian Travis was a person of interest, and I couldn’t find him at the green, I would assume that he had gone back to Hartwell.

“I stopped by the green on the way here and spoke with Mrs. Travis. Not only does she claim to have no idea where he is, but she was able to take me to their car. He’s on foot, and he wouldn’t know the woods between here and Hartwell, just general directions. Which means that if we send a patrol ahead to his farm and then send the search party in that direction, there should be a good chance of catching him somewhere in between.”

It clicked. “...Cricket field’s on the other side of here from Hartwell.”

“Correct.”

“So you all go looking that way, and I tell them to head the opposite.”

“Yes,” said the Father. “But first you join the search party.”

“Exactly. You come with me to the green now, Sid, and then once we’ve collected more volunteers and started fanning out you can slip away to the clubhouse. So long as you’re back at the green when we call the search off at dark, there shouldn’t be any reason to question where you were in between.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s brilliant.” He stood up again. “Let’s go, what are we waiting for?”

“Wait!” This time it was Lady Felicia whose voice halted him. “Are we sure it’s safe for you to go alone? This Sam person doesn’t know you at all, and he’s armed with something he’s proven he can do damage with. Mr. Travis should at least recognize you, but that doesn’t mean he’ll trust you.”

“I think he will.” The flirting last month, the finger to his lips as he jogged across the street, the insistence that there was no one listening when both his lover and his priest had been convinced otherwise... Sid had never given Ian Travis a good reason to have confidence in him anywhere except on the cricket field, but he seemed to understand that they were of a kind despite that. “They might not even be there still, Lady F. And if one or both of them are, they’ll trust me alone more than they would me and someone else.”

Mrs. McCarthy had been listening with her back turned ever since Sullivan first mentioned a search party. Sid had assumed she was working on a mess of sandwiches for the station, since none of the officers would be let out in time for dinner with a manhunt on. Now, though, she approached him with just a handful wrapped in waxed paper. “I remember Sam from the Valentine’s mixer. There is no forgetting a person of his height, particularly when they are as gentle as they are tall. He was terribly shy with the young ladies; I thought it was just regular nerves, but I think now that he must have only been there at all because Father Cleary ordered him to be.

“The man I had to encourage to stop hiding in the corner of the room would not strike out at another person unless he thought it was life or death. You know better than to back him into such a corner.” She put the little stack of sandwiches in Sid’s hands, then gave him a damp but determined look. “Besides, you will be bringing more than just advice to help them. He is unlikely to think that someone who wanted to turn him in to the police would stop to make sandwiches along the way.”

A lump formed in Sid’s throat. Six months ago Mrs. M. had hardly been able to sort out her feelings about him being in a relationship with another man, but here she was making food for a pair of fugitive near-strangers with the same sin on the books. “So long’s he doesn’t kill me for the sandwiches,” he joked hoarsely, trying to ignore the heat behind his own eyes. “Yours’d be worth killing for, though.”

“Hardly. Now go on; you have limited time, and darkness is always closer than it seems.”

Chapter 5: Under Cover

Chapter Text

The clubhouse doors were padlocked. “...sh*t.” He’d forgotten about the padlock. It was only two summers since they’d started using this second layer of security. The simple catch built into the door had always been enough to keep the honest honest, until someone cleaned the place out one night. More than a few eyes landed on Sid, but even if the resale value of used cricket equipment hadn’t been pointlessly low, he’d have ripped off Hambleston’s clubhouse, not his own. The only person this argument convinced was Valentine, but since that was who he’d really needed to sway anyway, it worked out.

But if he couldn’t get into the clubhouse, where would Sam have gone? He must have spent the hours since Cleary had hit the ground somewhere. And he would have stayed as close to here as he could, not only because Ian Travis had been so adamant about sticking to the plan but because Sam had seen what deviating from it could cause. Poor bastard probably saw himself half-murdering the priest every time he blinked.

...Saw. Seeing. Wherever Sam had gone, he would need to be able to see when Travis arrived so that they could reunite. There were plenty of spots you could watch the clubhouse and the field from, but one stood trunk and branch above all the others. If he’d had five pounds, Sid would have bet them that he’d find Sam there, or at least evidence that he’d been there and gone.

There was no sign that anyone had climbed the bent and hoary oak just inside the edge of the woods. But the leaves were dense at this time of year, and the undergrowth, too; there could be a foot dangling three feet over his head, two bags secreted on the ground, and he’d never see them. They were there, though. He was sure of it. The birds had gone quiet as he’d approached, and the tension in the air was the sort he’d only ever felt before when something nearby feared it was about to die. “Uh...Sam?”

At first there was nothing. Then a faint rustle sounded, and a branch was pushed out of the way. Sam peeked downward through the opening. “It’s Mr. Carter, right? Did he send you? Ian?”

Sid shook his head, momentarily too stunned at being known to speak. When fear lanced across the face in the tree, he found his tongue. “I’m a friend, though. I came to help.” Please, please don’t have whatever you hit Cleary with up there...if you go smacking me with it, my Eddie’ll chase you to the ends of the earth. He held up the sandwiches in offering. “Hungry? Another friend made these for you. Had one myself earlier, they’re great.”

“I bet they are.” There was no suspicion in Sam’s voice, only want. “I can’t come down, though. I have to watch for Ian.”

“No, course. Here...” Screw it; Mrs. M. had been right, Sam wasn’t dangerous. If she could see him now she’d probably be put in mind of the first time she’d met Sid. Homeless, hungry...hell, he’d even been about Sam’s age. He climbed up high enough to press the waxed paper packet into an eager hand, then descended and leaned into the shadow of the tree. “Travis isn’t here yet, then?”

“No. Have you seen him?”

“While ago. After he sent you here.”

The faint crackle of paper stopped. “...So you were there, on the path. I knew there was someone.”

“Reckon Travis did, too. He saw me when he went after you from the green.”

“Yeah...he wouldn’t have wanted Father Cleary to know you were there, of all people.”

Chewing commenced while Sid processed this. “Me, ‘of all people’?”

“He was supposed to spy on you. Ian. Father Cleary said that since Ian was a...a sodomite...that he’d be able to sniff out any deviance in you.”

He’d known it. Christ, he’d known that was what was going on! Sam hadn’t said that Cleary’s purpose was to turn whatever Travis learned against Father Brown, but what other reason could there be? “And, uh...did he?”

“He knows you’re like us. He’s really good at reading people, Ian is. I think that’s why he was so caught off guard earlier. Father Cleary being willing to reveal us, and even to break the seal of the confessional to do it...he didn’t expect that.”

“But did he tell Cleary about me and-...about me?” If he had, and if Cleary lived, lived and remembered anything about the last few months, then Sid might find himself hiding in this same tree before long.

“No. He lied.”

Rough bark dug into Sid’s back as he slumped with gratitude. “...Thank you.”

“I’ll pass it on when I see him. Which should be soon; our back-up plan was dusk.”

‘Back-up plan?’ “You really had this all sorted, didn’t you?”

“Ian did.” The way Sam’s voice caressed his lover’s name brought a smile to Sid’s lips. “It’s all his plan.” Suddenly, his tone grew bitter. “All his plan to fix my stupid mistake. I was the one who wanted to confess what we felt, what we’d done. He told me it was too risky, but I kept pushing, and I couldn’t sleep, and...and now look at us. I should have listened to him, just like I should have listened today and come straight here. At least then we’d only be hom*osexuals, and not murderers.”

Here, finally, Sid could provide some good-ish news. “You’re not murderers. Cleary’s alive.”

“...What?”

“He’s not dead. He might still go – Father Brown thinks he’s in bad shape, and he’s seen enough of that sort of thing to know – but for right now at least, you haven’t killed him.” He toyed with the idea of telling him more, that they had to run as soon as they could because Cleary had been shouting Ian Travis’ name, but decided against it. Until Travis showed up, such knowledge would only make the younger man fret and feel tempted to stray again from the plan he’d been told to hold to.

“I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“Yeah, been a lot of that going around today.” A beat passed. “Did you want to kill him?”

“Not actively. At least I don’t think. I...I just wanted him to go away.” Sam sniffled. “I just wanted him to go away and leave us alone.”

Sid nodded, though the portal between him and Sam had remained closed ever since he’d passed the sandwiches up. “Ditto, mate.”

“I wish we had your priest. If he knew how you are, or how Ian and I are, I don’t think he’d cast any of us out, or treat us like slaves, or threaten us with chemical treatments and Hell.”

“...No. No, he definitely wouldn’t do none of that.”

“That’s the kind of priest I want Hartwell, everywhere, to have. Or at least, the kind of priest I want to have. God, why couldn’t Ian’s wife’s farm have been in this parish?!”

Ian’s wife. Sid’s eyes widened. Sullivan had mentioned her earlier, but he hadn’t seemed to catch on to the trouble she might cause as a woman scorned. Sid hadn’t realized it, either, until just now. If this thing revealed any more angles, it might challenge Lady F.’s fanciest diamond for total number of facets. “Oh, sh*t...his wife...does she know?”

“About us? Oh, yeah. Tilly’s alright. Ian says she’s been happier since I came along and he stopped pestering her for sex. They’re great friends. She’s the only person who knows what Father Cleary’s put us through, except you now. And she doesn’t mind us going, though she’ll have to hire new help. It was her family’s farm. She loves it, and she’s sharp, she’ll keep the place running. Save a bundle on food, too, without me around eating it all. Speaking of food, I should probably save half of these for-...Ian! There he is!”

A figure had come around the corner of the clubhouse. It ran up the steps, then jerked to a halt. “Stay up there,” said Sid, already starting toward the edge of the field to wave. “I’ll get him.”

The deep worry lines at the corners of Travis’ eyes aged him a full ten years. Before he had finished jogging to Sid, he whisper-shouted a desperate question. “Have you seen Sam?!”

“Up that tree back there. Were you followed?”

“No, though I was almost caught in the cordon your Inspector is tightening around the other side of the village. I left the green in the direction of Hartwell just before the second cycle began; I was hoping if anyone remembered seeing me they’d think I headed home. And it seems to have worked, though I almost hid out over there for too long. Sam...”

Sid fell back as Ian Travis rushed into the trees. The dusk rising from the undergrowth blurred his form as it met the fuzzy outline of Sam, who had ignored the command to stay safely nested up above. Sid didn’t have to imagine their relief at finding one another whole and free; the emotion was palpable.

And now, he knew, was the time to tell all. “You’ve got to go.”

“He’s right, Ian. Cleary’s not dead.”

“He’s not?”

“No," Sid seconded. "And he’s saying your name.”

Both of the other men froze. “Mine,” clarified Ian Travis, “or Sam’s?”

“Yours. He never mentioned Sam.”

“That’s...hmm. Did he say-”

“No. Just your name, over and over. Surprised you didn’t hear him shouting it even from the woods.” Then again, Mrs. M. would have come running had she heard shouting, and the presbytery was closer by the green than Travis probably had been. “That’s why they’re looking for you already.”

“Damn.” He looked at Sam regretfully. “I should go back. Maybe I can clear our names, and then we can leave when things have settled.”

“Ian, no.” Sam’s fingers dug into Travis’s shoulder hard enough to draw a flinch. “Sorry. But you can’t go back. If he’s talking...what if he remembers something? Or worse, half-remembers? What if he swears it was you who hit him, not me?”

“Sam-”

“Or worse; what if he swears that, then dies? Ian, they’ll hang you. Bad enough if it’s me, but you-”

“There’s no evidence to support it.”

“No, not unless they find your bat. Which they will, Ian. The plan was to get away and start over. Every time we change the plan, it goes wrong. If they find your bat, and your name’s in Father Cleary’s mouth, you’re dead. And then what do I do? Kill myself?”

“No.” Travis reached up to take Sam’s face between his hands. “Never that, Sam. Father Cleary calls our love a sin, but you know that would be a thousand time worse of one. And not only by his unreliable measure.”

“I would, though. Without you, I wouldn’t want to live.”

“Stop this, Sam. Stop. I...God, I can’t stand it when you cry. Fine. We’ll go. I don’t know how or where we can hide, if they’re looking for me and we disappear, but we’ll go. The original plan is the only thing that seems to be going right, like you said. I just don’t know how we’ll stick to it once we’re away from here.”

Sid sucked in a sharp breath. He didn’t have what they needed on him, and they didn’t have time to wait for him to get it, but there was another way. If they’d trusted him this far, maybe they’d trust someone he recommended. And money wouldn’t be an issue; Ian Travis would no sooner try to vanish and build a new life without a bankroll than Sullivan would. “Actually, I think I can help with that...”

Sullivan slipped into the presbytery’s spare bedroom as quietly as anyone reasonably could, but Sid was stirred awake anyway. “‘S he still alive? Cleary?”

“...Yes,” came through the darkness. “You can relax, there’s no murder charge yet. I didn’t mean to wake you; go back to sleep.”

He was tempted to obey, though he’d had several hours of rest while the other man was still at the police station. The exhaustion that had overcome him once he’d caught the Father, Mrs. M., and Lady F. up on the evening’s events wasn’t fully banished yet, and he would have fallen straight back into dreamland had he closed his eyes. Instead, he sat up. “Nah. Come in here with me, let’s catch up. I know you’re tired,” he added quickly, “but you’ll sleep better knowing what happened.”

“...Yes, you’re right. I will.” Clothing rustled. “Father Brown won’t mind, will he?”

“We’re not doing anything. It’s fine.”

When they’d found comfortable positions for their tangled limbs and lay close enough to almost see each other’s shadowed expressions, Sid shared the happenings at the cricket field once more. “So they’re off now, heading somewhere.”

“Do you know which direction they’re planning to go in?”

“Yeah. But do you want to know? Might be better later if you don’t.”

“Just be general. I might be able to guide the search in the opposite direction.”

Sid grinned. Sullivan was getting as sneaky with the police as the Father was. “South.”

“They circled the village, then?”

“Told them you’d be calling the search after dark. Gave ‘em a few pointers for getting around fast. You know, just being neighborly.”

“‘Neighborly,’ indeed,” chuckled Sullivan. “Though I wish it was any other direction. If Cleary stabilizes then I should be safe just sending out a bulletin rather than asking for extra care at the ports and major stations. But if he dies, then our having started the search under the assumption that Travis ran for Hartwell means south is exactly where any larger efforts will concentrate.”

Sid hadn’t thought of that when he’d made his suggestion back under the oak tree. Still, it wasn’t all bad. “Reckon they won’t look like themselves for long, other than Sam’s height. Hard to help that. But he’s not the only tall bloke in the world; if he takes a different name, he should be able to blend in.”

There was a clue in that remark, and the quiet that followed it told Sid it had been detected. “...You recommended them to another ‘neighbor?’”

“Something like that.” Mickey Cook had provided him with false passports for others before, and he’d gladly craft new identities for Sam and Ian Travis once he heard who’d sent them. It wouldn’t be cheap, but the paperwork would stand more scrutiny than anyone at Southampton’s docks were likely to give it even if the borders were being watched.

“Mm.” Sullivan shifted, pulling away a little. Did that mean something?

“What, you mad about it?”

“Not mad, just...I don’t know. Part of me hates that you still have connections that can help people evade the police. But now I’m helping people evade the police, or at least looking the other way while they do it, so I guess don’t really have any room to judge.” He scooted close again, back to where he’d been before. “I suppose I’m more afraid of losing you because of that knowledge, that network, than I’m upset that it exists. I know it’s proved useful many times before now.”

“Would you rather I didn’t talk about it at all?” This was unlikely to be the last time in the rest of their lives when those connections came in handy, after all.

“...No. I’d rather you told me, even if you leave out the details so I don’t have to lie about them later. I said before that I don’t want to have any secrets from you. Though you’re under no obligation, I’d like it if someday you didn’t have any from me, either. Or at least none that matter.”

“Already pretty close to that, love.” Conway had been his second biggest secret. The first...well, the first would wait. They had enough to talk about still tonight, and both of them were tired on top of it.

“I’m glad.” A half-blind kiss, and then Sullivan continued. “It sounds like Ian Travis knows our secret.”

“Sam said he’d gathered that I’m like them. But he never said anything about you. Except..." Except there had been something, hadn’t there? “He called you my Inspector. Travis did.”

Sullivan stiffened, then let his tension drift past Sid’s chin on a sigh. “He must know, then, or have a damn good idea. He’s already proven that he’s fluent in insinuation, and referring to me like that would sound innocent to listening ears while being anything else in truth.”

“I’m not worried about it.”

“No, not now. Now he owes you everything, and if he believes we’re together he’s giving me credit, too.”

“I owed him to start with, though. Him being a spy for Cleary, I mean, and lying even once he had me figured out." Sid shuddered. “He could’ve ruined me to save himself weeks ago.”

“Thank God he isn’t that sort.”

“And that I believed he was spying. You didn’t.”

“I know. We would have been careful anyway, but you were right about him being a spy.”

This time Sid instigated their kiss. “Thanks. I like hearing that I got something right, especially on an investigation.” Puzzle solving was the Father’s and Sullivan’s domain, but it was still nice to feel like something more than just their gofer on occasion.

“That’s not the only thing you got right. I’d say it was a cricket bat that Cleary was struck with, just like you said a minute ago.”

“Eh, that doesn’t count. Sam said it was ‘your bat’ right to Travis’ face. I just happened to be standing there at the time. And I saw the duffel bag before, and heard the zipper, too.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Sid. A lot of people in your position wouldn’t have made those connections.”

Happy warmth flooded Sid’s cheeks. “Well...must’ve learned something from watching the Father all these years, huh?”

“Absolutely. As such, I’m curious; do you think he honestly believes that Cleary might be a different person from here on out? That this injury might...I don’t know, re-set him?”

“Didn’t think you were here for that part of the conversation.”

“I caught the tail end of it. I’m just not sure I agree.”

“The Father knows a lot about that sort of stuff. Seen a lot like it, you know.”

“Yes. But his profession also drives him to sometimes state the best-case scenario while privately knowing that the odds are very much against things turning out that way. You and Mrs. McCarthy, I think, are the two people who can best see through that tendency and gather what he’s really thinking.”

“Says plenty for you, love, to even have noticed him doing that.” He thought for a moment. “...I think he hopes it’s true, even though the odds are against it.”

“No surprises there. I wouldn’t have thought he’d want the man dead.”

“No. But I don’t think he wants him out of the way some other way, either. Like...” A roiling mental mist, born half of over-exertion and half of genuine puzzling, obscured his answer for a long second. “I think the Father would be happiest if Sam and Ian Travis got away, Talbot was too embarrassed to come back to Kembleford much for a good long while, and Cleary recovered well enough to come back as Hartwell’s priest, but with a less hellfire-and-brimstone way of looking at things.”

“The sort of fellow priest he wouldn’t want Mrs. McCarthy to hide dessert from.”

“Yeah. Exactly.” It must get lonely sometimes for Father Brown. Mrs. McCarthy was plenty religious, but she couldn’t hold her end of a deep theological discussion. The same went for Lady Felicia, though she’d be more naturally open-minded on some points than Mrs. M. would. Sullivan had the wit for the intricacies of such talk, but not the specific education. Sid was, in his own opinion, lacking on both fronts.

“Only people he can really sit down and talk God with,” he mused out loud, “would be Talbot or another priest. Talbot’s a turbot, Cleary’s always been Cleary, and even though I reckon they both try not to let it get in the way, the whole Kembleford-Hambleston rivalry colors every meeting between him and their priest. He writes with some others, but it’s not the same as chatting over a cuppa or a bit of cheesecake, is it? He’d want Cleary to turn out alright and make his amends anyway, cause that’s what he wants for everyone, but I think he's kind of hoping he’ll get a friend out of it, too.”

“I don’t see how he could.”

“You really don’t think he might be different, if he recovers and comes back?”

“I doubt it very much. Even if that happened, I don’t see how Father Brown could ever be friends with him. After all the stress he caused all of us, and the reminders of Conway he gave you... I could never be friends with him, even if he wasn’t that man anymore. I don’t even believe that I could forgive him. I’m sure the Father will, because that’s what he does – and I have, I know, every reason in the world to be grateful for that side of his character – but I couldn’t. Not a man who would have as good as massacred a pair of innocents, if not more than just them, merely to score points towards his own promotion.”

“Heh. That’s funny.”

“What is?”

“You calling what he was gonna do to Sam and Travis massacring innocents.”

“...Oh. You mean because the play Cleary was found in the middle of was that exact Bible story?”

“Yeah. But how’d you know that?”

“Mrs. McCarthy told me.” Sullivan shifted uncomfortably again, but this time he didn’t pull away. “I’ve been...well, I’ve asked her a few questions these past few weeks. Just trying to get a sense of some things. You, ah...you had a good point before, about not having to believe something to learn about it. I’ve thought more than once since we’ve been together that I should increase my understanding of religious things because they’re so central to your life, and to theirs. These plays were an opportunity to do that.”

“...Look at you,” Sid murmured in a thick voice. “Helping us help an attempted murderer escape, going out of your way to know more about the others, telling me all your secrets...”

“I know, I hardly recognize myself.”

“Why not? You’re the same person you always were.”

“Hardly.”

“No, you are. You’re just almost out of that coat of armor you used to think you had to wear all the time. Nice and light without it, yeah?”

“Yes. I very much prefer things this way.”

“Good.” Sid kissed Sullivan once more, then snuggled in with a content smile on his face and closed his eyes. “Me, too. But then, you know how much I like it when you’re bare with me...”