Tadfield. The drawing room of St. Cecil and All Angels rectory. A threadbare carpet on the wooden floor before the fireplace. Two short sagging old couches are placed parallel across from each other, a battered coffee table running between them. Two tatty armchairs facing the fireplace and a spindly floor lamp complete the furnishings.

Thank you for the tea, Mr. Pickersgill.

Crowley takes a sip. The faint odor of scotch whisky wafts around the room. He looks around.

You know, vicar, this is a beautiful old Georgian building. Shame it hasn't been kept up.

I heartily concur, Mr. Crowley. Every day is an offense to the spirit. Being unable to afford the upkeep this building deserves is a sore trial. Nonetheless, I feel lucky to reside here.

You and Madame Tracy are soon to be married, I understand.

Yes, Mr. Crowley. Her little bungalow is so cozy, I confess anxiety about bringing her into this drafty old barn. Let alone a lively teen such as her ward DeeDee.

Crowley leans forward to put his teacup on the small table, then leans back in his chair with his elbows on the armrests and hands steepled. His head tips slowly from side to side as he regards the vicar as a swaying cobra might contemplate a small mammal.

Then I hope you will be receptive to what I propose for the rectory, Mr. Pickersgill.

And that is, Mr. Crowley?

Your bishop was easily convinced to allow a supplement to your salary to be in the gift of Tadfield Manor. Following the historic tradition, as I understand.

The manor was a nunnery and birthing hospital for some years, is that correct?

Entirely. A devastating fire caused the demise of the order. Ownership of the derelict building was transferred to Mary Hodges.

Whom I understand you assisted in getting out of financial difficulties caused by . . . some sort of riot with firearms?

Paintball guns. A corporate training session went bad. There were no serious injuries. Once we got the lawsuits and damages sorted and constructed the driving course, the place has received steady bookings ever since.

The Halloween Ball was quite a bit of fun, I must say.

Just so. And the hall provides a fair number of employment opportunities for our local young people who don't seek higher education.

Your track manager, Mr. Evans, is also quite active in our substance abuse remediation effort.

Yes. He was an insistent voice for space for such programs to be included in the parish hall reconstruction. We'll get to that project in a moment. But back to the rectory building. Has your bishop informed you that the property is now once again part of the estate of Tadfield Manor?

No! You don't say! The church, too?

Yes. Affiliation with the Church of England is maintained by the rather complicated contract, of course.

I cannot believe you managed such a property transfer.

Made the bishop an offer the Church couldn't refuse. Justification was the real estate and buildings reverting to the historic estate.

Owned by you.

Yes.

Oh dear god. A parish owned by The Devil.

Not "The" devil, Mr. Pickersgill. I'm just a minor demon.

If you're minor, I fear to contemplate what your superiors must be like.

Yes. Well. Lucifer and Beelzebub are certainly worthy opponents of The Almighty. We all know that. But that's not my mission here. I'm here to serve the interests of our young Antichrist Adam Young. Who prefers Tadfield to be maintained as a peaceful and beautiful village.

I must tell you, Mr. Crowley, that ever since the revelations at Christmas, I've been feeling as if I'm living in some sort of hallucination. Angels. Demons. A teen Antichrist. A veritable vortex of spiritual activity in what I imagined was my obscure village retreat from the hierarchy.

If your higher-ups only knew, hey? You seem to be the right man for the job, though. A flexible thinker. You have no idea how rare a trait that is among humans. Even more rare in angels.

But not demons?

Let's just say Lucifer was the original flexible thinker. Knocks spots off all comers.

So I'm in good company with Satan, am I?

And Beelzebub. And Eve, too. Also.

I cannot say I predicted my religious career to end in damnation.

You won't know that until judgment. Besides, damnation isn't so bad once you get used to it.

The worst part would be my superiors gloating, "We told you so."

So you expect to see them down there, too, do you? Judging strictly from what I've witnessed, you're not wrong about that.

The vicar laughs.

Pray continue, Mr. Crowley. I am now agog to learn your plans for the rectory.

It's going to take some work. But we're in no rush. If you'll be so good to meet with them, I'll have a preservationist team come in and give us a prioritized list of recommended repairs to the structure and grounds. The building is listed as Grade II.

'Twill be a pleasure, Mr. Crowley. Simply message me the information. I can easily rearrange my schedule to accommodate them at any time.

I hope you concur with the objective to restore the building and make it once again tidy and comfortable, but not posh?

Oh yes. Thank goodness you said that. I've seen what interior decorators do to old rectories. I confess I would be most uneasy having to live amid such upscale splendor.

We'd expand the housekeeping and grounds maintenance staff at the manor to include duties at the church and rectory. So you needn't worry on that score. I'll be increasing your stipend with the expectation that you and Madame Tracy will enjoy scouring the surrounding territory for suitable furnishings. Don't be leery of expensive antiques. Simply keep me apprised if you find something you're keen on. Tadfield Manor has staff who can assist you with the bookkeeping to track expenses and request outlays.

I must ask, seeing as how I seem to have gotten myself entangled in what can only be called a deal with the devil, what must I contribute as my part of this bargain?

Crowley grins.

Most astute, Mr. Pickersgill. I would like you to consider the income producing opportunity of renting appropriate rooms as a bed and breakfast.

I should discuss that with Madame Tracy, Mr. Crowley. But I suspect she will be delighted at the prospect. She is very sociable. As is that scamp DeeDee.

Well then. I'll await the outcome of that conference. Now, as to the reconstruction of the parish hall. We provided various architectural firms with the scoping document after surveying our local residents.

I hope it won't feature a swimming pool and a bowling alley.

Oh no. We're striving for a more dignified venue than that. But I am capable of taking a hint, so I'm working toward other locations for those particular activities. Seeing as how so many residents are keen on them. Keep that under your hat, if you will, please.

Certainly, Mr. Crowley.

One environmental architecture firm has been especially fast off the mark. Almost as if they were hunting like hawks for such an opportunity. I've brought their preliminary proposal to you to see.

Crowley snaps his fingers and a thick binder appears on the table. He regards the vicar.

I dislike carrying a briefcase. If you will take up the binder and turn to the artistic renderings in the back?

The vicar does so.

As you can see, the design features a rather dramatic solar roof. And an interior hanging garden. Which I must say I personally find irresistibly attractive. Also those narrow stained glass windows in the west wall. The text says they're designed to be illuminated by evening sunlight. A time of day when the hall is most likely to be used. A central St. Cecil surrounded by four angels.

The vicar gives Crowley a keen look.

With images possibly modeled upon our local angelic crew, Mr. Crowley?

Ah. So you're aware we now have a fourth, are you?

The young woman with the cottony hair, deep tan, and extraordinary pale blue eyes? We went bicycling with Uriel yesterday.

Yep. That's the one.

Are she and the young man with the bunny ears hairdo a couple?

"Lovers" is more accurate.

The vicar sighs.

Some days I wonder if marriage has become a thing of the past.

It would have to be a civil affair in any event, Mr. Pickersgill. Eric can't venture onto consecrated ground.

Oh. I suppose not. He is related to your twins at Tadfield manor, I take it?

Very. But to continue our discussion of the parish hall. The heating and ventilation system of windows and interior walls is remarkably complex. And there will be rainwater catchment such as they now do in Germany. Very high tech filter and water storage. Similar engineering for septic and grey water processing. The surrounding field is ideal for such a situation.

Will the farmer object?

No. I'm the farmer. The former tenant was anxious to get out of agriculture.

So you made him an offer he couldn't refuse?

Oh, he was quite delighted by the offer. Just like Farmer Croll. Practically skipped out of the office. I got the impression he believed he'd pulled quite a fast one. I'm hoping word gets around that banker Crowley is an easy mark for those desiring to unload their unprofitable lands.

Which of course calls the question, Mr. Crowley. Why would you invest in such unprofitable enterprises?

My goal is to keep Adam happy, Mr. Pickersgill. I've discussed with him a project for re-wilding some lands as well as converting others to more environmentally friendly farming practices. Evidently there's quite a movement toward such efforts. I see it as yet another employment opportunity for local talent. As well as the parish hall and Tadfield Manor providing conference and training facilities for such enterprises. Have to put on some front of schemes to earn respectable income and support the local economy.

"Respectable" income, Mr. Crowley?

As in keeping up appearances, Mr. Pickersgill. I know banker Love is always muttering about how I'm somehow using Tadfield for money laundering. Hence the need to appear to be making an effort to have properties pay.

Yes. Mr. Love is indeed rather a gossip on that topic. You might consider having a word with him before he gets too entrenched in his suspicions.

Oh, he's entirely correct. Nonetheless, you're right that it's not wise to let such rumors float around unchecked.

A wry smile appears on Mr. Pickersgill's face.

Somehow I suspect you'll know exactly how to present a persuasive argument to silence Mr. Love.

You could say I have a special talent for that.

Mr. Pickersgill continues to smile as he examines a few more pages in the binder.

I see there is an attractive exterior glassed-in stairway to the top floor. No elevators?

Oh yes. There must be elevators for those who can't use stairs. But the architects' rather clever idea is that an appealing stairwell with spacious views of the countryside will encourage a bit of unconscious fitness building activity.

The vicar laughs.

I believe that's called that a "nudge" nowadays?

Exactly so. At any rate, I'll leave this binder with you overnight, if I may.

Of course. I will examine it carefully. I must say, Mr. Crowley, your ideas for our rectory, parish hall, and surrounding lands are most impressive. I would not have expected such imaginative plans . . .

The vicar pauses as he realizes what he's almost said.

From a wicked demon?

Forgive me, Mr. Crowley. Old prejudices surface at the most inconvenient times. If you'll accept my apology, I'll endeavor to extract my foot from my mouth.

Oh, I forgive you, Mr. Pickersgill. Only natural you'd be surprised by a Satanic entity trying to improve a place. Rather than turning it into smoking rubble, as my boss did. And now, I must be off. No, no, don't get up, Mr. Pickersgill. Pour yourself more tea and send some time with that binder. I can see myself out. Ciao.

And Crowley blows out of the room and out the building, toward the waiting Bentley.


The Guardian:

environment/2020/feb/25/the-end-of-farming-rewilding-intensive-agriculture-food-safety

Buildiings with features described by Crowley actually exist. For example, Seattle's Bullitt Center.