The Dalwich Desecration (13 page)

“Yes, yes . . .” He let out an exasperated sigh as he rubbed a thumb across his brow. “I know. . . .”

“Besides, I can answer your question about blood flow,” I said proudly. “The instant the heart seizes, the blood stops flowing. There is nothing else to pump it through the body. Gravity simply takes over. It begins pooling at once. It'll flow out an open wound at the bottom of the body, but otherwise . . .” I shrugged.

A small smile slowly settled back onto his face. “Aren't you the clever one? Just don't tell me how you know that,” he added. “But it does mean that those tiny cuts on the abbot's hand were postmortem, which is precisely what I had suspected. And that means he was holding on to some papers at the time of his death, and whoever killed him took them.”

“Papers? Papers about what?”

“That is indeed the question,” he answered simply.

“Well, that is most unfortunate since nothing is easier to destroy than paper.”

“Perhaps so.” He gazed at me as his wisp of a smile slowly turned up more broadly at one corner of his mouth. “But I have an idea how we might reproduce it.”

CHAPTER 13

C
olin had already arranged a way back to Whitmore Abbey so I wouldn't have to walk, which suited me nicely even though I felt quite back to myself again. I would have to find out the name of the pain mixture he had given to me. It had left no residual dopiness in my brain, just as the doctor had told Colin, and no opiates, for which I was most grateful.

“. . . I weren't never gonna get the farm,” Annabelle White was explaining to Colin as she drove Raleigh Chesterton's wagon, speaking far more than I'd ever heard her do before, “which was fine with me 'cause those hogs smell like shite.” She immediately cringed at her choice of word, going crimson with embarrassment and quickly averting her gaze. “I'm sorry . . .” she mumbled.

“For what?” Colin asked obliviously. “Do go on.”

“Well . . . so . . . me mum and da decided I could come work fer Mr. Chesterton. That were almost five years ago. And that's how I got ta know Mo. God bless 'er,” she hastily added.

“I would suppose the two of you became fast friends . . .” Colin said in his breezy manner that informed me he was not idly chatting the young woman up.

“We was closer than sisters. I got six a them, so I know.”

“Six?!” he said with some surprise, though I thought I also detected the hint of envy in his voice of having been an only child. “Are you about the same age Miss O'Dowd was?”

“She were three years older, so she always looked after me. Made sure I were taken care of and didn't get no guff from anybody.”

“And who looked after
her?
”

“Oh”—she gave an admiring laugh and waved at hand at Colin—“she didn't need nobody lookin' after 'er. She could take care a 'erself.” It was the second time we had heard such a statement about the unfortunate Miss O'Dowd, and just as before, as soon as the words left Miss White's mouth her spine stiffened and her face went slack. “What am I sayin'? Oh, poor Mo. You must think I'm daft.”

“I think no such thing,” Colin reassured her. “I found Miss O'Dowd to be every bit the self-assured woman you're describing. Both Mr. Pruitt and I saw her easily handling a few of the more besotted chaps at the Pig and Pint with skill and confidence.”

“Weren't nobody could get the best a 'er in there.” She allowed a wistful bit of a grin. “And those blokes was always messin' with 'er and beggin' 'er ta go out with 'em . . .” She shook her head and her smile slightly widened. “She jest played 'em right back. Made 'em look like the fools they are with that big smile a 'ers so that they didn't even know she was makin' fun of 'em.” She shook her head again and her smile dropped entirely. “I'm gonna miss 'er. I'm gonna miss 'er terribly.”

Colin flicked his gaze to me and I could see the discomfort in his eyes. “Of course you are.” I spoke up. “A friend like that . . . practically a sister . . . you'll remember her always. That is her greatest legacy to you.”

Miss White nodded and we all fell silent for a few minutes as the open wagon jostled along the ruts of the earthen roadway, the muffled clomping of the horses' hooves and the jangling of their harnesses the only sounds beyond the chattering of birds in amongst the treetops. I could feel Colin's restlessness on the seat beside me, so I was not surprised when he finally spoke up as we came out of the wooded area and caught a glimpse of the compact bell tower atop the chapel at Whitmore Abbey.

“Is there anyone at all that you know of who was unhappy with Miss O'Dowd? Someone whom she had perhaps angered recently?”

“I don't know nobody like that. Not a soul. Everyone loved Mo. She 'ad the biggest 'eart of anyone I ever met.” She shook her head and gazed off, hastily wiping the heel of a hand across her cheeks.

“Did she ever have occasion to come out here to the monastery?” he asked as we continued to draw closer.

“Nah.” She shook her head. “I've only been out 'ere once or twice meself. These monks . . . they don't like 'avin' women around.”

“Did she perhaps come out and pick up some of the ale for Mr. Chesterton once in a while?”

Annabelle White turned to Colin with a curious, almost bewildered expression on her face. “I don't believe them monks would 'ave a mind ta do any business with a woman.”

“Yes . . .” Colin nodded. “I'm sure you're right.”

Miss White pulled the wagon around at Whitmore's front entrance, in the center of the complex's U-shape, and brought it to a halt. “You've gotta find out who did this. The bastard needs ta hang fer it.”

“Indeed I shall,” he answered tightly. “I should like to ask just one more thing of you. Please try to recollect if there was anyone Miss O'Dowd had spoken about recently, even in a mocking or humorous way, who had been persistent in asking her to see him. Someone who might have been smitten with her whom she didn't feel the same way about.”

“ 'Alf the men that come in there were sweet on 'er, but she were only taken with Edward 'Oneycutt. She were true ta 'im.”

“I understand,” Colin replied, though he still did not climb out of the wagon. “And what do you think of young Mr. Honeycutt?”

“Oh . . .” she muttered under her breath as her eyes darted down and she folded her hands, still clutching the reins, onto her lap. “ 'E's nice,” she said with the trace of a shrug.

“Nice?” Colin repeated, the word sounding abhorrent when he said it.

“ 'E treated 'er good. They was plannin' on gettin' married and movin' ta London. She was jest waitin' ta tell Raleigh 'cause she knew he was gonna be bloody well brassed off.”

“Mr. Chesterton? Why would he be mad?”

“ 'E can't run that place by 'imself. Edward does all 'is books, and Mo took care a everything in the pub and looked after the rooms upstairs too. I try ta 'elp”—she scrunched up her face and looked off toward the monastery—“but I ain't as good as Mo was.” She gave another soft sort of shrug. “It don't bother me, though.”

“I'm sure Mr. Chesterton relies on you very much,” I quickly put in, intending to bolster this poor girl's timidity and not even convincing myself.

Colin cocked an eyebrow at me, which I attempted to ignore, before leaning toward Miss White, and asking, “Did Miss O'Dowd tell you that she was with child?”

Miss White's pale skin flushed pink beneath her deep auburn hair and I knew this most certainly had been the cause of her reticence toward Edward Honeycutt. “Yes,” she answered almost without voice. “We told each other everything.”

“And did she seem happy about it?” he pressed.

Her blush deepened as she gave a shy nod. “Yes.”

“And Edward Honeycutt . . . ?”

She shrugged a single shoulder, her eyes having fallen to the ground. “I really couldn't say.”

“Very well . . .” Colin said as he finally stood up. “You have been most kind to bring us here and allow me to pepper you with so many questions.”

“I'll do anything ta 'elp you catch 'oo did this,” she answered right back, and this time her gaze was firm and steady as she jerked the reins and headed back toward Dalwich.

“It hardly seems like there can be any correlation between Miss O'Dowd's murder and that of Abbot Tufton,” I said as we walked toward the monastery's main door astride the small chapel. “So how is it that they both had their tongues removed?”

“A sound question, but one you have the answer to already,” he parried back without further explanation.

We got all the way to the doors before I shot out a hand to keep him from opening them. “Would you care to expound on that sentence?”

A thin smile tugged at his lips, which immediately exasperated me. “The removal of Miss O'Dowd's tongue was an afterthought,” he explained patiently. “Done in haste after she had been murdered to make the crime look like something it was not. That was nothing more than a feeble attempt to distract the constable from the truth.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

“Think about what you saw, Ethan. The way the tongue was removed from Miss O'Dowd's mouth was ragged and careless with more than a third of it left behind. Yet in the case of the abbot, it was carefully, almost surgically, done. Straight, deliberate, with all but a nub of it sheared away. There was great intent in what happened to that monk, while with Miss O'Dowd, I am certain it was meant only to deceive.”

I nodded as I recalled the gored remains of the tongues inside their mouths. It had been just as Colin described and I felt foolish for not having also understood that critical difference.

“Try not to look so chagrined,” he said as he plucked my hand aside and pulled the main doors open. “We have other important conversations to hold just now and I need you at your best. Your poor, battered cranium notwithstanding.”

“Don't bother yourself over me,” I insisted. “I'm perfectly fine and you have this case to contend with.”

He nodded absently as we walked through the hushed hallway that ran alongside the chapel to the point where the corridor cut to the right toward the monks' cells. Rather than continuing along that passage, however, Colin took a sudden left and pushed his way into the monastery's library. Filled to brimming with every manner of books, manuscripts, and stacks of papers, I wondered if there was truly any order to this room. Brother Bursnell came toward us at once, a pleasant smile on his boyish face, and I decided he could likely lay his hands on whatever was needed.

“Mr. Pendragon . . . Mr. Pruitt . . .” He shook our hands and flashed his perfect teeth, which looked whiter than they had any right to be. It made me wonder if he never ate. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a second visit?”

“You flatter us.” Colin smiled back. “There are many who find such an interview less than a pleasure.”

“Ah . . .” He nodded as he led us back to the old rectangular table in the center of the room. “So it's to be more questioning, is it?”

“It is ever thus during an investigation, I'm afraid,” Colin half-heartedly explained as we all sat down. “You mentioned a catalog yesterday that you keep of your abbot's writings. I should very much like to see the sorts of things he was working on over the last six months of his life.”

“Certainly.” Brother Bursnell stood up with a thoughtful nod of his tawny head. “I'm quite certain Abbot Tufton would be well pleased to learn that laypeople were interested in his musings. If you will pardon me a moment . . .” he said as he retreated to a far corner of the library, not showing an ounce of hesitation just as I had presumed. “I keep all of the abbot's papers together,” he called back to us, “regardless of the subject. Six months you say?”

“That should be a good start,” Colin responded.

“And what is it we're looking for?” I asked quietly.

Colin shook his head as his eyebrows creased. “I haven't the slightest notion. I am hoping we will recognize it should we happen to stumble across it.”

“Comforting,” I muttered as Brother Bursnell came out from behind the bookcase at the back with a pile of papers held in the crux of his arm.

“Our dear abbot was quite prolific when the spirit moved him,” he said with an admiring chuckle, laying the documents on the table in front of us and stepping back. “How about I get us some tea? Brother Green is bound to be puttering about the kitchen and would be happy to oblige us.”

“A commendable idea,” Colin answered as he began to paw through the papers. “And do you also have the abbot's personal Bible? It seems to be missing from his cell.”

“I do not. You should check with Brother Silsbury, I believe he has all of Abbot Tufton's personal effects.”

“Very well. Thank you.”

Brother Bursnell tipped his head again, making me wonder if he hadn't been a man of service at some point early in his life, and left us to fetch the tea. Before I could even start to ask Colin whether he had noticed the same oddity, he shoved the entire pile of papers toward me. “Start poking through these, will you?” he asked as he stood up.

“What?! Why? What will you be doing?”

“I should like to check the shelves where these came from myself to make sure this ever-so-charming brother hasn't overlooked something.”

“Overlooked?”

He gave a quick shrug. “Unintentionally or otherwise,” he said as he slid off the chair and started for the back of the stacks.

“What if he returns while you're snooping about?” I hissed after him.

“Good thought. Stir the papers about so it looks like we've been going through them and then go watch the hallway.”

“I don't like this,” I bothered to say, but it made no difference, nor had I thought it would, as Colin disappeared into the row Brother Bursnell had come from only a few moments before. In spite of my fluttering nerves, I shifted the singular pile of papers into several, spreading the whole of them out as though we had already gotten busy, before rising and stealing to the door. I pressed my ear on it and listened for a second, hoping someone did not shove against it while I was doing so, and when I heard nary a sound I eased it open just far enough to be able to peer down the hallway toward the kitchen.

The only thing I could hear was the rustling of Colin from within the stacks far behind me. It felt disconcerting and I wished there were a bit of coming and going along the corridor so that I might be able to blend into it if I had to quickly call out to Colin. But there was only that unearthly silence, which propelled my mind to the next thought: How long would it take to brew a pot of tea?