The Dalwich Desecration (25 page)

“Right . . .” Mrs. Honeycutt stated with finality as she too got up and headed over to the door where her son remained. “I'll leave ya to it then. Good ta see ya again . . .” she added to Colin and me, but there was little real conviction in her voice and I understood why.

“Our regards to your husband,” Colin called after her, but she did not respond and I doubted George Honeycutt would give a whit to know that we'd returned.

“Have you learned anything?” Edward Honeycutt asked as soon as his mother disappeared, before he even came fully into the room.

Colin sat down again and I followed suit. “I try to make it a habit to learn something new every day,” he answered cheekily.

Edward perched on the seat across from us where his mother had just been, his face a mask of soberness and concern. “I meant about Mo,” he corrected as though Colin might actually have misunderstood him.

“Of course.” Colin sat back for an instant before reaching out and picking up his teacup again. “What I have learned is that there are ever more questions surrounding both Miss O'Dowd's death and that of the abbot at the monastery.”

“The abbot?!” He looked genuinely caught off guard. “Whatever does the abbot's death have to do with Maureen?”

“An excellent question. Now, I know you accompanied Mr. Chesterton on his visits to the monastery once or twice a month, but when was the last time the two of you visited there together?”

Edward glanced between the two of us as though checking for signs of the correct answer and I wondered if he feared stating the wrong thing. “Last Wednesday. The day after the murder. We didn't know very much about it until we got there. At least I didn't.” I found it a curious answer as I could not tell whether he was concerned about speaking on behalf of Raleigh Chesterton or if he meant to leave some unspoken possibility ajar.

“And who told you about what had happened when you arrived there?” Colin asked without his usual bravado since we knew all of these answers already.

Edward glanced down and seemed to come to some momentary decision before looking back up and locking his eyes on Colin. “Brother Clayworth, the elderly monk who runs the brewery. He was quite chattery as a matter of fact. But then he usually is.”

“Meaning . . . ?” Colin prodded, and I knew what he was looking to have Edward admit.

“He drinks,” the lad said pointedly. “It was before nine in the morning and I could tell he'd already been into his ale. Because of my work at the Pig and Pint I know the look a man's eyes get when he's downed some spirits.” He broke off his gaze with a shake of his head. “I'm sorry, I don't mean to disparage him. I'm sure he is a good man. A fine monk. He has always been kind to me. But he does know how to drink just the same.”

“Yes,” Colin nodded slowly, “so I have noticed.” He set his teacup down and slid two fingers into his vest pocket, digging out a single crown and sending it gliding across the back of his right hand. “Brother Clayworth tells us you've done some work for him,” he continued, his tone as nonchalant as the rhythm of the coin in his hand.

“I help him with his accounts about once a month. There is little to it, but the poor monk seems ill-suited for it. I'm happy to oblige as it gives me practice and a bit more coin.”

“And if I were to review those ledgers . . .” Colin maintained his blasé air as the coin continued its leisurely stroll betwixt his fingers. “. . . is there any chance that I might stumble upon any sort of impropriety?”

While I was taken aback by the directness of his question, Edward Honeycutt was even more so. The poor young man looked so startled that he actually recoiled as though Colin had taken a swipe at him. “Impropriety?!” he repeated with dismay. “Have I shown my character to be no better than that of a common thief, Mr. Pendragon? And against a brotherhood of monks no less?” Anger began to rise within his eyes as he held his gaze on Colin. “Review their ledgers. In fact, I
insist
you do so. Then see if it is fitting for you to suggest such a thing.”

A smile slowly spread across Colin's face as he kept his gaze equally fixed upon Edward Honeycutt, the coin in his hand having picked up a modicum of speed. “Your offense is very winning and yet we shall, of course, review the monk's ledgers for ourselves. I promise it shall lift my heart to prove your indignation well-founded. Yet I am sure you can imagine that in my line of work I too often find the greatest umbrage concealing the most egregious crimes. So let me ask you something I must confess to have been pondering a great deal of late. How did you propose to move yourself, Miss O'Dowd, and your unborn child to London without so much as a prospect of finding a job?”

“I have saved the money I earn from my father and Mr. Chesterton without fail,” came the answer in a hard, forthright manner. “And Mo did what she could with what she earned as well. But it was easier for me since I still live here. Mo had to pay for a room in Dalwich. It wasn't much, but it still cost her every month.”

“Were you ready to become a father, Edward? How was that going to fit in with your plans?”

The young man rubbed a hand across his forehead before glancing toward the open doorway, and it suddenly occurred to me that he had never told anyone in his family about his plans or the baby. “I wasn't happy at first. I can admit that”—he glared at Colin and me—“but Mo was so thrilled that I couldn't help but get caught in her joy. It was just going to be the three of us—making a new start. Our own family . . .” He shook his head and his shoulders slumped forward. “I loved her,” he added softly, all of the former harshness that had been steeling him abruptly replaced by a welling of pain that seemed to stretch the depth of his lifetime. For the second time in speaking with this young man I found myself swallowing back a lump that was forming in the crux of my throat and threatening to unravel the decorum that I so resolutely clung to.

“Forgive me.” Colin slid the coin back into his vest pocket and reached for his tea again. “It is not my intention to upset you. I only mean to discover the truth, just as I'm sure you wish me to.”

“With all my heart,” he announced firmly, the veil of rigidity hooding his eyes again in an instant.

Colin took a brief sip of his tea as though we were enjoying the most banal social visit. “When you went to the monastery the morning after the murder, did you notice anything unusual?”

“Unusual?” Edward frowned at the absurdity of the question and I could not blame him. “Everything was off. The whole place was in turmoil. We had no sooner turned onto their drive when we spotted the constable's carriage out front of the main building and it looked like just about every monk who lived there was milling about as if they had nothing to do. Which is
never
the way of it out there.”

“So we have seen. And did you find Brother Clayworth straightaway?”

“We did. We carried on about our business because we had no reason not to. Headed straight out to the brewery where Brother Clayworth was waiting for us same as always.” He glanced down and then right back up again. “As I said, he had already been into his ale.”

“What about Mr. Chesterton? Did he say anything to you before you reached Brother Clayworth?”

He gave a weak shrug. “I guess he was wondering what was up, same as me.”

“And then Brother Clayworth told you what had happened?
How
it had happened?”

“Right off. Before I could even get down from the wagon he was telling us about the stabbing and how they cut the abbot's tongue right out of his head.”

“I see . . .” Colin nodded as he stood up and looked toward me. “I do wish that were not the case,” he added as he turned and started for the door.

“What . . . ?” Edward got up and trailed along behind us. “What are you saying? What do you wish were not the case?”

“We shall report back to you once we have had a look at those ledgers,” he replied evenly. “I look forward to confirming your integrity.”

“But, Mr. Pendragon . . .” Edward Honeycutt began to protest even though Colin had already made it as far as the front door. “Mr. Pruitt . . . ?! ”

I glanced back to find his gaze leveled on me, as if I had a wisp of control over Colin or any insight into his mind. “You must trust Mr. Pendragon to find the truth of these cases,” I said, unable to think of anything more reassuring, “no matter where that truth may lie.” And then I too made a hasty retreat, determined to bombard Colin with questions until I, at least, understood what he was up to.

CHAPTER 24

M
y head ached and my eyes insisted on displaying their fatigue by continuously welling up as if I were the victim of my own emotions. I dabbed at them with the handkerchief Colin had loaned to me before glancing sideways to make sure Brother Clayworth was still asleep. To my relief he remained just so, his chin hung forward until it nearly touched his chest and his breathing coming in a deep, rhythmic flow. I began to feel it likely that I could drive a team of mules through the open brewery without disturbing him in the least, though whether it was a function of his age or the nipping he'd undoubtedly been doing throughout the day, I could not say.

I rubbed my thumbs on my forehead just above my eyebrows in an attempt to lessen the pain, but it had little immediate impact. What I was really most exasperated about was where Colin had gotten off to. He had started out beside me in Brother Clayworth's awkward little office in the corner of the converted barn pretending to be paying attention, albeit poorly, to the multitude of ledgers the kindly monk had laid out for our perusal. But the review of such figures is simply not his forte, so long before the other monks had returned from their afternoon prayers, Colin had gotten up and blithely wandered away. Only Brother Clayworth had remained to keep me company, dismissing the need to attend one afternoon's prayers for the sake of the work Colin wished me to get done. In point of fact, however, I suspected the monk merely yearned for nothing more than a bit of sleep.

I had presumed that Colin would at least
pretend
to return to the work at hand once the small cadre of monks who toiled here began to filter back, but he did not. And so I had persevered alone to the accompaniment of the smells and sounds of ale production, along with the soft, muted snoring of Brother Clayworth. The whole of it had conspired to leave me in the condition I now found myself deeply mired in: cranky, achy, and leaking about the eyes like a sodden oaf.

“Have you found any signs of potted revelry with a coterie of local slags on hand?”

I froze at the sound of Colin's whispered voice, terrified that Brother Clayworth might have heard, but when I quickly slid my eyes sideways it was to discover that the good monk had heard nothing more than the inner mumblings of his dreams. “Are you now trying to get us expelled from this monastery?” I hissed, my current mood charging aggressively forth. “Or perhaps you mean to have us banned from the whole of Dalwich altogether?!”

He seemed to consider that possibility before a roguish smile eased itself onto his face. “You cannot think I mean to vanquish myself when I am moving ever closer to the solution of this case. But I can see I have left you to this tedium too long. You mustn't be cross.” He moved closer to me so he could peer over my shoulder at the ledger I had open before me. “
Have
you found anything of any use? Any discrepancy that Edward Honeycutt did not properly account for?”

I let out a disgusted snort. “These books are flawlessly kept and do not contain even a modicum of questionable input. I would let Edward Honeycutt keep
our
ledgers. And speaking of which”—I turned my head to scowl at him and was rewarded by a renewal of the incessant pounding—“you still have not told me why you were needling Edward back at their house. What game is it you're playing against him?”

“Game?!” He looked back at me with arch surprise as if I had just offended the whole of his character. “Since when do you know me to be a man who plays games?” He leaned forward and whispered into my nearest ear. “I find him to be too contrite. I wish to unnerve him some. After all, beyond the monks themselves, only he and Mr. Chesterton had the details of the abbot's death before Miss O'Dowd's body was found. Somebody wanted us to believe the two murders linked. Someone who knew about the abbot's tongue having been severed.”

“Oh . . .” I shook my head and let my wearied body slump forward. “I simply cannot believe that Edward Honeycutt could have had anything to do with Miss O'Dowd's murder. It's too awful.”

“Now, Ethan . . .” he started to say, but the sound of the elderly monk beginning to stir on my other side instantly brought Colin upright and condemned him to silence.

“Gentlemen . . .” Brother Clayworth rubbed his eyes and rolled his head slightly, easing the cricks that had obviously settled there during his protracted slumber. “I must have dozed off a moment,” he mumbled.

“I'm afraid it was more than a moment,” I responded, letting my own exhaustion get the best of me.

“We have had time enough to finish with your ledgers and be summoned by the newly returned Father Demetris,” Colin cut in smoothly.

“Summoned . . . ?” I cast a glance at Colin to see whether we had truly been requested by the priest or if he was simply making an excuse.

“I ran into him fresh from the train station while I was exploring the grounds and he asked that we join him in the abbot's former office.”

“Off you go then,” Brother Clayworth said as he pulled himself back to his feet. “Never mind about these things, I'll put them away. You don't want to keep the bishop's emissary waiting.” He gave us a broad grin.

I was only too happy to follow Colin out of the brewery and away from a task that I could see held no use for us. If Edward Honeycutt was pilfering money, it most certainly was not from the monks. I dreaded the possibility that Colin might want me to go through Raleigh Chesterton's books next, provided Constable Brendle could convince Mr. Chesterton to give us a look at them. The very thought of it was enough to keep me silent on the topic lest the idea had not already occurred to him. “Where did you get off to anyway?” I asked instead as we walked back to the main monastery building. The edge of annoyance that persisted in my voice was slowly becoming easier to control as the fresh air immediately began to soothe the pounding in my head.

“You know I don't have the patience for that sort of thing. And you're so much better at it than I am.”

“Better at straining my eyes and sorting through numbers? Hardly a compliment,” I groused.

He chuckled, but then I had known he would. “I shall make it up to you,” he said quite simply.

The sound of our boots clacking along the empty monastery hallway was the only company we had as we made our way back to the abbot's office. For some reason I felt as though we were about to be censured and could not quite understand why. There was no doubt that the priest had been sent to see how we were progressing and that, I supposed, was where my unease lay. For it seemed to me we had little to show for our efforts, which nettled me as I checked Colin's expression and found a look of pure nonchalance.

“
Gentlemen!
” Father Demetris said as he pulled the door open, his welcoming smile adding to my apprehension. “Please come in.” He stepped aside and waved us to the same chairs in front of the ornate desk. “It is heartening to see you both again, and I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you have decided to stay right here for the remainder of your enquiry. It can only help you succeed in solving this case all the more readily.”

“Precisely our intention,” Colin answered easily. “And how was your journey back?”

“Uneventful. Which suits me. I must confess that I still do not find speeding along behind a steam locomotive to be a natural event in the least. And now the press is all abuzz about those horseless carriages. I do not understand it. I do not understand it at all.”

“The automobile.” Colin grinned eagerly. “How I would like to get my hands on one.”

Father Demetris gave a mock shiver as he let loose a chuckle. “I'll take a horse any day.”

“But the automobile is so much cleaner than a horse and far less temperamental.”

“They may be cleaner, but I'll not agree that they're less temperamental. In any event, I much prefer God's creatures to man-made contraptions. But tell me, Mr. Pendragon, how has your investigation progressed into the abbot's death?”

“We have learned a great deal.” Colin flashed a tight grin. “But I will admit to having many critical questions that still remain unanswered. And then there are some potentially useful documents that seem to have quite disappeared.”

A quizzical expression settled upon Father Demetris's face. “What documents? I have been quite clear with the brotherhood that it is the bishop's wish that every assistance should be accorded you. Have they not done so?”

“The monks have been appreciably generous with their time and information,” Colin tossed back, “but we've had a devil of a time getting our hands on some of the abbot's personal papers. Brother Silsbury was even rather stingy in letting us review the abbot's Bible.” Colin reached into his coat and pulled out the small, leather-bound book. “I finally had to resort to
borrowing
it for a bit without his knowledge,” he added with a lopsided grin.

The priest shook his head with a twinge of embarrassment, though I decided his look also included a fair amount of astonishment at Colin's audacity. “Well, I do apologize for that. You have my permission to keep the abbot's Bible for as long as you deem necessary.”

“Thank you.” Colin gave a perfunctory nod as he shoved it back into his pocket and I knew he would have found a way to keep it no matter what the priest had determined. “But what flusters me the most,” he continued, “is the fact that no one can seem to lay their hands on the abbot's journals from his sabbatical to Egypt.”

“Egypt?!” Father Demetris leaned forward with a look of surprise. “But that was years ago. Whatever do you want to see that for?”

“Why did he go?” Colin pressed, ignoring the priest's question.

“I really couldn't say. That would have been something he took up with the bishop, not me.”

“But you're the bishop's confidante, are you not?” And I was stunned to hear Colin appealing to the man's ego as he would to any common man.

“I have become so, yes. But that trip was years ago.”

“Three years ago,” Colin clarified. “Just over three and a half to be precise. Were you not with the bishop long before then?” Colin abruptly raised a hand and waved the priest off perfunctorily. “Perhaps he simply thought you ill-suited for whatever the matter was. You needn't concern yourself about it. I shall have my father check with Bishop Fencourt directly.”

Father Demetris ran a hand through his deep brown hair and released a sigh as he sat back in his chair once again. His weary eyes revealed the obvious turmoil raging within his mind as I continued to marvel at Colin's ability to manipulate the ego of such a pious man. The two of us remained silent as the priest appeared to be weighing his words carefully before he finally chose to speak up once more. “You needn't trouble yourself or your father, Mr. Pendragon. I will tell you what you wish to know, though I believe you will find it has no bearing on his murder. It is my understanding that Abbot Tufton went to Egypt because he was suffering a sort of crisis of faith. He went there to study and learn, and to search for answers to the questions that had been clouding his mind. I am happy to inform you that at the conclusion of his journey to the Middle East he came right back here to Whitmore Abbey, where he resumed his position for the remainder of his life.” He smiled. “But then you already know that.”

“And the questions he was searching for answers to . . .” Colin mused as he leaned back, and I watched his hand reach for his vest pocket to release a crown before it abruptly stopped, left hanging impotently in midair. He shifted his eyes to me and I knew he was adrift, so I grabbed the nub of pencil I always carried in my coat pocket and handed it over to him. His eyes wandered down rather vacantly before he slowly started to flip it through his fingers, though with far less dexterity then he would have done with a coin. “And those questions . . .” he began again, his hand picking up a bit of speed with that nub of pencil, “. . . were they about the
Codex Sinaiticus
and
Syriacus
? Perhaps even the release of the Gospel of Peter that, if memory serves me, was published just prior to the abbot's sojourn?”

Father Demetris pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed at his eyes. “I see you have done your research,” he muttered in a way that made it clear he had not meant it as a compliment.

“It is why your bishop brought me here,” Colin replied plainly.

“Doubters and men of science have been trying to disprove the authenticity of the Bible since its inception.” Father Demetris dropped his hand and spoke in a slow, grave cadence that seemed to bear out the weight of the topic for him. “Always to no avail. It has been as impossible to refute as it has been to validate. Such is the definition of faith.” He gave a small shrug and heaved a prolonged sigh. “And then that German man found the
Codex Sinaiticus
about sixty years ago.”

“Constantin von Tischendorf,” Colin supplied without hesitation, startling even me.

“Yes . . . yes . . .” Father Demetris nodded solemnly, and I could see that the topic weighed heavily on him. “When the codex was released five years ago it set the whole of the Christian, Jewish, and Muslim faiths into a most precarious position. Think of it—here was half of the Old Testament and the
whole
of the New Testament written over fifteen hundred years ago. The oldest versions known to exist. And they were
filled
with changes. The hand of man revising the original words of God. There were thousands of them. . . .”

“More than
thirty
thousand,” Colin bothered to state.

Father Demetris heaved yet another sigh as his shoulders slumped forward. “Yes, so many changes made to a text we had been preaching as sacrosanct. And for the first time we had proof that the books of the Bible that had been handed down to us from ancient times were neither historically accurate nor reliable.”