The Dalwich Desecration (4 page)

“Do
you
remember whether there was anything on the table in his cell?”

“I don't even remember looking at it.”

“You might imagine that we were focused solely on Abbot Tufton,” Brother Morrison added as though Colin was daft. “Why would we notice such a thing as that?”

Colin cast a glare at the elderly monk and I feared the extent of his flagging patience. “The pitcher from the stand in the abbot's cell is missing,” Colin began again, sliding his attention back to Brother Silsbury once more. “Was it there that morning?”

“It was in pieces on the floor,” Brother Silsbury said. “Brother Hollings cleared it away. We saw no reason to put another in its stead.”

“Of course. And did you happen to notice whether there were any other signs of a struggle? Did it look like he had fought with his killer?”

“We are men of God, not combatants.” Brother Morrison saw fit to speak his mind yet again.

The rigidity with which Colin was holding his body made me wish that I were sitting beside him rather than across the table. There was little I could do to settle him from where I sat, so I stuck my foot out and hoped it was his shin that I connected with. “Men of God . . .” Colin repeated flatly as his eyes shot to mine, assuring me that he had received my warning. “Just the same . . .” He spoke slowly and I could see he was avoiding looking at Brother Morrison at all. “It has been my experience that a person will fight when they believe their life to be threatened. That the pitcher was smashed would appear to suggest—”

“It looked to me as though it had been knocked to the floor rather than wielded for defense,” Brother Silsbury cut in with noticeable delicacy. “It lay about the foot of the stand as I should think it would had it simply fallen.”

“Curious,” Colin mumbled, his brow furrowing a notch. “Was there nothing else? Bed linens askew . . . ? The chair overturned. . . ?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Brother Morrison grumbled as though the abbot's having tried to protect himself would have been absurd.

“God save his soul,” Brother Clayworth added, hastily crossing himself.

“Very well.” Colin pushed himself to his feet and, with great relief, I did the same. “I think we have enough information for one evening. If you will arrange for us to view the body tomorrow morning, Brother Silsbury, you may attend yourselves to his burial in the afternoon.”

“I suppose that will have to be all right,” he responded bleakly.

“It isn't decent,” Brother Morrison protested once more, his craggy face as grim as it was angry. “It should not be allowed.” He swung an infuriated glare at Father Demetris.

The gentle priest responded with a resigned shrug. “I am afraid Bishop Fencourt has asked that we cooperate with Mr. Pendragon and Mr. Pruitt,” he explained, though without the conviction I would have wished for.

“We shall be expeditious,” Colin promised. “If we can meet you at nine tomorrow I am certain our examination can be completed within the hour.”

“I shall expect you at nine then,” Brother Silsbury agreed.

“You will need to excuse me tomorrow,” Father Demetris said as he too stood up. “I must get back to Chichester first thing tomorrow, so I shall leave these two gentlemen to your care, brothers. You will look after them for the bishop?” It sounded less a question than a statement.

“Of course we will,” Brother Clayworth answered for the lot of them.

“One last question before we depart.” Colin hesitated at the refectory door. “Were all of the monks in services that morning? Was your abbot the only one missing?”

“Yes . . .” Brother Silsbury began to answer.

“No,” Brother Wright instantly corrected, his birdlike face almost uncomfortably pinched, and I wondered if this very question was what was giving him such a bleak mien. “I was in my cell. I was taken with a migraine that morning. That is my burden to bear.”

“I had forgotten.” Brother Silsbury nodded, shifting his eyes back to Colin. “Brother Wright came to see me well before dawn and I gave him a tincture of laudanum, as I do whenever such spells overcome him.” He turned back to Brother Wright. “You must have been quite asleep when everything happened.”

Colin's forehead contracted and I knew what he was going to say as soon as he began to form the words, yet there was nothing I could do to stop him. “Did you actually
see
him take the laudanum?” he queried as though speaking to a roomful of incorrigibles.

“Well . . .” Brother Silsbury flicked his eyes to Brother Wright and it was all the answer needed.

“What do you mean to suggest?!” Brother Morrison growled like thunder, looking as if he might be about to call the Heavens down upon Colin.

“Suggest?” Colin maintained the façade of an innocent. “It was merely a question.” He gave a quick nod of his head and exited the room before another word could be uttered.

CHAPTER 4

F
ather Demetris took us into Dalwich in the monastery's well-worn buckboard, which was really nothing more than an open cart. Our conversation with the priest had been stilted during the first part of the journey, mostly monosyllabic and wholly uncomfortable, until Colin had finally assured the cleric that his inference regarding the possibility of one of the monks being involved in the abbot's murder was meant only to reassure the brotherhood. Whether it proved to be the case or not, he'd intended solely to let them all know that he would leave no stone unearthed in his quest for the truth. And after a few moments' rumination, the priest had seemed to settle into Colin's explanation, though I knew it had only been done to placate. What most intrigued me, however, was that this priest was one of the few men I had ever known Colin to bother placating.

The remainder of our two-mile ride proved far more pleasant, or as pleasant as anything could be given the present circumstances. Father Demetris promised to have one of the monks see us back to the inn each evening if we would make our own way out at the start of the day while they were in their morning prayers. We agreed, though I hoped this was a ritual we would not need to repeat too many times. Unfortunately, it felt very much like a lark given that we were only at the start of this case with little sense of what we were truly facing. The only things I was certain of were Colin's ability to rattle the monks and the inevitability that he would solve this case. I only hoped he would see to the end of the case long before he reached the end of the brotherhood's tolerance.

“If I don't see you in the morning before I head back to Chichester, please be sure to keep Bishop Fencourt apprised of your progress. Just send a telegram every couple days to my attention,” Father Demetris instructed as he brought the cart to a stop in front of the rather woebegone-looking Pig and Pint Pub and Inn. “I will remain at your service should you need me and will return at the beginning of next week in any event.”

“Very good,” Colin muttered as he climbed down and pulled our trunk from the back of the wagon.

Father Demetris took a moment to gaze up at the flat, unadorned clapboard front of the Pig and Pint, its color a faded cornflower blue that had likely not seen fresh paint since my own boyhood, and sighed. “If you change your mind, you are always welcome to stay at Whitmore Abbey. You would be quite comfortable and will be left well alone unless you wish to speak with the brothers.”

“We shall certainly keep that in mind.” I spoke up as I reached into the back of the wagon and grabbed our valises. “But please know that we will see to the swift and precise resolution of this case just the same.”

“Yes . . .” Father Demetris nodded wearily. “I just . . .” He paused again and then shook his head as though trying to dismiss an unpleasant thought. “Good evening then, gentlemen,” he said, and without another word shook the reins and turned the wagon around, heading back for the monastery.

“Such strange lives those men lead,” Colin said as we watched the wagon kick up small whirls of dust from the road.

“The priest or the monks?”

“The lot of them,” he said as he turned toward the Pig and Pint and arched a single eyebrow. “Well . . . let's see if we can get a room here.” He reached behind us and grabbed our trunk by the handle, dragging it through the open doorway of the Pig and Pint while I followed behind with a valise in each hand.

We approached a long, well-worn bar on the left side of the moderately sized pub. There was a smattering of scruffy tables and chairs dotting the central space filled with chattering people eating generous portions of common fare such as meat pies, bangers and mash, fish cakes, and pasties. Libations of all sorts were being dispensed by two young women, one dark haired and heavy with an infectious smile alighting her face and the other auburn headed and gangly with nary a smirk to be seen. The two of them were not only attending to the customers at the tables but also the flush of people huddled all along the bar.

“
My good man!
” Colin called out to the ruddy-faced, heavyset man with a piping of white hair circling the sides and back of his head who was hovering behind the bar. He was wearing what appeared to be a permanent scowl as he carelessly swabbed out a glass with the soiled apron hanging around his waist. “I am hoping you can accommodate the two of us at your inn for an undetermined length of time.”

The man set the glass he'd been smearing onto the bar before leveling a critical eye upon us. “Wot ya mean, undetermined?”

“I am Colin Pendragon and this is Ethan Pruitt,” Colin answered as though that might mean something to a man in the small town of Dalwich.

The barkeep pursed his lips and crossed his meaty arms over his chest. “I didn't ask for yer bleedin' names.”

Colin's smile stiffened as his eyes flared their umbrage. “Yes,” he said flatly. “I am aware of that fact. But I am rather well-known in London for . . .”

“Ya ain't in London. This is Dalwich. We don't give a shite about them that's well-known in London. So wot's undetermined mean?”

“Are you givin' these two 'andsome gents a load a yer guff, Raleigh?” The thickly built woman with the perpetual smile and cascade of shoulder-length hair was standing right next to me holding a small tray with a couple of empty tankards clutched in her fists. “Ya gotta forgive 'is snarl,” she said in a mock whisper, her broad face highlighted by the mischievous sparkle in her warm brown eyes. “'E ain't never learned the value a bein' nice ta people since 'e's the only one got rooms ta let.”

“Ain't you got tables ta take care of,” the barkeep growled, earning himself a hearty laugh from the vivacious young woman.

“Nobody ever complains about the job I do,” she volleyed right back before turning her attentions fully on us. “What brings the two a you ta Dalwich? It sure can't be the people,” she snickered.

“As a matter of fact”—Colin turned to the young woman with a fleeting smile that nevertheless managed to convey his appreciation for her intervention—“we are here at the behest of the monks at Whitmore Abbey. Perhaps you have heard about the bit of trouble out there?”

“
Bit a trouble?!
” the round-bellied barkeep repeated as though Colin were daft. “The ruddy abbot got himself killed. I'd call that a helluva lot more than a bloody bit a trouble.”

“
Raleigh Chesterton!
” the woman shot back peevishly in spite of the obvious note of affection still evident in her tone. “Is that any way ta speak ta two men wot's come all the way from London?”

One corner of Colin's mouth twitched in amusement as he gave her a generous smile. “You are very kind, Miss . . .”

She stuck out a hand. “Maureen O'Dowd,” she announced with girlish pride.

“Colin Pendragon and Ethan Pruitt.”

“Spare me this rot,” Raleigh Chesterton groused. “If ya want rooms, ya gotta pay a week in advance. Ya don't pay in advance and I'll give yer rooms away if I need 'em. I don't give a shite where in hell you're from.”

“Yer bein' a wanker, Raleigh,” Miss O'Dowd scolded again, “wot with them 'ere ta 'elp at the monastery.”

Mr. Chesterton's face curdled. “I ain't runnin' a blasted workhouse. Same rule for anybody walks through that door even if it's Her Royal Missus.”

Miss O'Dowd burst out in a great hoot. “Yer a right spiv, Raleigh, sayin' such a thing 'bout our Victoria. I'd like ta see the day she walks through that ratty door.” She turned to us with a gleam in her eyes that was as sharp as it was full of mirth. “'E'll give ya two rooms fer the price a one,” she said with a wink.

“
Like bleedin' hell!
” Mr. Chesterton roared. “They don't pay fer their rooms and I'll take it outta yer wages.”

Maureen O'Dowd released another howl of laughter. “Then you'll never get yer money with the shite wages you pay.”

“Get back ta work,” he growled. “Annabelle looks about set ta toss her biscuits out there by herself.”

Miss O'Dowd barely looked back over her shoulder before stating, “She's doin' fine. It's
you
wot gets 'er in a state.” She leaned across the bar and stuck a hand out. “Now gimme the keys fer these fine gentlemen and I'll show 'em to their rooms right quick. Ya won't 'ardly even know I'm gone,” she added with finality as she slid her tray onto the bar top. “Any a these blokes get outta 'and fer Anna and you get yer arse out there and 'elp 'er. It'd do ya some good ta get out from behind there anyway. Yer gonna get yerself stuck back there one a these days,” she chortled as she reached over and poked a finger at his bulging gut.

“
Hey!
” He swatted at her hand. “You got no room ta talk,” he sneered as he tossed his chin toward her ample frame before settling his glare back on Colin and me. “You
still
gotta pay in advance or I
will
give yer rooms away if I need 'em.”

“We will only need one room,” Colin answered. “We are accustomed to sharing and that way you shall have plenty of extra space when all the impending travelers you seem so concerned about finally come flooding through your doors begging for a place to stay.”

Miss O'Dowd clapped her hands with a screech of laughter, though it was evident that Mr. Chesterton was not likewise amused. “Rooms have only got
one
bed. So you'll be needin' two jest like I been sayin',” he snarled with the conviction of a man who knows he has the final word. “And you can pay fer 'em
both
in advance.”

“It's fine,” I hastily cut in, stepping forward and pulling some coins from my pocket. “A week in advance for two rooms then.”

“Yer a right pip, Raleigh,” Miss O'Dowd chuckled, shaking her head with that ever-present grin of hers.

“And yer a loudmouth,” he huffed back as he swept the money out of my hand before sliding two slightly bent and pitted keys across the bar. “Welcome ta the Pig and Pint,” he grumbled, shifting his scowl back to Maureen O'Dowd. “And don't you dally takin' them up 'cause I ain't waitin' on no feckin' tables.”

Miss O'Dowd waved him off with a snort. “I'll be back before you can finish smearin' them glasses you're so busy foulin' up.” She reached out and snatched the two keys off the bar. “Come on, gents,” she said with the enthusiasm of someone on the verge of a whirlwind holiday, “let me show ya wot ya got yerselves into.” She loosed another satisfied chuckle as she started for the back of the bar.

Mr. Chesterton frowned as he held the glass he'd been working on up to the light. “It's frightful,” Colin spoke up, leaning in toward the man.

“I'll get it bloody clean,” Mr. Chesterton snapped back.

Colin raised a single eyebrow. “I was referring to the abbot's murder.”

Mr. Chesterton glared back at Colin. “Wot's it ta do with me? Long as I get their ale every month, I don't give a good piss wot that lot does. Maybe they oughta keep at each other 'cause it's already got me two rooms booked.” He gave a harsh snicker, pleased with his own joke, before ambling off to the far end of the bar.

“Ya mustn't mind Raleigh,” Miss O'Dowd said when we caught up with her in a hallway just off the back of the bar. Colin had our trunk balanced on one shoulder while I trundled along with the two valises. “'E's jest sore 'cause 'is wife went off ta visit 'er sister in Cornwall 'bout a year and a 'alf ago and ain't never come back.”

“That's terrible,” I agreed.

“Thing is . . .” She didn't seem able to hide the snicker that was rippling up from her ample bosom. “'Is wife ain't
got
a sister in Cornwall.” And now a laugh burbled out of her, but even so it managed to sound neither mean nor derisive. “'E'll warm up ta ya. You'll see.”

“We shall live for the moment,” Colin groused from behind me.

“Yer funny.” She tossed back a beaming grin as she started up a dark, narrow staircase off the short hallway we'd been navigating. “It must be so excitin' livin' in London. All them fancy people toddlin' everywhere and always somethin' wonderful ta do. I've dreamt me 'ole life a goin' there.” She cast another grin back at us. “Me betrothed is gonna take me ta live there as soon as we're married.” She pressed a single finger to her lips. “Ya can't tell no one. We ain't told Raleigh yet and 'e's gonna burst a bollock when we do.”

“When are you to be married?” I asked.

“Soon . . .” she answered vaguely, though I would swear I caught something of a gleam behind her eyes. “One a yer rooms is at the back a the building and the other looks out onto the street in front. There's only one WC, but with you two bein' the only ones 'ere right now you won't 'ave any problem gettin' ta use it. It's right across from the room at the back if that makes any difference 'bout 'oo stays where.”

“Which one is closer?” Colin huffed against the compounding weight of the trunk.

“The one up front.” She reached the top of the stairs and veered off to the right.

“Let me help you,” I said, scuttling back behind him as soon as he stepped onto the landing.

“Just get this blasted thing off my back!” he groused.

I grabbed the strap on top and we lowered it slowly to the wooden floor, its heft catching me by surprise. “Why didn't you ask for my help?”

“You were too busy carrying on about getting married and moving to London . . .” he grumbled, rolling his shoulders backward and forward. “But I'm sure as hell not carrying that damn thing back down. When it's time to leave I'll pitch it out the bloody front window first.”