Chapter Thirty-Four
She must have fainted, as she woke some time later.
Stiff with cold, curled into a defensive ball but with one hand on his still chest, to prove he was really dead.
Awake, she sat up and waited. What was she waiting for?
Someone to make this all go away. There was no someone. No Tom, and now no Isabelle.
She knew she was crying but it felt like breathing, no feeling attached and no choice, just water falling down her face.
There was a noise behind her, someone trying the door but the Inspector’s body lay heavily against it.
A muffled exclamation then the door banged hard and opened a hand’s breadth.
She could see the Prior trying to peer in.
In the light of his candle he looked older, the shadows carving out the lines that had begun to crease his face.
‘Linnet? What are you doing? What’s stopping the door?’
‘The Inspector. He’s dead.’
It was as if she’d not answered him. He began to chide her about not going in to the Priory Church, all the while pushing at the door. Finally he was able to squeeze himself in, only to stumble over the Inspector and fall hard on the floor.
‘What the…?’
His candle had gone out so they were in the dark, which made it easier for Linnet to start speaking again.
‘It’s the Inspector’s body. He fell down the tower stairs. He was trying to kill me. He’s killed the others.’
‘What others?’
He didn’t seem to hear her when she said the Inspector was dead. She wasn’t sure she’d grasped it either.
‘Oswyn, Maykin, Tom and—’ She choked on the last word. ‘Isabelle.’
‘Isabelle?’ It was a shocked whisper and then, ‘No, no, not the child.’
She could hear him gasping and sobbing, before he tried again to speak.
‘Why?’
She was about to explain when she thought of something else.
‘He wasn’t who we thought – he was crazed – but, Father, why are you here now?’
‘I was looking for the incense for Nocturn prayers. The novice couldn’t find it when he looked.’
‘We need to move him.’
Just the sound of his renewed sobbing.
She had to make him understand.
‘The Inspector is dead. He fell down the stairs,’ she told him again. ‘What will the Bishop do if you tell him the Inspector died here and he’s been killing people?’
He was breathing heavily but the sobs had stopped. ‘What can I do now?’
‘We’re going to hide his body, and say he’s gone.’
‘We can’t hide a monk, he needs a proper burial.’
‘He’s a killer! He’s not a monk and never was. He was pretending, and he’s killed Isabelle.’
‘He deserves to burn in hell.’ The words were delivered coldly and in them Linnet could hear the Prior’s resolve returning.
She helped him to his feet. He began to open the door then stopped.
‘We’ll have to wait till after Nocturn. I’ll lead the prayers and come back when the rest go back to the dormitory.’
‘No, don’t leave me here, not with him, don’t, don’t—’ She was scrabbling at him, desperate to be out of there.
But he pushed the door shut and went, leaving her again with the body.
There was no peace in the singing for Linnet then, nothing but fear and grief and horror. After the monks fell silent she waited until she thought he was never coming back, but then a quiet knock – and at last she could open the door.
The Prior stood there, helpless in the dark, just outside the Priory Church.
‘Now what do we do with him, Linnet?’
Linnet remembered the hole in the floor in the north aisle that she’d seen when looking down on the monks – was that only yesterday? The masons had found a pit and put planks over it rather than fill it in. They were lazy but the poor workmanship was perfect now for what they had to do.
‘The pit! In the north aisle, the masons will be laying the floor over it tomorrow.’
‘That might be the answer.’ The Prior was thinking aloud, clawing himself back to the shrewd man she knew him to be.
‘Everyone thinks he’s leaving tomorrow. We could send Durham a letter as if from him, with his report, saying he’s determined to take a pilgrimage to Ireland.
He spoke of going to St Patrick’s Purgatory.
The Bishop will be furious but unable to do anything. Could you do a letter from him?’
‘Yes, I can copy hands.’ She had no reason not to admit it now. ‘We could change his report too,’ she added. She wanted her Scriptorium back. It was the only thing left to her.
They looked back into the bottom of the tower. The Inspector was lying on his back. His head was twisted awkwardly and she realised he must have hit his head against the stones as he fell. With the faint light from the door, she could see blood around his face and pooling out around his stomach.
They dragged the body up the aisle to the pit. Linnet moved the planks, ready to push the Inspector in, when the Prior stopped her.
‘They’ll see him if you just put him in like that. We need to dig down so they don’t suspect anything.’
She crouched down and scraped at the damp earth with her hands, the cold clumps of mud giving way reluctantly. The Prior wiped the floor behind the body, scuffing and covering any marks that they’d made. At last she’d hollowed out enough earth and they pushed the body into his necessary grave.
Linnet paused to check the Inspector really wasn’t breathing, but although he was still warm, she knew he was dead.
She reached down and pulled off the small signet ring, with the sign of the fox, a present from the Bishop, Linnet thought, and put it in her pocket.
They could use it for the letters she would forge.
They brushed the earth back and relaid the planks.
Linnet was panting, hot from the work and sweating through her cloak.
She sat down heavily on the planks but the Prior dragged her back up.
He had been the practical man of action but his grief overwhelmed him again, and he grasped her shoulders and asked her urgently, ‘Tell me again what happened, Linnet. How did he come to kill the child?’
She told him all that the Inspector had confessed – the murders, the Sanctuary Knocker at Durham, his exile, taking the place of the dead monk and then, here on the island, drowning Oswyn because he knew, crushing Maykin because he claimed he knew, and hanging Tom when he was after money to keep quiet.
She didn’t know why he had beaten Luke but perhaps he was close to the truth too, and, as for poor Isabelle…
she had no explanation except his madness.
She fell silent and wept at the thought she might have put the child in danger with her questions.
At one point she thought someone else was nearby so she stopped, held up a hand to the Prior and they waited. Linnet thought maybe it was someone outside or on the walkway up above, but there was no more noise.
The Prior was lost in his thoughts. ‘God will have no mercy on him,’ he said finally. ‘But the Bishop must not think we were involved – and we’ll need to have more answers for what he might ask. I will not have this man ruin the future I intend for this Priory.’
They were silent again, both looking around as if the walls of the church held an answer.
‘It’s nearly Lauds,’ the Prior said. ‘Go to the Inspector’s room and gather his things. Throw them into the sea on the far side of the island but put stones in them so they don’t wash ashore. Come to my parlour after Lauds.’
‘But the Inspector’s room… Isabelle’s there.’ She was trembling. ‘What are we…?’
They looked at each other again, numb with the renewed shock. The Prior started to speak but couldn’t find words. Then he tried again. ‘I know it’s hard. We’ll have to think about that later. Children have accidents all the time, especially children as lively as Isabelle.’
A sob overcame him again, but he composed his face. Linnet was exhausted but went off to the Inspector’s room as she’d been told.