Chapter 14 #2
The scrape of metal on metal from the latch sounded very quiet in the night and set several crows grumbling in their roosts.
Across the other side of the site, Jenna could see a scattering of lights glowing in the windows of Winterhill Hall and wondered whether someone from the Foundation was working late.
She shivered as she followed Bree’s determined figure across the grass towards the dark outline of the priory ruins.
For a moment it felt as though time had shifted backwards; she almost expected to see a procession of nuns crossing the cloisters towards them, shadowed and lantern-lit.
This felt very wrong and yet what alternative did she have?
In a couple of days, the archaeologists would start to study the ruins, running geophysics surveys and lidar and lots of other things she knew would be dangerous, even if she didn’t know exactly how they worked.
If they didn’t act now, they would be too late.
She knew that yet still she felt panicked, on the verge of running away. She just wasn’t a natural risk-taker…
‘Here we are.’ Bree’s voice stirred her from her thoughts. ‘Put the torch on the grass, Jenna. If you loosen the earth around the edges of the grave, I’ll lever up the stone and you can grab the box and the bag.’
Jenna wasn’t going to argue. She knew they needed to be focussed.
She hefted the trowel and slid it into the earth, hearing the scrape of metal against the stone slab.
Fortunately, the soil was soft now the frosts were gone and the digging not too arduous.
She was able to cut a shallow trench around the edges of the tombstone and slide the trowel underneath.
Bree whipped out the crowbar and there was a clunk as she levered the stone higher.
Jenna pulled on her gloves and a thick face mask, knelt down and with some reluctance, shone the torch inside and peered into the grave.
‘I’m very sorry to disturb you again, Father Nicholas—’
Bree gave a snort. ‘He can’t hear you, you know.’
Jenna ignored her. She had tried to prepare herself for what she would find, having researched decomposition before they set out.
By now, the chalky soil would have destroyed Father Nicholas’s coffin and most of his clothing.
A scattering of his bones would probably remain.
Parts of the wooden box in which she – in which Marris, she corrected herself – had buried Queen Anna’s documents should still be intact, even after all this time, as it had been made of walnut and then wrapped in a wax cloth.
The documents within had also been carefully preserved…
Don’t think about this, she told herself. Just do it, don’t look…
When the stone lifted, however, she did look.
She could not help herself. Father Nicholas’s skeleton was indeed intact, with a few fragments of cloth still visible clinging to the bones.
He looked peaceful and dignified, she thought.
His silver crucifix lay in the soil between his ribs.
As befitted his role as a monk, he had had no other grave goods.
She levered the torch around, trying to locate the other items. She was certain that the Tudor box had been placed carefully at the southern end of the vault. A fresh wave of guilt washed over her as she squinted into the darkness, trying to locate it.
There was nothing in the grave. It was completely empty but for Father Nicholas’s skeleton. The box had vanished.
Jenna stared, frozen in disbelief.
‘Get a move on, Jenna,’ Bree said, jolting her out of her trance. She sounded a bit out of breath.
‘It’s not here,’ Jenna said blankly. ‘The box isn’t here. It’s gone.’
‘What? Let me see.’ Bree gestured to Jenna to take over the crowbar whilst she peered beneath the stone. The torch flashed wildly around the space.
‘Shit,’ Bree said. She sat back on her heels. ‘Are you sure we’ve got the right tomb?’
‘Yes,’ Jenna said. She let the stone go with a clunk, unable to hold the weight any longer.
Her thoughts were whirling. What had happened to the box?
Had someone taken it? If so, when, why, who?
Her mind seemed to splinter. The memories of her past existence, Marris’s life, already shadowy and frayed at the edges, suddenly seemed no more than fantasy.
Had her imagination played tricks on her?
Had she invented it all? Abruptly, it felt as though her entire sanity stood on the edge of a precipice.
‘There’s no point hanging around.’ Bree sounded calm.
‘Either we’re in the wrong place, or someone has beaten us to it.
Let’s get out of here, before anyone sees us.
’ She stood up, dusting the soil from her trousers.
Then, when Jenna didn’t move, she put a hand under her arm and pulled her to her feet.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Jen,’ Bree said. She sounded almost angry. ‘You’re not mad. It did happen. I was there and I remember it too.’
‘Thanks,’ Jenna said shakily. She grabbed the torch from the grass, her shaking fingers slipping on the switch.
‘Sometimes you question everything, you know? What if we’re suffering from a shared delusion that we’ve both experienced a previous life?
Is it all a fantasy and somehow we’ve each encouraged the other one to believe it—’
‘Let’s discuss this some other time.’ There was urgency in Bree’s voice now. ‘I think I can hear someone coming.’
Suddenly the lady chapel was filled with light.
It was not the feeble flicker of the torch.
For a moment Jenna had the mad idea that it was something otherworldly, a spotlight shining down from the heavens to illuminate their crimes.
Then she realised that all the flood-lights had come on, bathing the entire ruin in brightness.
She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glare and as she did so, someone moved behind her and spoke.
It was the burly security guard she had seen on her visit to the priory a few weeks before.
He had his hands on his hips and a grin of malicious satisfaction on his face.
Next to him stood a pale, skinny youth, also in a high vis jacket, who was fumbling for his phone.
‘You’re nicked,’ the security guard said.
* * *
Owen was glad when the ‘night-time extravaganza’ fundraising event at Winterhill Hall started to draw to a close.
There had been a ticketed reception and dinner preceded by various optional activities: bat-watching in the priory ruins and even a ghost tour which, predictably, had been the sell-out event of the evening.
His grandparents had made one of their rare public appearances to support the Swan Power Foundation.
Even his cousin Jack had come along, which was as rare as a unicorn sighting.
Peter Cox had rolled up looking very pleased with himself, with the glamorous woman Owen realised he had seen in the pink sports car, whom he had introduced as Mo.
Owen had hosted various wealthy benefactors on Rachel’s request and schmoozed the local press.
He’d also politely ignored a couple of women who had made their interest in him very clear.
He’d missed Jenna badly that evening. Halfway through the dinner he had nipped out to call her, simply wanting to hear her voice, but there was no answer from her mobile.
Now, when his phone rang as he was driving back after taking his grandparents home, he wondered if it was Jenna calling him even though it was almost eleven. However, it was Rachel.
‘Owen? Where are you?’ His sister sounded unusually flustered. ‘Have you still got Gran and Grandad with you?’
‘I’ve just dropped them off,’ Owen said. He could hear voices in the background of the call, loud and urgent. ‘What’s going on? Is there a problem?’
‘No,’ Rachel said. ‘Well, yes. But—’ She put a hand over the phone for a second whilst she spoke to someone else. ‘Sorry,’ she said a second later. ‘There’s a bit of a kerfuffle here at the hall. The police have been called. I could do with some backup.’
Owen smiled briefly at his sister’s use of the word ‘kerfuffle’. It took a lot to ruffle Rachel out of her use of old-fashioned language.
‘Someone drank too much of the Winterhill wine and got a bit wasted?’ he hazarded.
One of the Foundation’s donors owned a local vineyard and had given them a generous case of wine for the event.
Owen could imagine some of the elderly guests imbibing freely and getting a bit too inebriated. He’d seen it happen before.
‘No.’ At least he could hear a smile now in Rachel’s voice. Then she turned serious again. ‘It’s nothing like that. It’s all a bit odd, actually. Security picked up someone trying to open one of the tombs in the lady chapel.’
‘What?’ Owen frowned. ‘You mean – like grave-robbing?’
‘Not like grave-robbing.’ Rachel was ever the pedant. ‘It is grave-robbing, Owen. Trespass, criminal damage and disturbing a burial site, to be precise. Also, possibly theft or robbery, I forget which, and—’
‘Body-snatching?’ Owen couldn’t help himself.
‘It’s not funny!’ Rachel said sharply. ‘There were two of them, but one of them ran away. But the other suspect…’ An odd note came into her voice. ‘Well, it’s Jenna, Owen. Your Jenna.’
Your Jenna.
Owen was so stupefied that he almost swerved off the road. He straightened up, swearing.
‘Are you still there?’ Rachel said sharply.
‘Yes,’ Owen said. His mind was spinning. ‘Look, this has to be a mistake,’ he said urgently. He tried not to speed up too much. That would be madness on these twisty, unlit roads. ‘Jenna simply wouldn’t do something like that,’ he said. ‘It’s ridiculous! Let me speak to her—’