A Finer End (37 page)

W
HEN KINCAID FIRST
returned to Garnet’s kitchen and found it empty, he assumed that Gemma had gone out to meet the ambulance. A look out the door, however, showed the yard deserted and quiet, the only vehicle Gemma’s Escort parked in the lane. He crossed the yard and pulled open the gate, tearing the crime-scene tape loose.

But a look down the lane revealed no sign of activity. He went back into the house and knelt by Andrew Catesby. The man’s skin had taken on an unhealthy tinge. Swearing, Kincaid rang 999 again and was assured by the dispatcher that help was on the way.

Standing, he called out for Gemma. There was no response. He checked the loo and the other downstairs rooms, fetching a rug from the sitting-room settee in passing. As he covered Andrew Catesby, he saw a scattering of papers on the floor beneath the table.

Gathering the sheets, he lifted them into the light of the oil lamp. He read Garnet’s notes, then the book pages, with growing fascination. When he reached the newspaper clipping, he paused.
Kinnersley
 … Where had he heard that name, and recently? It had been Buddy who’d mentioned that Garnet had bought the old Kinnersley place. The accident had happened here, then, outside this house. He read on.…
Sarah Kinnersley’s body was discovered by a neighbor, Charles Barnes, who informed her parents before ringing the police. No trace of the child’s assailant has been found
.

Charles Barnes? Buddy, of course. Buddy … Garnet … two hit-and-run accidents, all connected somehow, if he could only see it. That didn’t rule out the possibility that Garnet had seen Andrew strike Winnie with his car, but he was beginning to think that Andrew and Faith had played out a separate drama.

He was still puzzling over it when he heard the pulse of sirens.

•  •  •

“You didn’t by any chance see Gemma down the way?” Kincaid asked, as he and DCI Greely watched the paramedics load Andrew Catesby into the ambulance. He was now seriously worried.

“What, have you lost her, then?” Greely sounded amused.

“I thought she might have gone down to guide the ambulance,” Kincaid answered curtly.

“And you say the girl is missing as well? It would be my guess your partner saw, or heard, something, and went to have a look.”

“I’m very much afraid you’re right.” With dismay Kincaid glanced round at the impenetrable darkness outside the farmyard. “But how—”

A shout came from the officers in the lane; a moment later they appeared at the gate with a struggling and swearing figure between them.

“Let him go,” Greely ordered. “How’d you get up here, lad?”

Nick Carlisle shook himself free and snarled, “Across the foot of the Tor. Is she here? Is she all right?”

“Faith’s not here, Nick,” Kincaid replied. “But we found Andrew badly injured. And now Gemma’s disappeared too.”

“I saw a light at the summit of the Tor, just one flash as I came across the field—”

“You think they’ve both gone up the blasted Tor, in the dark, in this weather?” Greely shook his head.

“Gemma had her torch,” Kincaid remembered. “We’ve got to go after them. Have you a trained rescue unit? Faith may be hurt—”

“The baby,” interrupted Nick. “It was due any day. She couldn’t make that climb—”

“But if she did, it’s very likely we’ve got another complication to consider. What about a stretcher?”

It seemed an eternity before Greely was running them down the hill in his own car, followed by his men in a panda. Leaving the cars near the bottom of the lane, they took the path that led up the southern face of the Tor, Greely having
vetoed the north side as insane in the dark. The DCI dispatched officers to search the lane leading to the north entrance and instructed them to go as far along the path as they deemed safe, and he had sent one constable to Chalice Well.

Nick, Greely, and Kincaid led, Greely having found torches for them all, while the three officers carrying lights, ropes, and the folding stretcher brought up the rear. Although the southern slope was considerably more gentle than the northern, it was still a difficult climb. Fortunately, the rain had stopped, improving the visibility if not the footing.

Although none of them had much breath for conversation, Kincaid heard Greely mutter, “Mad. Bloody mad,” more than once.

“Likely as not they’ll find the girl curled up somewhere along the lane again, like a bloody hedgehog,” Greely grumbled, when they stopped for a breather at the first plateau. “And then I’ll have a hell of a time explaining this”—he gestured at the officers—“to my guv’nor.”

“I hope you’re right,” Kincaid said. What had Gemma been thinking, going off without telling him? He knew she wouldn’t have done such a thing lightly: that knowledge worried him even more.

They set out again, strung out single-file on the treacherous path. Suddenly Nick, who was in front of Kincaid, came to an abrupt stop and Kincaid teetered as he tried to avoid crashing into him.

“Look!” Nick exclaimed. “A light. There it is again.”

Kincaid saw it then, a faint but regular flash from the summit in an SOS pattern. It could only be Gemma.

The sight spurred them to climb with renewed energy, Greely no longer grumbling. Kincaid shouted Gemma’s name.

“Here!” As they reached the summit, she came running towards him. Kincaid gathered her to him, the fierceness of his hug part anger and part relief.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But I had to find her. The
baby’s fine, a little girl, but Faith’s bleeding—badly, I think.”

Greely was on the radio, calling for another ambulance, and Nick had dropped to his knees by Faith’s head, murmuring her name as the officers readied the stretcher. Kincaid squatted beside them and stroked her cheek with his fingertip. “You should have waited for me. I’d have given you a much smoother ride home.”

Faith attempted a smile. The baby was nestled against her chest, her tiny rosebud mouth just showing beneath the edge of Faith’s shirt. Kincaid found himself moved by the sight.

“We’ll have you down this hill in no time,” he promised, stepping back, but Faith clutched at him.

“Andrew …”

“Shhh. Don’t worry about that now. It’s fine.”

The officers stepped in and strapped mother and infant on the stretcher, and they were soon caravanning back down the hill.

This time Kincaid and Gemma brought up the rear. He noticed that she was limping, and when he stopped to help her over a particularly difficult spot, he saw that her hands were cut and swollen. In the light from the torch, her face looked as pale as Faith’s.

The ambulance was waiting when they reached the lane. To Kincaid’s surprise, Bram Allen paced nearby, his brow furrowed with worry. “What’s going on?” he demanded, hurrying towards them. “They said an accident, someone badly hurt at the old Kinnersley place.”

“Andrew Catesby,” Kincaid replied.

“But the girl …” Bram’s gaze followed the stretcher, now being loaded into the ambulance.

“Chose an odd place to have her baby.”

“I don’t understand,” Bram said, a tremor in his voice.

“Neither do we, yet. She—”

“Duncan!” Gemma called to him from the rear of the ambulance.

“Sorry,” he murmured to Bram, then ducked through the milling officers to Gemma’s side.

“Faith wants to speak to you before they go.”

He stepped up into the ambulance. “You rang, princess?”

Faith’s lips moved and he leaned closer. “I wanted you to know …” Her voice was a thread of sound. “Andrew … I didn’t mean to hurt him. He—he said he couldn’t bear for Winnie to know.…”

“You did the only thing you could,” Kincaid assured her firmly. “You protected yourself and your daughter.”

“Is he …”

“Don’t think about that.”

“We’re ready to go,” the paramedic urged.

Turning back to Faith, Kincaid said, “You’re going to be fine, sweetheart. We’ll see you at the hospital.” He backed out and stood beside Gemma as the ambulance pulled away.

“She’s so weak,” Gemma murmured. “There was so much blood.… And she’s so very, very cold.…”

The illuminations took Winnie’s breath away. So rich were the colors, so intricate the details of the minute paintings that adorned the folio’s alternate pages, that she could scarcely tear her eyes from them to look at the music itself.

The manuscript consisted of sixteen pages of tissue-thin, almost translucent vellum, folded to make a large, flat book. On the right-hand pages, the paintings filled the upper left corners, taking almost a quarter of the page, with the decoration continuing down the left-hand side and across the bottom. The text was in Latin, and above the text, the red, four-line staffs bore the ancient, square notation of chant, drawn in black.

“It
is
in twelve parts,” she said. “But I don’t recognize the sequence. It’s not an ordinary mass.…”

“The Divine Office?” suggested Jack.

Winnie explained for Fiona’s benefit. “Traditionally, the
Divine Office was made up of the services celebrated throughout the day in a monastery. Matins, Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers, and Compline. The chant repertory might have included recited Psalms.…” Looking back at the manuscript, she struggled with deciphering the ornate text, murmuring the words as she translated—then the pattern clicked. “It
is
a Psalm. Number 148!
Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens; praise him in the heights. Praise ye him, all his angels: praise ye him, all his hosts. Praise ye him, sun and moon: praise him, all ye stars of light. Praise him, ye heavens of heavens, and ye waters that be above the heavens
. It goes on, all the birds and beasts and creeping things are here too.”

“And look at the illuminations.” Fiona pointed with a fingertip, but didn’t touch. “There’s the sun and the moon, and the stars, and here on the next page the birds.… But look at the background in this one. It’s Glastonbury. That’s the Abbey, and that’s the Tor behind it.”

“This is Edmund’s work,” Jack told them. “I’m sure of it. Look. That’s Glastonbury again. And here. And this one, with the water flowing from the hillside, that’s Chalice Well as it was then, where he met Alys.”

“But in the last days it shall come to pass,”
read Winnie,
“that the mountain of the House of the Lord shall be established in the top of the mountains, and it shall be exalted above the hills, and people shall flow unto it
. That’s Micah.” Turning several pages, she said, “And after that, Revelation. It’s Jesus’ commandment to the Philadelphians.
Him that overcometh I will make a pillar in the temple of my God, and he shall go no more out; and I will write upon him the name of my God, and the name of the city of my God, which is new Jerusalem.… Glastonbury …
the new Jerusalem …”

“Can you sing any of it?” asked Fiona. “Do you know how to read the notation?”

“Yes, but … it needs a choir. I suppose I could try.…” Winnie studied the new Jerusalem passage for a moment, then, hesitantly, sang a few syllables.

“Go on,” Jack and Fiona begged when she stopped.

Winnie sang another line of the verse, and as her confidence grew, she felt the power of the music welling up within her, reverberating throughout her body. When she glanced up, the expressions of her audience told her its effect on them was as profound.

Fiona’s eyes sparkled with tears. “Just for a moment, I thought …”

“Was that the music you heard?” Jack asked Fiona.

“An echo of it, perhaps …”

“This”—Winnie’s hands cupped the air round the folio—“oh, Jack—how could this have been allowed to disappear?”

Jack went to the bookcase, returning with a worn Bible. “This was my great-grandfather’s, but he recorded as much as he knew of the generations before him. I think I remember seeing Matthew’s name when I was copying the genealogical information for Simon. Here it is.
Matthew John Montfort, died 1762
—just three years after he wrote the letter. I suspect he never had the chance to pass the knowledge of the chant on to his son.”

“And by placing the manuscript in the painting, Matthew meant to take extra precautions. It’s ironic, isn’t it, that his actions caused it to be lost? Unless … You don’t suppose … where he says, ‘… 
as I have been instructed.
’ ”

“Edmund? Well, why not? There’s no reason I should have been the only—” Jack stiffened.

They heard a murmur of voices, and a moment later Duncan and Gemma came into the room.

Winnie knew immediately that something was dreadfully wrong. “Faith? Is she—”

“She’s on her way to hospital,” soothed Gemma. “With her baby, a little girl.”

“How—what happened?” asked Jack, but Winnie saw that Duncan and Gemma were looking at her. She braced herself for a blow. If not Faith, then …

Duncan sat down beside her. “Winnie, I’m sorry, but it’s
Andrew. He’s been quite badly hurt. They’ve taken him to hospital in Taunton.”

“Oh, no, please. Not …” Searching his face, she said, “There’s more, isn’t there? And worse. Faith—” The fragmented memory came back to her. “We were talking, in the café, Faith and I … she said something about her archaeology class. It was only when I was walking up the hill afterwards that I realized she must have known Andrew—she was a Somerfield student—and in that case why had she never mentioned it, in all the time I’d known her? And Andrew, when I told him about the girl who had left school because she was pregnant, he never said he knew her … Fiona! That’s why I was coming to see you. I needed to talk.” Winnie met Kincaid’s eyes again. “You said Andrew was badly hurt—how?”

“A head injury,” Duncan said reluctantly.

“Andrew tried to hurt Faith.”

Kincaid could only nod.

Winnie’s face became expressionless. “I must see him. Will you drive me to hospital, please?”

Gemma and Kincaid found Nick Carlisle haunting the corridor outside Faith’s room. He hurried towards them.

“How is she?” asked Gemma.

“They think they’ve got the bleeding stopped, but she’s awfully weak. She’s resting now.”

“And the baby?”

Nick’s smile lit his face. “She’s fine. Perfectly healthy, they say. Gemma … The doctor said you probably saved Faith’s life—and the baby’s. If there’s anything—”