The Unburied (30 page)

Austin nodded. I looked at him in surprise.

‘Are you gentlemen really so far apart?’ He turned to me: ‘You’re not saying that the disorder you see now is exactly as it was when you arrived?’

‘I suppose I couldn’t swear to every single item.’

‘Good. Then obviously the robbers ransacked the house, adding to the untidiness already created. Now we’re making progress.’ At that moment the Sergeant came into the room. The Major wheeled round: ‘Well, Adams?’

‘I haven’t found them, sir.’

‘Have a couple of your best officers search the whole house as soon as it’s light tomorrow. Those keys must be somewhere in the house.’

‘With all due respect, sir,’ Sergeant Adams said. ‘The person who did this must have used them to lock the door behind him.’

The Major nodded and the Sergeant went on: ‘In that case they might be anywhere. He would have got rid of them as soon as possible since they would hang him for sure.’

‘As soon as it’s light enough, have the back-yard searched. If they’re not found, have your men go over every inch of this corner of the Close.’

As he finished speaking there was a knock at the street-door and Adams opened it to the two constables who came in with a young man handcuffed between them. He looked terrified, his clothes were torn and his face was bruised.

‘Ah-ha!’ cried the Major. ‘The famous Perkins, the waiter. Where did you get those scratches and bruises?’

‘He tried to run away, sir,’ said one of the constables.

‘Indeed? And did you find anything on him?’

‘Nothing, sir.’

‘No money? No keys?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Sergeant, go to his house and find the things he stole from here. And look for those keys.’

Adams nodded a farewell to us and hurried away.

The Major turned back to the prisoner: ‘Now I understand you are an intimate of Mrs Bubbosh?’

The man gaped and the Major snapped: ‘You know her, for God’s sake, man.’

‘Everybody knows Auntie Meg, sir.’

‘What happened when you came to this house at half-past five this afternoon?’

He blushed and looked down. ‘I never did. I only ever come at four o’clock. Four sharp by the Cathedral clock. The old gentleman was very strict about that.’

‘Mr Stonex told you to come at half-past five and bring a mug of ale.’

‘No, sir. He never done!’ He was red-faced and kept his gaze on his feet. He was clearly not telling the truth and his very incompetence as a liar aroused my suspicions that he might be innocent.

‘You’re lying,’ shouted the Major. He half-turned towards us: ‘Both of these gentlemen heard Mr Stonex say that he had done so. And they heard you arrive at the door at that hour.’

He turned his frightened face towards us. ‘I don’t understand. That ain’t right. It ain’t the truth.’

‘I shall want to hear more about that from you. Take him into the dining-room.’

‘I won’t say nothing,’ the young man said as he was led away.

The Major turned back to us and smiled. ‘Thank you, gentlemen. I don’t need to detain you any longer. You may go now and I am very grateful for your help.’

‘Please don’t hesitate to find me if I may be of any further assistance,’ I said. ‘I am at Fickling’s house.’

‘How long are you intending to stay in the town?’

‘Only another two days. I leave on Saturday morning.’

‘I fear you will have to give evidence at the inquest. Both of you gentlemen,’ he said turning to include Austin.

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Do you know when that will be?’

‘Tomorrow, I hope.’

‘Then that will pose no difficulty,’ I said.

After a further exchange of courtesies and with the Major’s renewed apologies for the inconvenience we had suffered ringing in our ears, Austin and I left the house. When we found ourselves in the street outside I noticed that Austin was trembling and gripped him by the arm.

‘We should eat,’ I said. ‘It’s late and we’ve had nothing.’ We were facing the inn in which we had been drinking a few hours before, but I didn’t want to go back there. For one thing, I had a fear that Slattery might be lurking in the bar. ‘The Dolphin?’ I suggested. Austin nodded dumbly.

A few minutes later we were sitting in the empty dining-room. With an ill grace the waiter – who had been about to finish work for the evening – had agreed to bring some cold roast meat and boiled potatoes from the kitchen.

‘What a business,’ I said rather tritely when the silence became awkward.

He made no response and I was not surprised since he had been in a kind of trance ever since the discovery of the crime.

‘I found the Sergeant’s manner most offensive,’ I said. ‘He seemed to assume that one or both of us was lying. And he asked me some very impertinent questions.’

Austin looked up. ‘Did he? What did he want to know?’

‘I refused to tell him anything that was not relevant to what happened this afternoon. He seemed to think it significant that poor old Mr Stonex changed the date of the invitation. He came and asked you about that, didn’t he?’

Austin nodded. Another silence fell, interrupted by the waiter slapping down in front of us two plates containing dry slices of meat covered with congealed gravy, and a dish of blotchy, tepid potatoes.

‘Adams seems to have some sort of theory’, I went on, ‘that the old gentleman was expecting a visitor.’

‘It’s not worth speculating about,’ Austin said. ‘The Major is right. It’s really very simple.’

‘I think he’s wrong if he believes that Mrs Bubbosh is implicated.’

‘Perkins did it,’ Austin said. ‘With or without help from the old woman.’

‘Without. And yet she must be lying about the cakes, must she not?’

‘Certainly.’

‘But why? What possible motive could she have for such an unnecessary and trivial lie?’

‘Who knows? With a person like that, it’s often hard to say. It doesn’t alter the fact that Perkins did it.’

‘You’re sure?’

Austin put down his knife and fork. ‘It’s very simple. When Stonex asked him to bring beer at half-past five – a thing that he had never done before – Perkins realized that this was his chance to rob him. He would be let into the house without anybody being aware of it. But what he could not have known was that Stonex would have guests that afternoon and mention to them that he had ordered beer.’

I nodded. ‘So it was done on an impulse?’

‘Yes, but he might have been thinking about it for months. Of course, he knew he would have to kill him.’

I shuddered.

‘But, Austin, why did he ... Why did he do it like that?’

‘Like what?’ he asked almost irritably.

‘You saw it. He surely didn’t need to do that.’

He shrugged. ‘Who knows? Does it matter?’

We finished our meal and walked home – almost entirely in silence. By the time we got back it was long after midnight and we went straight to bed. For a long time I found I couldn’t sleep. If only Perkins had looked more villainous I might have found the whole affair less disturbing, but to accept that that boyish youth – as fresh-faced as one of my undergraduates – could have done that to a defenceless old man whom he had known for years ...! To think how much blood must have spurted and yet he had struck again and again and again. To think of the splintering of bone, the vulnerability of the eyes. To think of what he must have done to have inflicted so much damage to the head, to the face. It was hard to believe. It was hard to believe anything good about our species. Was this what we were – cruel apes who wore clothes and washed and perfumed our bodies?

I thought of Gambrill murdering his rival by throwing him from the roof of the Cathedral, and then of young Limbrick brooding in secret for years about the need to avenge his father, urged on by his embittered mother, yet having to conceal his hatred and accept favours from the man he hoped one day to kill. And had Gambrill guessed at his hidden hatred and tried to appease him by promoting him?

And most of all I thought about the manuscript and regretted that all of this was a distraction from it and from the problem of how to ensure that it was not misused in order to promote someone’s interests, for it belonged to history rather than to an individual or even an institution. And then at last I fell into an uneasy slumber, the kind which is more exhausting even than sleeplessness. Towards dawn I had the most terrifying dream of my life from which I awoke with my heart thumping and my forehead wet with perspiration. It was one of those dreams – nightmares – which cast a long shadow over the rest of the day as if some part of the mind were trying to pull one back into it.

Friday Morning

The state of brooding depression in which I awoke meant that Austin and I spoke very little at breakfast. Moreover, I wanted to avoid speech since, in order to postpone the problems that I foresaw, I did not want to reveal that I had found the manuscript. I was therefore hoping that he would be as incurious about my researches as he had hitherto been and would not ask what my intentions were for the morning. As we were about to leave the house, however, he enquired: ‘Where are you going?’

‘To the Library again.’

‘You won’t forget about the inquest, will you?’

‘Will it be today?’

‘I assume so. But whenever it is, you have to be there. You have important evidence to give.’

‘Is it so important?’

‘All you have to do is describe what you saw and heard. A witness of your standing will put paid to any of the absurd theories that Adams might parade in order to make himself seem clever.’

I nodded, pulling on my coat.

After a moment, he said: ‘I suppose you’ll see Locard?’

‘I doubt it.’ I was thinking of how he had broken his appointment and withdrawn his promised assistance.

‘Well, if you do, be sure not to say anything to him about this business.’

‘Why not?’

‘He is a trouble-maker. He will twist anything you tell him to his own interests.’

‘What interests could he have in this business?’

‘Very powerful ones. There has always been a rumour that Stonex was leaving his fortune to the Foundation. Locard would love to get his hands on it.’

‘If a testament is found to that effect, then he will. Otherwise not.’ I spoke off-handedly, convinced that Austin was voicing an obsession with Dr Locard that arose from the politics of the Chapter. I assumed he was upset because Canon Sheldrick had been defeated by Dr Locard at the Chapter meeting the previous morning. That was not merely a defeat for the Low Church faction, but, I suspected, it probably made certain the dismissal of his friend Slattery.

I was so impatient to be at the Library early that I hurried out of the house before Austin had left, taking a hastier leave of my friend than with hindsight I would have chosen.

I arrived just as young Quitregard was unlocking the door. He greeted me with a smile and as he ushered me in, he said: ‘I’m putting on coffee and I should be honoured ...’

‘Thank you, but not this morning,’ I said, hurrying past him.

‘But have you heard the news about Mr Stonex?’ he called out.

‘Indeed I have,’ I cried. ‘I was assisting the police for most of yesterday evening.’

‘I know that, sir, and I’m sorry you and Mr Fickling were involved.’

I stopped and turned. ‘How do you know that?’

‘Oh, there are no secrets in this town. But I meant, have you heard the news that is fresh this morning?’ I shook my head and he savoured the moment before saying: ‘The waiter, Eddy Perkins, has been charged.’

‘That surprises me not in the least. Has he confessed?’

‘Not in so many words, but something very incriminating was found in his house late last night when the officers searched it.’

‘What was it?’

He pulled a face. ‘I don’t know. But he admitted that he had taken it from Mr Stonex’s house. Apparently it was impossible for him to deny it.’

‘So he
has
confessed?’

‘No, for he maintains that he knew nothing of the murder.’

‘Is he still saying that he did not go back to the house at half-past five?’

‘He has now admitted that he did. But only because a witness has come forward who saw him there at the time.’

‘A witness? Do you know who it is?’

‘No, sir. But isn’t it all frightfully exciting?’

I smiled. ‘And yet in spite of all this evidence against him, he is insisting that he did not kill the old gentleman?’

‘That is so.’

‘That hardly seems a logical position. I suppose the man is stupid.’

‘Stupid and brutal, on the evidence. What a terrible thing. And what a shock it must have been for you. To learn of the dreadful murder of someone you were with only an hour or two earlier.’

His kind face was so sympathetic that I was tempted to accept his offer and indulge as well the curiosity that he was finding it so difficult to conceal, but the lure of my discovery was too powerful. With an expression of gratitude for his commiseration, I ascended the stairs to the upper floor.

I listened for a moment to make sure that he was not following me and then I removed the manuscript from where I had placed it the previous afternoon, and laid it on the desk before me. Just looking at it was a balm to my spirit. This was real, this was what was important. Here – in the practice of scholarly skills – were order and rationality and truth. As I began to translate the faded script it became clear to me that I had been correct in my first assumption yesterday: I was indeed looking at a manuscript written in about
AD
1000, considerably earlier than the 1120 recension of Grimbald’s
Life
. And yet as I read on, my conviction that it proved that the work had existed before Leofranc started to revise it, began to waver in the face of anomalies. What I had before me was certainly a version of the story of the Siege of Thurchester and the martyrdom of St Wulflac – although the king and the bishop concerned were not named – but it was very different from the one which appears in the 1120 recension. The events were broadly the same but the interpretation of the motives of those involved was completely different.

I had been working for a little less than an hour when I heard running feet on the stairs and, barely giving me time to slip the manuscript under one of the volumes lying on the table, Pomerance came bursting in. ‘They’ve found a body!’ he cried. ‘They’ve found a body.’