The Unburied (44 page)

In order to lift that huge piece of carved marble into place he had required neither supernatural aid nor the help of Thomas Limbrick. He had used the pulley on top of the scaffolding in combination with the treadwheel-windlass to take most of the weight. He must have gone up and down the tower stairs a dozen times, on each occasion cranking the windlass a few steps further and using the ratchets and pawl to hold it in place while he hurried down to clamber onto the scaffolding and manoeuvre the great slab into position. That must have taken him a couple of hours. Then he had sealed it up with mortar.

But why had he then put on Burgoyne’s garments? And taken from the body the key which Burgoyne had borrowed from Claggett and should have returned to him?
Should
have returned to him! For the truth suddenly came to me. The old verger was dying and earlier that evening Burgoyne was given the key by his young serving-maid ‘who was too timid to look into the face of a gentleman’. Gambrill put on Burgoyne’s clothes because he intended to impersonate him when he took back the key! If Burgoyne was believed to have returned the key in the early hours of the morning before disappearing and Gambrill was seen by witnesses from that moment onwards, he would have an unanswerable alibi. I understood exactly how the murderous design was intended to work. How could I – of all people – not understand it?

Ingenious. But then had he really made a foolish mistake and precipitated the collapse of the scaffolding on himself? It seemed hard to believe. What had brought it down was this: there were leads balancing the slab on the pulley and once it was in place in the wall he should have lowered them to the ground, using the ratchet on the pulley. By neglecting to do so he had put such a strain on the rope that it had parted so that the full weight of the leads had borne against the pulley and brought the whole construction crashing down upon him in his moment of triumph.

His moment of triumph
! Of course.
Then shall the Guilty be shattered into pieces like unto the Innocent, by their own Engin brought to destruction even in the Moment of Triumph.
Limbrick had silently entered the unlocked Cathedral and watched the man he believed had murdered his father. He had brooded all his life about revenge and now he saw his opportunity. Severing a rope would kill Gambrill just as it had killed Robert Limbrick. So
Engin
in the inscription alluded to all three senses of the word: Gambrill had been intellectually destroyed by his own ingenuity, politically caught in his own plotting and physically crushed under his own machine.

I had made another decision. I would contest the Chair whether or not Scuttard was also in for it and regardless of whether he was given responsibility for publishing the manuscript. I would try for it, not because I expected to obtain it, but to show that I believed myself a worthy candidate and to prove to myself that I was not afraid to fail. I was now able to admit to myself with no trace of guilt that I earnestly desired the Chair with all the respect, the power and indeed, the material benefits accompanying it.

I reached the inn at half-past one and had to hammer at the door to wake the night-porter who was slumbering before the fire in the hall. I left instructions with him that I was to be woken at six to catch the mail-train. I slept very little that night. While I was breakfasting alone in the dining-room the next morning a message was brought to me. It was, as I expected, a package containing my own keys with a note from Dr Locard: ‘I hope these reach you before you leave. Would you be good enough to return the set you took from me by mistake when you come to the Library this morning. I shall, as I mentioned, be working on our manuscript and look forward to discussing it with you again.’

I sent the keys back with an apology for my stupidity and a brief letter of thanks for his and his wife’s hospitality. I wrote that I had to deny myself the pleasure of another discussion of the manuscript because I had decided to take the first train to avoid arriving late at my destination, and I added that he would be disappointed to learn that after considerable reflection, I had decided that I could recollect nothing worth affirming in an affidavit. I enclosed a cheque for Mrs Locard’s subscription for the family of the unfortunate Perkins.

This last duty discharged, I packed, settled my bill and, with an enormous sense of relief, boarded the cab which was waiting for me.

I have spent the time since I arrived at my niece’s in writing this account. I realize that I have strayed far from the murder itself but it has seemed impossible to disentangle the different threads. I must have been an unsatisfactory guest for my mind has been preoccupied by my anguished debate which I could not reveal to those around me: should I tell the authorities what I suspect? How could I prove it? Since the Coroner declined to believe my theory about a mysterious half-brother – a hypothesis which was mistaken but contained much of the truth – it is hardly likely that my even more extraordinary theory would be believed, even though it accounts satisfactorily for the most puzzling anomalies. There is a point at which you have to go beyond the mere evidence by using your imagination or you will not discover the ‘truth’.

Since the unfortunate Perkins is dead, I can see nothing to be gained by making allegations against people which would not lead to their prosecution. Yet I want some record of the truth to survive – if only so that the children of Perkins should understand the miscarriage of justice and the blackening of their father’s name. His only offence was to have lied to the police – an act which was foolish and wrong, but understandable since he saw immediately how convincing a case could be made against him.

As for the question of what I will do with this Account, I have not decided. Self-evidently, it cannot be published while those responsible for the murder are still alive. That consideration allows me a great deal of time to contemplate its eventual disposition.

Edward Courtine, Exeter and Cambridge, January 1882

In a faraway kingdom and long ago there lived a fair young prince who, in addition to being handsome, was clever and good-natured, and was therefore loved and admired by everybody who knew him. His father and mother, who were the king and queen of that country, doted upon him, but since he was the youngest of three brothers he knew that he would not inherit the crown but would have to make his own way in the world. And so one day he would have to leave the kingdom and set off on his adventures, and he looked forward to that day and yet at the same time regretted that he would have to part from those he loved. Knowing this, he always listened to the tales of travellers newly arrived in the country from other lands. And meanwhile, he diligently pursued the studies and pastimes appropriate to a young prince. He read old books with his tutors and he learnt from older warriors in his father’s retinue how to fight with sword, shield and lance both on foot and on horseback. But most of all, in the company of his brothers and other young men of the court, he hunted in the wild forests around the castle with his stallion, his hawk and his hound. These three beautiful creatures had been given him by his father and he was prouder of them than of anything else he possessed.

And then one day a traveller, who had come from across the oceans and through the mountains and over the rivers, told him a story. Many days’ journey from that kingdom was a land whose king lived in a high, grim castle surrounded by a great, dark, trackless forest. The castle stood on the edge of a wide river and was reached by boat, for the forest was too dangerous for travellers to venture into. The king had only one child, a beautiful daughter, and when he died she would be queen of the country. The princess had no husband, for a witch had placed her under an enchantment so that only the suitor who could reach the castle by passing through the forest would be given her hand in marriage. The king had decreed that whoever succeeded in this task would become king when he died. The kingdom was rich and powerful, and many princes had tried to reach the castle in that way but all of them had perished while passing through the forest, for many were the dangers that dwelt therein. Of all of these, the greatest danger was a monster which lay in wait for travellers and killed them and then ate their corpses.

When he heard this story the prince felt a thrill of excitement mingled with terror and he resolved that he would be the man who would win the hand of the princess. His father and mother and his two elder brothers heard his decision with much sorrow, but they knew that it was the fate of youngest sons to brave great perils in order to make their fortune and so they did not try to dissuade him. Instead they gave him gifts that would help him in his task. The king gave him the sword which he himself had wielded as a young man – a finely tempered weapon with ancient spells chased on the blade. His mother gave him a beautifully intricate suit of chain-mail that was light and yet was proof against all but the most savage sword-thrust. His eldest brother gave him a dagger of the finest steel with the sharpest blade and point that any smith had ever forged, and his elder brother gave him a shield that weighed very little and yet was extremely strong. His old nurse wept more than anyone else and while she was weeping she made up baskets of provisions: loaves of bread, cheeses, cured meat, dried fruit and flasks of wine. And so one fine morning in the early summer the prince donned his armour, took up his weapons, strapped the provisions onto his stallion and, bidding farewell to all those who loved him, rode off with his hawk on his wrist and his hound trotting beside him.

He journeyed for many days and many nights and at last entered the great dark forest in the middle of which lay the castle with the beautiful princess. When the lofty trees closed high over his head he found himself in darkness and since there were no paths and he could not see the stars at night and could scarcely see the sun by day, he had great difficulty in steering his course. And so he travelled round in circles for three days and three nights and used up all the food and drink that his old nurse had provided for him. Although he constantly heard the sound of running water around him, he was unable to find a stream or a spring. And so by the end of the third day, as dusk was approaching, he was hungry and very very thirsty. Then it was that he saw his first sign of a living creature: an old woman was coming towards him and she was carrying a big basket.

‘Mother,’ he said. ‘I am hungry and thirsty. If you have food and drink in your basket, please spare me some of them.’

‘I have food and drink aplenty,’ she replied. ‘But I will not give them to you.’

‘Then let me buy them from you. I have gold.’ And he pulled from his saddle-pouch a handful of gold coins.

‘Put away your money,’ she said. ‘It is of no use to me here in the forest.’

‘Then is there anything I can say or do to make you give me some of what you have?’ he asked.

She eyed him strangely and after a moment she said: ‘Give me all that you have: your sword, your suit of chain-mail, your dagger, your shield, your hawk, your hound and your stallion. And then I will give you everything I have in my basket.’

‘If I give you all my means to defend myself,’ the prince replied, ‘I will have no chance against the many perils of the forest and in particular against the monster that kills men and eats their corpses.’

The old woman smiled and said: ‘You will lose nothing by giving me everything you have, since your horse and your weapons will not save you from the monster.’

She spoke with such certainty that the prince believed her. And so he got down from his stallion and gave it to her, and took off his chain-mail and gave it to her, and likewise gave her his sword, his dagger, his shield, his hawk and his hound.

The old woman handed him her basket and he opened it and found that it was full of meat and drink. He ate and drank enough to satisfy his immediate need and put the rest away for the remainder of his journey.

Then the old woman said: ‘I have met many young princes in the forest before you and all of them have taken from me by threats the provisions that I carried. You are the first who has not offered me violence but has peacefully surrendered all that he had. In return, therefore, I am going to tell you what those other princes did not know. I am going to tell you how to save yourself from the monster when you meet it – as you most assuredly will.’

The prince thanked her and she went on: ‘All the other princes perished because they trusted in their weapons and in their own strength. The only things that will overcome the creature are truth and courage, and you have displayed those qualities in your dealings with me. I will therefore tell you this secret which will show you how to defeat the monster. You must know that it paralyses those who look upon its face and that is why no man who gazes upon it can hope to live.’

‘Is it so ugly and terrifying?’ exclaimed the prince.

‘I have told you’, the old woman said, ‘that all men who look into its eyes are lost. Be satisfied with that. You must therefore close your eyes when you glimpse it from afar or when you scent it. When you have closed your eyes you will know where it is by its loathsome smell. It will come rushing at you with a fearful roar but you must neither open your eyes nor try to run away. If you cannot trust yourself to keep your eyes closed, blindfold yourself as soon as you know it is at hand. Then you must let the monster seize you and clasp you to it as it will do in order to strangle you. And at that moment you must overcome your fear and brave the stench and you must kiss it on its bare flesh.’

The prince shuddered and the old woman said: ‘I see you look doubtful, but I promise you that your kiss will burn the monster and inflict more pain upon it than any weapon could.’

The prince thanked the old woman and bade her farewell, and strode on deeper into the forest.