by JM Bannon
With the commencement of construction, the Masons would have several years of work on the cathedral, shoring up the exterior walls then doing work on the interior and the bell tower. Edward’s father, Eddie’s grandfather said the work was needed back when he ran the business, but the church never sprang for it. There had been a small collapse recently, and that had forced the bishop’s hand. Every mason who came out to look at the building told him the same that Master Edward had said; the building would soon be beyond repair if they didn’t act now.
Edward climbed up to the next terrace of the metal and wood scaffolding they had erected. A zig-zag path made its way up and weaved through the thick wooden buttresses Edward’s men had installed to relieve the pressure from the stone buttresses scheduled for repair. This vertical maze allowed the Masons to walk up to various points on the outside of the church.
At the top of the scaffolding was the mechanical steam hoist Edward purchased upon being awarded the job. The first one in the county, for that matter the first in the Midlands. He expected to cut his labor costs significantly by using the hoist to lift the stone blocks up to the great height faster and with less labor. Once finished with this job he would have paid for the hoist and have it for subsequent jobs. He and Eddie had talked through how with this device they could go after similar high masonry projects and undercut the competition because of the reduced labor.
As he peered out, a falling motion caught his attention. He wondered if it was his imagination, “Eddie, did you see that?”
“What, Pa?” his son asked pressing on a fragile stone in the buttress with his fingers.
“I saw something fall from atop,”
“Stonework?” asked the son with unease in his voice.
“No, slightly smaller,” Edward glanced down. If something had indeed fallen it was too small to make out from here, Edward yelled down to his foreman, “John, look over here in the turf, I thought I saw something fall.”
John waved and responded, “Righto, boss.”
Edward made his way up. Now the scaffolding changed from the wide zig zag to where each level ran horizontal and a ladder was at the end to ascend to the next height. At each level, the walk ended with the ladder on the alternate end, making Edward walk the length of the church on each level. He half-expected to find youngsters from Chester up on the roof fooling around. The scaffolding was too tempting for the young folk to ignore and it wouldn’t be the first time he had to scold children for climbing up to see the church roof.
“I just saw something fall, Pa,” Edward stopped and looked over to see what it may have been. Eddie was two levels down looking above Edward to the roof while John was pacing around on the ground looking down.
“John, look over this way,” Eddie yelled to the man on the ground.
Edward ascended the last ladder. As his head poked up through the opening to the top level, his eyes were at the roof level. He stopped his ascent, eyes widened in disbelief. There crouched in front of him was a squat grey skinned muscular creature no larger than a two-year-old child, but muscular, like an athlete. Edward’s gaze met that of the creature, black, cold, pupil less eyes met his own. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly as an identical gargoyle like creature came up behind the other its arms full.
"Master Mason I found it. It's a lynchpin," yelled John. One pin of many that held the scaffolding to the church and gave it stability.
The elder Mason saw the second creature had its arms full of the lynchpins. By the amount it held, it may have been every one of the wooden fasteners. The first creature grinned toothily at Edward Its gash of a mouth full of tiny sharp teeth. It uttered a low guttural noise and approached the edge of the roof giving the scaffolding a thrust with its foot. The second creature flung its armload of pins over the side then helped its twin to push the scaffolding away from the building.
Edward clutched the ladder as the framework swayed outward, below him he could hear Eddie calling out in alarm as the framework of wood and metal swayed and distorted. He found his voice at last but his despairing “No!” was lost in the sound of cracking wood and squealing metal as the scaffolding collapsed under its own weight.
The plans, dreams and heritage of the Mason dynasty ended among the headpieces of ancient graves as Edward Mason, Eddie, and their foreman John died under the twisted tangle of wood and metal. As the last pieces settled and a stunned silence fell across the churchyard, a chilling cackle of laughter faded away.
8:30 AM, The Reliquary at the Carmelite Convent
Chester, England
Rose’s day had begun at three a.m. when she joined with all the other nuns and novitiates in the first prayers of the day. The next three hours were taken up by simple tasks preparing for the day ahead. At six a.m. had been Prime, when they gathered again in the choir and their voices rose in prayer and song for the next hour.
Now she was working in the reliquary, a cramped room more like a study or a library. The shelves lining the walls were crammed with books and scrolls.
The room was called the reliquary as it held the Relic of Saint Ostric, an old monk who had traveled with an early Christian king bringing Christianity to this land. On a catafalque in the center of the room a wood and glass cabinet took pride of place. Inside on a piece of blue material rested an old intricately carved box. Its paint was peeling and almost nonexistent, just a few flakes remaining.
Inside the box was the skull of the Saint. This holy relic had been in the care of the Sisters of Saint Teresa since 700 A.D. when it had been moved in secret from Gilling Abbey in the East. The skull had travelled in secret again when the Dissolution of the Monasteries by Henry VIII forced the Sisters to flee Britain for France, the skull carried under the skirts of the abbess.
In France the Order of Saint Teresa found refuge at the Carmel of the Trinity Monastery in Caen where they remained until 1821. In that year after many years of petitions by both the Order and members of the local Catholic communities the Order was granted permission and given an invitation to return.
When the bell rang for breakfast, Rose had been sweeping the stone floor of the reliquary. She set the broom aside and made her way to the dining hall. The hall was on the other side of the cloisters, between the kitchens and the dormitory. The reliquary was a small antechamber connected to the chapel.
As she entered the long dining hall she passed the small room where there the contemplative sisters ate. Six of her sisters were focused on a meditative track and had taken vows of silence. They ate in a separate room from the rest of the monastery and were served first. Rose noted Sister Katherine carrying a tray on which the serving bowls for the silent sisters sat. Their eyes met, and each smiled at each other. Rose sat down at her usual table with Sister Judith. The pot of porridge was already on the table and Judith served Rose, spooning a large dollop of the oatmeal into a wooden bowl. It landed with a splat and Judith pushed it across to Rose.
“Why are you so sour faced?” asked Rose taking in Judith’s glum face.
“Those old Frogs were whining again about the food being cold. I told them to take it up with Sister Meredith. I am just the serving wench. Sister Angela and the rest of the old bags spoke in French. I know they were talking about me,” said Judith.
Katherine sat down at the table and Judith slid a bowl over to her. “Bitten by a frog?” said Katherine to Judith. Rose almost snorted a mouthful of the porridge through her nose. In private the three young nuns spoke with disdain about the clique of older women who had come to Chester to reestablish the sisterhood in England and treated the younger sisters with contempt for being English.
Sister Maria, the Mother Superior approached them with a stern look on her face, Rose along with the two others got serious fast. “Why do you not sit with the other sisters?” said the old woman as she pointedly looked over to the other three tables filled with older nuns.
“They don’t want us because we’re not French,” blurted out Judith.
“All Carmel
ite Sisters have a heart filled with compassion. Even you, with your curt reply. Tonight, before bed contemplate your compassion, while you complete a rosary,” said the Mother Superior. She turned to Rose, “There has been an accident over at the old cathedral. Both the Mason men have sadly died. Rose, I would like you and Judith to go with Sister Honoré to their home for vigil and prayer.”
“Eddie Mason is dead?” cried Rose in dismay. The entire room stared when she had this outburst of emotion.
“Yes, and his father also. Go and comfort them,” ordered her superior.
10:20 AM, The road to Chester
The three nuns walked quietly into town, just the sound of the earth and stones of the path crunching under their feet. The path they took turned onto the main road that passed the Cathedral. Workers were pulling apart the pile of wood and iron used for platforms and ladders that the stoneworkers had constructed to scale the church.
To reach the Masons’ home, the Sisters the shortest route was to go into Chester proper, passing through the old Roman walls to reach the bridge that crossed to the south bank.
Originally a Roman fortress known as Deva or Deva Victrix, the heart of the city had been constructed around 70 AD as a garrison for the 20th Legion Valeria Victrix and covered some sixty-two acres. Many remains from the Roman occupation were still visible, but the most obvious example were the walls that encompassed the city. The massive walls were nearly five feet thick at the base and there were nearly two miles of them circling the city.
Inside the walls wooden and stone Tudor structures lined the streets. A mix of residences and shops, the streets were busy with the day’s trade. As the Sisters walked through town, those they met either averted their eyes or crossed themselves, though there were fewer now that performed that action. England was predominately Protestant and the sign of the cross was not common to that faith. The townsfolk knew where they were headed, and it was a reminder of the tragedy that had befallen the town. Rose was aware of the covert glances or open stares of the towns people and it made her feel uncomfortable. It was if they somehow blamed the sisters or thought they would bring further calamity upon them, they weren’t openly hostile, but she could see lips moving as they muttered to themselves or each other. The trio passed through the south gate and across the Old Dee Bridge passing the field where the ancient Roman temple still partly stood.
Rose had played with Eddie and his sisters in that field near the old sandstone ruin. They had all grown up together as children frolicking about Chester without a care. Now he was dead, and Rose wondered what life had in store for her, as she watched the middle-aged woman she walked with. Sister Honoré, like Rose had joined the order at sixteen, transforming from a village maiden to a bride of Christ.
Just south of the River Dee, Rose pointed to a path heading off to the left of the road that led to a row of cottages lying paralleling the main road. “It’s just ahead,” A group of men were congregated outside one of the cottages at the end of the path.
The men, workers for the Masons stood outside the neat garden in front of the cottage. They made way for the nuns. While the Masons and most of their workers and neighbors were Anglican it was the custom of the Carmelites to minister to all the local families.
“Sisters,” said one man with a nod of his head and removing his cap. Rose and Judith took their cues from their elder, Sister Honoré. They all gave the men a nod and walked the path to the house.
Inside the Mason home, the two daughters of the house sat with their arms around their mother, their grief all too clear on their faces. Two men attended them.
“Sisters, good of you to come,” said Father Wheaton the local vicar.
“The Carmelite Sisters would like to pray for you and with you in this time of loss and grief,” said Honoré, in a heavy French accent.
“Rose, Judith!” cried Catherine, the eldest Mason sister. She ran to the two young nuns hugging both then breaking down in Rose’s arms.
“What happened?” asked Rose looking at Catherine and wiping away the tears from the Mason girl’s face.
“Pa and Eddie were on the scaffolding at the cathedral when it collapsed. They were killed in the fall, along with John the foreman. Their bodies were taken to the mortician we were getting ready to go over there with the sheriff.”
Rose looked at the lanky county official who urged, “We should go, Mrs. Mason,”
“What will happen, to us Rose?” asked Catherine in a panic.
“Why don’t we stay here while your mother goes with the sheriff and let them work out the arrangements? The circumstances look dire, but we will look for some good to come out of this. Isn’t that right, Father Wheaton?” Rose offered, but the words felt hollow as she thought of what would happen to her family’s prospects if her father was killed.
“Something caused it to fall, I say,” came a loud voice from outside. An argument ensued.
Sheriff Alderton and Father Wheaton went outside to try and quieten the argument, Rose followed to see three of the workers arguing.
“I was there and seen that scaffolding come down, as if it was held together with straw and you were one of the blokes what put it together. What if we were all up there?” said the tallest man.
“I tell ya, mate. Someone is behind this. I saw half the lock pins scattered, not a one sheared or splintered. I put those in with Master Edward me’self and that scaffolding was as solid as the church,” argued the youngest man.
“Gentlemen, no one serves their grief or that of the family by accusations and anger. We need to be here to pray for the family and the souls of those men,” urged the Vicar.
"We masons know how to hang a scaffolding," said the tall man with a scowl as he walked away.
Rose turned to the sheriff “Do you think someone did this on purpose?”
“Sister, we will listen to what the men say, and get to if there was sabotage or shoddy work and if someone is at fault, I’ll pursue it. Don’t you worry,” said the sheriff.
5:00 PM, The Cathedral of St. John the Baptist
Chester, England
The Sisters had spent the rest of the day comforting Edward Mason’s daughters and his wife on her return to the house with the vicar. The vicar told them that arrangements had been made to bury the Mason men, but it would not happen until the sheriff had finished his enquiries. The vicar left soon after relating this, clearly uncomfortable amongst the weeping women. By late afternoon, relatives had arrived, and the Sisters felt able to make their way back to the monastery.
Rose deliberately steered their route in order to pass the Cathedral. As a youngster, she and the other children would play in the old ruins behind the church, Protestant and Catholic alike. The Webers, Masons, Caldwells, Jones and others would meet and play their imaginary games. It wasn’t until they were older and had knowledge of religion, trades, and class that they began to drift away.
She always had fond thoughts of Eddie Mason. He would parrot what his father and grandfather would say about the stone works, as if he were the local authority. He once led them all on an expedition to the quarry where they dared each other to stand at the edge. A scary prospect for a pack of children only a decade old. It seemed ages ago now; Rose could recollect more than just Eddie who were childhood friends but no longer alive. Illness and accidents had already begun to take the lives of those she grew up with.
She stopped and said a prayer, Judith and Honoré joined her in the prayer. Men were sorting through the pile of broken wood stacking up the material; a few looked over at the nuns.
“Sister Honoré, I will have a few words with William over there,” Rose indicated William Mason, a cousin of Eddie.
“Sister, you are best to stay with us,” retorted Honoré.
Rose ignored her and walked over to William. “William, I was so very sorry to hear about the accident,” commiserated Rose.
“What a horror. Now we need to make sure the wood buttressing is sound or the whole building could come down,�
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“What about the lock pins?” asked Rose.
William cocked his head and gave Rose a stare. “You learn stone masonry over at the convent?” asked William.
“Just something I overheard. Some men arguing that there may be more to the accident than meets the eye. One of the men noted none of the locking pins were broken. Catherine was sure her father’s work was sound,” Rose explained, hoping to gain more information.
“I was up on that rack, and it was as secure and sturdy as I could see. Let me ask you a question. Do you notice anything unusual about the wall?” asked William.
Rose looked. She tried hard to find what he wanted her to notice, but it was the same old water stained, umber sandstone she has seen her whole life.
“I haven’t gotten that far in the convent’s masonry course,” Rose responded.
“The scaffolding fell but none of the walls gave way. When a scaffolding comes down, it is usually caused by the underlying building giving way. Besides that, Uncle Edward’s structure was overbuilt to support the steam hoist he had installed at the top. Come here,” William said as he walked over to the piles of wood. He began sifting through wicker baskets that held large wooden dowels.
“Ay, any of you lot find splintered lynchpins around here?”
The replies were shrugs and looks of confusion, "You know Sister, you might be on to something; if all of those pins were removed, that might be enough together with wind or a good jostle to get the whole frame to swing off the building. One would need to have some knowledge of engineering to know to remove those pins,"
"The fellow at the house said he saw dozens scattered on the ground,” mentioned Rose.
"I didn’t give it much thought, but when we cleaned up, those pins were all over the ground," said William. He paced a bit, deep in thought, “I can think of one or two blokes who might like to see that steam hoist end up like that,” William pointed at the heap of distorted metal and gears. “What I can’t figure is why leave such a blatant clue as to what happened here?”