A Baby's Bones

by Rebecca Alexander

  ‘To cast suspicion upon the Frenchwoman, certainly,’ I say. ‘She is a sinner, but I know she didn’t do this. We must ensure that the village agrees.’

  ‘Then, who?’ He examines the cross from which the carcass of the cat sags. It is tied on with twine, and a pitiful sight, its belly opened and its congealed entrails hanging loose. Kelley returns with the water.

  ‘I have some reason to be concerned about Mistress Agness.’ I take a cloth and start to wash away the bloodstains from the defiled altar.

  Kelley assists me. ‘She visits the laundrywoman and asks about Master Seabourne.’

  ‘She does?’ Seabourne, gathering some pieces of broken timber from the charred panelling to build a fire, looks up.

  Kelley gestures to me to stand back, then sluices the altar with green well water. ‘I thought at first she had a kindness for Allen Montaigne, your body servant. But I think not.’

  ‘Agness has—’ I take a deep breath and explain the doll’s discovery to Kelley.

  Seabourne looks across the carnage at me, wrinkling his nose at the stink. ‘She is deranged. Could she have done this, as well?’

  As Kelley goes for more water, I gather another handful of wood to build a fire in the fresh air, beyond the stink of death and blood.

  ‘There is no real intent or knowledge here,’ Seabourne says, as he carries the crucified cat out of the building at arm’s length. ‘It is the ill-informed facsimile of someone making mischief. To cast suspicion upon Isabeau.’

  I build a small pyre and he lays the cat carefully on it, even though it was just a beast. I manage to catch a handful of dried grass with my tinderbox, and take the girdle from my bag to catch the flame. By a combination of blowing and adding tinder from the hedge we soon have a blaze going. The stench of burning meat drives us back into the chapel where Kelley is still scrubbing the blood from the altar.

  ‘It is a shame about the cat,’ I muse. ‘Her kittens are the best ratters in the village; we were to have two for the dairy.’ I sniff. I can still detect the stench of decay in the rushes below the altar. I crouch down and uncover the stiff remains of five bloodied pieces of meat. Kelley stops his work, and stands beside me, his mouth open. It takes me a moment to recognise the furled ears, shut eyes, and tiny open mouths. They are unborn kittens, ripped from their mother’s belly.

  Vincent Garland, Steward to Lord Banstock, His Memoir

  39

  Monday 15th April

  Sage didn’t sleep well, turning over in her mind the excruciating moment when she was exposed as Marcus’s mistress to Banstock village. She dressed early, and drove over to the cottage before nine, ready to clear up the last bits of equipment. She tapped hesitantly on the front door.

  ‘What do you want?’ Judith’s hair was unwashed and straggling, her face gaunt.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Bassett, I’m just waiting to hand over the well to the builder, so he can prepare for the landscaper to put the turf back down. Have you heard from him at all?’

  Judith turned, and an older, shorter woman with grey hair peered through the gap.

  ‘Oh, you must be this Sage that James and Chloe have told me about. I’m Pat Levitt, Judith’s mother.’ She pushed past Judith, hand outstretched.

  Clasping it, Sage wondered exactly what Pat had heard about her. ‘Nice to meet you, Pat.’

  The older woman pointed in the direction of the garden. ‘We were wondering if it was your bicycle in the hedge? We moved it to the shed.’

  ‘Steph’s bike?’ Sage turned to look at the hedge. ‘She left it here?’

  ‘It’s been there since Friday. We didn’t want anyone to pinch it.’

  Sage’s mind started to race. She hadn’t heard from Steph since— well, since before the weekend. She checked her mobile. No calls from Steph. She rang the girl’s number.

  The wind carried the faintest ringing from across the garden. Sage walked slowly towards the hedge, along its base, looking amongst the leaves. Steph’s phone was half buried in them, the light glowing faintly. It had almost no battery left. Eighteen missed calls, twenty messages.

  As she scrolled through the texts, a feeling of dread started to build inside Sage, a shiver that started in her chest and spread outwards. Steph’s mother was looking everywhere, had called the police – her limbs were heavy as she turned, it felt like she was wading through cold water.

  The well.

  As she walked towards it, she called out to Pat and Judith.

  ‘Has anyone been anywhere near the well?’ She inspected the heavy cover, which seemed in place. A small scrape on one side suggested it had been moved a little.

  ‘No one.’ Judith came out in her slippers, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘Why? What’s wrong.’ Her voice was as flat as if she were reading out a shopping list.

  ‘Help me get this thing off.’ Sage bent, pulled at the metal disc’s recessed handle, but it weighed more than she expected. ‘Please, help me!’ Horror was building inside her, and she felt sick.

  Pat, pulling on a coat, came to join them. ‘If we do it together – towards me, then. Watch your back.’

  Sage pressed her fingers into the mud underneath the edge, and heaved. With Judith suddenly helping, and Pat pulling on the handle, they managed to move it a few inches, then a few more, until the well was partially uncovered. Sage dropped to her knees and shone the light of her phone down the shaft. The water was no more than eight or ten feet down, much higher than it had been on Friday.

  She could see nothing, so tried taking a photograph with the flash. Nothing but black water. But as she enlarged the photograph she could see there was something, a pale half-moon, reflecting the light.

  Focusing on the area brought an incomprehensible fuzz of details that made no sense.

  ‘Oh, dear God,’ Pat whispered.

  Puffy and unfamiliar, the shape was that of a face surrounded by a halo of fair hair.

  * * *

  The police were strict with their instructions. Sage, sat on the doorstep with her teeth chattering, was not to leave the site until the body – dear God, the body – had been identified. She leaned against the doorframe, feeling sick. She had given her phone to the police, and didn’t want it back. But when it rang, an officer answered it, and held it out.

  Sage took the phone gingerly, not wanting to reveal the photograph she had taken.

  ‘Yes?’ Her voice was cracked, her throat tight and dry.

  ‘Sage?’ Nick’s voice was strained. ‘I… I just heard from the police. Do you know who it is?’

  ‘They—’ she dragged in a breath. ‘They think it might be Steph. Stephanie Beatson, my student. But how…?’

  ‘When they told me someone had fallen down the well, I thought it might be you,’ he said. ‘I just… I felt sick.’

  ‘No, not me. I thought it was odd that she didn’t turn up yesterday for the meeting…’ The words faded as she remembered yesterday, and its revelations.

  ‘Do they know how she fell?’

  She swallowed hard, her words trapped in her throat.

  ‘Sage?’

  Finally, she managed to croak the words out. ‘They don’t know. But someone had to have put the cover back on after—’

  ‘I’m coming over.’ He rang off before she could argue.

  ‘Dr Westfield?’ A man was bending over her, and she squinted into the low sun to see him. Late forties, dark-haired, nice-looking, wedding ring. Just my sort, she thought hysterically. ‘I’m Inspector Belmont. How are you feeling? Could you answer a few questions?’

  She nodded, and took the hand he held out to help her to her feet. She was shaking; her knees felt like they weren’t under her control. Belmont led her into the cottage’s kitchen, and pulled out one of the chairs at the table. The Aga was on but the glow of warmth didn’t penetrate her shock. He wrapped a blanket around her and put a mug of tea in front of her.

  ‘How are you feeling? The baby—’

  Sage nodded, pulling the extra l
ayer around her. ‘I’m OK. It’s just—’

  Belmont nodded with sympathy, and sat down beside her. ‘So, you found your student’s phone in the hedge. What made you think of the well?’

  The question took her aback. ‘I… I don’t really know. It’s just that the whole excavation has been about the well and I was always worried someone would fall in.’ Her teeth started to chatter. ‘I must have told Steph a dozen times to mind the well.’

  ‘Is there any reason she would take the cover off? Maybe she thought she had left equipment down there, had forgotten something?’

  Sage shook her head. ‘No, nothing like that, the well was empty. It was starting to fill up with water after we took the pump out. Anyway, I don’t think Steph could have moved the cover by herself – I couldn’t and she was smaller than me.’

  ‘And you are sure the cover was in place when you last saw it?’

  ‘Of course. It’s deep and there’s a child living here. We took every precaution.’

  She could hear Nick’s baritone outside, and a little warmth crept in. Inspector Belmont looked up. ‘Is that a friend?’

  Sage nodded, although her vocal chords were paralysed.

  Nick swept in, and when she staggered to her feet, took her in a bear hug. She clung to him, hearing words rumble over her head but unable to process them. All she could think about was his warmth, his hands grasping her almost painfully, his breath in her hair. He smelled of soap and laundry and damp wool. She dropped her head into his chest, wishing she could howl. God, Steph—

  When she lifted her head, she stared straight at him. There was only concern in his eyes at first, none of the hurt of the previous day, but as she watched, it began to creep in, a distance. He slowly released her and rested his hands on her shoulders. ‘Are you all right? Because you look terrible.’

  ‘I’ll be OK.’ She stepped back, looking at the inspector. ‘I found Steph’s phone under the hedge. No way would she ever leave it deliberately, you know students and their phones. Her whole life was on it.’ She cleared her throat, looking up at Nick. ‘I just knew something had happened to her – she wouldn’t just go, leave her phone and bike without saying anything to anyone. The well – it’s so dangerous now it’s empty. I just had to look.’

  ‘I would have done the same.’ Nick nodded. ‘I’m so sorry, Sage, she seemed like such a nice girl.’

  And that was it; tears poured out of her. Her knees buckled, and Nick lowered her into a chair. She could feel herself fold up into a ball, a small part of her watching as if outside of her body, watching the storm from afar. Her ribs hurt, the sobs were so violent. She realised distantly that the pain was about Steph, and Nick’s face yesterday, and her mother’s matter-of-fact rejection of a lifetime of love and marriage with her dad.

  Gradually, the sobs started to soften, and she could feel a strong hand rubbing her back. She wiped her face on the blanket, past caring what she looked like, and glanced up. Inspector Belmont had gone.

  ‘Is it definitely Steph, Nick? It didn’t look like her… maybe it wasn’t.’ She knew the second she said it that she was clinging to fantasy.

  ‘They think so.’ His hand still stroked her back. He managed a crooked smile. ‘I’m so sorry. Do you feel better for a good cry?’

  ‘I never cry. Hardly ever, anyway. I seem to be doing it a lot, recently.’ She stood up and helped herself to a handful of kitchen towels. Blowing her nose, she felt more ready to tackle the disaster outside. ‘Must be the pregnancy.’

  ‘Sage—’

  ‘Not now, OK? There’s so much— I need to deal with Steph, right now.’ She looked into his eyes. ‘But, thank you, Nick.’

  * * *

  The police finally allowed Sage to leave the site. Nick, seeing her hands trembling as she failed to unlock the van, took her keys off her and guided her towards the vicarage. The sound of her feet crunching on the gravel of the drive suddenly halted her.

  ‘No! Is… anyone inside?’

  ‘You mean any of the volunteers?’ He put an arm around her. ‘I don’t think so, but does it matter?’

  ‘I thought – I was just worried that – that woman who was helping you overheard that spiteful remark I made yesterday.’ She could feel the warmth creeping up her cheeks.

  He stepped in front of her. ‘Mel works for the parish, with me. Maybe she’s got a little crush.’ He smiled, touched the dog collar with a finger. ‘The uniform does that, it’s just transference. She doesn’t know the real me, and probably wouldn’t like me if she did.’

  ‘Do I know the real you?’

  His smile faded, and he stared into her eyes for a moment. Finally, he spoke. ‘You have only known the real me, even if only for a few days. Have I ever really known you?’

  ‘I never pretended to be an angel. Marcus and I are over. We… I was stupid, that’s all. I fell in love with him.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Oh, I fell out of love with him, too.’ Sage reached up with her hands, and grasped the front of Nick’s coat, shook him. ‘And then I met you.’

  He kissed her as if he was starving, and she clung to him for a long moment, hardly knowing or caring if they were being watched.

  * * *

  ‘Right. Two sugars, lots of milk.’ Nick put the tea down a little too firmly, slopping a few drops onto the vicarage kitchen table. ‘Don’t argue. You need the sugar after all this.’

  Sage blew on the tea, wrinkling the surface and blowing the remaining bubbles around. ‘I can’t believe anyone would deliberately hurt Steph. But I can’t see how else she ended up falling into the well.’

  ‘We don’t know much about her. Maybe someone was upset or angry with her. But it seems unlikely, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I can’t believe it was an accident and the police seem to agree,’ Sage said. ‘Someone moved the drain cover. Maybe someone heard about the Tudor burial and it gave them the idea. It’s common knowledge on the Island.’

  ‘I don’t think people naturally see a well and think “I could chuck someone down there and get away with it.”’

  ‘But someone did in the 1500s, didn’t they? That’s all the locals have talked about for weeks.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Even if Steph fell down in some freak accident, she couldn’t have moved the cover by herself. It took three of us this morning.’

  ‘Women, one older, one pregnant,’ Nick said, ‘and Judith Bassett, of course, who looks thinner every time I see her. One strong person could have got the cover off and dragged it back, if they didn’t have to lift it.’

  She rested her head on her hand, realising how much it ached after the bout of crying. ‘Yes, but why? Steph isn’t a threat to anyone.’ She rubbed her forehead, feeling it crease. ‘Wasn’t. Wasn’t a threat.’

  ‘Don’t think about that. Keep your scientist hat on.’ Nick pushed a packet of biscuits towards her. She recoiled, but he nudged them again. ‘Go on, you look white as a sheet. Your blood sugar’s probably in your boots.’ A sound in the hall brought his head up. ‘Hello?’

  The door creaked open, and Felix put his head around the frame. ‘I’ve been to the cottage but the police sent me here.’

  Sage smiled up at him, her eyes misting up again. ‘I’m so glad you’re still here.’

  ‘I went to look at the carvings and… well, you know what happened.’

  Sage waved at Nick. ‘This is Nick, he’s the vicar here. Nick, this is Professor Guichard.’

  The two men shook hands and Sage took a biscuit while Nick explained how she had found the body.

  ‘Call me Felix,’ Felix said to Nick. ‘Sad. Very sad.’ Felix nodded to the offer of tea, and then put one of his big hands over Sage’s clasped fingers for a second, making her jump. ‘I’m so sorry. How are you holding up?’

  Sage nodded, her mouth full of crumbs. Nick had been right, she was starving. ‘I’ll be OK,’ she mumbled. ‘Talk among yourselves.’

  Nick put a mug of tea on the table for
Felix. ‘Those symbols in the well, were they put there as part of some kind of archaic occult belief? Or was it some parody of Christianity?’

  ‘I know this will sound strange to you, but those symbols were carefully researched and designed, and are inscribed with what’s called magical intent.’ Felix’s hair flopped in his eyes as he sipped his tea, and he pushed it away. ‘The symbols spiral down into the well like a path.’

  ‘We know Seabourne was a writer on the occult,’ Sage added. ‘He believed in all this stuff.’

  Felix nodded. ‘And it’s possible he intended the spiral to summon something or someone, and trap them in the well.’

  Nick sat down beside Sage, and put his warm hand over hers. He looked over at Felix with a slightly possessive air. ‘Well, the superstitious beliefs of an Elizabethan scientist hardly apply today.’

  Sage put her drink down. ‘The bodies could have been put there for lots of reasons,’ she said. ‘And covered up with whatever loose material they had available. In this case, the midden.’

  Felix nodded. ‘What seems strange to me is if you were concealing two bodies in a well, wouldn’t you have put them in first? Then covered them with rubbish? They would be towards the bottom, not the top.’

  ‘I suppose the well was full of water when they were put in,’ Sage said. God, they would float like Steph… She shut her eyes for a moment.

  Felix turned towards Nick. ‘What do you think?’

  Nick stood up and reached for the teapot. Sage smiled as he topped up her mug. She didn’t even own a teapot. ‘I think talking about some occult connection to that well when a girl has just been found dead in it is a bit tasteless,’ he said.

  ‘Quite right. Sorry.’ Felix sounded so contrite that Sage managed a lopsided smile.

  ‘Actually, I think it’s somehow important. It would be important to Steph, too, as an archaeologist,’ Sage said, and looked at the two men. ‘Why would we think it’s Isabeau’s bones down the well? She was known, she had status as an employee of the manor.’ She cupped the tea in her hands and let the warmth soothe her cramped fingers. ‘This was a sophisticated culture with deeply held beliefs about Christian burial. No, this was an act of violence, cruelty, like—’ She couldn’t finish, swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘She was hidden. Just like Steph. Rob Greenway would have just dumped a load of spoil straight onto Steph if I hadn’t looked down when we found her phone.’