by Allan Frost
‘That really isn’t any of your business,’ replied Thomas, haughtily. ‘However, he was not our only benefactor; we have received many gifts over the years to enable us to concentrate on a holy and contemplative way of life.’
Tim had a vague notion that, if he could keep the Prior talking, he might be able to reason with him and gain the upper hand. If Hives had been right, as now seemed highly probable, then there were at least two ghosts floating around the ruins. And, if there were two, there could be others, each with their own story to tell.
The last thing he wanted was to provoke Prior Thomas into whipping his brethren into some sort of frenzy and, Heaven forbid, lead his explosive canons in a spiritual assault on the unwary diners in the marquees.
He had to draw the Prior away from the Royal Flushes in case anyone accidentally ventured into this unnerving scene. One look at the Prior’s face after having so much to eat could have dire consequences.
‘Look, do you mind if we discuss this matter away from here? I’ll meet you outside, round the back.’
He didn’t wait for an answer and hastily left the building. Prior Thomas was waiting for him, arms crossed and wearing the habit of a lifetime. Tim shone his torch and noticed that the habit, undoubtedly made from high quality material, was covered in stains where sores had seeped through the fabric or puss dribbled onto it. He winced.
‘Prior Thomas,’ he said, trying his utmost to sound reasonable. ‘I am fully aware of the origins of your Order and how canons first arrived here from Arrouaise. I am also aware that the Priory was eventually sold, the canons pensioned off and the property converted to secular use. Times change, and so do circumstances.’
‘Not here they don’t.’
‘Why not?’
He didn’t answer straight away. Tim shone the torch idly around the area that he assumed had once been the chapel. Perhaps putting the portaloos here hadn’t been such a good idea after all. He might have imagined it, but did the torchlight pick out one or two pairs of eyes watching nearby?
This place gave him the creeps.
‘I and my fellows devoted our humble lives to the service of God,’ began the Prior in an overly pious tone. ‘We followed the scriptures and brought succour to the poor and needy. We gave hospitality to travellers and provided work for peasants. The Priory was a haven of tranquillity and religious fervour.
‘We knew no other way to live,’ he continued. ‘This was our life. A happy and, at times, austere existence. Our numbers increased as the burdens of pastoral responsibility required more hands to do God’s work. We were, however, mortal and, inevitably, our bodies ceased to function.
‘Those of us who were fortunate enough to die in the Priory we loved so much are buried here. My tomb lies over there,’ he pointed vaguely into the surrounding darkness. ‘But our spirits have yet to find the peace promised in the Holy scriptures.’
‘Why is that?’ asked Tim.
‘None of your business!’ came the terse reply. ‘As I was saying, our souls still survive whereas our bodies do not. But, and this is the point I wish to emphasise, whether or not the grounds are owned by the Church, State or private individual is irrelevant. The land remains sacred and, as such, must not be used as a filthy latrine or den of iniquity! Do you understand?’
‘I do understand what you’re saying, Prior Thomas. The last thing I want is to cause upset to your way of . . . to your existence. However, you must see things from my point of view. Irrespective of the rights or wrongs of the past, the fact is that I am the rightful owner!’
‘’That’s what someone else said when he set up residence here a little while ago. I soon made it abundantly clear that he and his servants were not welcome!’
‘What was the name of this person?’
‘I don’t remember. I want to say Axminster but I know it isn’t that.’
‘Wilton?’
‘Yes, Wilton. How did you know? Arrogant little man. Marched in and decorated the place with all sorts of fancy frippery. A desecration, that’s what it was!’
‘What did you do?’
‘Got rid of him, of course! Took a few years but he couldn’t take any more,’ Prior Thomas said smugly. The smile burst a boil in the corner of his mouth. Green puss slithered down his chin, eventually dropping onto the habit.
‘Take any more what?’
‘Haunting, of course! He’d have gone much sooner if we’d been able to pester him during the daytime, but we may only emerge when it’s dark.’ He clammed up momentarily, realising he’d said a little too much.
‘Yes, we had quite a few interesting arguments,’ he continued. ‘I knew we’d win in the end, even when he took to sleeping in the daytime and working through the night. There’s only so much a mortal can take. The silly man even thought he could take his revenge by demolishing our buildings,’ added Thomas. ‘Made no difference to us; you don’t need a roof over your head when you’re dead.’
So that was why Augustus’s father had left the Priory and built Priorton Hall! This was getting really interesting! If only Tim could chip away at the Prior’s defensive aggression, he might be able to turn the situation to his advantage.
Prior Thomas kept saying ‘we’, implying the ruins were, indeed, inhabited by a whole host of canons who probably died at various points throughout the Priory’s history. If so, Tim could gather loads of historical information in the same way as he had from Elizabeth and Augustus! He had to win Thomas over. The best way to do that, going on past experience, was to befriend him. Be sympathetic. The fact that the Prior and his companions were harmless during daylight hours was a major plus from Tim’s point of view.
‘Who was king when you died?’
‘Edward, the third by that name. Why do you ask?’
Tim racked his brain. Edward III. Thirteen something to Thirteen something else.
‘How did you die?’
‘Not sure exactly. It had been a hot summer and a busy one for us. We had thousands of pilgrims that year, come to see our Holy relics, buy souvenirs and absolution, you know the sort of thing. Our splinters from the true cross were very popular, cured all manner of ailments, or so I was led to believe by the Irish itinerant who supplied them. The splinters, not the ailments. Did a lot of quite profitable custom with him over the years.’
He thoughtfully picked at a spot until it burst, then licked the puss off his fingers.
‘But I digress,’ Prior Thomas continued. ‘As I said, our visitor numbers were considerably up on previous years. All sorts of people came: the king, several earls, pilgrims, merchants, troubadours and mummers, you name it, we put them up. Even had a rat and flea charmer, would you believe? Really, some folk make a living in the weirdest of ways. Anyway, things were going so well we made plans and saved up to build additional accommodation. I believe one of my successors saw the project out.’
‘So how did you die?’
‘I noticed sores on my body, particularly around my privates and armpits. Didn’t think much of it at first. Thought I’d caught it experimenting with unnatural practices. Part of my belief that, if you don’t understand a problem, you’re not qualified to pass judgement or find a solution,’ he added hastily, trying to justify a lapse in moral values. ‘The sores spread very quickly. Boils popped without warning, my skin discoloured.’
‘Must have been awful.’
‘You cannot imagine! It was dreadful! My canons avoided me. Moral standards fell abysmally without me at the helm. Word got round and visitors stopped coming. I’d always prided myself that, whatever our private failings, the public never got to know about them. Oh, the shame! If a man doesn’t have a good reputation, what can he do?’
‘What did you do?’
‘The only thing a decent Prior could do. I insisted everyone took communion with me in the chapel; I would officiate once more before I departed this life, or rather life departed me. It had been my custom to take communion with one of my younger novices, a nice boy, Theophilus,
very pretty and obliging, but I thought no, if I was about to die the least I could do was perform the rite for and among everyone in my charge one last time.’
‘What happened?’
‘Sadly, it was not an event I care to remember. Theophilus had to prop me up throughout the service. Boils burst and spattered all over the wafers and into the wine. I couldn’t stop coughing and dribbling, Shaking like a leaf, I was. Felt hot as Hell inside my habit, well, as hot as I imagine Hell to be. Never been there myself, although I know one or two who must have finished up turning on a spit above the flames.
‘I knew the Brethren were unhappy,’ he said with a deep sigh. ‘I could tell when they wiped their lips after kissing the Holy ring on my finger; the fact that it was hanging on by a thread, the bone exposed and covered in green slime appeared to put them off. However, I knew from the teachings of our Holy patron in Rome that the wine and wafers underwent a transformation during the communion ritual, so all impurities were removed by the time they were consumed.’
‘Then what?’
‘I died shortly afterwards.’
‘And you were buried in here, the chapel.’
‘Yes, thank the Lord! I can remember thinking at the time that they shoved me in the ground with unseemly haste. Even had my stone carved before I actually went, would you believe! Served them right!’
‘What did?’
‘They were all dead within a fortnight. Seems they suffered the same symptoms as me. Must have been something in the water.’
‘Who buried them if there was no one left alive?’
‘The rat charmer. Nice man, very thoughtful. Lived here in one of the alms houses for several years until he, too, died. Apparently he fell into one of the graves and broke his neck. They were very deep. Had to be, considering how many of the replacement canons sent over by our abbey in France died within a couple of weeks of taking office. Got through six priors in four years! Incredible!’
‘And they’re all buried here?’
‘All except one; he died on the way to France to request more replacements. Only got as far as Dover. The captain refused to let him get on the ship. Very sad. So near, yet so far.’
‘It’s a very moving story,’ said Tim, with genuine sincerity. So, it was the Black Death that had wiped them all out; he made a mental note to pursue this line of enquiry another time.
‘Things got back to normal after a few years,’ continued Prior Thomas. ‘Well, almost normal. Visitor numbers never reached the same levels as when I’d been in charge, but what do you expect when those snail-chasing Frenchies took the view that our misfortune was God’s judgement against the way we operated? Absolute rubbish! The new crowd was unbelievably devout but soon realised the English way was so much more, er, how shall I describe it? Satisfying. Yes, satisfying to both body and soul.’
‘And eventually King Henry VIII dissolved all religious houses and sold them to wealthy merchants.’
‘Is that right? I did wonder. Henry VIII, you say? Never heard of him.’
‘I could tell you more if you’re interested.’
‘Not really. Live for the present, that’s my motto.’
‘But you’re dead.’
‘That’s precisely the point. My past is always my present, can’t you see? It’s as if everything stopped when I died. Every night is the same. We do exactly what we did when we died. Quite reassuring, actually. Know where you are, what to expect.’
‘Even though most of the buildings have gone?’
‘Makes no difference to us. It’s the soul that gives our ghosts substance.’
‘So, if your souls went somewhere else, your ghosts would have to follow?’
‘I suppose so, but where can they go? Our Afterlife is confined to these grounds. It’s where we lived when we ceased to walk the earth.’
Fascinated, Tim thanked his lucky stars for being able to learn from first-hand eye witnesses. First Elizabeth and Augustus, and now Prior Thomas.
‘Who is on the throne now?’ asked the Prior.
‘Queen Elizabeth II.’
‘Didn’t know there’d been a First. Lose all track of time, you know. Not that it bothers me.’ His tone changed. ‘What does bother me is the building of latrines inside the chapel. Why couldn’t you use a corner of the Refectory?’
‘Didn’t know where it was,’ replied Tim truthfully. ‘I haven’t been here very long and haven’t had time to discover the layout of the Priory or its grounds.’
‘Genuine mistake, then?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
‘Can you remove them?’
‘Not until tomorrow.’
‘Promise you won’t act disrespectfully again?’
‘Promise. Cross my heart and . . .’
His voice tailed away.
He didn’t hope to die just yet.
XVIII
Sir Cedric Foot-Wart felt more and more uncomfortable as the time Tim had been away lengthened. Like the others, he’d had his fair share of alcohol and needed to offload an equivalent fair share of surplus liquid.
He couldn’t wait any longer. Excusing himself from the table, he lit his torch and walked very slowly and carefully towards the King of Clubs. The relief he experienced at seeing the outside light lit was nothing compared to the relief he enjoyed once inside the plush surroundings.
But where had Tim got to? He’d been away ages. He couldn’t be inside the Queen of Hearts by mistake, surely? No, the sign on its door had been lit there, too, so he couldn’t be there.
Perhaps he’d gone for a stroll in the dark. To get some fresh air. And, to Cedric’s creaking bones and thin skin, the air seemed to be getting fresher and cooler by the minute. Surprising how warm the marquee had become. Must be the candles and butane lamps.
Hilda was quite something, albeit a little unpredictable. Never quite knew how she’d react or what she’d say next. Didn’t know how to take her at first, though. It was as if she’d expected her titled betters to behave in a particular way when in fact they were quite normal and led (in Cedric’s biased opinion) simple, uncomplicated lives like everyone else. Lucky to be married to the long-suffering George. Nice chap, George. Reliable. Cared for his wife, despite her size. And what a size! Never seen anything like it! Apart from Chinn-Dribbling; the ex-mayoress certainly took the biscuit, and no mistake!
The Easons were two of his favourite people. Not out to impress, modest and clean living, the sort of folk he seldom saw in the defendant’s box in the courtroom. Should be more like them; the world would be a better place. He’d half a mind to leave Blister Grange to them but it wouldn’t be fair. They had more than enough on their plate to look after the Priorton Hall estate and the fortune that came with it.
He flushed the toilet, washed his hands and was drying them on a towel when he thought he heard something. Was that a voice outside? Not Tim’s, that was for sure. He went outside and switched his torch on. The voice seemed to be coming from the archway next to the portaloo.
‘Tim, is that you?’ he called, not too loudly, flashing the torchlight around the ruins.
‘Cedric? Over here, to your right. Someone I’d like you to meet.’
Cedric stumbled across the uneven ground until he saw Tim at the far end of the former chapel. The moon, now in its last quarter, was bright enough to cast an eerie light on the arched frame of the east window.
‘’Who is it?’
‘Don’t be alarmed, Cedric. I seem to have unearthed another ghost. Prior Thomas.’
The light from Cedric’s torch refracted slightly as it shone through the Prior. Cedric winced at the sight of the Prior’s face.
‘Bubonic Plague,’ diagnosed Cedric immediately. ‘Saw a documentary on it once. Nasty way to go.’
‘Thomas was telling me a little about the history of the Priory,’ said Tim. ‘He was just about to show me around the chapel. Want to stay?’
‘Shouldn’t we get back to the others?’ All Cedric could see were fragments o
f stonework. He wasn’t impressed.
‘Are they having a good time?’
‘Looks that way.’
‘Then they won’t miss us for a few minutes, will they? C’mon. Lead the way, Prior.’
Thomas led them from one corner of the nave to another and into two side-chapels, taking some pride in pointing out features that had disappeared several centuries earlier. He spoke authoritatively, in a manner intended to impress important visitors to his domain.
By the light of his torch, Tim gained the impression the Prior was rushing the tour and glancing frequently at the silver sliver of the moon. He displayed signs of anxiety between the blobs on either side of his eyes. It was as if he were in a hurry to dismiss unwelcome guests through the non-existent front door as quickly as possible. And was it Tim’s imagination that made him feel as though unseen eyes were watching his every move?
‘And that concludes our tour, good sirs. Perhaps we shall meet again someday.’
Yes, he definitely wanted them to leave.
‘Would you show us around the rest of the Priory?’ asked Tim.
‘Not at present, sir. I have many things to do.’
‘It wouldn’t take long.’
‘It is not possible,’ Thomas replied firmly, glancing behind with screwed-up eyes.
Did Tim detect something moving in the far shadows?
He was about to open his mouth again when the Prior spoke, most insistently.
‘I really must ask you both to leave. Perhaps another time.’ He smiled, exposing two rows of rotten teeth with quite a few gaps.
‘Think we’d better go,’ said Cedric. ‘The hint’s pretty obvious to me.’
They walked away until they stood in front of the Royal Flushes, fully aware Prior Thomas was watching until they disappeared from his view.
Tim caught hold of Cedric’s elbow.
‘Just wait here a few moments,’ he hissed. ‘Something’s going on and I want to know what it is.’
‘Sounds like detective work to me,’ said Cedric. ‘Should we fetch George?’
‘No, he’s got enough on his plate keeping an eye on Hilda,’ said Tim.