“As with any community, there can be the occasional harsh word or impassioned debate,” the priest answered. “The monks here are but human. Nevertheless, I know of nothing that was causing the Father Abbot any undue concern. And nothing would have reached Bishop Fencourt that had not first come through me.”
“And yet you do not dwell here?”
“Oh no . . .” Father Demetris shook his head patiently. “I live in the rectory in Chichester, where I attend to the bishop and the congregation of the cathedral. It is a magnificent structure that has served as the heart of God’s word for nearly eight hundred years. You really must come and pay a visit before you leave Sussex County.”
“We shall make every endeavor to do so,” Colin said with an air of amusement, and I knew he was tickled at the preposterousness in our having received such an invitation. “How familiar are you with the daily workings of Whitmore Abbey? Do you visit here often?”
“Once or twice a year. But there are no mysteries to life here. As I’ve said before, these good monks lead a simple and pious existence.”
“So I have seen.” Colin nodded. “Do any of the townspeople of Dalwich have access to Whitmore Abbey or the other buildings of the monastery?”
Father Demetris frowned slightly as he studied Colin. “Well, I suppose they do. There are no locks on most of the doors. I only had the one placed on the Father Abbot’s cell after his murder. It seemed the wisest thing to do until we could learn what had happened.”
“A thoughtful choice,” Colin agreed. “And you say there are no services for the people of Dalwich at Whitmore Abbey?”
“Quite so. Whitmore is intended only for the monks who live here. Dalwich has its own church, though it is nothing like what we enjoy in Chichester.” He could not help but give a proud smile. “The monks here provide for themselves, and there is little need for interaction with anyone from Dalwich. Other than Abbot Tufton, I would say no more than two or three of the monks have ever even been there.”
“I see . . . I see . . .” Colin rattled distractedly, his mind clearly leaping ahead. “And what about outside workers? Do you employ anyone from Dalwich to cook or do any sort of cleaning or tending to the grounds?”
“Never.” Father Demetris shook his head decisively. “The brothers take care of themselves in all ways and in all things. Each monk is assigned daily tasks, whether they be preparing meals, scrubbing the common areas, or tending the fields alongside the refectory. Only the care of their clothing and cells is the responsibility of each individual. You have already seen the sparseness of their cells, and I can assure you that the extent of their clothing is little different. So their commitment to fussing about themselves is kept to the barest minimum, as it should be.”
“Certainly.” Colin nodded with the hint of a scowl. “You have been most clear on the subject of their life’s simplicity, and I must apologize if I am being obtuse.”
Father Demetris laughed. “Not at all. It is hard for most people to understand. I myself do not believe I have the fortitude to live the monastic life.”
“You certainly come closer to it than I.” Colin smirked, making me cringe until the priest let out another laugh.
“We would be a finite species if we all received the same spiritual calling,” Father Demetris responded with a grin.
“Indeed.” Colin matched his smile, clearly pleased with the priest’s response. “I shall only pester you with one last question then. Have there been any recent changes to the order here at Whitmore Abbey?”
“Nothing at all since the Benedictine Confederation was established by the Holy Father some twelve years ago. It is this steadfastness of the church that is one of its most compelling attributes, you see, for God’s way is neither random nor shifting. And so it has been from the moment of creation.”
Colin flicked his eyes to me before nodding perfunctorily at the priest. “I do believe I envy you the stoutness of your convictions.”
“Faith is a mighty sword,” Father Demetris replied. “And available to all. May I ask in what denomination you were raised?”
“I was baptized a Protestant, but having been raised in Bombay, I must confess to having spent more time learning the precepts of Buddhism and Hinduism. Such fascinating and provocative tenets.”
Father Demetris blanched slightly before leaning far back in his chair and allowing a cautious smile to alight upon his face. “Then let us pray . . .” he said with great sincerity, “that we can settle your mind and spirit during your time here.”
Colin blinked twice, his expression momentarily vacant, and I could see that the priest had caught him well off guard. It amused me, though I feared what sort of retort he might give once he regained his bearings. He surprised me, however, by simply changing the subject. “Will the monks be willing to meet with us individually to answer our questions? No one has taken a vow of silence, have they?”
Father Demetris shook his head with a chuckle. “Benedictines do not take such vows, though you will find their words few and carefully chosen. Nevertheless, every monk here will be at your disposal as you require.” He leaned forward and leveled a keen look upon Colin. “I would ask that you try to be sensitive to the routines the brothers follow in practicing their daily devotions. They are the foundation of life here, you see, and I am anxious for these men to return to some semblance of normalcy as quickly as possible. You would, of course, be welcome to join in their prayers anytime you wish,” he added with an impish grin.
Colin’s blue eyes sparked as though he might actually be considering it. “And so I may . . .”
“Splendid!” Father Demetris clapped his hands as he stood up. “Now let us get your things and I will show you to the cells we have set aside for your use while you are here.”
“No, no.” Colin quickly waved him off. “There is no need to disturb these good monks by having us constantly under foot. Mr. Pruitt has already procured rooms for us at the inn in Dalwich. What is the name of it again?” he asked as he turned to me.
I stared back at him for a minute, wondering what it was he expected me to say, considering I had done no such thing. “I rather forget . . .” I settled on muttering.
“It has to be the Pig and Pint,” Father Demetris filled in with a smile, “as that is the only place with rooms to let in Dalwich. They’ve good food at their pub, but I should doubt you’ll find their hospitality up to the standards you’re used to in London. Should you change your mind, there is always room for you here. The cells may be sparse, but they are piously clean and I can promise you beds rather than a mat on the floor,” he added with a chuckle.
“We shall keep that in mind,” Colin answered a touch too heartily as we went back out to the hall. “Might we be able to meet some of the monks this afternoon? Perhaps some of the more senior brothers?”
The priest fished a watch out of his cassock and flipped it open. “I’m afraid they will be in their afternoon prayers just now. I suppose I could ask one or two to step out if you really need, or perhaps you might return at suppertime? Their meals are simple but quite good. You’ll not leave hungry. And it would give you a chance to not only acquaint yourself with the brothers but also to get a feel for how they live.”
“An excellent suggestion.” Colin offered a tight smile, and it seemed to me that he was somehow unaccountably relieved.
“Very well.” Father Demetris ushered us around the corner and down a short hallway that led to a set of double doors. “Do remember that the monks retire early. They have nightly meditations in their cells, but all will be asleep by ten. Four thirty comes very quickly.”
“Four thirty. . . .” Colin repeated with a shake of his head. “Now I know I should never fit in here.”
Father Demetris laughed as we walked past a small door off a side entry. Though the door was closed, I could hear the low, sonorous cadence of male voices chanting some indecipherable litany from behind it. The sound was mystical, almost unworldly, and yet it also seemed to con
tain an edge of something darker, something vaguely foreboding. It struck me like the conundrum of religion itself in that while it seeks to embrace, so it also willfully divides, culling those it judges worthy from those it deems reprehensible. People like me and Colin.
“There is one last thing I should like to know straightaway,” Colin spoke up as we reached the main entrance, where we had left our trunk and pair of valises.
“Whatever I can answer.”
“Has the abbot been buried yet?”
Father Demetris shook his head with a grimace. “He has not. The brothers very much wanted to hold services, but Bishop Fencourt forbade it after your father said you would come. He thought you might want to see . . .” He left the rest of the statement unvoiced.
“Very good,” Colin said at once. “Then we shall look at his remains first thing tomorrow morning to avoid any further delay.”
The priest gave a tight nod. “I know that will be appreciated. I shall speak with Brother Silsbury and have him arrange a viewing for you.”
“Thank you. You have been most kind.”
“I could do no less for my fallen friend. God rest his soul.” Father Demetris crossed himself. “And I do hope you will understand that I also must return to Chichester tomorrow afternoon. I have a service to prepare by Sunday, and Bishop Fencourt will expect me back.”
“Of course. May we count on you to be available to return should we require any further assistance or wish to question you again?”
Father Demetris’s eyes conveyed his shock. “Question me?! You make it sound as though I were a suspect.” He laughed, but it came out awkward and unsure.
Colin flashed yet another tight grin that I knew would offer little reassurance. “While that is obviously unlikely, given the distance between Chichester and Dalwich, orders of murder have been known to be given from a continent away.”
The priest’s face crumpled. “I can only imagine,” he said. “And yet I should hardly think you could suspect any man of God of such a thing as this.”
“In fact I suspect everyone at this moment, Father. Even good Pope Leo himself.” Colin gave a teasing smile, but as Father Demetris’s face continued to register dismay, I knew Colin had made his point.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2015 by Gregory Harris
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eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-9272-8
eISBN-10: 0-7582-9272-4
First Kensington Electronic Edition: March 2015
ISBN: 978-0-7582-9271-1
First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: March 2015
The Connicle Curse Page 32