A Finer End

by Deborah Crombie

  Nick, Greely, and Kincaid led, Greely having found torches for them all, while the three officers carrying lights, ropes, and the folding stretcher brought up the rear. Although the southern slope was considerably more gentle than the northern, it was still a difficult climb. Fortunately, the rain had stopped, improving the visibility if not the footing.

  Although none of them had much breath for conversation, Kincaid heard Greely mutter, “Mad. Bloody mad,” more than once.

  “Likely as not they’ll find the girl curled up somewhere along the lane again, like a bloody hedgehog,” Greely grumbled, when they stopped for a breather at the first plateau. “And then I’ll have a hell of a time explaining this”—he gestured at the officers—“to my guv’nor.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Kincaid said. What had Gemma been thinking, going off without telling him? He knew she wouldn’t have done such a thing lightly: that knowledge worried him even more.

  They set out again, strung out single-file on the treacherous path. Suddenly Nick, who was in front of Kincaid, came to an abrupt stop and Kincaid teetered as he tried to avoid crashing into him.

  “Look!” Nick exclaimed. “A light. There it is again.”

  Kincaid saw it then, a faint but regular flash from the summit in an SOS pattern. It could only be Gemma.

  The sight spurred them to climb with renewed energy, Greely no longer grumbling. Kincaid shouted Gemma’s name.

  “Here!” As they reached the summit, she came running towards him. Kincaid gathered her to him, the fierceness of his hug part anger and part relief.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But I had to find her. The baby’s fine, a little girl, but Faith’s bleeding—badly, I think.”

  Greely was on the radio, calling for another ambulance, and Nick had dropped to his knees by Faith’s head, murmuring her name as the officers readied the stretcher. Kincaid squatted beside them and stroked her cheek with his fingertip. “You should have waited for me. I’d have given you a much smoother ride home.”

  Faith attempted a smile. The baby was nestled against her chest, her tiny rosebud mouth just showing beneath the edge of Faith’s shirt. Kincaid found himself moved by the sight.

  “We’ll have you down this hill in no time,” he promised, stepping back, but Faith clutched at him.

  “Andrew …”

  “Shhh. Don’t worry about that now. It’s fine.”

  The officers stepped in and strapped mother and infant on the stretcher, and they were soon caravanning back down the hill.

  This time Kincaid and Gemma brought up the rear. He noticed that she was limping, and when he stopped to help her over a particularly difficult spot, he saw that her hands were cut and swollen. In the light from the torch, her face looked as pale as Faith’s.

  The ambulance was waiting when they reached the lane. To Kincaid’s surprise, Bram Allen paced nearby, his brow furrowed with worry. “What’s going on?” he demanded, hurrying towards them. “They said an accident, someone badly hurt at the old Kinnersley place.”

  “Andrew Catesby,” Kincaid replied.

  “But the girl …” Bram’s gaze followed the stretcher, now being loaded into the ambulance.

  “Chose an odd place to have her baby.”

  “I don’t understand,” Bram said, a tremor in his voice.

  “Neither do we, yet. She—”

  “Duncan!” Gemma called to him from the rear of the ambulance.

  “Sorry,” he murmured to Bram, then ducked through the milling officers to Gemma’s side.

  “Faith wants to speak to you before they go.”

  He stepped up into the ambulance. “You rang, princess?”

  Faith’s lips moved and he leaned closer. “I wanted you to know …” Her voice was a thread of sound. “Andrew … I didn’t mean to hurt him. He—he said he couldn’t bear for Winnie to know.…”

  “You did the only thing you could,” Kincaid assured her firmly. “You protected yourself and your daughter.”

  “Is he …”

  “Don’t think about that.”

  “We’re ready to go,” the paramedic urged.

  Turning back to Faith, Kincaid said, “You’re going to be fine, sweetheart. We’ll see you at the hospital.” He backed out and stood beside Gemma as the ambulance pulled away.

  “She’s so weak,” Gemma murmured. “There was so much blood.… And she’s so very, very cold.…”

  The illuminations took Winnie’s breath away. So rich were the colors, so intricate the details of the minute paintings that adorned the folio’s alternate pages, that she could scarcely tear her eyes from them to look at the music itself.

  The manuscript consisted of sixteen pages of tissue-thin, almost translucent vellum, folded to make a large, flat book. On the right-hand pages, the paintings filled the upper left corners, taking almost a quarter of the page, with the decoration continuing down the left-hand side and across the bottom. The text was in Latin, and above the text, the red, four-line staffs bore the ancient, square notation of chant, drawn in black.

  “It is in twelve parts,” she said. “But I don’t recognize the sequence. It’s not an ordinary mass.…”

  “The Divine Office?” suggested Jack.

  Winnie explained for Fiona’s benefit. “Traditionally, the Divine Office was made up of the services celebrated throughout the day in a monastery. Matins, Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers, and Compline. The chant repertory might have included recited Psalms.…” Looking back at the manuscript, she struggled with deciphering the ornate text, murmuring the words as she translated—then the pattern clicked. “It is a Psalm. Number 148! Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens; praise him in the heights. Praise ye him, all his angels: praise ye him, all his hosts. Praise ye him, sun and moon: praise him, all ye stars of light. Praise him, ye heavens of heavens, and ye waters that be above the heavens. It goes on, all the birds and beasts and creeping things are here too.”

  “And look at the illuminations.” Fiona pointed with a fingertip, but didn’t touch. “There’s the sun and the moon, and the stars, and here on the next page the birds.… But look at the background in this one. It’s Glastonbury. That’s the Abbey, and that’s the Tor behind it.”

  “This is Edmund’s work,” Jack told them. “I’m sure of it. Look. That’s Glastonbury again. And here. And this one, with the water flowing from the hillside, that’s Chalice Well as it was then, where he met Alys.”

  “But in the last days it shall come to pass,” read Winnie, “that the mountain of the House of the Lord shall be established in the top of the mountains, and it shall be exalted above the hills, and people shall flow unto it. That’s Micah.” Turning several pages, she said, “And after that, Revelation. It’s Jesus’ commandment to the Philadelphians. Him that overcometh I will make a pillar in the temple of my God, and he shall go no more out; and I will write upon him the name of my God, and the name of the city of my God, which is new Jerusalem.… Glastonbury … the new Jerusalem …”

  “Can you sing any of it?” asked Fiona. “Do you know how to read the notation?”

  “Yes, but … it needs a choir. I suppose I could try.…” Winnie studied the new Jerusalem passage for a moment, then, hesitantly, sang a few syllables.

  “Go on,” Jack and Fiona begged when she stopped.

  Winnie sang another line of the verse, and as her confidence grew, she felt the power of the music welling up within her, reverberating throughout her body. When she glanced up, the expressions of her audience told her its effect on them was as profound.

  Fiona’s eyes sparkled with tears. “Just for a moment, I thought …”

  “Was that the music you heard?” Jack asked Fiona.

  “An echo of it, perhaps …”

  “This”—Winnie’s hands cupped the air round the folio—“oh, Jack—how could this have been allowed to disappear?”

  Jack went to the bookcase, returning with a worn Bible. “This was my great-g
randfather’s, but he recorded as much as he knew of the generations before him. I think I remember seeing Matthew’s name when I was copying the genealogical information for Simon. Here it is. Matthew John Montfort, died 1762—just three years after he wrote the letter. I suspect he never had the chance to pass the knowledge of the chant on to his son.”

  “And by placing the manuscript in the painting, Matthew meant to take extra precautions. It’s ironic, isn’t it, that his actions caused it to be lost? Unless … You don’t suppose … where he says, ‘… as I have been instructed.’ ”

  “Edmund? Well, why not? There’s no reason I should have been the only—” Jack stiffened.

  They heard a murmur of voices, and a moment later Duncan and Gemma came into the room.

  Winnie knew immediately that something was dreadfully wrong. “Faith? Is she—”

  “She’s on her way to hospital,” soothed Gemma. “With her baby, a little girl.”

  “How—what happened?” asked Jack, but Winnie saw that Duncan and Gemma were looking at her. She braced herself for a blow. If not Faith, then …

  Duncan sat down beside her. “Winnie, I’m sorry, but it’s Andrew. He’s been quite badly hurt. They’ve taken him to hospital in Taunton.”

  “Oh, no, please. Not …” Searching his face, she said, “There’s more, isn’t there? And worse. Faith—” The fragmented memory came back to her. “We were talking, in the café, Faith and I … she said something about her archaeology class. It was only when I was walking up the hill afterwards that I realized she must have known Andrew—she was a Somerfield student—and in that case why had she never mentioned it, in all the time I’d known her? And Andrew, when I told him about the girl who had left school because she was pregnant, he never said he knew her … Fiona! That’s why I was coming to see you. I needed to talk.” Winnie met Kincaid’s eyes again. “You said Andrew was badly hurt—how?”

  “A head injury,” Duncan said reluctantly.

  “Andrew tried to hurt Faith.”

  Kincaid could only nod.

  Winnie’s face became expressionless. “I must see him. Will you drive me to hospital, please?”

  Gemma and Kincaid found Nick Carlisle haunting the corridor outside Faith’s room. He hurried towards them.

  “How is she?” asked Gemma.

  “They think they’ve got the bleeding stopped, but she’s awfully weak. She’s resting now.”

  “And the baby?”

  Nick’s smile lit his face. “She’s fine. Perfectly healthy, they say. Gemma … The doctor said you probably saved Faith’s life—and the baby’s. If there’s anything—”

  “You’d have done the same,” Gemma told him. “I just got there first.” Somehow she understood that his gratitude was mixed with envy. He had wanted to be Faith’s savior, the hero of the day. “Perhaps it’s just as well, you know, that things worked out the way they did. Gratitude is a burden you’d not want to come between you two. You’ve a clean slate now.”

  “I wish I did,” Nick said softly, his expression bleak, and Gemma recalled what she had learned of his past.

  “Will they let us see her?” she asked.

  “I’ll find out.” Kincaid went to the desk, leaning over to speak to the dark-haired nurse. Gemma saw him flash his most effective smile, then he returned to them.

  “Just one of us, for five minutes, and that’s a special dispensation. You go in, Gemma. I’ll stay with Nick.”

  She eased open the door. The girl lay in the hospital bed, eyes closed, her dark lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. The baby lay in a cot beside her, only the top of her fuzzy head visible beneath a teddy-bear blanket.

  Just as Gemma started to turn away, unwilling to wake her, Faith opened her eyes. Going to the bedside, Gemma murmured, “She’s lovely. Have you decided what to call her?”

  “Bridget.”

  “Bridget … wasn’t she a local saint?”

  “Andrew … he always liked the story about St. Bridget’s Chapel at Beckery; that all who passed through the hole in the chapel’s side would be forgiven their sins.…”

  “It suits her,” Gemma said softly. “And you were very brave, you know.”

  “Was I? I was so scared. I didn’t know—”

  “You can’t know, until you’ve been through it. The nice thing is, you forget quickly.” Gemma smiled. “Now, you get some rest—”

  “I wanted to thank you. If you hadn’t … Garnet knew what was going to happen, didn’t she? On the Tor. Do you think somehow she knew about Andrew too?”

  “I think Garnet loved you,” Gemma told the girl gently, “and that’s all that matters.”

  • • •

  Andrew had been rushed into surgery; there the hemorrhaging caused by the blows to his temple had been surgically evacuated to relieve the pressure on his brain. Now, his doctor had informed Winnie, they could only wait.

  She had insisted that Jack stay behind in Glastonbury. Her undivided attention seemed a small penance for what she owed her brother. How could she have been so blind, so self-absorbed, that she had not seen his peril? As she sat beside Andrew’s bed, her heart was gripped with fear for her brother—and for herself.

  Could she bring herself to forgive him for what he had done? Even more difficult, could she find the strength to love him, knowing the secrets he had kept from her?

  And if Andrew survived this, would he be able to live with his own terrible knowledge?

  He stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. To her profound relief, he knew her instantly, and smiled. Then she saw the shadow of returning memory in his eyes and, with it, a recoil of horror and shame.

  “Andrew, it’s going to be all right, I promise. We’re going to work through this together.”

  He turned his face away.

  Gemma and Kincaid found their way back to the ICU visitor’s area and sat down to wait for Winnie. Kincaid fidgeted, frowning abstractedly as he studied a bright print on the wall.

  “What is it?” Gemma pressed. “Surely you don’t think Faith is to blame for hurting Andrew—”

  “Of course not. It’s just that Greely’s inclined to consider the case tidily wrapped up. Convenient for him, but I don’t like it.”

  “He assumes Garnet saw Andrew in the lane the night of Winnie’s accident, and later confronted him.”

  “Right. And that would fit nicely—except for the fact that Andrew’s alibi for the time of Winnie’s accident checked out. And if he were willing to kill Faith to keep his sister from finding out about their relationship, why would he have tried to hurt Winnie?”

  Gemma thought for a bit. “Andrew’s affair with Faith must have started after Winnie met Jack, an act of emotional desperation, perhaps. When he discovered Faith was pregnant he cut her off, making her promise to tell no one. What a terrible irony that his rejection of Faith drove her to leave home, and led her to become friends with his sister.”

  “If his motive in murdering Garnet was to keep her from telling Winnie, why would he kill Garnet the night after Winnie’s accident, when he didn’t know if Winnie would ever regain consciousness? Nor would it explain where Garnet drowned.”

  “Bathtub? Kitchen sink?” Gemma offered.

  “Then he cleaned up afterwards without leaving a trace? I suppose it’s possible. But something’s not right about this. Gemma, what happened up there on the Tor tonight? Was there something—” Kincaid broke off as the ICU door swung open.

  Winnie came out and sat beside Gemma. Her face was bleak with exhaustion, and she closed her eyes briefly, seeming to gather strength.

  “How is he?” Gemma asked.

  “Resting comfortably, the doctor says. It’s too early to know if the swelling will return, but they think the prognosis is good.”

  “He’s conscious? Did he—”

  “No.” Winnie’s eyes filled with tears. “No, he didn’t tell me anything.”

  They drove back to Glastonbury in silence. Glancing at Nick, Winnie wondered i
f it had been loyalty to Andrew that had made Faith impervious to Nick’s determined assault on her affections. Perhaps now she would be able to truly see this young man.

  “Faith!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t even ask. Is she all right? And the baby?”

  “She’s doing fine,” Gemma answered. “And the baby’s lovely. Faith’s called her Bridget.”

  “St. Bride,” Winnie said softly. It was a good name, and fitting. My niece, she realized for the first time, and that brought the tears she had held in abeyance. She let them slip unchecked down her cheeks, the salt on her lips tasting like blood. Something good had come of all this, and that thought comforted her.

  But as they crossed over the River Brue, she said suddenly, “I want to go to the Abbey.”

  “But it’s closed,” Nick protested.

  “Take me to the Silver Street gate, then. Please. I can’t explain—”

  Duncan glanced back at her. “It’s all right. Just tell me where to go.”

  “Past the Assembly Rooms, on the High Street. There’s a turning to the right.”

  The gate at the bottom of Silver Street was kept locked, but as it was made of wrought iron, it was the one place you could see easily into the Abbey grounds. Duncan pulled up next to the rubbish bins and Winnie was out of the car before it had come to a full stop.

  She stood at the gate and looked through. The sky had cleared, and in the moonlight the ruined church cast a shadow on the greensward. Why had she come here? What had called to her so powerfully?

  Closing her eyes, she saw a different vision. She’d stood there in the sunlight, beneath the great stone transepts, and she had heard the music rising round her. The chant … she had heard the chant, and she had known it for what it was. The elation and the certainty of her experience filled her once again.

  Without turning, she said, “Out of all the Grail mythology entwined with Glastonbury over the centuries, there is one legend that says the Grail is not an object—not a cup or a chalice—but a transcendent state of being, brought about by ritual and prayer. This chant that the monks of the Abbey were willing to sacrifice their lives for, that Edmund devoted himself to saving for future generations, is a part of that complex of rituals.