To the Rescue

by Jean Barrett

  “Does that mean he was in medicine before he joined the order?”

  Father Stephen chuckled. “Brother Timothy was a prize fighter before he came to us. By his own admission, not a very good one. But he claims that all the punishment he suffered in the ring has turned out to be quite beneficial. There aren’t many injuries he didn’t learn how to treat, the external ones in particular.”

  The abbot paused, glancing down at her hand. Only then did Jennifer realize she’d been unconsciously crumbling the bread into bits. It was a result of her tension over the man in the next room. She’d have to be more careful. She didn’t want Father Stephen to suspect that she was worried about more than the health of Brother Timothy’s patient.

  She took a fresh slice of bread and went on with her soup.

  “Of course,” the abbot continued, “capable though our Brother Timothy is, whenever there is any question about an injury or an illness, we don’t hesitate to consult with a doctor in Heathside. Unfortunately, that won’t be possible in this case.”

  “Oh?”

  “Both the phone and power lines are down. It happens more often than we’d like with our situation as exposed as it is, which is why we have a generator. It’s enough to operate our water pump, as well as permit us a reduced number of electric lamps.”

  That explained the poor lighting in the castle. The generator was obviously unable to provide anything but essential power during any outage.

  “Will the lines be restored tomorrow, Father?”

  He shook his head. “Doubtful with this storm. By morning the road will be blocked with heavy snow. I’ve seen it happen before. And the forecast promises more of the same for the next few days.”

  “So we’re cut off until the weather clears.”

  “It’s the price we pay for the seclusion we prize.”

  Jennifer knew about that seclusion. She thought again of the story Guy had told her that explained the monastery’s unlikely existence in a castle. How, at the time of the Dissolution in the sixteenth century, the brothers had been driven out of their abbey, their properties stripped from them. Warley’s devout owner had risked his life and his own wealth by offering them the castle, which had been abandoned by his titled family in the previous century for a more convenient location. The order had managed to survive at Warley only because its extreme isolation drew no attention to them.

  And now Jennifer was stranded in all this vast solitude. It could work for her, give her the time she needed. Or it could be a disadvantage. She thought of the man lying in the room next door. Everything depended on him.

  Wanting to be in no suspicious hurry about what she was so anxious to know, she tried the cheese but found it too strong for her taste. She finished the soup, then framed her question in what she hoped was a casual tone as she laid down her spoon.

  “I’ve been wondering, Father, whether anyone managed to find some identification on the patient.”

  “Yes, I’d forgotten that I was told you mentioned when you arrived you have no connection with this man. You happened to be passing when you saw his car in the ditch, wasn’t that it? Well, he was fortunate you were on the road and found him.”

  Jennifer didn’t correct him, allowing him to believe it was all just by chance.

  “Since he owes his life to you, he shouldn’t remain a stranger. Brother Timothy was able to learn his identity from both his driver’s license in his wallet and the passport he carries. His name is Leo McKenzie. An American like you, I believe.”

  Leo McKenzie. No, she didn’t recognize the name. It meant nothing to her. “I wonder. Did Brother Timothy happen to find anything else on him?”

  She had gone too far in her desire to know whether Leo McKenzie was connected somehow with the London police. Jennifer realized that immediately when Father Stephen gazed at her thoughtfully. Was there a hint of suspicion now in those intelligent blue eyes?

  “Did you have something particular in mind?” he asked her slowly.

  Hoping to cover her mistake, she turned to the dish of stewed apricots. “Only,” she replied nonchalantly, “that he probably has family or friends somewhere who could be worried about him, and if we knew who they were—”

  “They should be contacted. I see what you mean. No, Brother Timothy said nothing about any evidence on him of family or friends. We’ll have to wait until Leo McKenzie is awake to learn that. In any case, nothing can be done in that direction until we can communicate again with the outside world.”

  Jennifer began on the apricots. They had a sour flavor, but she didn’t feel she could leave them uneaten, as she had the cheese. It would look as if she didn’t appreciate the meal.

  “In the meantime,” the abbot said, getting to his feet, “you and our patient are safe here. I can only give thanks that providence led you out of the storm to our door.”

  Jennifer could have left it at that, but she knew that Father Stephen would have to be told at least a part of the truth at some point. It might as well be now.

  “I’m afraid it wasn’t anything like that, Father.”

  “Then you weren’t lost out on the road when you found us?”

  “No. Warley Castle was my destination all along.”

  “I see.” Puzzled, the abbot lowered himself again on the stool. “But, of course, I don’t see at all.”

  Jennifer tried to explain without telling him what she couldn’t afford to reveal. “I came to see one of the brothers. It’s something that…well, I need his help. I’m not at all certain he can provide it, but I’m hoping he can.”

  “One of our order, you say.” He was understandably surprised. “And this would be?”

  “Brother Anthony. He is here, isn’t he?”

  “He is, yes,” the abbot admitted, sounding suddenly reluctant now. He had to be wondering just why she needed to speak to Brother Anthony. Maybe his position even entitled him to know, but he remained polite. “However, I’m sorry to tell you that you won’t be able to see him.”

  “May I ask why, Father?”

  “Brother Anthony is cloistered in his cell under a self-imposed vow of silence.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The abbot hesitated, looking at her solemnly. Her disappointment must have been all too evident, because in the end he relented.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any reason you shouldn’t know. Brother Anthony recently came back from London where he met with an old friend.”

  On behalf of the monastery. The abbot probably wouldn’t tell her that, but then he didn’t have to. Jennifer knew all about it.

  “This morning,” Father Stephen continued, “Brother Anthony learned of the death of that friend.”

  Guy’s murder, Jennifer thought.

  “I think you can appreciate just how shocked and upset our Brother Anthony was. His friend was very dear to him.”

  “But to restrict himself to his cell…”

  “You think it extreme. It isn’t, you know. Not when you understand, as we do, that there are times when one of our order needs absolute solitude for prayer and meditation.”

  “I can respect that, Father, but I was just wondering…”

  “What?”

  “Whether Brother Anthony was troubled even before he heard of his friend’s death.”

  Jennifer knew that the monk had, in fact, been worried when he visited Guy in London. Guy had confided as much to her. And this, among other reasons, was what had brought her to Warley Castle. But she couldn’t tell the abbot this without disclosing her connection to Guy. That would be a dangerous admission that could destroy her chance of getting answers.

  Or maybe she had already lost her opportunity. She could see by the guarded expression on the abbot’s face that her probing had again been a mistake. He was definitely uncertain about her motives now.

  “That isn’t something I can tell you.”

  Because he didn’t know, she wondered. Or because he was being protective of Brother Anthony? It was underst
andable. His role must require him to safeguard all the members of his community.

  Jennifer heard the slow tolling of a bell somewhere off in the distance.

  “You’ll have to excuse me,” the abbot said, coming to his feet again. “I need to be in the refectory for vespers and our evening meal.”

  Jennifer didn’t think it was her imagination that his tone was on the severe side when, crossing the room to the door, he turned to address her again.

  “We’ll let you know when Brother Anthony is able to speak to you. I can’t say just when that will be. Until then, you’re welcome to move around the castle. With one exception. I must ask that you not try to visit the wing occupied by the monastery itself.”

  A warning because he didn’t trust her not to try to see Brother Anthony in his cell? Or because the brothers’ domain was off limits to any secular outsiders, especially women?

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “Don’t concern yourself about the tray. It can be collected in the morning. Good night, Miss Rowan.”

  He slipped out of the room. She gazed at the door that closed silently behind him. Whatever his wariness with her in the end, she decided that she liked Father Stephen, even though his formal manner and mode of speech struck her as oddly old-fashioned. But then, from the moment of her arrival at Warley, Jennifer had felt as though she’d gone back in time to another age. One in which the innocent battled dark forces. And didn’t always win.

  IT HAD BEEN a long and daunting day. Jennifer’s exhaustion should have guaranteed her a solid, uninterrupted sleep when she climbed into bed. It didn’t work that way.

  She found herself awake and restless, listening to the mournful wind outside. At some point she heard the soft tolling of the bell again that measured the canonical hours of devotion.

  Another hour must have passed before Jennifer realized how cold the room was. The fire had dwindled to smoldering embers. Turning on the bedside lamp, she pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She shivered when she came to her feet. Her robe was draped over the chair. She reached for it, hugging its thick folds around her as she padded on bare feet to the fireplace where she fed the grate with fresh peat chunks from the basket beside the hearth.

  Safe, she thought as she crouched there, feeling the heat from the glow that slowly developed. That’s what Father Stephen had told her. That she was safe now in the sanctuary of the monastery.

  The abbot had meant she was safe from the harsh weather. He didn’t know she was threatened by something far worse than the elements.

  And right now, she thought, gazing at the connecting door, that something was not only in the monastery with her but inside the room behind that door.

  Father Stephen had informed her that Leo McKenzie’s identity had been established by his driver’s license and his American passport. Nothing had been said about a discovery of anything that would give her a reason to be alarmed. But what if there was something?

  It was no use. Jennifer knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she had satisfied herself that Leo McKenzie wasn’t carrying something that incriminated her. If not, she might at least be able to learn how he had traced her to Yorkshire. And why he’d been hunting for her.

  She crossed the room and put her ear against the connecting door, listening. Silence. She tried the door. It was unlocked.

  Opening the door slowly and carefully, hoping she wouldn’t find him awake, she entered the room.

  A single lamp burning on the bedside table revealed that the chamber was similar to her own. What she could see of it, anyway. The light here was also weak, leaving the corners in darkness. But it was sufficient to show her the man on the bed.

  He lay on his back, his eyes closed. It wasn’t his face, though, that immediately captured her attention. The blanket that should have fully covered him had somehow gotten tangled down around his waist, exposing his chest. A sleekly muscled chest that was naked except for some kind of white band wound tightly around the lower part of his rib cage.

  Riveted by the sight of the powerful shoulders above that wrapping, Jennifer was suddenly nervous about approaching the bed. She went on standing there just inside the door. Then, directing her gaze elsewhere, she discovered his belongings that had been removed from his clothing. They had been dumped on the seat of a chair beside the bed. His wallet was among them.

  The temptation to search those personal belongings was as strong as ever, but she hesitated. If there was anything in that collection that incriminated her, wouldn’t Brother Timothy have discovered it and alerted the abbot?

  Now that she thought of it, it didn’t make sense that Leo McKenzie had been sent by the London police to find and arrest her. If she was a wanted woman now, then the local police would have been asked to handle it. Wouldn’t they?

  But Jennifer was no longer certain of anything. She had to know. Summoning her courage, she started to move in the direction of the chair. And was halted by the sound of Leo McKenzie mumbling in his sleep as he stirred on the bed.

  “Lad’s restless.”

  Jennifer whirled around with a startled gasp.

  The voice, like gravel, went on speaking to her from one of the dark corners of the room. “Keeps throwing off his covers. I’ve given up trying to keep them up about his chin where they belong. Don’t think he minds the cold at all.”

  A chair creaked as the man whose silent presence she’d been unaware of until this moment rose and moved forward into the light.

  “Still, it’s a good sign he’s restless,” he said. “Tells me he’s not gone and sunk hisself into a coma. You’ll be Miss Rowan, is it?”

  “Yes,” she murmured.

  “Brother Timothy,” he introduced himself. “They’ll have told you I’m minding the patient.”

  In spite of the robe he wore, he looked more like the hefty prize fighter he’d been than the monk he was now. His round, ruddy face with its broken nose also belonged to a boxer. But his grin was good-natured.

  “Gave you a bit of a start, did I?”

  “I didn’t know you were still with him.”

  “Thought I’d better spend the night here. With a bump on the head like that, there’s always the chance of a concussion, you see. Have to be watchful for that. I expect you came in to check on him yourself.”

  “Yes,” Jennifer lied, “I was worried about him.”

  “Mind you, he’s not out of the woods,” Brother Timothy said, bending over the bed, “but he’ll come around yet, stout lad like him.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Grumbled about his ribs being sore when I examined him. I’m of a mind he’s just bruised there, nothing broken, but I taped him up. Can’t be certain that it isn’t a cracked rib. No trouble breathing, anyway.”

  “And he is sleeping.”

  “Sleep is the ticket all right, and I gave him something to be sure he did just that.” Brother Timothy chuckled. “But he’s been fighting it. Not a man who likes to be helpless, I’m thinking.”

  Scratching the fringe of graying hair below his tonsure, the monk gazed at her, as if wondering whether she had anything further she wanted to know.

  There was a great deal that Jennifer did want to know about Leo McKenzie, but Brother Timothy wouldn’t be able to provide that information. Nor, while the monk remained here keeping his vigil, could she attempt to learn it on her own. She would have to wait for her answers.

  “Well, since he’s in such good hands…”

  Wishing Brother Timothy a good night, Jennifer retreated to her room.

  Tomorrow, she promised herself as she closed the connecting door behind her.

  IT WASN’T DAYLIGHT, however, that awakened her some hours later. Nor was it the desire for those answers. This was something else. And though Jennifer initially resisted the summons as she drifted back to consciousness, in the end she could no longer ignore its urgency.

  She needed a bathroom.

  You might as well give in,
because it’s not going to go away.

  “Fine,” she muttered, fully awake now as she emerged from the covers under which she was burrowed.

  But, of course, it wasn’t fine at all. Not when it was the middle of the night. The blackness at her window told her that even before she peered at her watch, after almost upsetting the lamp when she fumbled for the switch. And the room was frigid.

  When her feet hit the icy floor, she couldn’t slide them into her slippers fast enough. She reached for her robe and bundled into it, snugging the belt around her waist.

  Better, but a hotel accommodation equipped with its own bathroom would have been better still. This was not a hotel, she reminded herself. It was Warley Castle, and private bathrooms were nonexistent.

  There was a single bathroom reserved for guests. That is, if she could remember how to get to it. One of the brothers had conducted her to the facility shortly after her arrival. Jennifer had hoped not to have to visit it again before morning, but the call of nature wasn’t going to be denied.

  The wind continued to snarl outside, muffled by the thick walls. She could barely hear it in the passageway that stretched away in front of her, cold and gloomy in the dim light.

  Warley Castle was a big place. Its stone-vaulted corridors seemed to meander in every direction from level to level, so medieval in character that flickering torches mounted on its walls would have been more appropriate than the electric lights that were located at inadequate intervals.

  It was either by chance, or because her memory was served by necessity, that Jennifer found the bathroom. But once she had used the primitive plumbing and was on her way back to her room, that memory failed her.

  She realized after several minutes of wandering that she must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. There was nothing familiar now about the route. She was lost. Coming to a stop beneath one of the weak lanterns high on the wall, she tried to get her bearings.

  Jennifer thought of herself as a realist and not easily unnerved, even about things she couldn’t readily explain. So maybe what happened next was simply because of the setting. The absolute stillness of this dim passage was certainly eerie enough to activate the imagination, making her suddenly aware of her aloneness here.