by Jean Barrett
“But who else would have answers?”
“Maybe Father Stephen. I’ve been wondering if the abbot knows his novice is sleepwalking through the castle every night and why. Don’t think he’ll mind if we eat in his office. Maybe he’ll even have coffee to offer us. Is that all you’re taking?”
“It’s all I want,” she said, wrapping a single buttered scone in one of the napkins.
But Leo’s haste was unnecessary. Father Stephen was not in his office. Nor were any of the other monks in evidence. The broad, stone-floored gallery was deserted.
“Wonder where they all got to,” Leo said. “Think we dare look for the padre?”
“What I think is that we’d better wait right here. We can’t interrupt them at terce, because I imagine that’s where they are.”
Leo looked at her, puzzled. “What does that mean?”
Jennifer explained it to him. “Terce is one of the canonical periods of devotion. If I’m right, this should be the hour for it. Listen. You can hear them now.”
The door to the chapel must have been opened, because from around a corner in the gallery came the muted chants of the brothers in the litany of their regular prayers. It was a soothing sound, even in this place where the peace had been so savagely violated.
“Guess we’d better make ourselves comfortable then,” Leo said.
But comfortable wasn’t something Jennifer was feeling with Leo this morning, not when her memories of his intimate presence last night were still so potent. Maybe he was experiencing the same uneasiness, because they ate their breakfast in silence after they settled themselves in the abbot’s office.
Father Stephen seemed pleased to find them there when his tall, angular figure appeared in the open doorway some minutes later.
“I’ve been hoping to hear a report from you,” he said, shutting the door behind him and seating himself at his desk. “How is the investigation progressing?”
Jennifer let Leo relate what they had learned yesterday and what they hadn’t learned. The abbot was disturbed by the presence of the knife in Patrick’s room, but none of their other discoveries in the search merited any alarm from him.
“I imagine they can all be explained,” he said. “Perhaps even the knife isn’t significant, but Patrick must satisfy me about that if he is serious about joining our order.”
“I agree,” Leo said. “But there’s something else that worries me, and that’s really why we’re here.”
“Oh?”
“It’s Geoffrey, Father. Did you know your novice has been sleepwalking at night?”
The abbot didn’t know and listened attentively to Leo’s ac count of last night’s episode, as well as Jennifer’s experience the night before.
Father Stephen nodded gravely when they were finished. “I’m sorry to hear of Geoffrey’s distress, because I believe that’s just what this sleepwalking is all about. It’s not uncommon, you know, for a brother to have doubts before he takes his final vows.”
“You think his sleepwalking is a symptom of that?” Jennifer asked him.
“I do, and I’m glad you told me about it. It gives me the opportunity to counsel him, and with prayer—”
Not satisfied, Leo interrupted him. “Excuse me, Father, but the kid wasn’t just wandering around. Sleepwalking or not, I’d swear he was looking for something.”
“Something he is missing emotionally, yes. Something that is entirely spiritual in nature.”
“There was nothing spiritual about that generator being turned off,” Leo reminded him.
Father Stephen frowned. “Yes, that part is mystifying. But not connected with Geoffrey surely.”
Jennifer wasn’t convinced of that, and she knew by the way Leo’s mouth had tightened that he wasn’t convinced either. But neither of them pressed the abbot about it.
“Of course,” Father Stephen said thoughtfully, “there is another matter that may very well be related to Geoffrey’s sleepwalking. I’d forgotten how worried he’s been in that direction. It’s his father, you see.”
“Trouble?” Leo asked.
The abbot nodded. “The family phoned a few days ago to let us know that Geoffrey’s father is in the hospital. He needed surgery for a heart ailment. Geoffrey was so anxious about it that I permitted him to accompany Brother Anthony to London to visit his father.”
“Let me get this clear,” Leo said, leaning earnestly toward the abbot. “Are you telling us that Geoffrey was with Brother Anthony when the Warley Madonna was taken down to London to be handed over to my brother, Guy, for evaluation?”
“They traveled together, yes.”
Jennifer and Leo traded significant glances, and she knew they were thinking the same thing. It was her turn to lean forward in her chair.
“Father, was Brother Anthony worried about the welfare of the Madonna when he left the monastery to deliver the piece to Guy?”
The abbot thought about it for a few seconds before he shook his head. “To my knowledge, he was not. Of course, he intended to be very careful with it, as anyone would with something of great value.”
“Which means that somewhere between here and London he did find a reason to be worried about its safety. Father, do you remember what I told you yesterday after Brother Anthony’s death? How he told Guy when he turned the Madonna over to him that he was concerned about it?”
The abbot stared at Jennifer, his lined face registering a series of emotions. Bafflement at first, then understanding followed by shock. “You cannot seriously be suggesting that Geoffrey—No, it is unthinkable, as well as impossible!”
“Father,” Leo said severely, “my brother was murdered and the Madonna stolen. And if Geoffrey was there in London when that happened—”
“But he was not. He and Brother Anthony parted when they reached London. Geoffrey went on to Guildford. He was there in the hospital with his family when your brother was killed.”
“How can you be certain of that?”
“Because I phoned the hospital that night to ask about the condition of his father. I was able to speak to Geoffrey himself. He assured me his father was improving and that he would be on the first train in the morning back to Yorkshire.”
“And Guildford is…”
“Much too far from London for Geoffrey to have reached your brother’s shop and returned to the hospital to be there for my call, which I made very close to the time of Guy Spalding’s death according to the news report.”
Leo sat back in his chair. “And that leaves Geoffrey with a solid alibi.”
“I am happy to say that it does.”
A rap sounded on the office door. When the abbot responded to it, the monk called Brother Michael poked his head in.
“Sorry to interrupt, Father, but you’re wanted in the workshops. Another problem with the illuminations that needs your decision before we can proceed.”
The abbot rose to his feet. “This shouldn’t take long,” he informed his visitors. “If you’d care to wait, we can resume our meeting when I get back.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Leo informed him. “I think we’re finished here.”
“Then for now…”
The abbot left them sitting there. When he was gone, Jennifer turned to Leo. “Thoughts?”
“We didn’t get that coffee I was hoping for.”
“I was referring to something a little more profound than that,” she said. “Like Geoffrey being in the clear. At least where Guy and the theft of the Madonna are concerned.”
“Looks like it. It would have been the perfect explanation for the kid’s sleepwalking, too. Guilt over Guy and the Madonna. Still…”
“What?”
“This thing of Brother Anthony warning Guy the Madonna might be in danger. If you’re right about that…”
“If?”
Was he suggesting that Guy hadn’t told her any such thing? That she’d been lying about it? Maybe to provide another reason why she couldn’t have killed Guy herself and tak
en the Ma donna? If so, that meant Leo had yet to be entirely convinced of her innocence.
“I didn’t mean that,” he said hastily. “It’s just that you might have misunderstood Guy.”
Jennifer wasn’t sure she believed him. Wasn’t certain he didn’t nurse a lingering doubt about her. It was a depressing possibility.
“I didn’t misunderstand him,” she said emphatically.
“Okay. Then it leaves us with the riddle of Brother Anthony having some cause to be worried about the Madonna on the trip to London.”
“Which brings us back to Geoffrey, since he was Brother Anthony’s companion on that journey.”
“And Guy didn’t tell you why the monk cautioned him?”
“He didn’t know. I had the impression Brother Anthony was reluctant to explain it to him.”
“Figures.”
“How?”
“Because if it was Geoffrey who concerned him, he wouldn’t want to name a fellow brother.”
“He wasn’t a fellow brother,” Jennifer reminded him. “Not yet. But I suppose the same explanation could apply to a novice about to join his order. Anyway, all of this is only speculation. And none of it is any good with Geoffrey having an alibi. We’re back to another dead end.”
But Leo was unwilling to settle for that. “Dead ends can be funny things, Jenny,” he said when they came away from the abbot’s office. “Sometimes they’re not dead ends at all.”
“Is that private eye talk? If it is, I wish you’d translate it for me.”
“I’m just saying that things don’t always turn out to be what they seem. Like the padre’s explanation for Geoffrey’s sleepwalking. He’s convinced it was purely emotional, that what the kid was looking for was spiritual in nature.”
“And you don’t buy that?”
“Don’t think I do. I think maybe Geoffrey was subconsciously hunting for something more solid than that.”
“Like what?”
“Who knows. But maybe…”
Jennifer watched him as he turned his head to gaze along the gallery in the direction they had been following the novice last night.
“The kid was on his way around the corner down there when we lost him,” he said. “Wonder what’s around that corner.”
“And,” she added, “whether the lights went out just because somebody didn’t want us to know what’s there.”
“Yeah, but we don’t have to worry about that now. We’ve got the daylight, and I’ve got a P.I.’s itch that needs to be scratched.”
Chapter Ten
“More passages in this place than an Egyptian tomb,” Leo said.
And as cold and dim as one, Jennifer thought, rounding the corner and entering another corridor.
It was not as wide as the gallery they left behind, nor as long. There were no doors along its stretch, only a shallow flight of stairs waiting at its end. Reaching the steps, they mounted the deep, stone treads to a landing where a broad archway framed what seemed like an immense cavern.
“Cozy, huh?” Leo remarked as they passed through the archway.
“It’s the great hall,” Jennifer said, looking up toward the lofty ceiling where the soaring rafters were all but lost in the heavy shadows.
“Don’t think they’ve had any banquets here lately.”
No, she thought, the enormous hall couldn’t have been used in decades. A thick coating of dust testified to that.
Panes on some of the lancet windows high on the walls were broken, admitting snow along with a weak, winter daylight that cast the whole place in a gray gloom. The invading dampness had rotted the floorboards in several places, leaving treacherous gaps which they carefully avoided as they moved around the hall.
“Whole place has been stripped,” Leo observed. “Not a stick of furniture in sight.”
Nor could the yawning fireplace have seen a blaze on its hearth since the day the furnishings had been removed. And Jennifer would have welcomed a fire. The air was frigid with the kind of raw, numbing cold that penetrated to the bone.
“Okay,” Leo said, “so I was wrong about that dead end. It is one, because it doesn’t look like there’s anything here that could have interested Geoffrey.”
“Or any reason for the generator being shut down to stop us from following him here.”
“Which means if the kid did have some secret destination, this can’t be it. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
But Jennifer hung back. Although the great hall might be hollow and bare, it had one intact glory to recommend it. The usual minstrel’s gallery overhung the room above them. She could see that the carving on the oak panels supporting its railing, even dulled as it was beneath a layer of grime, was very fine.
This was the kind of thing her career in antiques was all about, and she wanted a minute to admire those panels. She was doing that when her gaze was captured by a movement on the wall behind the gallery. Even from this distance, and as slight as it was, she was convinced it was there. Or did she feel it rather than actually see it?
Grabbing Leo’s arm as he was turning away, she issued a low, urgent, “The stone mask up there on the wall!”
“What about it?”
“It must be the other side of the mask in the dining parlor. You know, the squint with the hollow eyes.”
“And?”
“The eyes aren’t hollow now. Someone is up there in the old solarium watching us!”
“Your vision must be better than mine because I can’t tell. But if you’re right—”
“I am right!” She was feeling it, that flesh-crawling sensation of being spied on from a hidden source.
“There’s a door there at the end of the gallery,” he said. “It probably leads into the dining parlor. If someone is in there watching us, I want to know who and why.”
A hanging stairway provided direct access from the floor of the great hall to the minstrel’s gallery above them. Leo raced to the flight and up the stairway, with Jennifer directly behind him.
The staircase was a fragile-looking affair, but she knew from experience that such ancient structures could be made to look delicate by their builders without sacrificing their strength. She didn’t worry about it. Not until midway on their climb when the stairway began to tremble under their weight. Or did she imagine it?
They were nearing the top, with no hesitation from Leo in front of her, when she knew she wasn’t imagining it. The stairway was shaking in earnest now.
“Leo, stop! This thing is coming apart!”
He halted, looking back at her. “It’s weak from age, but I think it’s still sound enough to—”
He got no further. The threat became a reality when, without another warning, the stairway collapsed. There was the alarming sound of wood tearing away from its support, a cry that only afterwards Jennifer realized was her own and immediately following it the rumble and crash of plummeting timbers.
She reached out to save herself, but there was nothing to clutch. Nowhere to go but down. She remembered falling into space but not the lightning impact that punched the wind out of her when she hit the floor. As awareness returned, she found herself lying in the wreckage strewn across the hall.
Only that wasn’t altogether accurate. Not after she recovered her senses enough to check her situation. She saw now that large sections of the flooring on both sides of her were gone. The splintered beams from the stairway had smashed through the decayed floorboards, taking everything with it but the joists.
Jennifer had ended up on one of those wide joists and was sprawled along its length, all but her arms which dangled on either side of her into the black hole where floorboards and stair timbers had vanished. A cellar? If so, it was a deep one because she couldn’t see the bottom.
Lifting her head, she peered around the hall, searching for a sign of Leo. Dear God, had he been carried into that awful chasm below her?
“Over here,” he called.
She could see him now through the cloud of dust that was b
eginning to settle. To her relief, he had been thrown several yards away from her, landing where the floor was still solid.
“Are you hurt?” he asked her, picking himself up from the scattered remnants of the stairway.
Breath restored sufficiently enough to answer him, she managed to squeeze out a slow, “I don’t—don’t know. I don’t think so. You?”
Getting to his feet, he tested his limbs. “Nothing broken. Maybe just a few bruises.” He glanced up at all that was left of the stairway, a ragged scrap clinging to the underside of the minstrel’s gallery. “Damn, that was some explosion! I think I’m going to have to start listening to you from now on.”
“Good, because I have something to tell you.”
“What?”
“I seem to be stranded out here on this beam.”
“Hang on, I’m coming to get you.”
“Better not. I don’t know how safe it is. I’ll come to you.”
“Can you manage it?” He had reached the edge of the hole where he was hunkered down, gazing anxiously at her where she hung precariously on the joist.
“Piece of cake.”
Hands locked over the top of the beam, she levered herself into a sitting position so that she was straddling the joist. But when she started to scoot herself along its length, she heard the sound of splitting wood, felt the beam begin to sag under her concentrated weight.
“Well, maybe not,” she said.
“Don’t move!” Leo warned her. “Not another inch!”
Freezing, she watched him fearfully as he flattened himself on the floor.
“All right,” he instructed her, “lower yourself back down. Slowly now.”
Jennifer stretched herself along the beam. But as careful as she was to distribute her weight again, the joist creaked, threatening to buckle and spill her into the void below.
“That’s enough!” Leo said. “Don’t try to crawl over to me. Just hold out your arms toward me as far as they’ll go. If I can grab your hands, I can haul you off that thing.”
She obeyed him, extending her arms. Leo’s own long arms reached out for her from his flattened position. But they weren’t long enough. Space still separated them from any connection. When he tried to wriggle forward to gain a few more inches, the flooring on the lip of the gap started to crumble.