by Jane Adams
“And, of course, you knew what had already been found.”
“And was stupid enough to tell Donovan.” Ethan fell silent for a while and stirred his tea. It was a meaningless act as he’d added no sugar, and Rozlyn realised, it was merely to give him space to collect his thoughts.
“I let slip to Donovan that something else had been buried beneath the altar. Oh, I didn’t tell him about the books. I said I’d found a paper in the library and that it looked like a copied inventory — one list in the original Old English and a second written in translation. In truth, I’d had one of my old students mock this up for me.” He smiled, “we are deceivers all when curiosity or greed gets the better of us. My father went to his grave frustrated with the need to know what else lay beneath that stone. It gnawed at him and I never truly understood why. Then, when the opportunity arose for me to find out, it began to gnaw at me in much the same way and for a month or so, I suppose I would have sacrificed anything, moved heaven and earth, never mind a block of stone, to know, to discover what was there.
“Kendryk was right, you see, as was Treven. What lay beneath the altar stone should never have been disturbed. The monks that buried him, didn’t fully understand his wishes, so they buried these books with their Abbot and with the other things, believing they had carried out his wishes. I think that he wanted these writings to be known. To serve as a warning.”
“Back up a bit,” Rozlyn told him. “The library. You’re talking about the library at Albermy?”
“Odd, isn’t it? But you’ve got to remember that houses like Albermy were often sold with their contents and furnishings more or less intact. The banker who owned it in 1922 lost almost everything a few years later. Killed himself, I believe. He was an American you see, and even before the famous Wall Street Crash he was making rather bad investments. Selling Albermy was the first of his attempts to . . . downsize, I suppose you’d say now. When Richards bought the place, the library had been locked for years, all through its time as a hospital and a children’s home. At the time of the excavation there were conservators in Richards’ pay going through it and rescuing what they could, but he knew my work and allowed me free rein. Donovan soon realised we would have to go to Richards with this ‘find’. We could hardly move the altar stone without him noticing and, understand, Rozlyn — Mark Richards is an educated man with a genuine interest in his subject. He spent a part of every day on the site.”
Rozlyn frowned. There had been something else in Ethan’s account that puzzled her. “You believe this Kendryk fellow had been buried beneath the altar too? You know, there’s only a small gap, about a foot depth, I’d have said. Is that enough room for a body?”
“Probably, but it’s more likely they’d have simply buried his bones there, possibly in a reliquary of some sort. Anyway, I never had the opportunity to find out. I agreed we should go to Mark Richards. He was as excited as we were, but over the next days I began to feel as though I was being sidelined in some way and I also became aware of rumours concerning Donovan Baker . . . there are always rumours, of course. The academic world breeds jealousies and rivalries much as any other, but these came from a source I had to take note of.”
“Oh?”
“I had a visit from the police. A Detective Chief Inspector, would you believe? All the way from the Metropolitan Police. The evidence they showed me, combined with odd things Donovan had said convinced me that they may have a case and slowly I began to understand that Donovan was using his position to steal.”
“As your father had done,” Rozlyn stated softly.
Ethan closed his eyes. He nodded. “My father justified his acquisition and maintenance of these items by saying that he saw the value of them when others — the rightful owners included — would not have done. That was nonsense, of course. Between the wars there was a flowering of Anglo-Saxonism that has since largely withered. Later I began to realise that, for my father at least, this was not the point. He owned a secret and, as I soon discovered, this was not the only thing he owned that rightly belonged elsewhere. My father was, in his own way, as much a thief as Donovan Baker, the only difference being that my father never sought to profit financially from his thefts. I came to understand also, that, to the very end of his life, my father was consumed by the wish to see what else had been concealed within the chantry.”
“What else was there?
Ethan took the second book from the box. Leaning forward Rozlyn could see that the cover on this volume had been faced with enamelled metal. It gleamed in the light from Ethan’s small fire, gold and red and vivid blue figured into the shape of a cross. Hanged upon that cross was a one-eyed man, a spear thrust deep into his side. Rozlyn glanced up at the image above the fireplace. “It’s the same!”
“There are some differences, but essentially, yes.”
“My God, that’s magnificent.” She reached across and drew her fingers reverently across the gleaming surface. “I can understand why he didn’t want to give it up. Though of course,” she added quickly, “I can’t condone it.”
Ethan smiled, his lips thin and pained. He opened the book a few pages from the back and began to read. Rozlyn didn’t understand the words, but it was evidently some kind of list. Ethan paused and translated, his words dropping softly into the breathless silence of the room. “Two swords, one with a gold and granulated hilt; a spear head, woven from fine metals and with a long socket; coin to the value of fifty shillings of silver and some twenty more in gold. Harness fittings, gold and silver both, with an ornament like a bear’s head and . . .” he paused and looked Rozlyn in the eye. “A brooch, like to a shield boss made in gold and with a trim of red enamel. Let these things lie for all eternity, bought in blood as they were and carried in sin. As Treven wished, these objects shall not be passed on to taint a second generation. Let men yet to come with more wisdom than I lay claim to, do as they please with them, but for me, I am content to give them to the blessings of time and the weaving of the web.”
“This brooch? You found this brooch?”
“I found nothing,” Ethan said. “I made a second mistake. I felt that Donovan deserved the right to answer the charges that were being laid at his door and I told him what I knew. I have never seen such a rage. If a man was ever possessed by evil then that man was Donovan Baker on that afternoon. He ordered me from the site and I left, certain now that the story the police had given me was true. I called Mark Richards, but it became clear that he was more interested in acquiring the chantry treasure than he was in anything Donovan Baker might have done. I realised then that I’d been a fool to trust either of them. I came home and put the matter aside. Until the day you came.”
They were silent for a while, listening to the crackling of the fire and their own thoughts, then Rozlyn asked. “This Kendryk, he believed the objects were tainted in some way. That they carried something evil with them?”
Ethan nodded. He tapped the cover of the book he held. “It’s all in here,” he said. “But I think we have more pressing concerns. I began to realise on the day he threatened me, just what violence was contained within Donovan Baker. He needs to be stopped, before he damages anyone else. This Mouse Man of yours, you think he’ll testify?”
Rozlyn was surprised. “I don’t recall telling you about him.”
“You mentioned him and you talked in your sleep. Besides, I read the papers, you know.”
“Mouse can identify Donovan Baker as the man who attacked him. And I believe he’ll testify. He’s scared out of his wits, but he’s shown a good deal more steel than I’d ever have given him credit for.”
“That’s good,” Ethan approved, “and if Donovan implicates Mark Richards . . .”
Rozlyn shook her head. “I’ve a feeling that’s going to be down to Art and Antiques,” she said. “They’ve got facilities for following the paper chase that we ordinary plods don’t have.” She paused, feeling the need to reprise what she knew. “Richards we know to be involved in people smuggling an
d Donovan Baker is at the very least aware of that fact. We’ve still got to prove it definitively, but I’m certain that Richards is also known as Thomas Thompson, although I don’t have any proof as yet. He owns a number of properties that the people he’s trafficked are brought to until they’re dispersed. Charlie used to clean those houses for him. That’s how he became involved.”
“And so, presumably, how he became a threat if he found out Richards’ real identity.”
Rozlyn nodded. “And now Charlie’s dead.”
“But there was the shooting. Richards’ man could have killed you.”
Rozlyn nodded. “And that’s enough for us to bring him in for questioning at least. Friends in high places or not.” She dug in her pocket and produced the clipping Charlie had saved. She showed it to Ethan.
Ethan smiled. “Charity events were always something Mark Richards enjoyed, I believe. Public generosity covering private greed. I wonder if he decided to cut Donovan out of the deal, you know. Once the treasure was found, he’d have to sit on it for a while, at least so long as the excavation was in the news. Or maybe he didn’t want to sell in the end. Maybe the pull of what he found was too strong to resist. He stroked the cover of the book with long, strong fingers. “I think I’d be willing to kill to keep these and I’m not a man given to such unconsidered passions.”
CHAPTER 41
Events had moved at such a pace that Rozlyn felt she had been absent for weeks rather than under two days. Brook nodded briefly to Ethan then ordered them both into his office. On his desk lay two small evidence bags. Brook picked up the first and passed it over. “Bullet taken from the dash of your car. Nine-millimetre round. And this,” picking up the second bag, “bullet recovered from the verge outside of Mark Richards’ place. Nine-millimetre round and ballistics are positive for a match. I don’t want to know why you were there or what you were bloody playing at. We’ll call it following up on information received and call you a stupid fool for not getting back up first. Whatever, I take a very dim view of people firing at coppers, so I’ve got a nice little warrant here and a couple of armed response units to give that extra puissance to the proceedings.”
“Puissance?” Rozlyn didn’t think Brook knew words like that.
Brook cast an apologetic look in Ethan’s direction. “The younger generation has no feel for the complexity of the English language,” he said.
Rozlyn scowled. “Anything on Donovan Baker?”
“My opinion is that he’s skipped. The Met have had someone watching his London place for the past two days. Nada. They went in last night, took his stuff for analysis. If he wants his computer and his papers and his little trinkets back he’ll have to go to them and ask nicely. It’ll hit the news tomorrow. Donovan Baker’s face will be all over the shop. Not,” he added bitterly, “that it’ll do us any good. Bugger’s long gone. Took himself off the same day your Mouse Man saw him leave his office.”
“Pity we didn’t have anyone available to see him go,” Rozlyn couldn’t resist the dig.
“Point made and taken,” Brook told her irritably. “But he’ll turn up. Bad pennies always do. Just give him time and enough rope.”
Rozlyn decided it was wiser not to comment on the mixed metaphor. “So, we go when?”
Brook glanced at his watch. “You weren’t actually factored into this.”
“Tough. I want to see his face when we turn up mob handed.”
Brook tutted. “Still got it in for the moneyed classes,” he said. “Get yourself organised then. Jenny will brief you no doubt. Have to leave your friend here though,” he added, nodding at Ethan.
Ethan smiled. “I think I’ll be getting off home,” he said. He rose and reached across the table to shake Brook’s hand. Brook looked as startled as if he’d slapped him in the face.
“Oh, right,” he said and shook the proffered hand. He watched thoughtfully as Ethan left the office. “Brothel creepers?”
Rozlyn smiled. “Don’t be tempted,” she told Brook. “On Ethan, they work. You’d just look even more of a . . .” She left Brook to fill in the missing word and went off to find Jenny Harper.
* * *
They had waited until dark so that the security camera at the gate would be of minimal use and as it would be less likely that Mark Richards’ security people would be in place. Two ARVs parked in the lane on either side of the gates. Their occupants, armed and clad in full safety gear, waited with their vehicles. Rozlyn figured there had to be some additional security system, either by the wall or the chantry ruins. She had done something to trigger a security alert last time and she didn’t think it was simply the light from her torch. That knowledge in hand, it had been decided that all units would use the main drive.
Rozlyn watched as a 4x4 was hitched to the gate. It drove slowly forward. The gate creaked and protested, then gave way with a sharp crack that echoed through the stillness like a rifle shot.
“If that didn’t wake the buggers I don’t know what will,” Brook observed. “All right, let’s move.”
Sandwiched between two armed-response vehicles, Rozlyn — in the passenger seat of Brooks car, flak jacket digging into her thighs — felt dislocated, as though this was something happening to another version of herself. The threads were being pulled tighter, drawing Mark Richards further into the web and, she had no doubt, it would eventually entangle Donovan Baker.
“Quite a place he’s got,” Brook commented as they crunched onto the gravel in front of the house and the colonnaded façade came into view. Lights blazed in the downstairs widows and in one upper room. Did Mark Richards never leave his study, Rozlyn wondered?
“You reckon we’ll find anything? Chances are they’ll have dumped the gun and you know his solicitor will be there as fast as Richards can make the call. He’ll probably be back home and snug in his bed by morning.”
Brook shrugged. “But it’ll scare the shit out of him,” he opined. “And scared men turn into stupid men.” He opened his door and got out. Rozlyn followed. “And knowing Mr Donovan Baker is out there somewhere and looking for revenge on the man that brought his little scams to public notice will mean however soft his bed, he won't sleep easy in it.”
Rozlyn frowned. “But Mark Richards hasn’t told us anything yet, never mind dumped Donovan in it.”
Brook shrugged. “Funny how those bloody journalists get the wrong end of the stick, isn’t it?” he said. “Even if our friend Donovan doesn’t see tomorrow’s papers, you can bet your bottom dollar Mark Richards will and he’ll find out a lot of things about himself he didn’t know.”
He glanced around. The armed officers were in place. The double doors opened with a bang as they made use of a ram in place of a front door key. From inside shouts could be heard. “Armed police. Flat on the floor.”
A shadow moved against the lighted window of Mark Richard’s room.
CHAPTER 42
Another cold dawn. Frost lay upon the grass and the snow glittered beneath it. Treven recalled that other dawn when he stood and gazed upon the be-webbed jewelled grass as the early dew turned it to a maze of silvered threads.
The web guided them all, wove their lives into a single cloth and there was no escaping it.
Hugh came alone. Breath fogging in the cold air, his horse snorting at the chill and skittering impatiently at the slow pace its master had set.
With an effort of will, Treven greeted him with a smile.
“Stay mounted,” he said. “I have something to show you and we would be better riding.”
“It takes effort, Treven. I hope you do not plan for a long journey.” He spoke lightly, but his face was pale and his eyes creased with pain.
“A scant mile,” Treven told him. “Back to the crossroads, no further.”
“A spear?” Hugh looked curiously. Treven had blackened the heirloom with soot. A casual glance would not reveal its true identity.
“Osric warned me there are boar sighted near the crossroads. They are hungry. It seem
ed best to be careful, especially as you are not yet fit for battle, even against a wild pig.”
Hugh laughed. “Give me time,” he said. “I will find a way.”
“Given time, I’ve no doubt of that.”
They spoke little and when they did it was of plans for improving the land, reinforcing the banks close to the ford, and the rebuilding of the hall. When Treven drew off the main path and led Hugh to the sacred grove, he was curious and a little disparaging.
“I confess I am of a mind with Kendryk on this,” Hugh said. “Such places hold such fascination for you that it cannot be counted healthy. Given my way, I would raze this place and use the timber for building. The trees are wide and strong. Any woodworker would give them a welcome.”
Treven shook his head. He dismounted at the entrance to the grove and helped Hugh to do the same and led him to its very heart.
“I came here hoping for a vision,” he said. “Asking for guidance. The snow fell and I could barely see across the circle, so dense was the fall.”
“And did you get your vision in the dancing snow?” Hugh mocked gently.
“I received my answer,” Treven told him. Softly, he hefted the spear in his hand, finding the point of balance. “Run, Hugh,” he said. “Escape the circle and you will go free.”
For a stupid moment Hugh stood and stared. He smiled. “You would never . . .” then he looked at Treven’s face and the smile faded. “Is this your definition of an honourable act?” he asked harshly.
“When you left the girl to die, you denied yourself all claim on honour,” Treven told him coldly. “Now run. Break the circle and I will let you go.”
Hugh backed away from him. His gaze swept the snow-covered grass, as he sought the swiftest exit. Then he turned and began to run, knowing that the cause was lost to him even as he took the first steps.