Moon Cutters (30 page)

She didn’t want to tell Lucy she was in a tomb, and might be sharing it with a pile of mouldy bones. ‘There is no door.’

‘There must be – otherwise how did I get here?’

She had a point. ‘It’s got … well, it’s got a
lid.
’

‘So it’s a chest of some sort.’

‘Something similar.’ Lucy didn’t need to know exactly what sort of chest until she was free of it. The place was creepy enough without adding that sort of terror to the brew. She couldn’t imagine what being locked in the darkness of a tomb for two days would be like.

Miranda desperately pushed at the lid, but it wouldn’t shift. She needed something to insert under the edge to lever the lid off. Her glance went round the chamber and fell on a grapnel attached to the end of a rope. ‘I’m going to try something, Lucy.’ Cover your eyes tightly with your hands, else the dirt might fall in them.’

Placing one of the points of the grapnel under the lid, she took hold of the rope and pulled as hard as her strength allowed.

It didn’t move even a fraction.

‘You’re pulling it in the wrong direction, my dear; allow me to help.’

Sir James! The voice scrambled her brain. ‘To get this far, and all for nothing,’ she whispered. She fell to the floor and, holding her head in her hands, began to howl with the misery she felt.

Miranda was gathered into strong arms, and although she had no strength left in her own to fight him with, she balled her hand into fists and struck him several weak blows wherever she could land one.

He set her on her feet and, catching her fists, he kissed one and then the other. ‘It’s me – Fletcher.’

Now she flung herself against him and hugged him as tight as she could. ‘How did you know I was here?’

Pridie saw my uncle push you into the cellars and heard him say that Lucy might be hidden down there. She sent a message over as soon as she safely could.’

‘My father knew we could get into the tunnels this way. Not through the well, though. It’s too dangerous. There are steps at the back of the crypt that take you directly down to the main chamber, though the door is kept locked. It branches off to the right and emerges through the Fenmore family tomb in the old cemetery. Now, tell me, why are you trying to get the lid off that stone coffin?’

‘To let Lucy out. She’s hidden in there!’

‘A strange place to hide.’

‘Your uncle put her there,’ she said with some exasperation. He drugged her and hid her, but she can’t remember him doing it, or how she got there, or, indeed, how long she’s been there. He’s been using her as a hostage to force me into marriage with him.’

‘Let’s start by getting her out, then. You’ve met my father before, I believe.’

A smiled touched her lips. ‘Briefly – and unless I’m mistaken, I should say welcome home, sir.’

There came a furious thumping on the lid of the coffin, followed by Lucy’s muffled voice. ‘I can hear voices. Let me out!’

Fletcher ran a finger down Miranda’s cheek, then set her aside and beckoned to his father, who’d been watching them with a smile on his scarred face. ‘Can you help, sir?’

‘Easily. Take the edges and slide the lid longways along the grooves. Make sure your fingers are safely out of the way, though. I’ll push and you pull.’

Fletcher banged on the side. ‘We’re going to get you out now, Lucy.’ The lid rumbled as it moved, and Lucy sneezed as dust rained down on her.

Shivering in her wet clothes – or was it simply nerves making her tremble? – Miranda watched on. She couldn’t stop crying. She felt like screaming. Her body was racked with shivers, and she couldn’t believe she’d crawled through tunnels and had been up to her ears in water. And was that little moaning sound coming from her own mouth?

Lucy sat up and gazed around her. ‘Where are we? I’ve still got my nightgown and robe on. Did I walk in my sleep? And how did I get into this coffin?’ Amazement came into Lucy’s eyes when she set eyes on her sister. ‘Miranda, you look an awful fright. Where am I? Have we died?’

Miranda began to laugh and cry at the same time. ‘We’re in the church crypt, and Sir James brought you here. Do I look dead?’

‘You don’t look very alive.’ Lucy gave an uncertain laugh. ‘Sir James wouldn’t do such a horrid thing. He’s always been kind and he likes me … us. He said he wished I was his daughter … and when he married Miranda—’

An impatient snort came from the intended bride and her tears were forgotten in the heat of her reply. ‘I’d rather eat a raw lizard than marry Sir James.’

Fletcher outdid her. ‘I’d rather eat a dozen lizards than allow you to, when you’ve promised yourself to me. We would have been wed by now if the reverend hadn’t departed.’

Lucy gazed from one to another with a smile, then turned to stare at Adrian Taunt in a rather critical matter. ‘Who are you, sir? You look like Sir James, except for the scar.’

‘This is Adrian Taunton Fenmore – my father.’

Lucy’s eyes couldn’t have grown any wider. ‘Good gracious, you must be the elusive Adrian Taunt, referred to as letter A in R.J.’s journal. That’s the writer of the journal I found. I call her Ruby Johnson in my novel.’

‘Her name was Rosie Jones, and she was my wife. What do you know of her?’

‘Very little, except what’s in the journal. I was writing it into a novel. I’ve just got to the last chapter, but it has a sad ending. She gave birth to a son …’ Her glance went to Fletcher. ‘That must be you. When they took her son from her, she was afraid. She heard someone coming for her when she was in the middle of a sentence and she stuffed the journal down behind the window seat.’

‘Who came for her, do you know?’ Fletcher said gently.

‘How could I? The journal ended there. But I can remember the last entries. It was so sad …’

‘Tell me,’ Adrian Taunt said.

Lucy thought for a moment and her face softened. ‘As well as being sad, it was so romantic …

E was crying. She said she would look after my son as though he were her own. I long to hold him in my arms, just once, before I join my beloved A, and I pray that my son will grow into manhood knowing he was loved.

S has not visited, though he promised to plead my case with J. He has too much to lose, is in too deep, and has chosen to turn his back on my plight. I curse them and their offspring both.

It is night. He will come for me soon, for the full moon brings with it the curse of his madness. I have opened the window to heaven. The air is soft and humid and the garden is bathed in silver light. Beneath the window the terrace is a hard bed.

I hear his footfall on the stair—

Lucy stopped speaking and gazed at them with tears in her eyes. ‘I think she then pushed the journal into its hiding place and threw herself from the window. I think that’s what she meant when she said the terrace was a hard bed.’

She looked at Adrian for confirmation and he nodded. ‘There was a small terrace there, with a seat.’

‘It’s a rose garden now. Do you know who S is?’

Fletcher drew in a deep breath. ‘Silas, I imagine.’

Adrian nodded. ‘The curse Rosie put on them came true, for both men lost their wives and children. Silas was Rosie’s second cousin. He could have put a stop to it, the devil take his soul. We can use the journal as evidence to help prove your claim, Fletcher.’

Lucy gave a small, frustrated wail. ‘The journal is in our room at Marguerite House. I’ll never see it again once Sir James finds it.’

‘It’s not lost, Lucy. When I realized what the journal was about, I asked Mrs Pridie to give it to Fletcher. Do you have it?’

Fletcher shrugged. ‘It’s at the Abbey, in my desk drawer. I haven’t had time to read it yet. I’ve been more concerned about getting the pair of you away from my uncle.’

Lucy gazed from one to the other. ‘Sir James put me in here, didn’t he? He betrayed my friendship.’

‘James doesn’t have friends, and I’m afraid he has betrayed all of us.’ Fletcher held out his arms to her. ‘Come on out of there, Lucy. I’ll take you both back to the Abbey.’

‘But I’m in my nightgown. And Miranda looks as though she’s been through a storm.’

‘You can stay there if you’d prefer.’

Lucy shuddered and rose from her container in a hurry. ‘And share a bed with a corpse? No, thank you.’ She looked back over the lip of her former bed when he lifted her down. ‘Oh … there isn’t one – how disappointing.’

‘No, it’s not. The thought of anyone sharing a bed with the dead is just awful, Lucy, and macabre. I shudder to think of what would have happened if I hadn’t got to you. The water was up to my neck and I slipped and dropped the lamp, and only by luck managed to grab the ladder on the inside of the well.’

‘Goodness, Miranda, you must tell me all about it. Think how dramatic a scene it will make for my next novel.’

‘I don’t feel like being dramatic. I just feel like going to sleep for a week and forgetting all about it. It’s been awful with the poor reverend losing his life and you in danger of your life. Sir James whipped the dog, and the poor creature cried, but he couldn’t get away because he was tied up. And I was forced to watch it.’ She held out her arm, where the welt stood up proud from her skin. ‘Sir James inflicted that when I tried to stop him. He laughed when I freed poor Caesar and sent him to find Fletcher. He said the foxes would find him and tear him apart, and that’s when he locked me in the cellar.’

She felt like stamping her foot until she saw that Lucy’s lip was trembling and knew the girl had been putting on a brave front.

Fletcher put an arm round both of them. ‘Caesar found me,’ he said, ‘and although he’s in a bad way, he’ll survive. I’m going to try to get the pair of you out of the district, where you can take shelter with a friend of mine while we sort this out. The problem is, my uncle will have his men stop anything on the roads and make a search.’

There was a shuffle and Mrs Swift stepped out of the shadows. ‘I know a way of getting them out.’

‘Mrs Swift! May I ask how long you’ve been eavesdropping on our conversation?’

‘Long enough to realize you have the welfare of those young women at heart, which is more than your uncle does. He deliberately led my husband into deserting his calling and exploited his weakness. I have reason to believe he caused the death of Ambrose, and before he had time to repent his sins.’

Adrian Taunt put a comforting arm round the woman. ‘Rest assured, Mrs Swift; your husband did repent. He confessed to me and I wrote it down, and even though your husband has passed from this life to the next, the reverend will be the architect of reform in the district.’

She gave a faint smile. ‘I believe you because I saw a friar in the church once. He was praying, and devoutly.’

The part of Adrian’s face that could smile smiled. ‘Ah yes … I’d heard there’s a ghost hereabouts, and I knew that the monk was not the ghost people referred to.’

‘There was nothing insubstantial about this particular friar. He was no spirit from another world, but a living, breathing man brought ashore by a French fishing boat. He had your face, which is distinctive whichever way you look at it, and he went towards the home of that rogue, Silas Asher.’

‘Why didn’t you report me?’

‘Whom could I trust? Most men I was acquainted with were as corrupt as the next, and to keep silent is to survive. Even my husband was part of it. I feared for him if I spoke out.’

‘Yet you find the courage to say this to me now.’

‘You are a devout and sincere man, Adrian Taunt.’

‘I’ve spent the last twenty years as part of a religious order and God is part of my life, as is prayer.’

‘I watched you come and go on occasion. Every month you would visit and stay for two days. You went into the church tower and used it as a vantage place as you kept a watch on Marguerite House. It was clear you were waiting for a glimpse of someone.’

Adrian gazed at his son and smiled. ‘You were right, Mrs Swift. Why did you not tell him the truth about me?’

‘I didn’t know what was truth and what was falsehood. When I saw you praying in the church early one morning, candlelight illuminated the damage on your face and beyond. It was as if the wound had peeled away. Underneath the scar, I clearly saw your face and I remembered a troubled young man who had recently returned to confront a man he believed he had wronged. I thought he had enough problems to face.’

Mrs Swift had absorbed what was going on and had learned too much in the process, Fletcher thought. Thank goodness she had said nothing. But that hadn’t been enough to save the life of her husband.

‘How did you know that the friar was my father, Mrs Swift?’

‘I knew because your birth and death – and the supposed manner of events surrounding that death – were recorded in the church registers. The previous cleric was very conscientious about such matters.’

‘You make me ashamed, Mrs Swift. I came here with nothing but revenge in my heart for what I had lost.’

‘No doubt the Lord will guide your hand in that, Sir Adrian.’ Mrs Swift’s glance moved to Fletcher. ‘There is a confession by Elizabeth Fenmore, sworn before the last cleric. It discloses the details of your birth, young man. Elizabeth Fenmore had never married, and she died shortly after she made her confession. The cleric recorded that her conscience was sorely troubled. I asked my husband to give it to you, but he wouldn’t. By then he had lost his spirit and given in to his demons. He said it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.’

Fletcher kissed her on the cheek. ‘My thanks, Mrs Swift. I’ve been looking for something to prove my identity for a long time.’

‘Then you will have it, Mr Taunt, for it’s obvious the Lord intended that the pair of you should be together as father and son. I’ll take these girls to the rectory, give them a bath and find them something to wear – it won’t be fancy, mind. To be honest, I could do with the company.’

Lucy’s stomach rattled inelegantly. ‘Will there be anything to eat and drink? I’m absolutely famished.’

‘Lucy hasn’t eaten for three days,’ Miranda told her, apologetic for her sister’s lack of manners in the face of Mrs Swift’s unexpected kindness.

‘I understand, my dear. I have some pea and ham broth on the stove.’