The Unburied (31 page)

‘Dear God!’ I exclaimed, rising to my feet. ‘Who is it now?’

In an instant, a host of possibilities presented themselves: I had a bizarre vision of Mrs Bubbosh lying suffocated with one of her tea-towels over her face, quickly succeeded by an image of Austin sprawling on his back with his throat cut and a razor beside him.

‘It’s in the Cathedral,’ he gasped. ‘I’m going to look.’

In the Cathedral! What could this mean?

Pomerance turned on his heel and headed back towards the stairs. ‘Wait a moment!’ I exclaimed.

‘I can’t!’ he threw over his shoulder. ‘I only came up because Quitregard told me to.’

He ran down the stairs again. In bewilderment I followed him, pausing only to put on my greatcoat and hat. I saw the young man hurry out of the door and when I got outside I found Quitregard standing on the steps, coatless, and peering towards the Cathedral.

‘I’d give anything to be able to go,’ he said. ‘But I can’t leave the Library unattended.’

‘What is this new horror?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know,’ he almost wailed. ‘Do please come back and tell me.’

‘I will,’ I said, and hurried across the Close towards the south transept where I saw a number of people outside the door – the only one open at that time of day. A police-officer and one of the vergers were barring their entry to the building. I saw Pomerance among the onlookers and he looked eagerly towards me as I approached, as if I could help him to get in. I recognized the constable as one of the two who had brought Perkins to the house last night and when he saw me he saluted and stood aside to let me enter as if I had some special right of access to dead bodies.

I could see that there was a group of men standing under the crossing-tower and as I drew nearer I realized that they were beside the Burgoyne memorial which was now a gaping hole of outraged brickwork partly obscured by scaffolding. Before it lay a block and tackle, and the huge slab which had formed the visible part of the monument was propped up on the ground nearby. I noticed my old friend the head-verger, Gazzard, standing at a little distance apart and went up to him. He greeted me with lugubrious courtesy, and I asked him what was happening.

‘Why, they realized the smell was coming from there and so they started to open it up early this morning.’

‘I suppose that when the paving subsided, the movement must have disturbed the masonry and punctured the seal.’

He shrugged. ‘As soon as they removed some of the bricks, the stench became dreadful.’

‘I don’t understand. It’s only a memorial, not a tomb.’

‘Well, they found what was making the smell. They’ve got it over there. This is as near as I’ll go for all the tea in China, sir.’

I thanked him and went a little closer, though the smell was appalling. Two of the men, I now saw, were Dr Carpenter and Dr Sisterson, though the third was unknown to me. For the second time in as many days I saw the young doctor bent over a corpse. It looked like a very old man – its face withered, with the lips shrunk away from the teeth in a grimace, and the body shrivelled up so that it seemed not to be big enough for a grown man. I saw that it was wearing linen undergarments of antique style. The words from the inscription suddenly came to me:
For when the earthe shudders and the Towers tremble, the Grave will yield up her secrettes and all he known
.

‘Move back, will you,’ the stranger said to me.

Dr Sisterson, however, looked up and said cheerfully: ‘But I know this gentleman.’ He stepped over to me and shook hands and said: ‘How very good it is to see you.’ He turned to the other man: ‘This is Mr Bulmer, the Surveyor of the Fabric. And this gentleman, Bulmer, is the distinguished historian, Dr Courtine.’

‘Yes, I know who you are,’ Bulmer said without smiling as he shook my hand. He was a short, burly man of about fifty with heavy jowls and a head that was almost completely bald.

‘I know Dr Carpenter,’ I said as Dr Sisterson was about to introduce us.

The doctor nodded in a casual way.

Dr Sisterson smiled: ‘We now have all the professions we need: a medical gentleman to tell us how this poor man died, an architect to tell us how he got into the wall and a historian to explain what really happened.’

‘And a theologian’, said the young doctor rather sarcastically, ‘to tell us the ultimate significance of it all.’

The Sacrist said with a smile: ‘This will fascinate you as a historian, Dr Courtine. It seems that the body must have been sealed up immediately after death. So it was perfectly preserved in the airless space until the seal was ruptured a few days ago.’

‘Ruptured, I will point out once again,’ Bulmer broke in angrily, ‘because my instructions were irresponsibly countermanded.’ As he spoke he thrust his chin upwards in my direction and glared at me for the space of several seconds in a manner that I found quite alarming.

‘Yes, Mr Bulmer,’ said Dr Sisterson. ‘I have apologized for that and I take full responsibility for it upon myself. The foreman was acting on my orders alone.’

‘Except that it was not sealed up after death, Dr Sisterson,’ said Dr Carpenter, who had been looking silently down at the cadaver. ‘The wretched man was placed in the memorial while still alive.’

‘How can you know that?’ I asked.

Protecting his own hands with a piece of cloth, he knelt and held up one of the corpse’s. ‘Look. The nails are worn down and the bones of the hand swollen which means that he tried to claw and beat his way out of the tomb. He must have suffocated over a period of a few hours or even days.’

The thought made me gasp for breath, especially as the stench was already stiffling. I was possessed by a sense of horror as I imagined the man trying to scratch his way out of his stone coffin, screaming for as long as his lungs could find air, beating his fists against the cold marble.

‘So the mystery is resolved at last – two hundred and fifty years late,’ Dr Sisterson commented.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We now know why Gambrill disappeared. The poor man did not run away. He was himself murdered. And the reason why the slab was inserted to stand proud of the wall is now clear.’

‘But now we have another puzzle instead,’ the Sacrist said. ‘Who killed
him
?’

Bulmer exchanged a look with the young doctor. ‘Do you mind letting us in on this?’ he said. ‘Who are you talking about?’

Between us, the Sacrist and I told the story of Burgoyne. When we had concluded, the Surveyor smiled and said rather grimly: ‘As Gambrill’s successor, I can sympathize with his desire to murder one of the canons.’

Dr Sisterson smiled without quite hiding his embarrassment, but the doctor laughed and asked: ‘But did he have any specific reason?’

‘That’s rather enigmatic,’ I said. ‘They were quarrelling about the Canon’s lack of interest in preserving the spire. As you probably know,’ I said, turning to Bulmer to try to make my peace, ‘the nave was abandoned for more than a hundred years after the Dissolution because of the danger of the spire collapsing and as a result ...’

‘I know nothing about that. To be perfectly blunt, Dr Courtine, I don’t care how or why the builders did something in the past. As a practical man, all that interests me is whether it’s going to stand in the future.’

There was an awkward silence.

‘And in addition to that, Gambrill believed that Burgoyne was about to expose him for embezzlement,’ Dr Sisterson murmured, trying to redeem the situation.

‘I understand that the precise term is malversation,’ I said, remembering my first conversation with the old banker. The Sacrist looked at me in surprise. I was beginning to explain the distinction when I was interrupted by the young surgeon: ‘I am rather intrigued, gentlemen. You said it was assumed at the time that Gambrill killed Burgoyne, in some mysterious way raised this slab to its position, sealed it in place, and then disappeared. Where does this discovery leave that theory?’

‘It makes it much clearer,’ I said. ‘There was a third person involved. And that must have been someone who had the skill to seal Gambrill up in the tomb. In other words, it must have been a mason.’

I waited to see if the Sacrist knew what I was implying.

‘Thomas Limbrick!’ he exclaimed.

‘Who was he?’ Dr Carpenter asked.

‘A young mason who worked for Gambrill,’ the Sacrist explained.

‘He was the son of a former Deputy Mason who had been a workmate of Gambrill’s,’ I added. ‘A man who had been killed in an accident on the tower which cost Gambrill one of his eyes. His widow accused him of murder.’ As I said that, I remembered that I wanted to ask the Surveyor about the condition of the spire and whether I could go up the tower stairs which Gazzard had told me were closed.

‘And after Gambrill’s disappearance,’ the Sacrist added, ‘young Limbrick inherited his enterprise.’

‘And his widow,’ I said.

‘So he had all those motives for killing Gambrill,’ said the Sacrist. ‘But why did he wish to kill the Canon?’

The doctor had turned back to the body and was kneeling beside it while listening to us. ‘If he did,’ I said.

‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ said the Surveyor. ‘This is all very fascinating but unfortunately the Foundation doesn’t pay me to stand here and discuss ancient history. I have work to do.’

‘Before you go, Mr Bulmer,’ I said, ‘I’d like to ask you about the spire. I have a particular reason to ascend the tower and look at it. Is it really too dangerous?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ he said, turning quickly to look at me. ‘I don’t understand your meaning.’

‘I am informed that the tower is closed to visitors because of its structural weakness. I wondered if an exception could be made in my case.’

He stared at me with his eyes bulging: ‘I can assure you that the tower is perfectly safe. Frankly, to suggest otherwise is such a serious criticism of my professional competence that I am quite at a loss for words.’

‘I must have misunderstood,’ I said.

I saw that a vein in his great naked forehead was throbbing. ‘That is entirely possible, Dr Courtine.’ He repeated slowly and with particular significance: ‘Entirely possible. Let me, however, make one thing clear. You are not, despite the excellent condition of the tower, permitted to ascend it under any circumstances.’ He glanced significantly towards the gaping hole in the wall and added, addressing himself to Dr Sisterson rather than myself: ‘The Cathedral can’t afford any more damage.’

He nodded at the three of us and with a brief ‘Good day, gentlemen’, hurried towards the nave and the west door.

‘I’m afraid I offended him,’ I said to the Sacrist. ‘I think he blames me for bringing this disaster upon the Cathedral. But the spire and the tower were certainly in danger of collapse in Burgoyne’s time.’

‘It’s a strange business. They are perfectly sound now and yet nobody quite understands why.’

‘Nobody understands why?’ I laughed. ‘Can you explain what you mean?’

‘At the Restoration of the Monarchy, the Foundation set about repairing the damage that had been inflicted on the fabric during the civil turmoil. Contrary to all expectations, it was found that the tower and the spire were in no need of repair. And about forty years ago a survey established that they had been very cleverly and effectively strengthened at some point between about 1600 and 1660. Yet no record of such work exists.’

‘Why, in that case, is the tower barred?’

‘There’s some kind of ancient machinery up there which could be extremely dangerous to anyone who got close to it.’

I was intrigued. The record of Limbrick Senior’s death had referred to an
Engin
and a possibility came to me as I remembered the words from the inscription:
All things revolve and Man who is born to Labour revolves with them
.

‘What is it?’

‘Nobody really knows.’

‘Indeed? Even Bulmer?’ I asked with a smile.

‘He has confessed himself completely baffled.’

‘Does he know much about the construction of cathedrals?’

‘To be frank, not a great deal. He is a fine engineer, I’m sure. He built bridges before he was employed by the Chapter.’

‘Does it have a big wheel?’ He stared at me as if I had taken leave of my senses. ‘The machinery in the tower. Is there a huge wheel attached to it?’

‘Like a prison treadwheel?’ he said.

I smiled. ‘Precisely. Though not quite as large as that. About one and a half times the height of a man.’

‘I have to admit that I have never been up there. I have no head for heights. But I believe it has.’

I believed I knew what it was and, if I was right, a number of missing pieces of the puzzle would fall into place. However, it was clear that I had annoyed the Surveyor to the point where there would be no possibility of his allowing me up there.

At that moment Dr Carpenter came over. ‘The undertaker’s men will be here soon and I’ll have them take the body to the mortuary.’

‘I’ve notified the authorities,’ said the Sacrist. ‘And I assume there will be an inquest.’

‘Speaking of which,’ the doctor said to me, ‘did you know the one on Mr Stonex is to take place this afternoon?’

‘A terrible business,’ said Dr Sisterson, shaking his head. ‘I’m so sorry you were innocently caught up in it, Dr Courtine.’

I thanked him and turned to the doctor: ‘I did not. Though the Major warned me it might be today.’

‘The Guildhall at two,’ he said. ‘Probably you know that the police found banknotes hidden in Perkins’s house?’

‘Then I assume that his guilt is beyond dispute.’

‘Presumably,’ he said and turned to the Sacrist, holding up a bunch of keys: ‘What shall I do with these?’

‘Were they found on the body?’ I asked.

‘Beside it,’ Dr Carpenter said.

‘I’ll give them to Dr Locard,’ said the Sacrist as the doctor handed them to him. I noticed that they consisted of two sets, each on a metal ring. ‘As Librarian he takes custody of anything like that.’

‘I’m surprised he is not here,’ I said.

‘He was sent for, of course,’ said the Sacrist, ‘as soon as this unfortunate discovery was made, but he had other calls upon his time.’

‘I know he takes a keen interest in this story,’ I said. ‘He will be delighted to learn that the mystery has been resolved.’