The Unburied (32 page)

‘I’m not sure that it has,’ Dr Carpenter said, turning to me. ‘Tell me, Dr Courtine, what exactly do you believe happened that night?’

‘Burgoyne was murdered by the collapse of the scaffolding precipitated by Gambrill – possibly with the help of Limbrick. But then he himself was overpowered by his deputy and his body sealed up here to die.’

‘He lifted the slab into place singlehandedly?’ said Dr Sisterson, shaking his head.

‘Yes, that could have been done.’ I didn’t explain my theory because I wanted to wait until I had proof.

‘All of that is very persuasive,’ said Dr Carpenter. ‘But unfortunately, it rests on a false premise.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked indignantly.

‘Did I understand you to say that Gambrill had lost an eye?’

‘That is so.’

‘Then this body cannot be his for both eyes are present.’

I stared at him in astonishment. ‘That can’t be right.’

‘If you doubt my clinical judgement, would you like to offer a second opinion?’ the doctor asked with a smile.

I shuddered at the thought of going any nearer the body. And I felt resentment at the way this clever young man had led me on to make a fool of myself.

I was about to say something I might have regretted but at that moment three figures entered through the south door – the undertaker’s men. Taking a hasty leave of my companions, I hurried out of the building.

Young Pomerance was still among the little crowd on the steps as I passed out and he plucked me by the sleeve and begged me to tell him what was happening. I informed him briefly what had been discovered and then hastened back to the Library. Quitregard had just made coffee and offered me a cup. I accepted, knowing that he was longing to hear my news and disposed, after my grim experience, to talk it over with someone. And so, anxious as I was to get back to the manuscript, I sat down and told him what I had learned. It was clear how much he relished the mystery.

‘It’s possible’, I concluded, ‘that something more will emerge when the inquest is taken, but it’s very puzzling.’

Quitregard struck his forehead. ‘Talking of inquests, while you were out, the Coroner’s office sent a constable here to tell you that the inquest on poor Mr Stonex is this afternoon.’

‘So Dr Carpenter told me. It’s at the Guildhall. Where is that?’

He gave me directions. ‘Do you know, they say his estate will be valued in the hundreds of thousands?’

‘And is it left to the Choir School?’

‘Well no, sir. I mean, apparently that was his intention but his will has not been found. His lawyer did not have it, I’ve been told. And so far, a search of his house and of the Bank has not discovered it.’

‘If he died intestate, his next of kin will inherit – assuming he has any still alive. Is anything known of them?’

‘He had a sister but they have been estranged almost since her childhood. Forty or fifty years.’

‘And a brother,’ I put in.

The young man stared at me. ‘No, he did not. That is to say, begging your pardon, you are mistaken.’

‘But I distinctly recall that he mentioned him yesterday afternoon. He was talking of his childhood in the New Deanery and the games he used to play with his sister and – he said – with his brother.’

He looked at me in amazement. ‘I have never heard of a brother. I know that he quarrelled with his sister, who was much younger, and that she left the town before she was out of her teens. I remember hearing my grandparents talk about her, for they recalled the scandal. It seems she fell in love with an Irish actor from a touring company that was playing at the theatre. She wanted to marry him and when her brother refused to let her, she ran away with him. That is the last the town ever knew of her. I have heard that she herself became ...’

‘Is it not possible that there was another brother who perhaps died or himself left the town at an early age?’

‘It’s possible, but I believe I would have heard of it. Mr Stonex and his affairs are much discussed in the town, as you may imagine. Could it have been a mere slip of the tongue?’

I smiled. ‘You mean he said “brother” when he meant to say “sister”? That hardly seems possible. It’s very mysterious. Could I trouble you to ask your grandparents if they ever heard of a brother?’

He smiled sadly. ‘Unfortunately they are no longer alive.’

‘I beg your pardon. Of course, it was a long time ago. I wonder if anyone now alive remembers old Mr Stonex. I mean, the father of the deceased. His portrait is very striking.’

‘Would you call him old, sir?’ the young man asked playfully. ‘He died in his forties.’

I laughed. ‘You might, but I would call that tragically young. And now that I think of it, the old gentleman mentioned his father’s death yesterday and talked of his grief.’

‘That surprises me. My grandfather told me that father and son detested each other. The father regarded his heir as cold and calculating.’

‘Distance softens memories,’ I said. ‘You’ll have learnt that by the time you’re my age. And it’s possible to hate someone and yet be deeply upset by his or her death.’

‘I’m sure that’s true, sir. But my grandfather used to say that Mr Stonex had a most unhappy childhood because his father resented him as a dull dog with little capacity to enjoy life. And that’s why the boy grew up hating him. The sister, on the other hand, was the favourite and adored her father.’

‘I suppose that’s one reason why they quarrelled after his death. A man like that arouses strong emotions. From what the old gentleman said about him yesterday, he was a charming, selfish, devil-may-care character.’

‘He certainly had a wild and hot-blooded youth,’ the young man said with a rather embarrassed air.

‘But then he reformed, the old man told me, when his own father died. He returned to the town and worked hard to make a go of the Bank.’

‘That is what is always said, sir. But my grandfather had a different slant on it and used to say that he only came back here in order to plunder the Bank and that it was on the brink of collapse when he died, and his son, the old man, had to spend thirty years repairing the damage his father had inflicted in five.’

‘That’s rather curious. I wonder what the truth of it is. I suppose we will never know.’ I sighed. ‘So many mysteries.’

‘I’ve never known so much excitement,’ the young man said. ‘Poor Mr Stonex, the body in the Burgoyne memorial, the row over Dr Sheldrick yesterday, and even the theft from his house on Tuesday.’

‘Could any of them be connected?’ I asked.

Quitregard looked at the floor. ‘I don’t see how, sir. But people are saying the strangest things about the robbery at Dr Sheldrick’s.’

‘Is someone suspected?’

‘People are saying that what was stolen could, in the wrong hands, be very dangerous.’

‘Dangerous to Dr Sheldrick?’

‘And to the good name of the Foundation. That’s what they’re saying, anyway.’

‘How could a set of miniatures be dangerous?’

He looked up and blushed. It occurred to me that I was being rather stupid. I had finished my coffee and now stood up. ‘If Dr Locard arrives, would you be good enough to ask him if I could have a few minutes of his time?’

I had decided to postpone no longer telling Dr Locard of my discovery. He had to be informed and I might as well do it now.

‘Dr Locard is here,’ the young man answered in surprise. ‘He came in shortly before you and has gone to the upper gallery.’

I was horrified, for I suddenly realized that I had left the manuscript lying upon the desk, barely hidden by a single book. If Dr Locard had found it, he would wonder why I had not reported my discovery to him, and I dreaded that he should suspect that I had contemplated concealing it from him.

I hurried up the stairs and, to my dismay, found Dr Locard bent over the table exactly where I had been sitting. As I approached, he looked up and smiled thinly. ‘I must congratulate you, Courtine. You have made a very remarkable discovery.’

The manuscript was before him.

‘I found it just before Pomerance came to tell me the news about the body in the Cathedral,’ I said in embarrassment. ‘I was about to come and tell you when that drove every other consideration from my mind.’

‘It has been a day of astonishing excitement,’ he commented drily. ‘Almost as dramatic as yesterday.’

He gestured to indicate the shelves around us. ‘It was up here that you found it?’

‘Quite by chance. I happened to come across the records of Chancery Sessions and I was looking through them and I found it between the pages.’ I gestured at the book which was still open where the manuscript had been.

‘What a curious coincidence,’ he remarked.

I didn’t believe it was anything of the kind, but I decided to say nothing of how I had been looking into the death of Limbrick’s father, just as I imagined Pepperdine had more than two centuries earlier. ‘I’ve only had time to glance through it,’ I said. ‘It seems to be exactly what I hoped to find: part of the original version of Grimbald’s
Life
.’

‘I’ve scarcely had twenty minutes to look at it myself,’ Dr Locard said. ‘But I’ve noticed that no names are given. Even the invaders are merely called “pagani” while the town is referred to as “civitas”. Moreover, there appear to be some distinctly anomalous features and an idea has occurred to me. But shall we see what we can make of it together?’

I felt like a child whose Christmas gift has been seized and opened by a bigger sibling. But I had little choice and so I seated myself beside him and, like two schoolboys sharing a primer side by side on a form, we translated the text between us:

‘That’s interesting,’ said Dr Locard. ‘Alfred
was
an unlikely successor to the throne, wasn’t he?’

‘But there’s no evidence to suggest that he murdered any of his family,’ I replied indignantly. Dr Locard had disclaimed any expertise in the period and yet not only had he read my and Scuttard’s articles, but he clearly knew some of the sources. Was that due merely to his brilliance as a scholar or was Austin right to suspect that he was beginning to take a professional interest in the history of England before the Conquest?

‘No, but I suppose there wouldn’t be, would there, since the king largely determined what was written about him and therefore what has come down to us? But let us continue.’

‘I congratulate you on proving your point,’ Dr Locard said with a smile. ‘This is clearly a more authentic version of the story and is presumably what Grimbald wrote before Leofranc tampered with his text.’

‘On what grounds do you say that?’ I asked in dismay.

‘It rings truer than the absurdly heroic image of the king in the later version.’

‘I don’t agree,’ I said somewhat stiffly. ‘That seems to me to be an arbitrary and dangerous principle of historical investigation.’

‘Certainly its failure to idealize the king is not in itself proof of its authenticity, but as I think we shall find in a moment, there is corroborating evidence. But let us continue,’ he said, bending his head over the manuscript again.