said that with the faintly patronizing air I’d come to expect from European scholars used to sites with a much longer historical record.
“I’d be happy to look, but why isn’t anyone working here now?”
“Because,” Jane enunciated with reborn ire, “to start with, the bloody coppers have determined that I’m not fit to excavate my own site! And furthermore—”
“That can’t be right—” I began, but Jane was on a tear.
“No, it’s quite maddeningly correct! In this particular situation, where the burial is deemed to be suspicious, the police have to come in and investigate. They would like Andrew to have a look before they call the Home Office pathologist—Detective Chief Inspector Rhodes has used him as an expert before—”
“But he’s nowhere to be found,” I finished for her.
“So we must leave the grave, that whole area, in fact, alone, until his lordship thinks it meet and fit to grace us with his presence again.” Jane’s hands were knotted into fists so tight I thought she’d pop a knuckle out. Just as quickly, though, she regained command of herself and resumed our tour.
“I’m guessing you’ve done the reading I suggested, so I won’t bore you with the details. Constructed in A.D . 1190 and destroyed by fire—a lightning strike, according to the chronicles—about 1504. Left a very nice little burn layer for us, helps show how far back in time we’ve gone when we dig. Benedictine pattern of building arrangement, I’m predicting, no great stretch there. While our main goals last year were to define the parameters of the abbey and nunnery, this year we’re trying to determine the number and organization of the graves, interior and exterior. Looks to be quite a few; we’ve already identified twenty in ground, fully excavated seven of them. We should get a nice little population.”
Jane stopped and looked at me. “Emma, are you feeling entirely well?”
I turned away from an odd sight—a line of paper plates that looked as though they’d been nailed to the grassy ground outside the perimeter of the excavation. Now that she mentioned it, I felt awful. My head was pounding and I kept feeling as though I were fading in and out of focus. “I think the time zone changes must be catching up with me. What time is it?”
“Nearly half four. Greg’s got them closing up for the night.”
Sure enough, I saw the crew going through the universally recognizable patterns of cleaning tools and storing them and covering units until work began again tomorrow morning.
“How about we get you home, into a hot bath, perhaps a glass of something, then dinner and bed for you? That sound like it would do the trick?”
“It sounds perfect,” I said gratefully. A little food and a little quiet and rest would do me a world of good, particularly since my tummy was starting to feel queasy. Jane had a way of taking things in hand that was very soothing.
Jane was all concern, pushing her hair behind her ear. “Well, let’s get going. It’s not a long walk, just a few blocks, really—do you feel up for that? Just tired, not going to faint on us, are you?”
“No, I’ll be fine after a good night’s rest,” I reassured her.
“Then we’ll let Greg sort things out here and whisk you home, chez Ashford-Compton.”
Jane took my big bag and her rucksack and I picked up my backpack; she called out, “Greg, we’ll see you back there. You’ll do the walk-through?” He waved. “I always like to take the crew around at the end of the day, make sure everyone gets an update on what’s going on throughout the site.”
We began to walk away from the river, through a little winding street crowded with homes and the odd corner store. It was a quiet part of a quiet little town, and had a very cozy, neighborly feel to it. I realized that the rowhouses were built with the same gray masonry as the new church; it must be a local stone. I noticed a lot of bicycles chained up in front yards and
“I’d be happy to look, but why isn’t anyone working here now?”
“Because,” Jane enunciated with reborn ire, “to start with, the bloody coppers have determined that I’m not fit to excavate my own site! And furthermore—”
“That can’t be right—” I began, but Jane was on a tear.
“No, it’s quite maddeningly correct! In this particular situation, where the burial is deemed to be suspicious, the police have to come in and investigate. They would like Andrew to have a look before they call the Home Office pathologist—Detective Chief Inspector Rhodes has used him as an expert before—”
“But he’s nowhere to be found,” I finished for her.
“So we must leave the grave, that whole area, in fact, alone, until his lordship thinks it meet and fit to grace us with his presence again.” Jane’s hands were knotted into fists so tight I thought she’d pop a knuckle out. Just as quickly, though, she regained command of herself and resumed our tour.
“I’m guessing you’ve done the reading I suggested, so I won’t bore you with the details. Constructed in A.D . 1190 and destroyed by fire—a lightning strike, according to the chronicles—about 1504. Left a very nice little burn layer for us, helps show how far back in time we’ve gone when we dig. Benedictine pattern of building arrangement, I’m predicting, no great stretch there. While our main goals last year were to define the parameters of the abbey and nunnery, this year we’re trying to determine the number and organization of the graves, interior and exterior. Looks to be quite a few; we’ve already identified twenty in ground, fully excavated seven of them. We should get a nice little population.”
Jane stopped and looked at me. “Emma, are you feeling entirely well?”
I turned away from an odd sight—a line of paper plates that looked as though they’d been nailed to the grassy ground outside the perimeter of the excavation. Now that she mentioned it, I felt awful. My head was pounding and I kept feeling as though I were fading in and out of focus. “I think the time zone changes must be catching up with me. What time is it?”
“Nearly half four. Greg’s got them closing up for the night.”
Sure enough, I saw the crew going through the universally recognizable patterns of cleaning tools and storing them and covering units until work began again tomorrow morning.
“How about we get you home, into a hot bath, perhaps a glass of something, then dinner and bed for you? That sound like it would do the trick?”
“It sounds perfect,” I said gratefully. A little food and a little quiet and rest would do me a world of good, particularly since my tummy was starting to feel queasy. Jane had a way of taking things in hand that was very soothing.
Jane was all concern, pushing her hair behind her ear. “Well, let’s get going. It’s not a long walk, just a few blocks, really—do you feel up for that? Just tired, not going to faint on us, are you?”
“No, I’ll be fine after a good night’s rest,” I reassured her.
“Then we’ll let Greg sort things out here and whisk you home, chez Ashford-Compton.”
Jane took my big bag and her rucksack and I picked up my backpack; she called out, “Greg, we’ll see you back there. You’ll do the walk-through?” He waved. “I always like to take the crew around at the end of the day, make sure everyone gets an update on what’s going on throughout the site.”
We began to walk away from the river, through a little winding street crowded with homes and the odd corner store. It was a quiet part of a quiet little town, and had a very cozy, neighborly feel to it. I realized that the rowhouses were built with the same gray masonry as the new church; it must be a local stone. I noticed a lot of bicycles chained up in front yards and
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