Why are you watching me?’ Her words were cut off abruptly as she banged into the wall. The tunnel had become narrower or perhaps she had backed the wrong way. She stood still, her heart thumping, hearing suddenly a new sound. Footsteps were echoing through the darkness, echoing all round it; the soft padding bounced from wall to wall.
Dim light glowed again as someone pressed a switch. She opened her mouth to call again and was transfixed in a new kind of horror. Inches away from her a leathery brown face grinned sightlessly into her own.
‘Jolly looking chap, isn’t he?’ said Brother Cuthbert, walking into view. ‘He died in the eleventh century, I think. Father Abbot says the dry air has helped preserve them all, almost as if they’d been embalmed.’
‘All?’ Her voice emerged as a slight croak as she hastily moved further out of the shallow niche into which she had stumbled.
There were other niches, each one occupied by a seated, black-robed figure, dry darkened skin stretched over dead bones, rusty habits hanging about them.
‘All former abbots according to the records,’ Brother Cuthbert said. ‘They had new habits a hundred years ago. I think they were supposed to be kept here as an honour, but the custom died out ages ago. In the 1500s. Rather touching to think of them all grouped here together while above them the life of the monastery goes on.’
‘Very touching,’ Sister Joan said dryly. Her breath was still coming in little gasps. ‘Shall we go?’
‘I can turn on the light again if it goes out,’ Brother Cuthbert said helpfully. ‘However – since we’re not really supposed to be here because the air can alter the temperature we’d better leave, I suppose.’
The horrid boy sounded positively regretful, she thought indignantly, as she walked rapidly ahead of him to where the curving steps began.
‘The cloister walk is just above us,’ said Brother Cuthbert,following. ‘That’s the bit that joins the main house to the back of the church and –’
‘How did you find me?’ she interrupted.
‘Father Abbot told me to come over to the church to meet you. When I got here the sacristy door was open –’
‘How did you get here?’ she interposed.
‘Along the cloister walk.’ Brother Cuthbert closed the door to the crypt and gave her a slightly bewildered look. ‘There’s a door at the right of the altar in the old choir stalls where the community sits. Why?’
‘I just wondered,’ she said feebly, remembering to genuflect as they came into the church again and turned briefly to acknowledge the altar. ‘I thought I heard someone in the sacristy.’
‘Brother Jacob is the sacristan but he’s been in the refectory all the time since mass,’ Brother Cuthbert said. ‘Mind you, he’s getting on a bit, so it’s likely he left the door ajar before mass and nobody bothered to close it. Is it important?’
‘No,’ said Sister Joan, wondering if she was speaking the truth. ‘No, of course not. I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Are you ready to row me across?’
‘Any time you’re ready, Sister.’ He sounded gallant. ‘Father Abbot says you are going to do some painting of the outside of the church. It’s really the community’s chapel but it’s been years since there was a Catholic church over on the mainland, so now it serves both functions. On what mornings were you thinking of coming?’
‘Tomorrow and after that it depends on the weather and how fast I’m getting on, but if I could get hold of a small boat I could row myself across.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ he said quickly. ‘Honestly, Sister, I’m not much use in the community except for fetching and carrying and doing a bit of luting, so it makes a nice change to have a regular task.’
‘A bit of luting.’ She shot him an amused glance as they walked down to the shore. ‘Yes, one could describe it as that. Where did you learn to play so well?’
‘Royal College of Music.’ He looked suddenly
Dim light glowed again as someone pressed a switch. She opened her mouth to call again and was transfixed in a new kind of horror. Inches away from her a leathery brown face grinned sightlessly into her own.
‘Jolly looking chap, isn’t he?’ said Brother Cuthbert, walking into view. ‘He died in the eleventh century, I think. Father Abbot says the dry air has helped preserve them all, almost as if they’d been embalmed.’
‘All?’ Her voice emerged as a slight croak as she hastily moved further out of the shallow niche into which she had stumbled.
There were other niches, each one occupied by a seated, black-robed figure, dry darkened skin stretched over dead bones, rusty habits hanging about them.
‘All former abbots according to the records,’ Brother Cuthbert said. ‘They had new habits a hundred years ago. I think they were supposed to be kept here as an honour, but the custom died out ages ago. In the 1500s. Rather touching to think of them all grouped here together while above them the life of the monastery goes on.’
‘Very touching,’ Sister Joan said dryly. Her breath was still coming in little gasps. ‘Shall we go?’
‘I can turn on the light again if it goes out,’ Brother Cuthbert said helpfully. ‘However – since we’re not really supposed to be here because the air can alter the temperature we’d better leave, I suppose.’
The horrid boy sounded positively regretful, she thought indignantly, as she walked rapidly ahead of him to where the curving steps began.
‘The cloister walk is just above us,’ said Brother Cuthbert,following. ‘That’s the bit that joins the main house to the back of the church and –’
‘How did you find me?’ she interrupted.
‘Father Abbot told me to come over to the church to meet you. When I got here the sacristy door was open –’
‘How did you get here?’ she interposed.
‘Along the cloister walk.’ Brother Cuthbert closed the door to the crypt and gave her a slightly bewildered look. ‘There’s a door at the right of the altar in the old choir stalls where the community sits. Why?’
‘I just wondered,’ she said feebly, remembering to genuflect as they came into the church again and turned briefly to acknowledge the altar. ‘I thought I heard someone in the sacristy.’
‘Brother Jacob is the sacristan but he’s been in the refectory all the time since mass,’ Brother Cuthbert said. ‘Mind you, he’s getting on a bit, so it’s likely he left the door ajar before mass and nobody bothered to close it. Is it important?’
‘No,’ said Sister Joan, wondering if she was speaking the truth. ‘No, of course not. I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Are you ready to row me across?’
‘Any time you’re ready, Sister.’ He sounded gallant. ‘Father Abbot says you are going to do some painting of the outside of the church. It’s really the community’s chapel but it’s been years since there was a Catholic church over on the mainland, so now it serves both functions. On what mornings were you thinking of coming?’
‘Tomorrow and after that it depends on the weather and how fast I’m getting on, but if I could get hold of a small boat I could row myself across.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ he said quickly. ‘Honestly, Sister, I’m not much use in the community except for fetching and carrying and doing a bit of luting, so it makes a nice change to have a regular task.’
‘A bit of luting.’ She shot him an amused glance as they walked down to the shore. ‘Yes, one could describe it as that. Where did you learn to play so well?’
‘Royal College of Music.’ He looked suddenly
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