entirely deserted.
She stared along it, her eyes gradually accustoming themselves to the poor light. Parts of the roof had long since fallen away and the walls were dank and fringed with moss; tiny ferns grew in the gaps between stones. Beneath the holes in the roof, the floor was worn into hollows by rain which had fallen in upon it for centuries: in one particularly deep hollow water glinted darkly. On one side the arched front of the gallery gave a dizzying view down into the great nave of the old abbey church and the magnificent Gothic outline of the east window. And through the remains of the window’s stone tracery could be seen the muddy pool and the blazing red of the beeches and yellow of the chestnuts in the park.
There was a movement beside one of the pillars that supported the roof of the gallery. A dark shape stepped out – and resolved itself into the figure of Captain Laurence. His back was towards her and he did not see her immediately. He stood instead gazing out through the great window towards the drained pool and the park. He raised a hand, rubbed his chin thoughtfully then turned back into the gallery with a look of great calculation on his face – and saw Dido watching him.
‘Miss Kent!’ he stepped forward and bowed with a very uncomfortable look. ‘What are you doing here in the gloom?’ he cried. And then, changing his expression to one of tender concern: ‘Are you too hoping to discover what it was that frightened poor Miss Lambe?’
She acknowledged that that was indeed her errand and he eyed her keenly. ‘And have you found out anything?’ he asked.
‘I have as yet had no opportunity to look about me,’ she said returning his keen gaze with interest. ‘I met young Georgie on the path just now. Has he too been searching for the ghost?’
No, he hastened to assure her, he had seen nothing of the boy. There was a momentary hint of alarm as he spoke, but whether that arose from the consciousness of lying, or the fear of having been overlooked, Dido could not quite determine.
She knew no positive harm of the captain, but she did not like him. He was a big, loosely made man of one or two and thirty, handsome in what she considered to be a rather coarse style, with a great deal of colour in his face, heavy brows and a lot of thick black hair. In Dido’s opinion, he was altogether more
He was now looking about him and exclaiming that it was ‘a mighty strange business. I cannot account for it. Now, if we were on board ship, it would be a different matter. Some men get overwrought when they have been a long time at sea, Miss Kent, and imagine that they see all manner of things. Why, I remember one occasion …’
‘But we are not at sea, Captain Laurence,’ interrupted Dido who was in no mood for naval talk. She began to walk along the uneven stones of the gallery. ‘What did Penelope see?’ she mused. ‘What did she mean when she said “I saw her”.’
‘There cannot have been anyone here in the gallery,’ said the captain as he followed her, ‘for you see there is no door here,’ he waved a hand at the blank walls. ‘And here,’ he continued as they reached the end, ‘is only this broken wall and a drop of twelve feet or more down into the nave. Even a sailor could not have climbed up – though on board ship, you know …’
‘Yes, quite so,’ said Dido quickly as she turned away and continued to pace the old flagstones. She was impatient of his habit of bringing everything around to a discussion of the navy, but she could not help but admit he was right. There was no way in which anyone could have got into the gallery. There could have been no one standing behind Harriet when Penelope turned back.
‘The only way into this gallery is up those steps,’ said the captain.
‘And Harriet and I were standing at the top of the steps all the time our party remained here,’ she said firmly. ‘No one could have come past but we would have seen them.’
She had now come back to the head of the stairs and she found that she was rather cold. She pulled her pelisse closer about her and descended the first two steps – to the place from which Penelope had fallen. She turned and saw that her companion was now lounging against the nearest pillar, watching her thoughtfully.
‘From here one can see clear along the gallery,’ she remarked.
‘And nothing else?’ he asked.
‘No … Except through the great window I can see a little of the grounds … But very little; from here I can see only trees – and the drained pool.’
‘The pool?’ Captain Laurence straightened up abruptly. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ she said, puzzled by his sudden interest. ‘Perhaps you would like to look for yourself.’ She returned to the gallery and he hurried to take her place on the steps.
As he passed, his long overcoat stirred something very small which was lying on the stones. She stooped down – but found only a little brown and green feather which seemed to have blown in from somewhere. However, as she was standing up again, she caught sight of something much more sinister.
A foot or so away lay the pool which, on first entering the gallery, she had taken for a puddle of rainwater. But, now that she was so close, it was possible to see that it was too dark for water. She took off her glove and touched the gleaming surface with the tip of a finger; it was thick and sticky. She examined her finger – and saw blood …
‘Good God!’ cried the captain. She turned to him thinking that he had seen the red stain. But he was still on the step, and he was staring, not at her, but at something behind her. A frown was gathering his black brows into one thick, bristling line above his nose.
She stood up and looked about to see what had alarmed him. The gallery was empty and, for a moment, she feared he had glimpsed some fleeting apparition … But then, through the east window, she saw the cause of his surprise.
Down beside the drained pool there was a scene of consternation.
Two workmen were shouting and pointing down at the dried mud, while a stout young man in gaiters – whom Dido recognised as Henry Coulson, the landscape gardener responsible for the present deplorable state of Madderstone’s grounds – was standing with his hat in his hand and rubbing at his thatch of fair hair.
Laurence came to stand beside her. ‘There is something amiss,’ he said with keen interest. ‘They have found something.’
Dido had already turned towards the steps, but the captain took her hand. ‘Miss Kent, I think you had better wait here,’ he said earnestly. ‘I will go to see what it is and return to tell you.’ He bowed and was gone, running down the steps, through the fallen stones and out into the cloister.
Dido, who had a rather better opinion of her own nerves than Captain Laurence, felt equal to any surprise which the pool might supply and began, almost immediately, to make her way towards the men.
The captain was perhaps fifty yards ahead of her. Mr Coulson had now left the side of the pool and was hurrying past the fallen trees and through the lengthening shadows towards him. They met upon the lawn and an eager conference ensued with the smaller man waving his arms about a great deal while Laurence listened attentively.
As Dido came close enough to distinguish words, Mr Coulson seemed to be cursing and saying something like, ‘I don’t understand.’ He laid his hand upon the captain’s arm, ‘Damn it, Laurence,’ he said urgently, ‘we need to talk about this.’
But Laurence shook him off. ‘Not now,’ he said. ‘I must go up to the house and tell them the news. You go back and set the men to … getting it out of there.’
He turned to Dido with an upheld hand. ‘Miss Kent,’ he cried, ‘I would not advise you to go any closer. The men have found something … rather unpleasant at the bottom of the pool.’
‘Indeed?’ she said with keen interest. ‘What precise nature does the unpleasantness take?’
‘I am afraid it is a skeleton.’ He paused, but Dido showed no sign of fainting away. ‘A
…
