‘After that, I daresay things quietened down for a bit, because this part of the country wasn’t touched by Monmouth’s rebellion, out of which they might have looked for a pretty fair haul, what with them who died at Sedgemoor and them that Judge Jeffries made away with, but the tradition had been established, you see, and the story is that, for sixty miles around, a malefactor never hung in chains from a gibbet for more than a couple of days. The last lot which finished up as offerings at the Mayering were air-raid victims, I dare say, dug out of the rubble and carted away to the crypt before anybody could do much enquiring about them. When the locals are the demolition and heavy-duty squad, and some of the R.D.C. are also Brethren of the Zodiac, you can see what sort of a fiddle could go on with the corpses, and they, poor sods, couldn’t care less where they were put, I don’t suppose, do you, Mr Callon? After all, I reckon a pagan grave is better than none at all, and the villagers have always believed that a burial up on the hill-top brought luck to the crops.’
‘Well!’ exclaimed Callon. ‘I’ve never heard such a story! And to crown it, Dame Beatrice believes that these skeletons, the ones Mrs Pardieu claims to have seen, were filched from Sir Bathy’s tomb before they buried him!’
‘One thinks of witches and other night fears,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Well, if you are bound for the inn, I will get along to the vicarage. I think I had better begin by representing myself to the vicar as a collector of religious graffiti. That should engage his interest, as his church seems rich in them.’
‘More historical than religious, ma’am,’ said the superintendent, ‘but one of them don’t seem to be either. “What makes the devils smile?” Maybe the ruins as Cromwell knocked about a bit, the ugly warthog!’
‘And you a man of the eastern counties!’ said Dame Beatrice, cackling. ‘What shocking disloyalty!’
‘Devon born, ma’am. All king’s men down there!’ said the superintendent.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Unconsecrated Ground
‘It is a rough truth, ma’am, that the world is composed of fools, and that the exceptions are knaves.’
George Meredith – The Egoist
‘But I have no jurisdiction over the Bitton-Bittadon sarcophagus,’ said the vicar. ‘It rests with the family to decide whether it shall be re-opened or not.’
‘It appears to be in the churchyard.’
‘It is not in consecrated ground. Have you been to look at it, Dame Beatrice?’
‘No, I hoped that, if you could spare the time, we might inspect it together.’
‘We can do so, by all means, but, by an ancient deed, it is on demesne land and outside the provenance of the church. No funeral service is ever performed at the grave-side. If the family ever wished me to hold prayers in the church I should always be happy to do so. However, Sir Bathy was not a communicant and his interment took place without the rites of the church.’
‘You do not ask, I notice, vicar, my reason for wishing the tomb to be re-opened.’
‘No doubt you wish to ascertain whether the body of Sir Bathy is still in situ. Oh, I know what goes on on Mayering Eve, and on Mayering Night, too, for the matter of that. There is no particular harm in any of it, so far as I can see. I know they sacrifice a cock, but the killing is immediate and, one supposes, painless, so no question of cruelty is involved. As to the skeletons, one can only assume that they have come, at some previous time, to receive the recognised observances and, in any case, so long as the law does not interfere, there is nothing I can do. To my mind, these people are as innocent as the savages who offer human sacrifices to ensure a plenteous harvest. The superstition is the same and the ritual less repugnant.’
‘Your broadminded approach astonishes and delights me.’
‘Oh, the villagers are not to blame. Traditions, you know, die hard. As to your desire to re-open the communal grave of the Bitton-Bittadons, well, I am convinced that you will find the body of Sir Bathy sheathed in panoply of iron and lying in its appointed place upon its appointed shelf.’
‘I agree with you, but I should be interested to know on what you base your opinion.’
‘On the same premises as you do yours, Dame Beatrice. Sir Bathy is still in the flesh. He is not yet reduced to the decent cleanliness of bare bones.’
‘No, but doubtless some of his forbears are.’
‘Yes. I now see why you want the grave opened up. You suspect that tomb-robbers have been at work, and as the resurrection men (so-called) belong to the past, you think the skeletons have been removed to the cellars of the More to Come ready for next year’s ceremonies. Have you anything more than surmise to go on, I wonder?’
‘Let us call it an inspired hunch,’ said Dame Beatrice, who found some of the vicar’s views so unorthodox that she decided not to mention that Fenella had actually seen the five newly-installed skeletons in the crypt at the inn.
‘I know something about your career and your inspired hunches,’ said the vicar, smiling for the first time during the interview. ‘They are hardly intuitive, but always appear to be founded on hard fact. You mentioned that you are interested in our graffiti. I will get an electric torch so that we may examine them in detail.’
‘What did you make of the vicar, ma’am?’ asked the superintendent when he called at the manor house on the following morning.
‘He seems refreshingly broadminded,’ Dame Beatrice replied.
‘He’s like they say the curate said
