‘Yes, Christopher made them,’ Jago said. ‘We’re doing the scenery together tomorrow night – at least, we were supposed to be before he went missing.’ Archie was about to say something but Jago held up his hand to stop him. He put his ear close to the wood, listening for the slightest crick, but this time the line was cut to his satisfaction. ‘It’s quite a job, getting anything into that theatre, and not something for one person to do on his own.’
‘You’re close, aren’t you? You work well together.’
‘You have to in this job. No point in being at odds with someone. There’s a lot of sadness, and you need to keep each other going – otherwise you’re no good to the people who really need support. Those who’ve just lost someone, I mean.’
Penrose came over to where Jago was working and stopped by a table piled high with cardboard boxes marked INGLE-PARSONS OF BIRMINGHAM. The top box was open, and he could see that it contained sets of coffin linings – stretches of ruched white silk, skilfully made and elaborately decorated, some with purple rosettes and others with white. If you could forget what they were used for, they were actually quite beautiful, but he had had enough of coffins lately and turned his back on them. ‘Why are you so concerned?’ he asked. ‘Christopher hasn’t even been gone for twenty-four hours yet, and he’s sixteen. Lots of boys his age stay out all night occasionally.’
‘Not Christopher. He wouldn’t do that without telling me and, even if he did, he’d turn up for work the next morning. This is not the sort of job where you can come and go as you like, and he’s got a sense of responsibility.’
In spite of his weariness with funerals, Penrose found himself fascinated by the speed with which Jago worked. It was second nature to the undertaker after all these years, but the level of craftsmanship was extraordinary, and Penrose had to remind himself that he was here for a reason. ‘Does your concern have anything to do with Harry’s death?’
Jago stopped working for the first time and looked at him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh come on, Jago. We’ve always been friends, haven’t we? When my mother died so quickly after my father, it was you who got me through it – you and William and Morveth. You made it clear that I was part of this place even though my parents were gone, but you didn’t exactly give me a warm welcome yesterday, did you? You treated me like a stranger, and that was because I was asking questions about Harry.’
‘I didn’t want to upset Morwenna,’ Jago said. ‘She’s had enough to put up with, and Harry’s death is best forgotten.’ He turned back to the wood and took a pencil and rule out of his top pocket, then made a carefully measured mark on each side of the coffin.
‘You of all people should know the dead aren’t so easily left alone,’ Penrose said. ‘Give Morwenna a bit more credit than that.’ He watched as Jago drilled into the marks on the wood, and tried another approach. ‘I had a word with Kestrel Jacks at the cricket match.’
‘So I noticed. Since when have you two been best friends?’
Ignoring the remark, Penrose said: ‘He says he saw Christopher out by the lake on the morning that Harry died.’ Jago swept the shavings into his hand and put them on the pile. He took a small brown-paper parcel from a box behind him and unwrapped a brass handle ready to test the hole for size, but he said nothing. ‘In fact,’ Penrose continued, ‘Jacks said that Christopher threw something at Shilling to frighten him, and that made the horse bolt.’
Jago looked up, and his shock was obviously genuine. ‘Are you saying Christopher killed Harry?’ he asked.
‘I’m not saying anything. I’m just trying to piece together what really happened – for Morwenna’s sake, more than anything. She thinks Harry killed himself.’ He expected another look of surprise, but Jago merely nodded. ‘You knew that?’
‘Morveth said as much.’ The undertaker was silent for a moment, and Penrose gave him time to think. ‘He was desperate to tell me something at the funeral, you know – well, you were there. But I was cross with him about that slip at the altar, and it had been such a bloody awful day, so I just sent him away. If only I’d listened.’
If only indeed, thought Penrose. Apart from anything else, Christopher might have been able to tell them if anyone else was around that morning. ‘Was that the last time you saw him?’ he asked gently, and Jago nodded again. ‘Is it likely that Christopher could have done something like that?’
‘Yes,’ the undertaker said at last. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
‘Why?’
Jago took a piece of sandpaper and began to smooth down blemishes that were invisible to Penrose, but the undertaker was nothing if not a perfectionist. ‘It’s because of Loveday.’
‘Loveday?’ Penrose asked, then remembered Jago’s sensitivity to his innocent remark the day before.
‘Yes. She was always hanging around here, and we thought nothing of it at first.’ Thinking nothing of a fourteen-year-old hanging round coffins seemed a strange reaction to Penrose, but he reminded himself that the reaction to death down here was very different from up country. ‘Then Christopher started getting keen on her, and there was obviously more to it than friendship. One day, I caught them in here alone and I had to lay the law down to him myself, tell him that it wasn’t right what he was doing – not with that girl, anyway. Harry found out about it, too, and I doubt that his words of warning will have been as gentle as mine were. I don’t know what he said to the boy, but Christopher hated him after that.’
‘Why did you object so strongly to Christopher seeing Loveday?’
‘She’s far too young, and anyway, she’s been… well, she’s damaged. You know that as well as I do. Boys of his age – they’re easily tempted, and I didn’t want him to take advantage of her and land himself in a mess.’
‘Loveday says she saw Christopher in the churchyard last night,’ Penrose said.
‘In the churchyard? What the devil would he be doing in the churchyard? Did she take him there?’
‘No, he didn’t see her apparently, but she said he was near Harry’s grave.’
‘And then what?’
‘I don’t know. She came home because she thought she was going to get into trouble with Morwenna for staying out late.’
Jago rubbed his hands over his eyes. ‘Christ, this is even worse than I thought. Anything could have happened to him.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Penrose said. ‘I don’t think for a minute that Christopher ever intended to kill Harry, but if he was feeling guilty, and if he’d plucked up the courage to tell you but didn’t have the chance, it would be understandable if he simply decided to take the easy way out and run off rather than face people. He’ll probably come back of his own accord but, if not, there are ways of finding him and reassuring him. He’s not facing the gallows, for God’s sake – it sounds like a childish act of spite, and anyone would take that into account.’
‘He’s not a child, though, is he? Not in the law’s eyes. And what if he hasn’t run off? What if someone knows what he did and blames him for Harry’s death? They might have hurt him.’
Jim came back in, clearing his throat tactfully, but Jago was caught up in his own fears and seemed oblivious to anything else. Penrose moved sideways to allow the assistant to take one of the lining sets out of its box. He washed his hands at a small sink near the stove and then, back at his bench, carefully removed the protective tissue paper and unfolded the silk. There was a small pillow made of the same material, and he filled it with some of the wood shavings from the pile before arranging the rest of the silk inside the coffin, cleverly putting in nails to create a quilted look. There was something very moving about his unhurried attention to detail, Penrose thought, and the quiet satisfaction he took from the work. He remembered William telling him that Jago had once caught one of his assistants cutting back on the coffin materials for a tramp who was found dead on the beach, and had sacked him on the spot; the coffin would be lined even if there was no one to view the body, and he refused to work with anyone who differentiated between the dead. He was one of the most honourable men that Penrose had ever met – the sort of man it was a privilege to know – and he felt deeply for him now, at the same time as being infuriated by the fact that he was obviously holding something back.
He took Jago’s arm and moved him out into the yard, where the afternoon sunlight took them both by surprise. Looking away down the street, the undertaker said: ‘Please find him, Archie. I can’t lose him – not now, not after all these years.’
It was a strange way of phrasing it, Penrose thought, but he was touched by the request. Jago was cast in the role of prop by the whole community, and it did not come easily to him to ask for help. ‘I’m not official here,
