Paul Doherty: Song of a Dark Angel

'I've seen those flowers sometimes,' Catchpole interjected. 'Bunches of wild flowers, placed at the foot of the gibbet and replaced when they rotted.' He jabbed a finger at the priest. 'Yes, Sir Hugh is right. It started when you came and ceased when Master Monck arrived.'

'You knew your ancestor had been hanged,' Corbett continued. 'But where was he buried? What had happened to him? And to his accomplice, Alan of the Marsh? And, above all, where could the treasure be? You began investigating your own churchyard, violating old graves, thinking that perhaps the treasure was in a coffin or that at least you might find some sort of clue in one of those derelict tombs. You could do that without any recrimination or accusation. Who would dream that the parish priest was the person pillaging the graves? And any strange happenings or occurrences could always be blamed on the Pastoureaux.'

'Of course,' Selditch said. He stared, appalled, at the priest. 'It was you who advised Sir Simon to give the Pastoureaux the Hermitage. You told your parishioners to treat them well.'

'Of course he did!'

Corbett watched Father Augustine intently. The priest's hands had disappeared beneath the table. He had also pushed his chair back and was now staring into the darkness as if only half-listening to what Corbett was saying.

'Priest!'

Father Augustine's eyes flickered.

'You were patient, weren't you?' Corbett continued. 'You knew it might take years but, there again, you had no distractions – until Amelia Culpeper came to the village.' Corbett looked down the table at Fourbour the baker, who sat, wide-eyed like the rest, listening to his tale.

'God save me, Master Fourbour! I mean no offence,' Corbett declared, 'but God knows why Amelia Culpeper married you. She may have been attracted to you. She may have wished to escape the malice of her neighbours in Bishop's Lynn or perhaps she knew that Father Augustine was in Hunstanton. Whatever the reason, she came here.'

'But she didn't like him!' the baker cried. 'She said she only went to church on sufferance!'

'Amelia Culpeper must have been a remarkable woman,' Corbett said. 'Her public attitude to Father Augustine was only pretence. Don't you remember telling me how she liked to go for walks or rides? I am sure that she went to see her long-lost lover, Father Augustine.'

'I can't believe this!' Fourbour whispered.

'It's true,' Corbett told him. 'There must have been several lover's meetings. But Amelia's very presence was a threat to everything Father Augustine had worked for. The night she died Amelia took a horse and rode out to meet him on the moors. Father Augustine had invited her, though he had also made preparations. Remember, the night was dark, wild and blustery. He had already prepared for murder, coating the rope and noose on the scaffold in black pitch to camouflage it against any prying eyes. Tell me, priest, what do you use on the wooden crosses in the cemetery?'

The priest smiled, a fox-like grin, as if savouring some secret.

'That same pitch,' Corbett answered for him, 'you used on the scaffold rope.' He paused and stared around. Father Augustine was gazing coolly around the hall. There was an air of controlled menace about him that made Corbett uneasy. The others, including Ranulf and Maltote, sat like a group of children waiting for a minstrel to finish his tale.

'We are waiting,' Father Augustine said softly.

'Aye, just as Amelia must have waited,' Corbett said. 'I suppose you were all loving towards her that night. Everything was ready. The noose had been coated with pitch earlier in the day. You'd use twigs to remove any sign of your presence there. And you went to meet Amelia.' Corbett watched the priest. 'You went on foot. You'd share her horse – Amelia would like that, perched on the saddle before you, two lovers riding into the night. You'd take her to the place where your ancestor died. Amelia knew all the legends.' Corbett glanced at Fourbour. 'Hence, her veiled remarks to you about Hunstanton being richer than it knew.'

The baker covered his face with his hands as Corbett continued.

'God knows what happened then? Perhaps you paused for a while, murmuring endearments into Amelia's ear? She was distracted, delighted by what she heard. Your hand goes out. You clasp the swinging rope, slip the noose around her neck and move the horse away. It would have been so simple.'

He turned to Selditch. 'I believe Amelia's neck was broken?'

'It was,' Selditch agreed. 'The head was loose. Her neck must have snapped like a piece of thread!'

'Perhaps she struggled,' Corbett continued, trying not to be distracted by Fourbour, now sobbing till his shoulders shook. 'Perhaps she fought against the noose, but it would have been over in seconds. There's a rope round her neck, the horse she was sitting on moves away, she drops-' Corbett drew a deep breath. 'You check her wallet, but there's nothing in it except some sachets of perfume, which you remove. You ride to the edge of the village. You pass some peasants. They see the baker's horse and a cloaked figure sitting sidesaddle and think it's Amelia Fourbour. Now the church is on the edge of the village-' Corbett paused and tried to catch Ranulf's eye, whilst quietly cursing his own ineptitude. No longer the humble parish priest, Father Augustine had a definite air of menace. Does he have a knife, Corbett wondered, remembering de Luce, canon of St Paul's, who had inflicted the knife wound whose scar he still bore.

'On the edge of the village,' Corbett continued, getting to his feet, 'you slipped off the horse and disappeared into your church.' He began to walk towards the priest, but he was too late.

Father Augustine sprang to his feet and, before Corbett could shout a warning, took the few steps that put him to stand beside Alice.

'Sit down, Father!' Corbett commanded.

'Sit down! Sit down!' Father Augustine mimicked.

He had his head lowered, chin pressing into his chest. Catchpole regained his wits and made to rise but the priest's hand came sweeping out of his cloak and he pressed the point of his dagger against Alice's soft throat.

'Keep still, my lady!' Father Augustine murmured.

'Don't be a fool!' Corbett shouted.

'Don't be a fool!' Father Augustine mocked. 'You stupid, miserable-faced clerk! You can tell that bastard' – he nodded towards Ranulf – 'to put his hands on the table. Come on!'

He pressed the point of the dagger against Alice's neck. A small prick of blood seeped out. Alice moaned. She tried to force her neck away but the priest held her fast.

'Gently, Ranulf!' Corbett snapped. 'He'll kill!'

'Yes, I'll kill!' the priest said. His eyes darted around like those of a trapped animal. 'You don't understand. None of you do. That treasure is mine. It has been since the first day I heard about it. It was like a demon inside me. I thought I could forget it. I became a priest.' Father Augustine tapped the side of his head. 'But the voices kept telling me. The ghosts of my ancestors, chattering away, like a tune you hear and never forget. I tried to forget it.'

Ranulf moved but the priest pressed the dagger harder against Alice's throat.

'For God's sake!' Gurney hissed, glaring at Ranulf.

Corbett gazed despairingly at Alice's face. Grey with fear, she was on the verge of fainting. The priest's dagger shifted towards her windpipe, leaving a red mark and a small bubble of blood where her throat had been nicked. Father Augustine was now talking as if to himself.

'I tried,' he muttered. 'I really did try to stop the voices. I thought the love of a woman would help but she betrayed me, she became pregnant.' He raised his head and his lips curled. 'The stupid bitch wanted me to leave the priesthood.' He gazed at the hapless baker. 'You were welcome to the stupid sow!'