‘It also means,’ said the policeman, ‘that you can search her rooms. See if there’s documents and keys.’
‘I’ll talk to the monks first. Vow of wretched silence, I’ll give them silence now!’
‘Still no communication, then?’
‘No, but I had a bit of luck the other day. I found a set of stairs! The artful swine: they’ve been coming and going and I couldn’t work out how they popped up and disappeared. There’s a little staircase, all hidden with bushes and – oh, they’re a clever little outfit!’
‘That will be the staircase down to the pump-room,’ said D.C.C. Cuthbertson.
‘What are you talking about? What pump-room?’
‘There’s a pump-room underground. That’s how the Brethren get down.’
‘When the devil did you find this out?’
Cuthbertson laughed. ‘Police work at its finest,’ he said. ‘I called up some old friends at the Water Board. Said we had some problems at the lake. They sent me maps, yesterday. Pipe diagrams as well – if I was a plumber, I think I’d be in heaven. It’s a staircase down, isn’t it? Seventy-two steps, then a door with a mortise lock.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve got a copy of the key as well – here it is, oiled and ready to go.’
Father O’Hanrahan looked bewildered.
‘You do know what a pump-room is, Father? Let me tell you all about it, then you’ll know as much as me. Now you know that this lake is an artificial one?’
Father O’Hanrahan sighed in frustration. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about – how can a lake be artificial? There are things swimming in it!’
‘It’s a manmade lake. It was dug, years ago, by human beings. Countrymen of yours, funnily enough. Check out our tourist information centre, Father – it’s a goldmine. That lake, and a lot of the tunnels, were dug two hundred years ago. The Vyners were so rich they thought they’d give the grounds a face-lift, and putting in a lake was the fashionable thing. So they imported two hundred potato-eaters to do the job. No – calm down, Father. I will get to the point in a moment. Get yourself another drink.’
Cuthbertson supped his beer and the old man looked at him with dislike. He slid back to the bar and replenished his glass. When he sat down again, the policeman was sitting back, smiling. He had a large sheet of paper in front of him, with a labyrinth of pipes traced out in blue ink.
‘Why is a pump-room relevant?’ he said. ‘Well. The Water Board boys explained everything. An artificial lake needs to be topped up. In the summer it gets dry and the level goes down. Then, when it rains, it gets too full. The pump-room, therefore, is the underground chamber that controls all that. And you have to be able to get to it, and that’s the little staircase you’ve discovered.’
‘And the monks live in a pump-room?’
‘I doubt if they live in it. But they must live nearby, because according to my sources, they look after the pipes.’
Both men were silent.
‘So . . . the Brethren are a bunch of handymen-plumbers?’ said Father O’Hanrahan.
‘No,’ said Cuthbertson. ‘But I imagine that’s all part of their duties. It can’t be the most difficult task, polishing a few pipes – but the point is that if they have access down there, then there’s a strong chance they get through to all the tunnels. They must interconnect, and they might well know about young Tomaz and the wine cellars. And everything else besides. How are you getting on with Tomaz, by the way? Have you had your little chat?’
Father O’Hanrahan looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m afraid I’ve barely spoken to him.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! I thought that was your priority.’
‘I told you before, getting to sit down with those children is impossible. They have no timetable – it’s a wretched free-for-all.’
‘What about in the evenings? Are you the housemaster now?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, Father! I thought you were going to move in with the little wretches and read them Bible stories!’
‘The job went to Doonan!’ hissed the priest. ‘At the age of seventeen, with a brain the size of a pea! He’s a child himself, but he gets the job, over a man of my experience! The headmaster says I’ve got too many duties as chaplain.’
‘I didn’t think you had any duties.’
‘I have no duties at all! I call them for interview: they don’t turn up! They’re all heathens. All they do is mock and sneer. I hate the lot of them. All I do is break my fingernails moving stones around, and all that turns out to be for no reason because you knew about the stairs and have the wretched key!’
‘I found out yesterday, Father—’
‘Have you been down?’
‘No!’ I was going to tell you, so calm yourself down – I’ll give it to you later and you can go exploring.’
‘I’ll go see the Brethren first, then—’
‘You have still got the radio set, haven’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is it charged?’
‘Yes!’
‘What about Lord Vyner? Any news on the ghost?’
‘I’ve seen nothing. Tomaz won’t talk about it. I tell you what, though . . .’ He patted a small satchel that hung over his shoulder. ‘I’ll be ready for him if he does show up. Him or his missus – I can deal with ghosts.’
‘What’s in there?’
‘That’s my exorcism kit. I’m taking no chances now the old witch has gone as well.’
‘You’re not a priest any more. What good’s that going to do?’
Father O’Hanrahan took a long mouthful of whisky, licked his lips, and smiled. ‘I remember the basics. I got some fresh holy water, mail order. I got it all written down, and anyway – it’s like riding a bike. Exorcism is something you don’t forget.’
‘Drink up, then. Sounds like you’ve got a lot of work to do.’
Professor Worthington was in the Tower of Science with the headmaster and noticed a flashlight bobbing over the grass. She had brought the python up to her lab and it lay coiled around her chair, hoping for some scraps of toast. The two teachers always met last thing at night to discuss the day and review progress.
‘Father O’Hanrahan’s out and about,’ she said.
‘Is he?’
‘What could he be up to at this time of night?’
‘I think he’s looking for a purpose, Clarissa. I don’t think he feels connected to this community just yet.’
‘I wonder if you should have invited him.’
‘He invited himself. I think I have to get better at saying no to people. Having said that, Doonan is an absolute blessing. He’s just the sort of teacher we need.’
‘He’s very good with Caspar, I’ve noticed. Even Miles gets on with him.’
‘Why do you say even Miles? Miles seems to have calmed down.’
‘Miles won’t ever be calm. Have you seen the way Henry’s behaving, by the way?’
‘No. Not particularly.’
‘You don’t notice things, do you, Giles?’
‘How is Henry behaving?’
‘He’s always watching Miles. Something’s brewing.’
‘Something’s always brewing, that’s the nature of a school . . .’
‘Yes, but Henry feels things. Henry’s on edge and I don’t know why.’
‘Clarissa, I’m sorry to interrupt – but is that snake trying to hypnotise me, by any chance?’
Professor Worthington scratched the python’s head gently, but it didn’t take its eyes off the headmaster’s.
‘He’s probably wondering if he could swallow you. That’s our next project, you know. Once we’ve finished reproduction, the boys want to do digestion. It will mean ordering piglets, but I think we should follow enthusiasm when it’s shown.’
Chapter Twenty-one
It was pitch dark when Father O’Hanrahan reached the chapel. He was in a hurry, feeling at last that there was progress to be made. He had a torch in his hand and the key
in his pocket. He descended the steps slowly and tapped at the door.
‘Hello?’ he cried, softly. ‘Is anyone there?’
He went to knock more loudly, but hesitated. He didn’t need to announce his arrival and it might be better to approach secretly. He fitted the key as silently as he could and the mechanism turned. Masking his torch with one hand, he pushed it open to reveal a tiny landing and another set of steps descending into darkness. There was a scent of wood smoke and incense.
Holding his breath, he thought he could detect a very faint chanting. His heart leaped – he could see a candle in a small stone recess. This was a breakthrough moment and he descended the steps, holding tight to the iron rail. He was underground at last! After so much searching and expectation, he was close to the secret tunnels. The pump-room didn’t interest him at all: what thrilled him to his bones was the knowledge that he must be so close to the whole tunnel network and all the Vyner chambers.
He could hear the chanting still, getting louder.
He came to a passage and a dozen more candles; he walked along it, gingerly. It widened and turned, and at last he came to what had to be the Brethren’s chambers. The ceiling was low. He passed a number of small cells that might have been bedrooms. A golden glow gleamed up ahead and he was drawn to it, the music slow, peaceful, concentrated.
Six figures, all in brown robes.
They sat with their legs crossed, their hands upon their knees. Father O’Hanrahan waited another five minutes, until there was a pause. Then he spoke.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to startle you.’
The monks did not react.
‘Forgive the intrusion,’ he said. ‘There’s bad news up at the house and I thought you ought to be the first to hear of it.’ He looked round for a chair and there wasn’t one. He was about to speak, when one of the monks resumed the chant, in a high-pitched, quavering voice.
The priest raised his voice. ‘If you wouldn’t mind just pausing for a moment? I’m all for a bit of worship, but business is business.’
The chant stopped and six heads turned to look at him. The monks wore their hoods up, so their faces were in shadow.
‘Serious business, gents. And it hasn’t been easy tracking you down. By God, you can run like rats.’
He paused and nobody moved. The monks looked identical. Having moved their heads, they were now motionless.
‘I understand a chat is not easy for you and I respect that. A vow is a vow and we’re all holy men together. So what I thought I’d do, was organise a little code system, which we used in Ballybeg when these situations arose. I did a few of these silent routines myself, so I know where you’re coming from. No one will think any the worse of you if we bend the rules a little bit.’
Father O’Hanrahan chose a monk at random and walked across to him. He put his stick in front of the old man’s nose and said, ‘Would you be so kind as to take a hold of this stick, mister?’
The monk seemed not to have heard. The seconds passed and Father O’Hanrahan repeated himself. ‘I know it’s a distraction, sir, but the sooner we do business the sooner I’m out of your way. News is news and it affects your future.’ Very slowly, the old man’s hands came up from his knees and gently took the stick.
‘I’m sure you know the form,’ said the priest, with a certain relief. ‘You knock the stick upon the ground. Once is yes and twice is no. I’ll sit down, if you don’t mind – try and make myself a bit more comfortable. Then we can – ouch! – get on with what we all need to get on with.’
He placed himself opposite the monk with the stick. He was surrounded and their concentration was intense. Even so, the priest had the sensation that in a strange way the monks were unaware of him. He coughed.
‘Lady Vyner has passed away,’ he said, grandly. ‘In the last forty-eight hours. I was not at the bedside, but you will be pleased to know that I was there a short time before. I had the feeling then that she knew her time was upon her and I was able to be of some comfort. Her loss will leave many of us devastated. You, most of all. Would you mind knocking if you’re taking this in, sir?’
There was a pause and the listening monk knocked once upon the floor.
‘Well, thank you for that, it’s nice to know this is a conversation. What does the sad and tragic death of the old girl mean to us? Well, it means there’s bound to be a few changes – and I want us to get ahead of the game. The estate trustees are going to want to work out just how much stuff you’re sitting on, down here – they’ll be adding things up even as we speak. We, therefore, need to move fast. Would you just mind knocking again, so I know your mind isn’t wandering?’
Again, there was a pause. Again, the stick moved once.
‘OK,’ said Father O’Hanrahan. ‘I’m not one to be mealy-mouthed. I don’t want to be the bull smashing at the china shop, when you boys have been here so long, getting your feet under the table. But I’m looking for the sword of the Order. The Order of St Caspar. Shall we just nail our colours to the mast – is that what you’re looking for too?’
‘No,’ said the monks.
The old man shouted in terror and clutched at his chest. His gasped for air and crossed himself, peering around behind him.
‘For the love of God,’ he gasped. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack! Could you not have spoken up before? Oh my word . . .’ He found a handkerchief and mopped his brow. ‘I’m glad of the breakthrough, but that was a shock. We can talk at last, can we?’
‘We are allowed to speak of the Order,’ said a monk to Father O’Hanrahan’s left. The old man spun round to look at him.
‘And of the Vyners,’ said the man with the stick.
‘Lady Vyner’s dead?’ said someone softly. ‘Are we sure about that?’
Father O’Hanrahan realised that there appeared to be no ultimate spokesman. This meant he would never be sure who he should be looking at. It didn’t matter a great deal, since he couldn’t see faces – but it was disorientating.
‘She’s tough as boots,’ muttered somebody. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Let’s focus on the issue,’ said Father O’Hanrahan. ‘You can do your weeping and wailing a bit later, because I want to get something clear. Whilst I am looking for the sword, I want to check that you are also looking for the sword. Is that what you just said? Because I have assumed, up to now, that your Order was formed in honour of the sword. The Brethren of the Lost were looking for—’
‘You’re right and you’re wrong, Father,’ said one of the monks.
‘So . . . very well.’ Father O’Hanrahan licked his lips. ‘Am I right that you are looking for the sword?’
‘No, sir. We are not looking for anything.’
Another monk spoke. ‘What we were looking for, we found. Our search ended some time ago.’
‘Yours has ended too.’
Father O’Hanrahan felt a little pulse of hope beating within. He’d never been good at reading subtexts or hidden meanings, but the answers he’d heard could suggest extremely good news.
‘We’re talking about the sword of St Caspar – can I get that absolutely straight?’
Six voices said, ‘Yes.’
‘Which means . . . it’s here. In Ribblestrop?’
‘It was brought here by Lord Vyner. It’s been here for more than half a century. Now it has its guardian.’
‘And Lady Vyner was a guardian?’
‘No, she was not.’
‘The sword is held for the grandson,’ said a quiet voice. ‘He will inherit everything.’
‘But the sword itself,’ said Father O’Hanrahan. ‘Can we stick to the point here?’
‘Our Order traced its journey in the same way that you did,’ said another monk. ‘There was a sighting in Villeneuve. It is written about in a private diary, in nineteen hundred and seven, and the writer refers to it being displayed at a supper.’
‘Then it was moved to a bank, in Switzerland,’ said someone.
‘From there
it was moved to Rouen,’ said the first man, ‘and the intention was to get it out of the country during the war.’
‘But where—’
‘One of our own Order gave it to Lord Vyner, in person, and helped him bring it here.’
‘Of course, he was given it with many other items. Even Lord Vyner didn’t know its full importance. The guardian need not know the worth of what he guards.’
‘But where is it now?’ cried the priest. ‘You’re telling me it’s here? Here at Ribblestrop?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then whereabouts? In this room?’ Even the priest realised that he sounded too anxious. His voice betrayed a certain desperation and terrible yearning. He discovered he was standing and sweating heavily.
‘Father,’ said a monk, ‘the sword is in its rightful place. Our job is to stay close to it. We draw great spiritual comfort from it.’
‘We’re all old men,’ said another. ‘To be close to it is enough.’
The priest could stand it no more. ‘Have you seen it, though?’ he shouted. ‘Have you actually touched it?’
Nobody spoke.
‘I must assume you have! Is it as lovely as we’re told? Tell me the truth. Does it have the gems intact – does it have the twelve stones?’
‘It’s in safe hands, Father.’
‘Are the stones – the apostles – are they there still? I’ve seen it in glass. I’ve seen the replica.’ His voice was trembling and high-pitched. He didn’t know who to look at and he dropped to his knees. ‘Show it to me!’ he cried. ‘Show it to me!’
Chapter Twenty-two
‘Can I ask you, Father: what is your interest in the sword?’
The monk’s voice was gentle and courteous, but Father O’Hanrahan was trembling all over and was less ready for the question than he might have been.
‘My interest,’ he said, ‘is that . . . a sacred article – one that so many hold in such high esteem – is where it clearly shouldn’t be. Neglected. Unseen. My interest . . . is to return it.’