A Grave Concern: The Twenty Second Chronicle of Matthew Bartholomew (Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew Book 22) by Gregory Susanna

Author:Gregory, Susanna [Gregory, Susanna]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2016-06-02T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

It was not long before the little church thronged with people. Some carried lamps, as darkness had fallen outside. Petit huddled with his apprentices, wailing that he had been deprived of another beloved pupil, while Lakenham and Cristine stood side by side, watching their rivals with expressions that were difficult to read in the gloom. Then Vicar Frisby arrived.

‘A second murder in this most holy of places,’ he slurred, squinting at the body through bloodshot eyes, and almost toppling into the vault when he leaned over too far. ‘Poor Stanmore! He must be wondering how many more interlopers will inhabit his grave before he gets the chance to use it himself.’

‘Frisby has a point, Matt,’ murmured Tulyet, as he helped Bartholomew to pull Peres up and lay him on the floor. ‘You should arrange for Stanmore to be interred before someone else ends up down there.’

‘You can do it next week,’ sobbed Petit, overhearing. ‘The granite slab will be ready to seal it up by Wednesday. Or perhaps Friday.’

‘I shall have to resanctify the whole church now,’ interjected Frisby crossly. ‘Or is that the Bishop’s prerogative? But he is in Avignon with the Pope, and might be gone for months, so how shall I earn a living in the interim? Hah! I know. Michael can do it. He is almost a prelate.’

‘Did you notice anything amiss when you came to say Mass earlier?’ asked Tulyet, obviously unimpressed that the vicar was more concerned with his own circumstances than the victim’s.

‘If I had, I would not have conducted the rite,’ said Frisby, intending piety but achieving only dissipation. ‘It is my belief that Masses should never be performed with corpses in the vicinity. Except Requiem Masses, I suppose, when it is unavoidable.’

‘When did you last see Peres?’ asked Tulyet of the mason and his remaining lads.

‘I sent him to buy a chisel,’ replied Petit tearfully. ‘Four or five hours ago now. I wondered what was taking him so long, but I never imagined he would be …’

‘Four or five hours?’ Tulyet turned back to Frisby. ‘Were you in here the whole time?’

‘No, I was in my house for most of it, praying.’

A titter of amusement rippled through his parishioners at the notion that their worldly priest would engage in anything remotely pious.

‘So who was in the church when you arrived?’ pressed Tulyet.

‘No one,’ replied Frisby. ‘I began setting out my accoutrements, and the congregation trickled in, but they all stood in the nave. I do not let them into the sacred confines of the chancel while the Host is up here. It involves wine, you know, and they might try to take it.’

‘What about the rest of you?’ said Tulyet, addressing the assembled masses. ‘Did you notice anything unusual when you came in?’

No one had. Meanwhile, Petit knelt next to Peres and began to go through his clothes.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Bartholomew in distaste.

‘Looking for the new chisel,’ replied the mason, then held up three coins. ‘But here is the money I gave him for it, which means he was killed before he reached the market.

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