The Canterbury Murders (A Stanton and Barling Mystery Book 3) by E.M. Powell

The Canterbury Murders (A Stanton and Barling Mystery Book 3) by E.M. Powell

Author:E.M. Powell [Powell, E.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crosshaven Press
Published: 2020-11-11T18:30:00+00:00


Chapter Twenty-Seven

Barling approached the prior’s chambers, where he knew Benedict awaited him.

He dreaded having to meet with the anxious prior when he himself was in such turmoil. While the fierce disagreement he had had with Stanton had agitated him beyond measure, it was not the only reason for his profound state of unease.

For Barling could not ignore the appalling sensation that, once again, a murderer was on the loose and he was powerless to stop them, a terrible dream from which he could not awake.

Dear God, he’d missed so much last winter, when he had tried to find the killer at Fairmore Abbey. Missed it and almost lost his life in the process.

Worse, he continued to bear the burden of sin, a burden that he had come here to rid himself of. Was God punishing him by adding to its weight at a time when he feared he might break?

He entered the antechamber, knocked on the door of the prior’s solar and entered at his order.

The usually tidy long table was covered with piles of papers and pipe rolls but the prior was not seated before them. Instead, he paced the floor, his sweaty and flustered appearance suggesting that he had been engaged in the activity for some time.

‘Prior Benedict,’ Barling began.

‘Finally, you show yourself.’ The prior halted. ‘Finally! I am supposed to be conducting an urgent review of the spiralling building costs for the Archbishop. But who could concentrate on records of stone and plaster and wages when there is a killer on the loose? I have been waiting and waiting for you to come and explain to me just what is going on. Your tardiness has put me more behind than ever.’

Barling attempted an apology but the prior spoke over him.

‘You, who my lord de Glanville announced as a miracle, are turning into a plague. Things may have been bad before you arrived, but they have become significantly worse. I have been considering in earnest whether to order you from Canterbury and resume these enquiries myself. I might as well, for all the good you are.’

Barling’s heart almost stopped in his chest at the prior’s words. If he were to be sent away from Canterbury, he would be denied his penance. ‘Prior, I offer my abject apologies at not having found the murderer of Peter Flocke. But if you will allow me—’

‘Nor the murderer of Robert Norwood.’

‘Indeed, Prior. It is the greatest of tragedies and to my sorrow that we have two murders now.’ Barling fought for calm in his panic that he might say the wrong thing, use the wrong words. Such an utterance would see him banished from here, no question. If Stanton were here, he would choose the right ones, talk the prior round. Barling had few such skills, and he was alone. All he could do was tell the truth as he saw it. ‘Yet, in a strange way’ – he swallowed hard – ‘that may make it easier to find the killer.’

‘Have you



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