A Finer End

Frowning, Jack said, “Tragic, but I don’t see how this reflects on Simon.”

“Ray was working on a research project under Simon’s tutelage, an exploration of an obscure thirteenth-century Grail legend. When Ray was killed, Simon published the paper as his own.”

“But surely there was some mistake—”

“No mistake. A few months after Ray’s death, his family asked me to sort through his things. I found the original. When I confronted Simon, he said the work was his, that Ray had merely been transcribing it for him.”

“Of course, that would be it,” Jack said with evident relief.

“But Ray left notes, extensive ones. There was absolutely no doubt that he had done the research and written the paper.”

Digesting this, Jack asked, “Did you tell anyone?”

Winnie felt herself flushing. “No. Simon said he’d make a fool of me to the bishop, that he’d say I was acting out of spite because he’d rejected me, and that he’d make sure I never got a good living. He had the influence to do it too. So I convinced myself that it was a minor academic point, nothing that really mattered to anyone—and I’ve hated myself for it ever since.”

Jack covered her hand with his. “You were young, inexperienced—”

She shook her head. “There’s no excuse for what I did. I know that. But I also know that you can’t trust Simon Fitzstephen. He would betray you in an instant if it was to his advantage.”

“But there’s nothing to betray,” protested Jack. “What could Simon possibly have to gain by helping me?”

“I don’t know. But promise me you’ll be careful.”

She had had to be content with that. Jack had insisted on giving Simon the benefit of the doubt, and she realized she wouldn’t choose to change that about him—it was one of the reasons she loved him.

If only her brother was as generous, Winnie thought, finding herself back at the problem that had initially kept her from falling asleep. She could see no way to mollify Andrew other than to give up seeing Jack, which she was not willing to do, or to convince Jack to give up his communication with Edmund, which he was not willing to do—even if it were possible. This rift in her relationship with her brother nagged her like a toothache.

Sipping her milk, she thought of Faith Wills, and Andrew’s criticism of her intercession in Faith’s affairs. Andrew had been vindicated, in a sense, as things had certainly not turned out as Winnie had hoped, but she still felt strongly that she had done the right thing. Faith had agreed to see her mother, had even set a time to meet at the Vicarage, then had abruptly changed her mind. Winnie had not been able to budge the girl from her decision, and Faith had offered no excuse. The closer Faith came to her due date, only a few weeks away now at the end of October, the more concerned Winnie became about her.

Although Garnet had assured her that Faith was doing well and the pregnancy seemed normal, Winnie sensed that Garnet was holding something back—and that both Faith and Garnet were avoiding her. Had she unwittingly alienated them by her efforts to reunite Faith with her parents?

Nor had the tension between Nick and Garnet abated, as their mutual concern for Faith only seemed to increase their antagonism.

And as far as Winnie knew, no one in the group seemed to have gained any true understanding of what it was that Edmund wanted of them.

Sighing, Winnie set down her empty cup and rubbed her face. Tired, but no closer to sleep, she couldn’t shake the feeling that things were building to some sort of climax, and she found no comfort in the passage from Ephesians that came suddenly to mind. For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh … but against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Could there be some truth in Garnet’s dire forecasts of doom and dark forces?

No, surely not. That was absurd. But whatever the cause of the foreboding she felt, she must protect Jack as best she could—and she could only do that if she knew exactly what she was up against.

As much as she disliked the idea, it was time she had a confrontation with Simon Fitzstephen … and she mustn’t let herself forget that it was she who held the upper hand.

With a decision made, she rinsed her cup in the sink, switched off the lamp, and climbed the stairs. Diving under the covers, she snuggled up to Jack’s solid warmth and fell instantly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

We who watch … rue the day of Thurstan’s coming.… Darkness came upon us then.…