A Finer End

“Sixteen and yet a woman, Alys she was called, the daughter of the stonemason come to repair the damage to the church. She found me comely and would wait for me when I went to the spring. There was little speech between us … we came together in need and pleasure as the beasts do.

“The work was finished when Alys found she was with child. She begged me for herbs.… To my shame I did her bidding … for my cowardice as well as my lust I have brought misery on us all.…

“From Brother Ambrose, who had befriended me, I stole the necessary potion. With it I gave her what was most precious to me … a bond between us stronger than death. Alys and her father left the Abbey then. Such sorrow I had never known, it tethers me to this place still.…”

Jack looked up, his eyes wide with surprise. “This woman—Alys—she meant to abort their baby. Don’t you think that’s what he means?”

Gemma, intensely moved by this recounting of the girl’s predicament, said, “I—I suppose it’s possible. They were very skilled in using herbs, and her position would have been untenable, wouldn’t it? Edmund couldn’t have married her.”

“I suspect it would have been thought she’d sinned against the Church, as well, in seducing Edmund, rather than the other way round,” Kincaid offered.

“But what if Alys changed her mind? Or the herbs didn’t work?” demanded Jack. “We’ve searched for months for a blood connection—perhaps a niece or nephew—as we suspected there might be a genetic component to the link.”

“An illegitimate child?” Kincaid mused. “In that case there wouldn’t have been any record.”

“I must tell Simon. This gives us a new angle”—Jack grimaced—“although I don’t know that trying to trace an eleventh-century itinerant stonemason’s daughter will get us much further forward.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “And in the meantime I’ve got to get to hospital. When I rang Nick this morning, he said he’d come midday and look after Faith. I didn’t like to leave her on her own, with Garnet still—”

“You’ve not found her, have you?”

Startled, they all turned towards the doorway. How long had the girl been there, listening? Gemma wondered. Her short hair stood on end, as if she had just slipped out of bed; her cheek still bore creases from the pillow. As she entered the room, Gemma saw that her slender body was made awkward by the weight of the child she carried.

Jack was the first to collect himself. “No, I’m afraid we haven’t. Faith, this is my cousin Duncan and his friend Gemma. They’ve come to help.”

“I don’t think anyone can,” Faith said softly, and her dark eyes held the glint of tears.

“Sit down,” soothed Jack, rising and arranging a chair for her, “and let’s get you a cup of tea. I’m sure Garnet’s fine—”

The doorbell rang. “That must be Nick, now,” Jack said hastily, and disappeared towards the front of the house.

But there was an unmistakable tone of the official in the low-voiced response to Jack’s greeting, although Gemma couldn’t quite make out the words. Kincaid had caught it as well—he was up and moving swiftly out of the room. With a quick look at Faith, who had sunk into the chair Jack provided, Gemma followed Duncan.

As she reached the door, Kincaid was showing his warrant card to a burly, tweed-jacketed man with thinning red hair. “Duncan Kincaid, Scotland Yard,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. Turning to Gemma, he added, “Inspector James.”

She saw Jack’s surprise as she in turn shook the man’s hand—earlier, she hadn’t introduced herself by rank.

“Alfred Greely, Somerset CID.” Greely’s voice was thick with a West Country burr, and his look was unabashedly appraising. “Is there somewhere we could have a chat?”

“We’ll go into the kitchen,” Jack replied. “Is this about Winnie—Miss Catesby?”

“I’m afraid not. Mr. Montfort, I understand you rang up last night and reported a Miss Garnet Todd missing.”

Once inside, Jack nodded towards Faith. “This young lady is staying with Miss Todd. She came to me last night when Garnet didn’t come home.”

When Greely switched his gaze to Faith, she seemed to wilt further into her chair. “I’m afraid we’ve found Miss Todd,” he said. “A gentleman taking his morning constitutional round the Tor thought a farmer’s gate an odd place to abandon a van and investigated.”

“Garnet’s?” Faith’s pallor was ghastly.

“I’m afraid so, miss. And her inside it.”

“Dead?”

“Yes. I am sorry.”

Faith’s eyes were enormous in her pale face. “She killed herself, then,” she said with what Gemma could have sworn was relief.