A Finer End

The doorbell rang. The murmur of Jack’s voice came from the next room, so Kincaid went to the door, girding himself to do discreet battle with DCI Greely.

But it was a man he hadn’t seen before, of middle age, dressed in cardigan and tweeds, with a rather unkempt mane of gray hair.

“Jack? Oh, sorry. Is Jack in?”

“I’m his cousin, Duncan Kincaid. Jack’s on the phone just now, but if you’ll come in, he’ll be free in a moment.”

“Simon Fitzstephen.”

Kincaid shook his hand with genuine pleasure. “Jack speaks very highly of you,” he said as he took Fitzstephen into the kitchen.

Faith looked up from her cooking and smiled. “Simon! I’ve made some soup, if you can stay for a meal.”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Fitzstephen said, pecking her cheek, then he greeted Gemma as Kincaid introduced her. “I’ve got some news for you all, when Jack’s free. Is Nick coming?”

“He hasn’t rung.” There was a quaver in Faith’s voice.

“The police have been questioning Nick,” Kincaid told Fitzstephen.

Fitzstephen glanced at Faith. “About Garnet?”

“I’m afraid so,” Kincaid replied. “But they released him this afternoon. Not enough evidence to bring a charge.”

“Simon! I thought I heard your voice. Good to see you.” Jack searched his friend’s face. “Are you all right?”

“A bit of company wouldn’t come amiss.” Fitzstephen’s smile seemed strained. “Faith’s asked me to stay for a meal. But that’s not the main reason I came. I’ve something to tell you. I wanted us all here, but I suppose we won’t wait for Nick, as we’ve no way to reach him. And Garnet—” He shook his head. “I’ve made some rather astounding progress in my research today. It seems that in 1082, Abbot Thurstan hired a mason called Hamlyn to do repairs to the Abbey church.” He had their complete attention. “Very iffy, yes? A mere possibility of a connection. But twenty years later, one Alys Montfort made a fine gift to the Abbey, with a stipulation that it be recorded using her maiden name as well, which was Hamlyn.”

“Edmund’s Alys?” breathed Jack.

“That would be my guess.”

“So there was a connection with my family—surely it was my family?”

“I think we can safely assume so,” agreed Simon. “Although I haven’t managed to trace all the links yet. And I think we can assume that Alys Montfort wanted someone at the Abbey to remember the girl she had been. What if we also assume that Edmund made a copy of his precious chant, and gave it to Alys for safekeeping?”

“You think the chant was passed down through my family,” Jack said softly.

“I think,” Simon answered gravely, “that the chant might be in this very house.”

Winnie awakened to find Fiona Allen sitting by her bedside, watching her intently.

“Fiona!”

“You can’t imagine how good it is to hear you speak. I couldn’t just take Jack’s word for it.”

“If it weren’t for you …”

“I only did what I was prompted to do. There’s no need for you to feel grateful to me.” Eyes twinkling, Fiona added, “Maybe your God had something to do with it.”

“How did you happen to find me?”

“I was painting. When I got to a stopping point, I went for a walk, and there you were in the road.” Fiona shrugged. “Simple enough, on the surface. But to tell the truth, it was a very odd night. I painted the Abbey, which I’ve never done in all the years I’ve been in Glastonbury. And when I went out, it was as if something were hanging in the balance.”

Winnie studied her friend. “Fiona—there was something else, wasn’t there?”

“I painted the child. Again. But it was different this time. She seemed protected, cradled by the Abbey itself. And,” Fiona went on, “I heard singing. You know what a visual person I am … I don’t hear things, I see them. But this—it’s so frustrating, because I’m not musical, and I can’t describe it. Even worse, I can’t hear it in my head. I just know it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever experienced.”

“But Jack and I—we—”

“I know. Jack told me about your chant. What I don’t understand is how I fit into it—or why you were coming to see me that night.”

“I wish I could remember!”

“Winnie …” Fiona’s brow creased. “I’m sorry about Garnet. I know you were friends.”

“I can see how people might have thought her difficult. She was …”

“Strong in her opinions.”

“Yes. There was something elemental about her. But you and Bram knew her too. I’d forgotten.”

“Garnet was passionate about issues even in those days—but of course it was more fashionable then to be radical. I suppose we should give her credit for remaining true to her convictions, unlike most of us. Bram and I gave up our causes for middle-class comforts.”

“I saw her that afternoon. In the café, but I only know that because I’ve been told it. I feel as though I’ve been robbed.…”

“A last memory?”

Winnie could only nod.

“Let’s try something,” Fiona suggested briskly. “What’s the very last thing that’s clear in your mind before the accident?”

Winnie felt herself coloring.

“You can skip that part,” Fiona said, laughing. “Did Jack stay the night?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Did he usually?”