“He is truly one of the most pleasant-natured men I have ever met,” Colin said as he ushered Brother Nathan to a seat. “Is everyone here like him?”
To my amazement, the young monk actually took Colin's bait. “Mostly, though some of the older brothers can be prickly at times. Not that I blame them, mind you,” he quickly added. “They have been devout for most of their lives and I've been here less than a year. I know I must tax their patience.”
“Why would a faithful young monk such as yourself try their patience?” Colin pressed. “I should think they would be pleased for the freshness of a new devotee.”
“Freshness?” He stared at us with confusion. “The order does not seek freshness in their ranks. They are following tenets that go back nearly two thousand years. There is no freshness, sir, only the word of God. And that precedes even time itself.”
“Yes, of course,” Colin mumbled, and I could tell he was surprised by the voracity of the young man's answer. “I meant no offense.”
“None taken, sir,” he answered right back.
Colin managed to rouse up an awkward sort of smile before finally proceeding. “Might I enquire as to the impatience you feel from the senior monks here?”
“It's really nothing of any matter,” he said with a confidence that seemed to belie his youth. “We are rather like a small family and with any small family there are bound to be disagreements now and then. I came from Kinnoull Monastery in Perth, Scotland, and we had no such discord there, but then there were over a hundred and fifty of us at the time. If there had been discord, I doubt I'd have heard about it anyway.” He gave an easy grin that made me quite like this self-assured young man.
“Discord?” Colin repeated casually, the fingers of his right hand tapping on his knee, alerting me to the fact that he was obviously aching to snatch a coin from his pocket and begin twirling it around.
“Yes, the usual sorts of disagreements from like-minded individuals. There can be great passion in debates, and I think it fair to say that these brothers are most certainly men of passion.”
“Men of passion . . . ?!” Colin parroted with notable disbelief.
“Most certainly. Our entire adult lives are dedicated to God. Would you not consider that choice the very summit of passion?”
Colin turned to me with such an expression of incredulity that I was almost unable to suppress the laugh that begged to leap from my throat. “Your point is well-made,” he conceded as he glanced back at the young man. “And what sorts of debates do the good monks of Whitmore Abbey have? Has there ever been one that brought you any level of concern?”
“Never. No matter the flare of temperaments or harshness of words, at the end of every evening we lower our heads as one community and pledge our lives, hearts, and souls to God. We are but vessels for His word and struggle only in our desire to better understand what He would have us know.”
It took Colin a moment to respond. “Of course . . .” he finally said with a nod that I supposed was meant to cover his clear astonishment at having so thoroughly lost control of this conversation. “I wonder if we might trouble you to allow us access to your abbot's cell one more time.”
“Oh . . .” Brother Nathan's expression instantly showed his disappointment. “The priest padlocked it and I certainly don't have a key. You might ask Brother Green.”
“Thank you,” Colin said as he stood up, once again offering something of a mirthless grin. “We appreciate your time and shan't trouble you a moment longer.”
“As you wish.” The young man gave a quick nod as he too stood up. “Shall I see you out then?”
“No, I think we shall take your advice and speak to Brother Green.”
“Very well,” Brother Nathan said as he padded back to the door and let himself out with the same remarkable silence these men seemed so practiced at.
“Well . . .” I heaved a sigh. “At least he's the first of these monks to admit there's been even the slightest amount of friction here.”
“Indeed . . .” Colin muttered as he headed over to the kitchen door, “it seems this day may prove to be a watershed.” Which instantly put me back in mind of the
Codex Sinaiticus
he had mentioned earlier. While I knew a codex to be a collection of ancient manuscripts, most often of scriptural texts, I had no notion of what a
Sinaiticus
was. And yet, before I could ask for even the most banal of explanations, he pushed open the door and called out for Brother Green. “
Might Mr. Pruitt and I trouble you one more time?
”
“It's no trouble at all,” Brother Green stated patiently as he strolled back from the kitchen, his manner as genuine as ever. “Have you changed your mind about staying for dinner?”
Colin's eyebrows elevated and his smile warmed markedly. “You do make it hard to decline, but I am afraid we simply cannot stay tonight. I was actually wondering whether you might be able to let us into the abbot's cell for one more quick inspection. It is vital that we not overlook anything.”
For the first time I watched Brother Green's face crumple as though his imminent failure was a distinct cause for humiliation. “I'm afraid Brother Morrison has the only key. Father Demetris gave it to him before he returned to Chichester. I would take you to Brother Morrison right now, but I know he's in vespers with most of the others and it would be so inopportune to disturb them. Perhaps you can wait until tomorrow?”
Colin's face went still, his own disappointment nearly as evident as Brother Green's. “Of course,” he said. “Then permit me one last question.”
“Anything at all.” Brother Green practically beamed again.
“We have heard mention of several heated debates amongst the senior members of the abbey over the past year. Have there been any recently that elicited any sort for concern on your part?”
“Oh no,” Brother Green chuckled, his broad face and ample belly jiggling at the very thought. “There's never been anything like that.” He leaned forward as though about to impart a great secret. “As I am sure you can imagine, one of the hardest attributes of being a monk is the depth of our solitude, even as we live together in this community. Some of the brothers tend to forget diplomacy and end up being far more confrontational than they mean.” He chuckled again. “But there's never any offense meant or taken. It is nothing more than friendly discourse, often with a dollop of ardor.”
“And are you one of those fiery monks?” Colin asked.
“I've been known to have my say,” he muttered unconvincingly, “but it is our most senior members who, rightfully, carry the heaviest responsibility for having their convictions deliberated.”
“Of course . . .” Colin nodded. “Well, I'd say it's time we left you to your dinner preparations.”
We thanked Brother Green and as I followed Colin out I took note of the sudden bounce in his step. While I too found it interesting that these men did not always agree, I hardly felt uplifted to learn that the elder monks debated their passions now and again. “You seem awfully pleased,” I grumbled as we stepped outside.
“I'm beginning to feel there is much to be pleased about.”
“Debating monks and some monastery in Egypt I'm rebuked for never having heard about?” I complained. “It all means nothing to me.”
Colin glanced back at me with an amused grin. “Then allow me to tell you a most extraordinary story about a monastery at the foot of Mount Sinai while we walk back to Dalwich,” he enticed.
CHAPTER 14
W
e arrived at the boardinghouse where Constable Brendle resided with remarkable speed, a feat I attributed to the fact that we'd had much to discuss on our way. What pleased me the most was learning that
Sinaiticus
referred to the foot of Mount Sinai where the codex bearing its name had first been found, hidden away in the same Saint Catherine's Monastery where the abbot had gone several years before. And while I had not yet received answers to all of my questions, Colin had nevertheless begun to educate me on the astonishing facts surrounding the ancient monastery in Egypt and how it could conceivably correlate with the abbot's murder and mutilation. All of which left me flooded with mixed feelings when we managed to reach the constable's flat long before I was ready to do so.
“We will take up this topic again later,” I warned as we climbed the stairs to the constable's rooms.
“How I wish you had access to The British Museum library just now,” he answered back. “There is so much I can only strain to remember, and I think we would be in good stead if you could root about the reference materials for us just now.”
“I would like nothing more at this moment,” I agreed as he rapped on the door. It pleased me that he valued my ability to sleuth amongst the stacks, but it also frustrated me as well since I would have no such opportunity.
To my surprise it was the towering, lanky Graham Whitsett who finally pulled open the door. The poor man looked pale and full of remorse and he was unable to offer so much as the ghost of a smile as he bade us enter. “Please . . .” was all he said in a wearied and demoralized tone.
“It's good to see you, Mr. Whitsett,” I responded with as much bravado as the situation dared warrant. “I'm sure Constable Brendle is grateful for your assistance.”
“I . . .” he started to say, but he seemed unable to articulate anything but his unequivocal regret and did not finish his thought.
“How is the patient doing this evening?” Colin asked as we moved into a small seating area that was devoid of personal touches yet managed to be quite homey just the same. There was a sofa and single chair arranged before a fireplace that was puttering more than anything else, and a small bedroom and water closet was off to one side. While the space was diminutive, it was also immaculate, attesting to the fact that either the good constable was a man of cleanliness and organization, or the proprietress of the establishment took extraordinary care of her boarders.
“He's . . .” Poor Mr. Whitsett was apparently quite unable to alight on any fully formed thoughts.
“
Why don't you come back here and ask for yourself?
” a voice thick with opiates called out from the other room.
“Now there's a good sign.” Colin smiled as he led the three of us back to the bedroom. “I guess it safe to say you've now truly been indoctrinated into the constabulary profession.”
Constable Brendle groaned. “I could have done without such an initiation.”
“I am so sorry, Lachlan . . .” Mr. Whitsett mewled from behind me.
“Now, Graham, we've been over thisâ”
“I've an idea,” Colin interrupted, swinging around and casting his gaze at Mr. Whitsett through a veil of false enthusiasm. “I'm betting you've been fussing over the constable since we brought him back here. How about you get yourself some dinner and Mr. Pruitt and I will keep an eye on him for a while.”
“Oh . . . I don't know. . . .”
“Go,” the constable insisted with a heavy sigh. “I'm only going to sleep. You can come back tomorrow and see to me then.”
“If you think it best . . .” Mr. Whitsett answered, though it was clear that
he
did not.
“Without question,” Constable Brendle replied with surprising vigor and I could only imagine how Mr. Whitsett's mood had affected him.
Mr. Whitsett seemed to catch the tone and gave a nod that contained something of a grimace before he snatched up his bowler, shoved it onto his head, and bid us all a hasty farewell. The instant the door clicked shut behind him the room felt relieved of its burden, though the unfortunate constable looked not one whit better. His auburn hair was matted and tangled on the pillow, which only further set off the grayish tone of his skin. Though his eyes were mostly open, they looked unable to properly focus with his lids drooping listlessly, assuring me that he was indeed under the influence of either laudanum or some other comparable opiate. His right leg was elevated atop a multitude of pillows, and there was a large bandage covering his thigh from knee to groin.
“You look ever the worse for wear,” Colin announced with a sympathetic smile.
“I am grateful it was not worse,” the constable answered. “The doctor tells me the bone will knit and I shall have little more than the scars left by the bullet as mementos. And”âa wry grin ghosted across his faceâ“apparently the endless guilt of Mr. Whitsett as well.”
We both chuckled. “Is there anything we can do to make you more comfortable?”
“You can find the man who killed Abbot Tufton and Maureen O'Dowd. I believe the laudanum will do the rest for me.”
“You must watch out for that. . . .” I blurted without thinking. “What I mean is . . . it
absolutely
has its place in medicine. . . .” I tried to backtrack as artfully as I could even as Colin's gaze slid toward me, an eyebrow arced skyward.
“Yes.” Colin offered a thin smile. “Do try not to make an addict of yourself.” I grit my teeth, but the constable only chuckled. “And in the meantime you might find it notable that I am not in the least convinced that the same perpetrator is responsible for both of these murders.”
“What?!” Constable Brendle jerked his head back, earning himself a wince for the effort. “You cannot mean to suggest . . .” He left the rest of his thought unspoken, but his gaze was more alert than it had been since our arrival.
“I will explain my current state of mind, but I wonder if you would allow me a bit of information first?”
The constable flipped his gaze between Colin and me as if trying to gauge whether there was some hidden intent on Colin's part between his momentarily withholding information and his sudden interest in plying him with questions. Which of course, there was. “What is it you would like to know?” he finally asked.
“You mentioned that you were one of Miss O'Dowd's indiscretions over the last few years. I believe that was the word you usedâ
indiscretion
.” The way Colin repeated the word made it clear that he keenly remembered it to be precisely what Constable Brendle had said.
“It's true.”
“Did you know Miss O'Dowd to have had many such indiscretions?”
“Oh . . .” He heaved a wearied sigh and shook his head slightly. “You mustn't judge Miss O'Dowd. She had an enormous heart and took great joy in her life. And hers was not always an easy one.”
“You misunderstand,” Colin corrected at once. “I seek to make no judgments against Miss O'Dowd. I am hardly in any position to do so,” he added with something of a rogue's grin. “I am only looking to assemble the facts around Miss O'Dowd's life as you know them so I may discern the truth of how she came to such an end. Everything from who she was to how she behaved, as any one of these characteristics could prove to be the critical element that culminated in her murder.”
Constable Brendle let out yet another laden sigh as he stared up at the ceiling for a minute, reminding me of how taxing our visit had to be on him. But there was little room for subtlety if we were to bring a swift end to the poor woman's murder. “Miss O'Dowd was the type of woman who did as she pleased,” he finally answered in a voice that remained hesitant and thin through the haze of the narcotics he was taking. “She was tied to no one before she and Edward Honeycutt began to court. That was when she ended our dalliance. So yes, I believe she had her share of assignations, but they were only the flirtations of a carefree young woman.”
“Were you angry when she put an end to your affair?”
“Angry?” His eyes flicked back to Colin with a curious frown. “Whyever should I have been angry? We shared each other's company from time to time. Nothing more. There was nothing for me to be angry about.”
“Then you did not wish to have your affections be taken more seriously? Certainly communications between men and women can be so confounding at times.”
“She and I had no such quarrel. We were friends. Nothing more. And sometimes we kept each other from being lonely.” He gave a modest shrug. “When she told me that she and Edward had begun seeing each other, I was genuinely happy for her.”
“And were there others at the time she broke it off with you?”
“Others?”
“Other men helping her stave off her loneliness?” Colin pressed, and I felt myself squirm at his artlessness.
Constable Brendle flushed slightly and diverted his eyes, his fatigue evident. “I didn't have any such conversations with Miss O'Dowd of that nature,” he mumbled.
I reached out and discreetly touched Colin's arm and he snapped his gaze to me, his eyes as filled with determination as if we were seated across from a suspect in a Scotland Yard interrogation room. “I think it's time for us to let the constable get some rest.” I spoke quietly as I knew the young constable would protest, which is exactly what he started to do.
“No, no . . .” Colin cut him off, a hint of disappointment nestling in behind his eyes just the same. “Mr. Pruitt is right. We have badgered you enough for one night. You must rest so you can take up your mantle again as quickly as possible.”
“I cannot thank you gentlemen enough,” he answered wearily, his eyes desperately seeking to drift shut. “I don't know what I would do if the two of you weren't here.”
“We are pleased to be of service,” Colin said with a quick smile.
“Is there anything we can do before we go?” I asked.
“Would you send up my landlady please?” he muttered. “She has promised to look in on me and be the keeper of my medicines. I'm afraid my leg has begun to set up quite a row.”
“We shall fetch her at once,” I soothed. “Do try to get some rest.”
“We'll check back with you tomorrow and fill you in on our proceedings,” Colin assured him.
“I would insist upon it,” he said in a tone void of any insistence. “And you must tell me why you don't suppose these murders to be done by the same hand. I would demand to hear it now,” he managed to add even as his eyes finally closed, “but I'm afraid I wouldn't remember what you'd told me. . . .” He chuckled hollowly.
“I shall,” Colin agreed as we began to back out of the small room, “I shall.”
Only after we eased the front door closed did I turn a scowl on Colin. “You cannot pepper him with so many questions and such thinly veiled accusations when he is in such a poor current state.”
Colin scowled right back at me. “And what better time can you presume to rend the truth from a man than when he's swimming under the wave of opiates? Given the nature of how Miss O'Dowd's murder was obviously meant to appear an imitation of the abbot's, then who better to perpetrate such a replication than the man who investigated the first? It is imperative to remove him from suspicion.”
“And have you done so?” I conceded.
He glanced over his shoulder at me with an incredulous look as we descended to the first floor to find the constable's landlady. “Not in the least,” he replied flatly.