Read Online Mystery in the Minster by Susanna Gregory - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susanna Gregory
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way?’
‘It depends on where it lands,’ replied Bartholomew.
Radeford swallowed hard. ‘I am beginning to wish I had declined this invitation to travel north. First, it seems Huntington is not worth having anyway, and second, I have a feeling it will not be easy to locate the missing codicil.’
‘No,’ agreed Langelee. ‘But we must do our best. Besides, that particular invitation was not one you were at liberty to decline. I needed you here, so you had no choice but to accompany me.’
They reached the church to find it locked, and Bartholomew was a little shocked by the speed with which the Master managed to circumvent the mechanism. Langelee pushed open the door, which creaked on rusting hinges, and indicated that his colleagues were to follow him inside.
It was a poor, sad place that had been left to decay. Pigeons roosted on the rafters and in crevices in the stone walls, and the floor was thick with their droppings. The rood screen had toppled over, and lay in a splintered mass in the nave, revealing the chancel beyond to be crammed full of fallen masonry. Bartholomew stood in the doorway and stared up at the rotten ceiling, wondering how long it would be before the whole thing came crashing down. It had started to rain again, and he was sure the water that splattered mournfully on to the stone floor was doing nothing to help. He wasreluctant to step farther inside, not liking the odour of rot, the fact that the whole place seemed to be on the verge of losing its battle with gravity, or the notion that a killer might still be lurking.
‘Hurry up,’ hissed Langelee irritably, grabbing his arm and hauling him forward. ‘There is no need to draw attention to what we are about to do by hovering there.’
Once Bartholomew was over the threshold, the Master closed the door, although he did not lock it, for which Bartholomew was grateful. He did not like the thought of being trapped there.
‘Have you been in here before?’ he asked.
‘No,’ replied Langelee. ‘It was always a bit shabby for my taste, and Cotyngham never had much of a congregation, not even before the plague. Then the Death took every last one of them, and Zouche sent him to Huntington – to stop him from coming here and spending all day in tears.’
‘An act of compassion?’ asked Radeford.
Langelee nodded. ‘Zouche was a considerate man. And it worked, because Cotyngham threw off his misery once he was away from York, and was happy in his new parish. But his departure was the death knell for this church. I imagine it will be demolished once Thoresby starts rebuilding the minster choir, because it will be in the way.’
They all jumped when a bird exploded from a pile of discarded wood and flapped away in a flurry of snapping wings.
‘Can anyone remember those recipes for pigeon pie?’ muttered Michael, fixing it with a venomous glare. ‘Lord, it stinks in here! I have never liked pigeons. Nasty, dirty things.’
As they ventured farther inside the smell grew worse,and Michael reeled away with a cry of revulsion when he discovered a dead pig, crawling with maggots. There were three dead cats, too, apparently tossed through the windows by people too lazy to dispose of them properly.
‘The bowman stood here,’ announced Langelee eventually, stopping at one of the windows. He peered out, and took aim with an imaginary weapon. ‘It cannot have been anywhere else, because this is the only place that has been cleared of rubbish – and I cannot imagine he balanced on a decomposing animal while he waited for his quarry to appear.’
‘I agree,’ said Cynric, examining it carefully. ‘You can see where the weeds growing between the flagstones have been trampled, and there are marks in the dust where he rested his weapon.’
‘He was here for some time,’ added Bartholomew. When the others regarded him quizzically, he pointed to the remains of a makeshift meal – bread and cheese – that had been tossed towards the
‘It depends on where it lands,’ replied Bartholomew.
Radeford swallowed hard. ‘I am beginning to wish I had declined this invitation to travel north. First, it seems Huntington is not worth having anyway, and second, I have a feeling it will not be easy to locate the missing codicil.’
‘No,’ agreed Langelee. ‘But we must do our best. Besides, that particular invitation was not one you were at liberty to decline. I needed you here, so you had no choice but to accompany me.’
They reached the church to find it locked, and Bartholomew was a little shocked by the speed with which the Master managed to circumvent the mechanism. Langelee pushed open the door, which creaked on rusting hinges, and indicated that his colleagues were to follow him inside.
It was a poor, sad place that had been left to decay. Pigeons roosted on the rafters and in crevices in the stone walls, and the floor was thick with their droppings. The rood screen had toppled over, and lay in a splintered mass in the nave, revealing the chancel beyond to be crammed full of fallen masonry. Bartholomew stood in the doorway and stared up at the rotten ceiling, wondering how long it would be before the whole thing came crashing down. It had started to rain again, and he was sure the water that splattered mournfully on to the stone floor was doing nothing to help. He wasreluctant to step farther inside, not liking the odour of rot, the fact that the whole place seemed to be on the verge of losing its battle with gravity, or the notion that a killer might still be lurking.
‘Hurry up,’ hissed Langelee irritably, grabbing his arm and hauling him forward. ‘There is no need to draw attention to what we are about to do by hovering there.’
Once Bartholomew was over the threshold, the Master closed the door, although he did not lock it, for which Bartholomew was grateful. He did not like the thought of being trapped there.
‘Have you been in here before?’ he asked.
‘No,’ replied Langelee. ‘It was always a bit shabby for my taste, and Cotyngham never had much of a congregation, not even before the plague. Then the Death took every last one of them, and Zouche sent him to Huntington – to stop him from coming here and spending all day in tears.’
‘An act of compassion?’ asked Radeford.
Langelee nodded. ‘Zouche was a considerate man. And it worked, because Cotyngham threw off his misery once he was away from York, and was happy in his new parish. But his departure was the death knell for this church. I imagine it will be demolished once Thoresby starts rebuilding the minster choir, because it will be in the way.’
They all jumped when a bird exploded from a pile of discarded wood and flapped away in a flurry of snapping wings.
‘Can anyone remember those recipes for pigeon pie?’ muttered Michael, fixing it with a venomous glare. ‘Lord, it stinks in here! I have never liked pigeons. Nasty, dirty things.’
As they ventured farther inside the smell grew worse,and Michael reeled away with a cry of revulsion when he discovered a dead pig, crawling with maggots. There were three dead cats, too, apparently tossed through the windows by people too lazy to dispose of them properly.
‘The bowman stood here,’ announced Langelee eventually, stopping at one of the windows. He peered out, and took aim with an imaginary weapon. ‘It cannot have been anywhere else, because this is the only place that has been cleared of rubbish – and I cannot imagine he balanced on a decomposing animal while he waited for his quarry to appear.’
‘I agree,’ said Cynric, examining it carefully. ‘You can see where the weeds growing between the flagstones have been trampled, and there are marks in the dust where he rested his weapon.’
‘He was here for some time,’ added Bartholomew. When the others regarded him quizzically, he pointed to the remains of a makeshift meal – bread and cheese – that had been tossed towards the
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