Page 6 of The Chapel of Bones

He shook his head.

Wesley decided it would be useless to enquire further at that moment, but he made a mental note that it might be helpful to speak to Darren’s grandad at some point. ‘Mind if I take a look at this wall you’ve found?’

‘Help yourself. But we’ve got another job in Whiteley this afternoon, so we can’t be long,’ said Darren, leading Wesley to a spot a few yards away where felled tree roots had torn up the earth to reveal what lay beneath.

Wesley was wearing his smart working clothes, so he fought the temptation to scrape the soil away with whatever came to hand. He’d expected to see the remnants of some abandoned Victorian garden feature. But his instincts told him that this was something far more interesting. He felt a tingle of excitement. The wall, or what was left of it, looked medieval, although he knew he could be wrong.

Darren lowered his voice and glanced over his shoulder. ‘Those carvings I told you about are over there.’ He indicated a pile of rotting logs. ‘I hid them because I didn’t want George to get his hands on them. I wouldn’t trust him not to flog ’em to the garden centre for ornaments.’

‘Well done.’ Wesley thought the young tree surgeon deserved some praise for his initiative.

He made his way over to the logs. This time he yielded to temptation and squatted down to take a closer look. The carvings were around three feet tall, and were possibly gargoyles from some ancient building, though they were so coated with moss and filth that it was impossible to make out what they represented. But his instincts told him they might be historically important.

‘I’d like to get an archaeologist friend of mine to have a look at these, Darren. Can you make sure they stay put?’

Darren winked conspiratorially. ‘Will do. I’ll take them into the woods and tell George they’ve been smashed up.’

Wesley thanked him. It was time he returned to the car – and the investigation. Gerry would be growing impatient.

They needed to find out everything they could about Dr Aleric Donnal – and the house’s previous owner. With a name like Fortescue-Barnes, he shouldn’t be hard to fine.

Aleric Donnal’s notebook

2 April 2011

I feel I ought to set everything down, if only to get my thoughts into some sort of order. I spend so much mental time in the Middle Ages that I feel like a time traveller; a miner of past secrets and thoughts. And sometimes I am more at home in the past than a present that seems so hostile and uncertain.

My academic quest, if you can call it that, began in Brittany, at the University of Rennes, where I spent several years researching in the cathedral archives. While I was there, I came upon the Fontescues, an old Devon family, and now I am continuing my academic quest at Morbay University, where I teach groups of undergraduates between conducting my research and working on my book.

I will return to Brittany in due course, but I have made some intriguing discoveries here in Devon. I have been granted access to ancient forgotten documents held in the muniment room of Fontescue Hall, and Mr Fontescue has generously permitted me to visit whenever I wish. He is an amiable man, but more concerned with the upkeep of the hall than with his family’s long and fascinating history.

In the dusty and rarely visited muniment room, I came across what appears to be a personal chronicle written by a Devon monk called Brother Anselm, who travelled between France and England carrying messages between Lady Margaret Beaufort and her beloved son Henry Tudor, then the Earl of Richmond, who was exiled in Brittany for many years, living under the protection of Duke Francis II.

In 1476, Brother Anselm wrote:May the good Lord punish me if I ever become a traitor to the House of Lancaster, even though the cause often appears to be lost. Before I took my vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, I fought at Tewkesbury for our sovereign lord Henry, the sixth of that name, and his wife, Queen Margaret, when her only son was piteously slain by the Yorkists. It was there that the usurper who calls himself King Edward IV and his followers violated the sanctuary of the abbey and pursued their enemies into the great church itself to commit terrible slaughter contrary to the laws of God and man. What I saw on that day hardened my resolve to do all in my power to set Henry Tudor upon the throne of England.

My name before my transformation into a man of God was Richard Fontescue, and my elder brother, Thomas, was the inheritor of our family estates. Now I am become a humble canon of the Augustinian order, a monk by any other name, and my vows of poverty, chastity and obedience mean that I must treat all men with equal love and care. Yet when I recall the dreadful scenes I witnessed at Tewkesbury, I find my thoughts unaltered. My confessor says I must not harbour such hatred for the House of York and its supporters. I assure him that I will try and cleanse my mind of all resentment.

I am myself entrusted with the secrets of men and women in the confessional. Most of those secrets are of a common nature: lust, avarice or a lack of charity towards neighbours. Yet from time to time I hear some secrets I would rather the penitent did not share.

5

‘Did Darren the tree surgeon have anything interesting to say?’ Gerry asked as they drove away from Sycamore House.

‘He showed me the wall they’d found. I could be wrong, but it looked old; medieval maybe. I’d like Neil to have a look at it.’

‘You think it’s a job for the County Archaeologist?’

‘He’s got a posher job title now. Heritage Manager – Archaeology and Historic Environment.’

Gerry rolled his eyes. ‘I stand corrected. But we’ve got a dead body on our hands, so we mustn’t get sidetracked, Wes. I know what you’re like.’

‘Darren found something else too – sculptures that looked like gargoyles. He said his mate would want to sell them for garden ornaments and make himself a few quid if he didn’t keep an eye on them, so he’s keeping them hidden somewhere safe.’

They’d reached the outskirts of Tradmouth and would soon be back at the station. They’d already rung ahead to bring the team up to date with the latest developments, and instructed them to discover all they could about Aleric Donnal and Ethelred, adding that if the latter was a book dealer, he shouldn’t be hard to trace. Hopefully there’d be information waiting for them when they arrived.

‘One thing’s for sure,’ said Gerry as he walked into the CID office with Wesley by his side. ‘That bloke didn’t seal himself up inside that wall.’

Wesley said nothing. As far as he was concerned, Gerry had just stated the obvious.