Hugh Corbett 13 - Corpse Candle Read Online Free PDF Page A

middle of the night when it was dark, and as clear as a clarion call on a summer’s day, he heard three long blasts and then silence. The following day he made enquiries. It seems to be quite common, occurring two or three times a week for the last few months. No one knows why or who is doing it?’
    Ranulf was about to continue when there was a knock on the door.
    ‘Come in!’ Corbett ordered.
    The lay brother who stepped through was dressed in a long, woollen gown, with a white cord around his waist, and stout brown sandals on his feet. He was tall, his fair hair cropped in a tonsure, bold-eyed and firm-jawed. His face was pale, rather ascetic, and the high cheek-bones gave him an imperious air. He seemed unabashed by Corbett.
    ‘I am Brother Perditus,’ he declared in a loud, guttural voice.
    Corbett noticed his eyes were red-rimmed from weeping. He suspected the man had just washed his face and was putting on a brave front.
    ‘You’ve been crying, haven’t you?’
    The lay brother’s haughty expression crumpled, his hands fell loosely by his side. He stared down at the floor and nodded. When he lifted his head tears glistened in his eyes. He refused to look at the funeral bier but kept close to the door, glancing at Corbett then at Ranulf.
    ‘I think we’ll leave,’ Corbett said softly.
    Brother Perditus led them out. He walked quickly before them, using the opportunity to dry his eyes on the sleeve of his gown. They went down the gallery and out across the great cloister garth. A weak sun had melted the frost on the grass. The desks and lecterns used by the monks for their study were all deserted, books firmly closed, ink pots sealed. Usually this would be a hive of activity; the abbey illuminators and scribes using the precious daylight to continue their work.
    ‘The brothers are still in church,’ Perditus explained over his shoulder. ‘But I wager they all know you’ve arrived.’
    He led them down another gallery, out past the church where Corbett could smell the fragrant incense and beeswax, and into a courtyard. In the centre stood a rose garden. On the far side was a half-timbered building with black beams and white plaster. Inside the polished floor gleamed in the weak morning sunlight. The lower storey of the guesthouse consisted of small, white-washed rooms. Brother Perditus explained that meals could be served to them in one of these, which served as a small refectory. He led them up the wooden staircase. The walls were decorated with pictures and coloured hangings. A crucifix hung in the stairwell, and small statues stood in the niches. Rather incongruously the carving of a woodman, with popping eyes and snarling mouth, had also been placed on the wall. Corbett smiled, it was a carving which would frighten his little daughter Eleanor and it certainly jarred with the serenity and calmness of the guesthouse. The top floor was a polished gallery, with large arrow-slit windows on one side and the doors to the chambers on the other. Corbett was shown the first.
    ‘There’s a key in the inside lock,’ Brother Perditus explained. ‘The door can also be bolted.’ He blinked in embarrassment. ‘Not that we need such protection in an abbey!’
    He then took Ranulf and Chanson to their room. Corbett’s saddle-bag had already been placed on the small chest at the foot of the bed. He quickly checked the buckles and straps; they had not been tampered with. He stared around at the white-washed walls, and the window which overlooked the courtyard, its glass thick and mullioned with a small latticed door that could be shuttered from the inside. The bed was long and narrow with grey woollen blankets, crisp white linen sheets and bolsters. Corbett felt the mattress, it was thick and soft.
    ‘Probably featherdown,’ he murmured.
    The rest of the furniture was simple but beautifully carved. A writing table stood under the window, a smaller table by the bed. A chair, stools, coffers, chests and a large