“Are you quite recovered?” she asked him.
“I am, miss. And yourself? Your hand…”
“Will mend. Thank you, Corporal. I could not have prevailed without your help.”
“I regret I was not able to do more,” he told her.
“You played your part,” she said. “In the end, that is what counts.”
She descended into the crypt. It was in a pitiful state, two more tombs having been rent asunder as the Resurgent Spirits escaped their bonds. She wondered who had summoned them, and from where. Had they been down among the catacombs at the very moment she had been in the library? And had they made a copy of the sacred book? She was eager to retrieve it from where it lay among the bookshelves but could not do so until she was permitted access again to the collection. She picked her way through the splinters of wood and crumpled iron bars. What strength such dark magic contained! It frightened her now to think of what she had faced, and she was grateful she had not felt that fear at the time.
She heard footsteps. Slow, deliberate strides. She recognized the soft, tuneful whistling that accompanied the footsteps.
“Inspector, so good of you to come,” she said to him as he entered the crypt.
“Miss Cavendish.” He raised his bowler hat to her. “Naturally I would answer the call of a fellow detective,” he said.
“Oh? Is that how you see me?”
“Not an official one, of course, but if ever the word could be accurately applied to someone … your endeavors have been … remarkable,” he said.
“Thank you. It … means a great deal to me that you think so. Particularly today. Particularly after…”
“Yes. Allow me once again to express my condolences. Reverend Forsyth was a good man.”
Hecate found she could only nod. If she allowed herself to dwell upon John’s death for more than a moment, she might succumb to tears. Now was not the time.
He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice. “In matters regarding our investigations, we must continue to play our cards close to our chest.”
“Indeed, I think that the wisest way to proceed.”
“In any case,” he said, “I should imagine being brought before Chapter to explain yourself is a daunting prospect.”
“Mercifully it is not the whole Chapter. Dean Chalmers was persuaded by my father in a note last night that the events in the library would be best kept between as few people as possible.”
“Are they aware I am to attend?” he asked then, his bushy brows betraying a certain concern. “Well … I thought it best to present you as my bona fides, my professional expert, if you like … at the moment of the meeting.”
“Ah.”
“It is unorthodox, I grant you, but then … but then, what about any of this matter could accurately be called ‘orthodox’?”
“Not a great deal.”
“It may interest you to know that I interviewed the dean recently.”
“You suspect him?”
“Lord Brocket is not acting alone, we know that. However, the dean gave nothing away. He remains under suspicion, though. My presence might … unsettle him.”
“I don’t want to believe he is a part of this.”
“Time will tell,” the inspector said, offering her his arm. “Shall we?”
She took it, thankful for his support and his new confidence in her, and together they walked to the dean’s office.
The modest room Dean Chalmers had chosen for this purpose was set in the cloisters, to the south of the cathedral. Hecate hesitated. She knew that her father would, by now, have told the dean everything they had agreed upon. That Hecate had been so affected by the tragic death of her fiancé she had not been in her right mind. Her distress had led her to a course of action that she now saw was reckless. At first Hecate had resisted this plan, not at all at ease about being portrayed as an unstable woman. Edward had pointed out that their options were limited if they were not to give away too much of what they knew to both the dean and the master of the library, who would also inevitably be in attendance. Reluctantly, she had accepted that this was the best hope they had of her being permitted to keep her position. Now, as she stood outside the office, she realized she would be at a further disadvantage to defend herself in the imminent meeting, as she would not know how successful her father’s conversation with the dean had been, nor what, if anything, had been shared with Reverend Thomas.
Inspector Winter turned to her. “It might be best not to keep the dean waiting, don’t you think?”
She nodded. “Of course, forgive me…”
She knocked on the smartly painted red door. Upon hearing the dean’s reply, they went in.
On the far side of the desk sat Dean Chalmers, Reverend Thomas, and her father. There was no chair provided for herself, and as they were not expecting the inspector, none for him, so that the two were required to stand. She felt as if summoned to the headmaster’s office at school.
It was Reverend Thomas who broke the small, surprised silence.
“I had not expected to see you here, Inspector.” He turned to the dean. “Is this another instance of my being kept in the dark?”
“Not at all, not at all. I am as surprised as you are,” the dean assured him.
“Forgive me,” Inspector Winter put in. “I am here at the request of Miss Cavendish. It seems there was not time to alert you to my planned attendance.”
Hecate opened her mouth to speak but a stern look from her father changed her mind.
“Very well,” said Dean Chalmers, “I think we should begin. The facts as I understand them are that Miss Cavendish, acting entirely on her own, gained entry into the late Reverend Forsyth’s home, took his set of keys, went to the vestry, and obtained the keys to the locked cabinet in the muniments room. Her intention was to gain access to the banned books in the search for some manner of evidence regarding the terrible and as yet unexplained death of her fiancé, Reverend Forsyth.”
“God rest his soul,” put in the master of the library.
