Free Faithful Dead by Alys Clare

come back with something positive,’ he muttered, ‘instead of presenting us with another blank stone wall. I––’
    He was interrupted by a soft tap-tapping on the door. Helewise, startled, said, ‘come in!’ and, as the door was slowly opened, the lined, old face of Brother Firmin appeared in the gap like a tortoise poking its head out of its shell.
    ‘My lady Abbess,’ the old monk said, making a low and very formal reverence.
    ‘Brother Firmin,’ she replied. She restrained her impatience as he went through his usual litany of opening remarks – was she well? what a fine day it was, thank the Good Lord; how gracious it was of her to spare him a moment of her precious time, and he would be brief, he promised her.
    When he had finished, she said, forcing a smile, ‘What can I do for you, Brother Firmin?’
    ‘Eh? Oh, well, it’s not really me so much as him.’ He jerked his head towards the half-open door. ‘May I tell him to step into your presence, my lady Abbess?’
    ‘Yes, please do.’
    She did not have to wonder for long who ‘him’ might be; as soon as the old monk began to say, ‘You can come in, Brother Augustus,’ he was there before her table, and his bow was as deep and reverential as even Brother Firmin could have wished.
    ‘Brother Augustus.’ She could not keep the affection out of her voice. ‘You wished to speak to me?’
    ‘Aye. There’s something I’ve thought of.’ The young man shot a swift and apprehensive glance at Brother Firmin, who was watching him with a slightly accusing expression, as if he felt the youth should not be wasting his Abbess’s time. ‘I’ve been thinking, and––’
    Helewise held up her hand and, instantly, Augustus fell silent. She turned to the old monk. ‘Brother Firmin, I know that you love to pray in the Abbey church by yourself but that you rarely have the chance, so busy are you down in the Vale. But I believe there are few people within at present; would you care to take this opportunity for some private worship?’
    The old man’s eyes lit up, and she had a stab of self-reproof at her duplicity. ‘May I really?’ he whispered. She nodded. With another deep reverence, he was gone.
    She turned back to Augustus, who was smiling his gratitude. ‘Now, Brother Augustus,’ she said. ‘Will it be easier to tell just Sir Josse here and myself ?’
    ‘Aye, and thank you.’ He shot Josse a friendly grin then, taking a deep breath, said, ‘I woke early this morning, like you do when something’s niggling at you. I lay there, trying to think of nothing in particular and let the thought come to me in its own time, and eventually it did.’ He met her eyes and said, ‘Sorry. I’m being as long-winded as my dear esteemed Brother Firmin. Oh! Sorry!’ He blushed, apparently instantly ashamed of the mild criticism.
    ‘It’s all right, Augustus,’ Helewise said. ‘Please, go on.’
    ‘It just came to me, all of a sudden, and I thought, why are we all thinking the dead man was killed in the Vale? Is it not possible that the murder was done somewhere else, the body stripped and all, and then the killer put him in the bracken? I mean, if it was at night, and the murderer didn’t know the shrine and the shelter and that were there, he might have believed he was concealing the poor dead soul in a hiding place right out in the wilds, where he would never be found.’
    ‘But surely everybody knows about Hawkenlye Abbey,’ Josse said.
    Augustus turned to him. ‘Not strangers,’ he said. ‘Foreigners, like. Why should they?’
    ‘We receive many foreign pilgrims, Augustus,’ Helewise put in gently.
    ‘Aye,’ Josse agreed. ‘Why, Augustus, don’t you remember? Brother Erse was talking of someone who he claimed was a foreigner – who was it, now?’ He made a circling movement with his hand, as if this would somehow magic the memory out of the air.
    ‘He meant the young servant who came with the old man who died,’ Augustus said. ‘And