An All-Consuming Fire
Book 5: The Monastery Murders
Donna Fletcher Crow
Copyright © 2015 by Donna Fletcher Crow
All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Verity Press an imprint of Publications Marketing, Inc.
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Boise, Idaho
83704
ISBN: 978-0-578-17166-1
Cover design by Ken Raney
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This is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or used fictitiously.
Published in the United States of America
Contents
Praise for the Monastery Murders
Epigraph
Timeline
Characters
The Flame Ignites
Chapter 1 • Chapter 2
Chapter 3 • Chapter 4
Chapter 5 • Chapter 6
Chapter 7 • Chapter 8
Chapter 9 • Chapter 10
Chapter 11 • Chapter 12
Chapter 13 • Chapter 14
Chapter 15 • Chapter 16
Chapter 17 • Chapter 18
Chapter 19 • Chapter 20
Chapter 21 • Chapter 22
Chapter 23 • Chapter 24
Chapter 25 • Chapter 26
Chapter 27
About the Author
Felicity and Antony’s Adventures
Praise for the Monastery Murders
A Very Private Grave
Like a P.D. James novel A Very Private Grave occupies a learned territory. Also a beautifully described corner of England, that of the Northumbrian coast where St. Cuthbert’s Christianity retains its powerful presence. Where myth and holiness, wild nature and tourism, art and prayer run in parallel, and capture the imagination still. All this with a cinematic skill.
A thrilling amateur investigation follows in which the northern landscape and modern liturgical goings on play a large part. The centuries between us and the world of Lindisfarne and Whitby collapse and we are in the timeless zone of greed and goodness.—Ronald Blythe, The Word from Wormingford
With a bludgeoned body in Chapter 1, and a pair of intrepid amateur sleuths, A Very Private Grave qualifies as a traditional mystery. But this is no mere formulaic whodunit: it is a Knickerbocker Glory of a thriller. At its centre is a sweeping, page-turning quest – in the steps of St Cuthbert – through the atmospherically-depicted North of England, served up with dollops of Church history and lashings of romance. In this novel, Donna Fletcher Crow has created her own niche within the genre of clerical mysteries.—Kate Charles, False Tongues, A Callie Anson Mystery
A Darkly Hidden Truth
In A Darkly Hidden Truth, Donna Fletcher Crow creates a world in which the events of past centuries echo down present-day hallways—I came away from the book feeling as though I’d been someplace both ancient and new. Donna Fletcher Crow gives us, in three extremely persuasive dimensions, the world that Dan Brown merely sketches.
—Timothy Hallinan, The Queen of Patpong, Edgar-nominated Best Novel.
With A Darkly Hidden Truth Crow establishes herself as the leading practitioner of modern mystery entwined with historical fiction. The historical sections are much superior to The Da Vinci Code because she doesn’t merely recite the facts; she makes the events come alive by telling them through the eyes of participants. The contemporary story is skillfully character-driven, suspended between the deliberate and reflective life of religious orders in the UK and Felicity’s “Damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead” American impetuousness.
Her descriptions of the English characters read like an updated and edgy version of Barbara Pym. A Darkly Hidden Truth weaves ancient puzzles and modern murder with a savvy but sometimes unwary protagonist into a seamless story. You won’t need a bookmark—you’ll read it in a single sitting despite other plans.—Mike Orenduff, 2011 Lefty Award Winner, The Pot Thief Who Studied Einstein
An Unholy Communion
A truly great mystery that had me guessing throughout the entire book. It was full of twists and turns and I learned a great deal of new information about the occult and spiritual warfare as well. The author most definitely did a lot of research and, although this book is a work of fiction, has included much fact so that it is not only a fun read but also a learning experience.—Alicia, “Through My I’s”
Erie feelings, strange happenings, premonitions and unexpected occurrences mark the many events depicted within this well researched, documented and crafted novel. When all of the clues, the pieces and the final reveal come together you will not believe who is behind everything.—“Fran Lewis’s Book Reviews”
Ingeniously plotted by a master of contemporary suspense, An Unholy Communion weaves Great Britain’s holy places and history with an intricate mystery that will keep readers guessing to the very end. An exciting book that will keep you engrossed in the characters as well as life in England. A wonderful series.—“Vic’s Media Room”
A Newly Crimsoned Reliquary
Skillfully builds tension from one peril to another, leading to a thrilling climax and satisfying denouement. But more than just a mystery, Crow weaves in rich and colorful details of English church and political history.—Donn Taylor, Lightning on a Quiet Night
If you like Midsomer Murders, A Newly Crimsoned Reliquary will be a comfortable read to sink into. Especially for the reader who loves centuries of English history. Perfect to read while on your vacation flight to the UK.—Mary E. Gallagher, Gallagher’s Travels
A thoroughly enjoyable read from beginning to its suspenseful end. I could barely put the book down.—Janelle Watkins, The SceneinTO
A worthy addition to The Monastery Murder Series. Highly recommended.—Jeff Reynolds, Sleuths and Suspects
A really enjoyable, fast-read. It’s obvious the author really knows her stuff. Great book.—Dolores Gordon-Smith, The Jack Haldean Mysteries
Thus with fire untrowed and thirling flame
the soul of a lover is burned.
It gladdens all things and heavenlike sparkles.
Richard Rolle
Almighty and most merciful God,
kindle within us the fire of love,
that by its cleansing flame
we may be purged of all our sins
and made worthy to worship You
in spirit and in truth; through
Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Book of Common Prayer
Timeline
1300(?)-1349 Richard Rolle
1340(?)-1396 Walter Hilton
Late 14th century The Cloud of Unknowing written
Characters
Felicity Margaret Howard—Ordinand, Community of the Transfiguration
Father Antony Stuart Sherwood—Church History lecturer, Community of the Transfiguration
Family members:
Cynthia Howard—Felicity’s mother
Andrew Howard—Felicity’s father
Jeff Howard—Felicity’s older brother
Charlie Howard—Felicity’s brother
Judy Howard—his wife
Gwendolyn Sherwood—Antony’s sister
Film crew members:
Harry Forslund—Director
Sylvia Mountbank—Producer
Joy Wilkins—Presenter
Fred Deluca—Main Camera
Lenny T
aylor—Lights, gaffer
Tara Gilbert—Make-up
Simon—Best Boy electric
Pete Petrosky—Python wrangler
Mike—Grip
Savannah—Best boy grip
Gill—Caterer
Film Resource:
Father Paulinus—Ampleforth monk
Sir Royce Emmett—Royal Academician
Monica—Pickering castle guide
Father Peter—Hampole priest
Father Theobald—Ampleforth archivist
Dr. Samuel Dedinder—Psychologist
From College of the Transfiguration and local community:
Father Anselm—Superior of the Community of the Transfiguration
Corin Alnderby—Ordinand
Stanton Alnderby—Corin’s father
Elsa Alnderby—Corin’s mother
Nick Cooper—Ordinand
Kendra—Youth worker at St. James Centre
Alfred—Assistant groundsman at Community of the Transfiguration
Melissa Egbert—Journalist
Father Douglas—Vicar, St. Saviour’s
Father Sylvester—Sponsor, St. James Centre
Police:
Sergeant Mark Silsden—West Yorkshire Police
Inspector Tracy Birkinshaw—North Yorkshire Police
Police Constable Leonard Craig—Helmsley Beat Manager, North Yorkshire Police
Detective Inspector Nosterfield—West Yorkshire Police, Huddersfield
Police Constable Wendy Smith—West Yorkshire Police, Huddersfield
Sergeant Scott—Nottinghamshire Police, Southwell and villages
Police Constable Perry Crawford—Nottinghamshire Police, Southwell and villages
Youth from St. James Centre:
Flora—Mary
Joaquin—Joseph
Syd—Melchior
Dylan—Caspar
Shaun—Baltasar
Tanya—Narrator
Balram—Narrator
Habib—in choir
Aisha—his sister
Drue—Flora’s little brother
Ralph—Shepherd
Eddy—Shepherd
Babs—Angel
The Flame Ignites
C. 1320
Near Thornton-le-Dale, Yorkshire
A puzzled line furrowed Joan’s brow as she thought over her brother’s written instructions to her yesterday. Richard wanted her to give him two of her tunics? She was to bring them to him at the little wood near their house? This made no sense. Of course Richard, her adored brother, could have her tunics. It meant sacrifice for the daughter of a family with straitened means, but she would gladly give him anything in her possession. But whatever could he want them for? And why must she take them to him so mysteriously in the wood? Why didn’t he just walk in and take them himself?
Richard had always been her favorite brother, and she his favorite sister, he had said so many times. She had been so proud when, at the age of 13, Richard had been sponsored by Master Thomas de Neville to be educated at Oxford University. Of course, she missed him dreadfully during his absences, but there were always the long vacations to be looked forward to. And now here he was, home for a full two months before he returned to Oxford for his final year.
And then, who knew what great position the world would hold for one with such an education and such a patron? Perhaps an administrator for one of Master Neville’s various properties, or perhaps a church position in one of the livings of his patron who was the Lord of Raby? Or politics—a fine position at court… The possibilities were unlimited for one so brilliant and handsome as her brother.
Joan turned to the heavy wooden chest at the foot of her bed and began removing her tunics. The green one was her finest, but Richard’s note had been specific: one white and one grey. Pity the grey one was a bit frayed around the hem, but if Richard meant to give it to some poor woman living in the woods—and that was doubtless the answer to the puzzle—then it would make little difference, or she could offer to hem it for her herself. Yes, she had best take her sewing kit with her just in case. Still shaking her head over her brother’s whim, Joan gathered her bundle into her arms.
The woods were fresh and sweet, filled with birdsong. Golden patches of sunlight filtered through the leafy branches overhead. Joan loved the woods, but today the strangeness of her task made her shiver in the shade. “Here I am, Richard. I came as quickly as I could, although I find it passing strange—” She broke into the small clearing where they had played as children, then stopped abruptly, startled to find her brother on his knees, his face raised to heaven, a shaft of sunlight making a halo around his head.
“Joan. You are good. I knew I could count on you.” His blond hair still shone golden even as he moved through the shadows to her and took the parcel from her hands. “Ah, good. Perfect.” He held her tunics up. “And father’s rain hood, did you remember that? Ah, yes. Thank you.”
And then, even while she was looking around for the poor woman he undoubtedly meant to aid and was thinking she should have brought a basket of bread and cheese as well, he did the unthinkable.
With one sharp, ripping tear, Richard pulled a sleeve from her grey tunic. “Richard!” She held out her hands in protest. One more tug and the other sleeve was off. And then the buttons from the white tunic. “No!” Her protest echoed around the small clearing. Buttons were a precious commodity. Especially such fine bone as those. “What do—”
He held up his hand for her to be patient and went behind a tree. In a few moments he emerged from the shadows wearing her white tunic next to his skin, the grey over it like a scapular and their father’s rain hood like a monk’s cowl. Why was Richard wearing this mockup of the traditional garb of a hermit? She could take no more.
“My brother’s gone mad! My brother’s gone mad!” Joan fled from the woods screaming and sobbing.
Chapter 1
O Sapientia
“You’re going to be a movie star! Oooh! Can I ’ave yer autergraph?” Felicity struck a pose.
Antony frowned. “It’s a documentary for the televison. And I’m only doing the historical background.” For all his understatement, however, the gleam in his eyes showed how pleased he was for her support, in spite of the nagging voice inside his head that told him he was sure to make a dog’s dinner of it.
“Well, I think it’s as good as being a movie star.” Felicity leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek—which made his eyes shine ever brighter. “After all, it’s the Beeb even.”
Antony held up his hand. “Not so fast. It’s an independent company who hopes to sell it to the BBC.”
“How can they miss with you in it?”
Antony wasn’t sure whether or not Felicity was teasing. After all, he had been the second choice for Studio Six, brought in at the last minute when Father Paulinus, an Ampleforth monk who was the acknowledged authority on the English Mystics, died so suddenly and tragically. And it all came at such an inopportune time with Christmas next week and then— “You’re sure it will be all right—my being away—with all you have to do?”
“Handling my mother, you mean?” Felicity grinned. “We’ll be fine. Really. Once I convince her she isn’t putting on a royal wedding. She brought this DVD of all the weddings—Charles and Diana, Kate and William and all the rest—I forget who all. I tried to tell her we’re getting married in a monastery.” Felicity threw up her hands.
After waiting a moment to let her frustration subside, she continued with a sigh. “But, my love, you’re off on location early in the morning and I really should get back to Mother. Who knows—she might have taken it into her head to order a truckload of white roses while my back was turned.” She paused. “Although I think she was muttering about lilies being ‘more spiritual’. I didn’t want to hear, really.”
Felicity leaned toward him and Antony took his soon-to-be-bride in his arms.
Even after the door of his lecturer’s lodgings at the college closed behind her, he watched in his
mind’s eye as Felicity strode down the dimly lit path through the chill December night, across the grounds of the Community of the Transfiguration, her long blond hair swinging behind her, toward the big iron gate and her bungalow across the street. In less than a month they would be living in that little cottage as man and wife. For probably the millionth time he breathed a prayer of thanksgiving that he hadn’t taken vows to be a monk before this maddeningly wonderful woman came into his life and turned his world upside down.
But oddly, the words of gratitude turned to a heartfelt plea for her safety.
Felicity’s anxiety increased when she entered the cottage and found her mother on the phone. “Well, several hundred, I should think. Beef Wellington would be lovely. And perhaps lobster?”
Felicity made emphatic gestures that Cynthia should end the call, then forced herself to speak in a level voice when she obeyed. “Who were you talking to, Mother?”
“Oh, just chatting with the caterer, darling. And it’s a good thing, too. She had some very odd ideas, I must say. Cold meats and boiled potatoes. Really, can you imagine? And what are eggs mayonnaise? Do we really have to offer a vegan option? I didn’t realize your friends were quite so eccentric.”
“You honestly don’t need to bother yourself about all this, Mother. Everything is perfectly well in hand. It’s going to be a fork buffet for one hundred people. Period. I told Suzette to plan whatever was appropriate.” Cynthia opened her mouth, but Felicity hurried on. “She was recommended by the bishop’s wife, Mother. She knows what they do at English receptions.”
“One of the royals had beef stroganoff. It was on the DVD.”
Felicity sighed. It was going to be a very long Christmas holiday.
“I was thinking a harpist for the reception. But maybe a string quartet would be better?”
“No, Mother.”
“No?” Cynthia nodded. “No, you’re right. The harp will be best.”
“I mean no music. Not at the reception. The hall is too small and we want to be able to talk to our guests. We’ve hired a choir for the wedding mass. That’s the special music we want.”
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