Death on Lindisfarne

by Fay Sampson

  Two heads turned swiftly towards him. Lucy’s was tense, watchful. Her ready, open smile had gone. Brother Simon’s gaze was more considering. He looked Aidan up and down, as if assessing where he stood in this tangle of events. Almost as if he was wondering whether Aidan was friend or foe.

  “What have you got for us this evening?” Aidan asked Lucy as he joined them. He needed to break the inexplicable air of tension. “Is it time for Wilfrid and the Synod of Whitby? Or is Simon taking over again tonight?” He gave what he hoped was a casual smile to the priest.

  “Neither,” said Lucy. The smile was back, though he sensed it was forced. “You’re stuck with me again, I’m afraid. And I don’t think we can get to Whitby before I tell you about Hild.”

  “True,” Aidan agreed. “I’d forgotten about Hild. Melangell will like her.”

  Lucy moved towards the door of the lounge. A low chatter told Aidan that most people were already there.

  He was startled when Simon took Lucy in a bear hug. “Be careful,” he said, and let her go.

  Aidan followed Lucy into the room with that warning sounding in his head. What could Simon have meant? Rachel was dead. James had survived a nasty accident. Those had been shocks, one of them terrible, but they were over. The police had been and gone. All that was left for the rest of them was to pick up the threads and carry on.

  Eight faces turned towards them. Melangell had saved him a place on her sofa, with Peter on her other side. The big student looked sunk in sorrow. Elspeth Haccombe sat hunched in an armchair, frowning. She looked more defensive than her usual confrontational self. Valerie gave Aidan a polite smile, more stiffly than usual. When Aidan looked at James, he had a sense that the young pastor was flaunting the conspicuous plaster that had replaced a sizeable area of his golden hair. Sue sat nervously beside him. She glanced at him anxiously from time to time, as if seeking his approval. Only the Cavendishes sat placidly. Fran was knitting. The white baby clothes of yesterday had been replaced by blue.

  Simon tiptoed, with exaggerated discretion, to a far corner of the room and settled his substantial body on an upright chair.

  Lucy took centre stage. Aidan saw the lines of strain on her face. But her voice, when she lifted it, was steady.

  “Tonight, I want to take you back to the time when St Aidan was still alive. To a woman who stood in the opposite camp to Wilfrid; a woman for whom the Synod of Whitby, when it came, was a crucial turning point.

  “Hild was a Northumbrian princess. Do you remember how Aethelfrith the Ferocious killed the males of the Anglian royal family to seize the throne? All except Prince Edwin, who fled to Wales. His nephew was Hild’s father. He too thought he had found shelter in the little Christian kingdom of Elmet, around Leeds. But Aethelfrith’s long arm reached even there. Prince Hereric was poisoned. But the night he died, his wife dreamed she had found a precious jewel under her skirts, which lit all Britain with its splendour. That jewel was her daughter Hild.

  “Hild spent her childhood in exile. Then Edwin returned, killed Aethelfrith the Ferocious and took back the crown. Hild, her mother and her elder sister hurried to the court at York to pledge their loyalty. When he converted to Christianity, she was baptized too.

  “Then tragedy struck again. This time, the Mercian invaders killed King Edwin. The rest of the court fled to Kent, but Hild stayed on. With the choirmaster James and a handful of others, they kept the faith alive.

  “It was a scary time for her when the new king, Oswald, drove out the Mercians and set up his fortress at Bamburgh. Oswald was the son of Aethelfrith the Ferocious. Hild was the great-niece of King Edwin, who had killed his father. What was going through her mind as she bent her knee in homage to Oswald and pledged her loyalty? Imagine how astonished and overjoyed she must have felt when Oswald opened his arms and welcomed her like a sister.

  “She watched Aidan setting up his monastery on Lindisfarne. She made friends with him, and the two of them talked when the abbot visited Bamburgh. She saw him found a school for English boys here on Holy Island. How she wished she could have been one of them. Hild was filled with the desire for a life of monastic service and scholarship, but there was no place for women on Lindisfarne.

  “She made her decision. If there were no nuns in Northumbria, she would travel south. Her widowed sister, once queen of East Anglia, was now a nun in Gaul. Hild would follow her there.

  “She got no further than East Anglia, where her nephew was king. A messenger caught up with her. Aidan had learned of her plans and was calling her back to Northumbria. He had seen the need for monasteries for women. In Hild’s absence, he had consecrated the first Northumbrian nun and given her an abbey at Hartlepool.

  “Hild went back and took the veil from Aidan’s hands.

  “Her great chance came when King Oswy, Oswald’s brother, was on the throne. But the Mercians were their merciless overlords. Oswy made a brave bid for freedom. He gathered his warriors to ambush the great Penda of Mercia on the banks of the River Aire near Leeds. In the end, it wasn’t the Northumbrians who beat the unconquerable Mercian army; it was the Northumbrian weather.”

  “I can imagine that!” exclaimed Elspeth.

  “The heavens opened in the Pennines and the water swept down the river in a flash flood. Far more Mercian warriors were swept away and drowned than fell to Northumbrian spears. Mercia was routed. Penda was dead. Northumbria was free at last.”

  “Hooray!” cried Melangell, and clapped her hand over her mouth. Lucy smiled.

  “In gratitude, Oswy fulfilled the vows he had made before the battle if God gave him success. He granted land and money for twelve new abbeys. The greatest of these was at a fishing port on the Northumbrian coast, which the Vikings later named Whitby. He gave it to Hild for her abbey. It became a famous house for both women and men. Whitby was renowned for its scholarship. Several of Hild’s students became bishops. Her scriptorium produced illuminated manuscripts of the holy books. Among her cowmen, she discovered the brilliant English poet Caedmon. Hild herself preached rousing sermons.”

  “St Paul says women should keep silent in church.” James’s discordant voice broke into the story.

  To Aidan’s surprise, Lucy greeted his intervention with a delighted grin. “Thank you, James. I’m glad to see you’re back on form. That’s the question, isn’t it? What did Jesus think about women? When Martha complained that her sister Mary’s place was back in the kitchen, didn’t Jesus defend her right to sit at his feet with the male disciples, like a rabbinical student?”

  Her smile grew wider, challenging him.

  Aidan let the discussion rise and eddy around him. He nudged Melangell. “Remind me to tell you about Caedmon later. You’ll like him.”

  “I know,” Melangell exclaimed. “He was too shy to take the harp when they passed it round the hall and everybody had to sing. So he went out to the cowshed. And in the night, an angel came to him and taught him to sing a great song about creation. And next day he went to the monks and they took him to Hild and he made up lots and lots of poems about God and the world and everything.”

  Fran leaned over her knitting. “She’s a bright one, your Melangell. We had a lot of fun together, didn’t we, duck?”

  Aidan felt Melangell edge away.

  “I suppose so.”

  Elspeth was giving her own loud-voiced opinion about the place of women in ecclesiastical and academic life. Aidan looked around the room, meditating. He could not see Brother Simon behind him, but the priest’s words to Lucy came back enigmatically. “Be careful.”

  Aidan studied his companions, one by one. Who was it Simon had thought she needed to be warned against? James? He had an uneasy feeling that there might have been more to James’s dealings with Rachel than the pastor wanted to admit. What might that have led to? Was it enough to make him a danger to Lucy now? And if James was not the threat, who else?

  And what…? He felt a sudden catch in his throat. What form did Brother Simon fear that danger to h
er might take?

  He looked back at Lucy, in the centre of the room. For the moment, she had put her grief behind her. Her cheeks were flushed with animation, her eyes bright with argument. She looked like a woman who was not going to back down from her position. But he was suddenly aware that beneath that healthy body and lively mind there was a vulnerable human being.

  He turned round to Brother Simon, wondering if he could ask what he meant. But the priest had got to his feet. With a lifted hand of farewell, he slipped out of the room.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  LUCY CLOSED THE DOOR and drew the curtains. She sank down on the bed. She had survived this long, difficult day, but she felt extremely tired.

  The room looked different. At last she had been able to tidy away Rachel’s things. She would have to dispose of them later. She supposed she ought to hand them over to Rachel’s mother – not that Karen Ince had ever been much of a mother to the girl. Or should she simply take them to a charity shop?

  The whole room now had Lucy’s neatness. She swallowed as she remembered how Rachel’s untidiness had irked her. Now the room looked big and bare without the girl’s scattered clothes.

  There were footsteps on the path outside the curtained windows. They went past and stopped. James, in the room beyond hers. On the nearer side was Elspeth and Valerie’s room, and, closest to the house, the Cavendishes’.

  Lucy looked at the door. Then she walked across and locked it.

  She was uneasy with herself. Was she being melodramatic? Valerie’s visit had been meant as a warning. But of what? It was hard to imagine the well-dressed, scrupulously polite and upright woman descending to violence. But there was no denying the fact that Valerie was intensely loyal to her friend Elspeth. That if Elspeth’s wayward brilliance needed protecting, then Valerie would do anything in her power to safeguard her.

  Lucy’s hand strayed towards the mobile in her trouser pocket. She had confided the unsettling incident to Simon and he had been alarmed for her. Rather sweetly protective, really. He had told her she must report it to the police.

  She hesitated, with the phone in her lap. She had wanted DI Harland to do more, but she was uncertain what. Just this frightening conviction that Rachel’s death was not being given the importance it deserved.

  But what had that to do with Valerie? Perhaps, more realistically, what had that to do with Elspeth? Or… She twisted the duvet cover in her fingers. New images were crowding in on her. Elspeth had admitted giving cocaine to Rachel. What if Lucy’s unguarded outburst had been right, and that had contributed to, even caused, Rachel’s death? But the all-too-obvious explanation of a depressive’s suicide was becoming increasingly unlikely. What if Valerie had feared the consequences of Elspeth’s rash offer to Rachel? What if she suspected Rachel might tell the ex-policewoman Lucy?

  She felt the chill in her arms.

  Elspeth herself lived for the moment, regardless of the consequences. But not Valerie. Valerie was thoughtful, a different sort of intelligence. She had proved herself as protective as a she-bear of her cub. Was it inconceivable that Valerie might take a pre-emptive step and silence the evidence only Rachel could give? A death all too easily explained as suicide?

  A few hours ago, it would have seemed preposterous. But Lucy still remembered the ice in the air when Valerie had stood in that doorway, giving her grim-faced warning. There was more to Valerie than Lucy had guessed, behind that usually sweet smile.

  Should she phone DI Harland? She checked her watch. Ten o’clock. Too late tonight for so tenuous a theory. She guessed it would be hard to convince the detective inspector to take her seriously, anyway. She wasn’t sure if she believed it herself. Tomorrow morning would be better.

  She was about to put the phone on charge and get ready for bed, when an idea struck her. She scrolled through her contacts list. Had she copied this one over when she changed her phone? Yes.

  She speed-dialled the number. From what she remembered, Ian was unlikely to be in bed yet.

  “Lucy! A blast from the past!”

  “Yes. Sorry. You’re not in bed, are you?… No, I know that’s none of my business… Yes, I’m fine. How are you?… No, actually, I’m not. ‘I’m fine’ is something you say automatically, isn’t it? I’m ringing you because I’m a pretty long way from fine right now. I need to call in a favour.”

  Lucy detailed the events of the last three days. “Yes, I know… Thank you. It’s all been a bit of a shock. My first time running something like this… Well, we’ve had the police over, as you can guess. DI Harland and DS Malham… Yes, poor Len Chappell. You heard about that, did you? Got marooned on Holy Island overnight… No, I didn’t know him. If he’s local, he must have joined after I left the force. Still wet behind the ears.”

  “Do you and Bill…?”

  Lucy’s hand tightened around the phone. “No!… Sorry, Ian. I didn’t mean to bark at you. It was… Let’s just say it wasn’t a good experience. I’m sure he’s a great policeman, of the old school. But, well, I’m glad to be at the other end of the country. Except for now… Look, about that favour. Rachel’s body has gone for the PM. I really need to know the cause of death. Ninety-nine to one it was drowning. Only… Yes, you’re right. Let’s say there’s an element of doubt. In my mind, anyway. Possibly in Malham’s. I think DI Harland just wants to wrap it up and put it in the archives. Case solved… Will you? Oh, thanks. You’re a star. Right, Ian. Give my love to the guys. Only … I’d rather you didn’t mention to Bill that you’ve talked to me. Or that I’m here. Cheers.”

  She closed the phone. She knew from the tenseness of her knuckles that she had done something dangerous. Was it interfering in a police investigation that was none of her professional business? Was she building Valerie’s warning out of all proportion? Or was it stirring old and painful, even threatening, memories?

  Aidan drew back the curtains and his heart gave a leap of joy. Today was just such a morning as he had imagined on Lindisfarne. The early sun was illuminating little white clouds in a lively blue sky. Across the fields, he could just make out the curling foam on the running waves. There was a touch of gold in the light.

  His feet touched the floor, almost before he thought of getting out of bed. His hands were hungry for his camera while there was still this crystalline quality in the air. He splashed cold water over his face and pulled on his clothes. Shorts and sweatshirt.

  Then the truth struck home. He was astonished and appalled that he had not thought about it until now.

  Rachel was dead. An unhappy girl driven to death, for who knew what reason. It was terrible that she should come here, of all places, and not find peace.

  Could she really have met something worse, on these light-filled sands?

  Lucy was the only person he had confessed his fears to. He still sensed that she disapproved of him, after that stupid outburst of temper the first evening. He could have dispelled that in an instant by telling her the real reason why he and Melangell were here without Jenny. She was a minister of religion, used to dealing with death. It should have been possible to tell her, more than most, that his wife had died. But it was still too raw, too painful. He could not cope with the sympathy of strangers.

  He opened Melangell’s door softly. She was asleep on her side, small pointed features outlined against the pillow. Tousled curls made a halo round her head. He closed the door. He would be back in good time to get her up for breakfast.

  The air outside felt wonderfully fresh. It was a perfect spring morning.

  He started to walk towards the shore. As his feet found a sandy footpath, echoes of yesterday were coming back to him. Lucy in the hallway below him. Brother Simon warning her, “Be careful.”

  He pushed the thought away and got out his Nikon. The sparkling beauty of the morning around him was maddeningly elusive. Quartz flashed in the sand. Crushed fragments of seashells, in a rainbow palette of colour. The bending grass. The swing of gulls. Ripples curling over the stones of the beach on
an incoming tide. How could he capture the dance of delight in a single static image? A slow shutter speed that would give him the blurred flutter of wings? Or the sharp clarity of white pinions feathered against the blue?

  He focused on the beach towards Hobthrush Island.

  Into the frame of his viewfinder a figure came jogging.

  At once, Aidan let the camera fall to his chest. His face warmed with embarrassment. Had she seen him? Two days in a row. He had deliberately taken a different direction this morning. Yet so, apparently, had she. Would she think he had come down to this beach on purpose to photograph her morning run?

  He remembered now that earlier meeting. Lucy had not just been jogging for exercise. She had confessed, almost shamefacedly, that this was the way she found it best to pray.

  He tried to imagine it. The interaction of the balls of her feet with the earth beneath her. The lungfuls of God’s good air. The energy that multiplied itself through physical exertion. The sense of exhilaration.

  His mind flew back to Brother Simon’s warning.

  What could Lucy Pargeter have to fear here on Lindisfarne?

  What did it have to do with Rachel?

  He saw her check. She had spotted him. She must be resenting him for interrupting this precious private interlude before the day began and she had to assume the responsibilities of leader.

  She came on, running steadily towards him. Navy blue tracksuit, white shirt.

  “Hello,” she panted. She leaned over, her hands on her thighs, while she caught her breath.

  “Good morning.” He gestured awkwardly at his camera. “I wasn’t out here to snap you, honestly. I just thought this morning was too perfect to miss.”

  “I know. It should be paradise, shouldn’t it?”

  He hesitated. “Is it over? The police investigation, I mean. If the inspector’s decided it’s suicide, they won’t be back, will they?”