Storm clouds had quickly gathered over Larkwood and by late evening large drops of rain threw themselves in heavy snatches upon its walls. A wind was gathering strength, threatening to wrestle old trees through the night.
Anselm and Father Andrew sat either side of a great round window overlooking the cloister. Anselm gave a precis of all he’d learned since departing for Rome, situating the nature of the task that had been entrusted to him – the finding of Victor Brionne. The Prior listened intently
‘A pattern of sorts emerges,’ said Anselm in conclusion. ‘Monsignor Renaldi can only look to logic – the Priory must have known something of great importance, outweighing whatever Schwermann and Brionne may have done, otherwise they would never have helped them. And that is broadly supported by the oral tradition of the Priory, which remembers Schwermann was hidden because of some undisclosed noble conduct – something effectively repeated this afternoon by his grandson, who got it from the mouth of the person most intimately concerned: Father Andrew slowly repeated the troubling words, “‘He risked his life in order to save life”… it’s a crafted phrase, a jingle… it disguises as much as it displays.’
‘At least it gives us some idea as to why the monks at Les Moineaux helped him escape,’ said Anselm.
‘But why does he want the secret brought out into the open by Victor Brionne? Why not speak up for himself?’
‘The two of them belong together-’
‘As if they are two parts of the same, torn ticket,’ interjected the Prior. He added, ‘That was quick footwork, by the way, to get Max Nightingale to tell us when they’ve found him.’
Anselm wasn’t sure if that was a compliment. The Prior went on: ‘So what do you do now – wait?’
‘Not quite. A private detective can only open so many doors. Max’s candour is just one string to my bow’
‘You have another?’
‘Yes. I think so.’
Father Andrew fell into an abstraction and said, ‘Maybe one day they’ll make you a Cardinal.’
Later that night Anselm heard the bells for which he had longed; he sang psalms that named the motions of his soul; but, to his faint alarm, he did not find himself in quite the same place that he had left. Or rather, a slightly different person had come back to Larkwood, not entirely known, even to himself, and he didn’t know why