A Finer End

Jack, or one of us, is present. If he won’t agree to that, tell him you insist on legal representation. That means he can’t talk to you without your lawyer present. Got that?’
    ‘But I don’t have a lawyer!’
    Kincaid turned to Jack. ‘Is there someone you can call?’
    ‘An old school friend. She’s one of the best solicitors in the county.’
    ‘Why don’t you do that, just alert her to the situation?’
    As Jack went to make his phone call. Gemma guided Faith to the pot simmering on the cooker, and in a moment had the girl detailing the ingredients.
    Crisis defused temporarily, Kincaid thought with relief, but what sort of idiotic thing had he just done? He had known even as he offered his support that he was placing himself in a precariously biased position. But something about this girl seemed to bring everyone’s protective instincts to the fore. Except DCI Greely’s, it seemed.
    The doorbell rang. The murmur of Jack’s voice came from the next room, so Kincaid went to the door, girding himself to do discreet battle with DCI Greely.
    But it was a man he hadn’t seen before, of middle age, dressed in cardigan and tweeds, with a rather unkempt mane of grey hair.
    ‘Jack? Oh, sorry. Is Jack in?’
    ‘I‘m his cousin, Duncan Kincaid. Jack’s on the phone just now, but if you’ll come in, he’ll be free in a moment.’
    ‘Simon Fitzstephen.’
    Kincaid shook his hand with genuine pleasure. ‘Jack speaks very highly of you,’ he said as he took Fitzstephen into the kitchen.
    Faith looked up from her cooking and smiled. ‘Simon! I’ve made some soup, if you can stay for a meal.’
    ‘Yes, I’d like that,’ Fitzstephen said, pecking her cheek, then he greeted Gemma as Kincaid introduced her. ‘I’ve got some news for you all, when Jack’s free. Is Nick coming?’
    ‘He hasn’t rung.’ There was a quaver in Faith’s voice.
    ‘The police have been questioning Nick,’ Kincaid told Fitzstephen.
    Fitzstephen glanced at Faith. ‘About Garnet?’
    ‘I’m afraid so,’ Kincaid replied. ‘But they released him this afternoon. Not enough evidence to bring a charge.’
    ‘Simon! I thought I heard your voice. Good to see you.’ Jack searched his friend’s face. ‘Are you all right?’
    ‘A bit of company wouldn’t come amiss.’ Fitzste-phen’s smile seemed strained. ‘Faith’s asked me to stay for a meal. But that’s not the main reason I came. I’ve something to tell you. I wanted us all here, but I suppose we won’t wait for Nick, as we’ve no way to reach him. And Garnet--’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve made some rather astounding progress in my research today. It seems that in 1082 Abbot Thurstan hired a mason called Hamlyn to do repairs to the Abbey church.’ He had their complete attention. ‘Very iffy, yes? A mere possibility of a connection. But twenty years later, one Alys Montfort made a fine gift to the Abbey, with a stipulation that it be recorded using her maiden name as well, which was Hamlyn.’
    ‘Edmund’s Alys?’ breathed Jack.
    ‘That would be my guess.’
    ‘So there was a connection with my family — surely it was my family?’
    ‘I think we can safely assume so,’ agreed Simon. ‘Although I haven’t managed to trace all the links yet. And I think we can assume that Alys Montfort wanted someone at the Abbey to remember the girl she had been. What if we also assume that Edmund made a copy of his precious chant, and gave it to Alys for safe keeping?’
    ‘You think the chant was passed down through my family,’ Jack said softly.
    ‘I think,’ Simon answered gravely, ‘that the chant might be in this very house.’
     
    Winnie awakened to find Fiona Allen sitting by her bedside, watching her intently.
    ‘Fiona!’
    ‘You can’t imagine how good it is to hear you speak. I couldn’t just take Jack’s word for it.’
    ‘If it weren’t for you...’
    ‘I only did what I was prompted to do. There’s no need for you to feel grateful to me.’ Eyes twinkling, Fiona added, ‘Maybe your God had something to do with it.’
    ‘How did you happen to find me?’
    ‘I was painting. When I got to a stopping point, I went for a walk, and there you were in the road.’ Fiona shrugged. ‘Simple enough, on the surface. But to tell the truth, it was a very odd night. I painted the Abbey, which I’ve never done in all the years I’ve been in Glastonbury. And when I went out, it was as if something were hanging in the balance.’
    Winnie