Song of a Dark Angel

Agnes was a hardy soul.'
    'What position did she hold?'
    'She was our treasurer.'
    'Did you investigate her death?'
    'Yes. Sir Simon came, as did Master Monck. They examined the headland, but found no marks to suggest anything but that Agnes slipped and fell.'
    'So there was nothing suspicious about her death?' Corbett asked.
    'Nothing whatsoever. We found her corpse on the rocks below and she now lies buried in our graveyard, God rest her!'
    'And Cerdic?'
    'Oh, he came one morning. He stayed for Mass, saw round our church then left.' 'Is that all?' 'Of course.'
    'And the baker's wife,' Corbett asked. 'Amelia Fourbour?'
    'Poor woman, she would often ride past our gates.' Dame Cecily played with the gold bracelet around her plump wrist. 'But we knew nothing about her.'
    Corbett sensed he would get no further. He finished his wine and placed the goblet gently on the table beside him.
    'Dame Cecily, I ride to Walsingham. His Grace the King will be pleased at the hospitality you have offered me.'
    Dame Cecily's lips smiled, but her eyes were puzzled.
    'I would like to stay here,' Corbett explained, 'in your guest house.'
    The prioress clapped her hands girlishly. 'Of course, you will be our welcome guest.'
    Corbett thanked her, withdrew and went back to the stables. He told the groom that he would be back in the hour -he needed to ride, relax and marshal his thoughts. Once outside the convent he turned his horse's head in the direction of the headland, determined to make use of the dying day's light. First he found the long, winding path leading down to the beach. He hobbled his horse and went downwards. However, the mist was growing thicker and the tide was racing in, beating against the rocks at the foot of the cliffs. He went back and led his horse along the cliff edge, turning his head sideways against the buffeting wind. He walked carefully because the ground was treacherous. He passed the convent where it nestled in a small hollow, a sprawling collection of buildings behind its curtain wall. He continued along the headland and gazed out over the sea. The wind was even stronger here. His horse became nervous, so he left it to crop the grass, and went back to the spot where Sister Agnes must have stood. Darkness was falling. He was glad that he had a warm bed to go to – the night would be black, without stars or moon, and the wind, which snatched at his hair and stung his eyes, would grow stronger.
    He stood for a while. He could understand how Sister Agnes could have slipped, but what was a middle-aged nun doing out at night staring across the sea? Just what were the mysteries of these parts? Why had Monck and Cerdic come here? Corbett was about to turn away when he glimpsed a faint light on the sea. He stared and realized that, in spite of the mist and the loneliness, the sea roads beyond the horizon would be very busy, with cogs and fishing smacks sailing to and from Hull and other eastern ports and the many fishing villages clustered along the coast. Corbett walked further along, away from the convent, noticing how the cliffs turned in a series of little bays and natural harbours. Satisfied, he collected his horse and went back to the convent. He watched the groom unsaddle and stable the horse for the night and slipped the man a coin.
    'Take good care of my horse,' he urged. 'Tomorrow I have to travel far and fast.'
    'Where to, sir?'
    'Walsingham.'
    The man scratched his head. 'You'd best go back to the village and find the road from there. If you keep to it and the weather is fair, you should be at Walsingham by the afternoon.'
    Corbett thanked him. 'Oh, by the way, Sister Agnes, the nun who fell-'
    'God rest her, sir, I knew her well.'
    'Did she often go out for walks along the cliff top?'
    'Oh no, just occasionally. Always very careful she was, carried her staff and lantern but, there again, she was such a busy woman.' The groom gave a gap-toothed grin. 'A busy hive this convent, what with its farms, its sheep and its wool.'
    'But there was no pattern to her leaving?' Corbett asked.
    'Why?' The man became more defensive. 'Sister Agnes came and went as she pleased. I tell you this, sir, I was born in these parts and they be treacherous. The cliffs are made of chalk and can crumble. On the moors be marsh which will trap a horse and rider. And above all there's the tides – after heavy rain and in high winds the sea can race in faster than a greyhound.'
    Corbett thanked him and went back into the convent. One