Song of a Dark Angel

at it as a logical problem, then,' Corbett said. 'You know the convent better than I do, Dame Cecily. Where would you hide a man in a community of women?'
    She shrugged. 'He could have become one of the workers on our farm?'
    Corbett laughed. 'I hardly think so. First, Alan of the Marsh was well known in the area. Secondly, the then prioress must have been very eager to keep him away from prying eyes.'
    'I don't know!' Dame Cecily wailed. 'As God is my witness, Sir Hugh, I do not know!'
    Corbett steepled his fingers. 'Do you still have the right of sanctuary?'
    Dame Cecily swallowed hard.
    'Well, do you?' Corbett snapped.
    'Our house surrendered it.'
    'When?'
    'In 1228.'
    Corbett smiled. 'And before that, when someone claimed sanctuary, where would they have stayed?'
    Dame Cecily rose to her feet. 'Sir Hugh, I think you had better come with me.'
    Corbett raised his eyes at Ranulf as they followed the anxious prioress out of her chamber, along the galleries, across the cloisters and into the empty chapel. Corbett stared around in amazement at the soaring nave, wide transepts and beautifully carved rood screen. Dame Cecily took them into the sanctuary, where the floor was of Purbeck marble and the white altar glistened in the light of burning candles. The sanctuary was dominated by long, stained-glass windows and, high in the wall, on either side, stood stalls of gleaming oak. An intricately carved wooden statue of the Virgin and child stood in the far corner. Dame Cecily genuflected before the winking sanctuary lamp.
    'Look over there!' She pointed.
    Corbett stared at the wall; he noticed that one small section of it, level with his eyes, had, at some time in its history, been plastered and carefully painted. There was a similar, but much larger, patch at the base of the wall.
    'What was this?' Corbett asked.
    'An anchorite's cell,' Dame Cecily said. 'A small recess built into the wall with a small door for the hermit to crawl through and a squint hole through which she could see out. In the early days of our house there would always be an anchorite living in that cell. She would fast and pray, participating in the services by peering through the squint hole. The sisters would leave bread and water outside the door. As the years passed, this practice ceased.'
    I am sure it did, Corbett thought, staring at the prioress's plump face, her gold trimmed head-dress and pure woollen gown.
    'And what happened then?'
    'After a while there was no anchorite and Hunstanton became a lawless place.'
    At least Dame Cecily had the courtesy to blush with embarrassment.
    'The convent was designated a place of sanctuary. Fugitives could shelter here, within the chapel for forty days, after which they would have to give themselves up.' Dame Cecily drew in her breath and stared at the wall. 'There are rumours,' she murmured as if speaking to herself.
    'Rumours about what?' Corbett asked.
    'Ghosts. I have never liked this place.'
    'Then let's exorcize these ghosts,' Corbett replied. 'Ranulf, go with the prioress. Bring back hammers and chisels and let's see what we can find. Oh, and Dame Cecily, let's keep this secret between ourselves. So, when you return, lock and bar the chapel.'
    Dame Cecily waddled away, completely subdued, Ranulf walking beside her. Corbett went and stared up at the face of the Virgin; the baby she held stared serenely back with innocent eyes.
    'Sweet Lord!' Corbett breathed. 'The sights you have to see.'
    He took a taper from a small recess and lit a candle on the iron stand before the Virgin. Kneeling down, he prayed that he would finish this business and return safely to Maeve and Eleanor in London.
    He sat back on his heels, revelling in the peace and serenity of the chapel. He started as the door was abruptly thrown open and Ranulf came swaggering back up the chapel, a leather bag clutched in his hand. Behind him, Dame Cecily locked and barred the chapel door and came hurrying up. Ranulf undid the bag. He brought out a long, wooden mallet with a great iron head. Corbett pointed to the plaster near the floor.
    'Start there, Ranulf. I am sure you'll find a door.'
    Ranulf pulled his sleeves up and set to with a relish. Corbett and the prioress walked away. Dame Cecily moaned softly as Ranulf swung the great mallet backwards and forwards against the wall in a cloud of dust and fragmenting plaster. Corbett, coughing and spluttering, told him to stop. Corbett examined the wall.
    'We'll soon be through,' he commented.