Song of a Dark Angel

reparation.'
    Corbett saw that the prioress was so agitated she was on the verge of fainting again.
    'One more question?' he asked.
    She nodded.
    'Does anyone else know the story of the fugitive?'
    She shook her head. 'No one knows. The chronicle is kept hidden. Only the prioress is allowed to read it. As for the chalice' – she shrugged – 'it is now part of our treasure. No one comments on it.' She touched Corbett's wrist; her fingers felt cold as ice. 'But, please,' she murmured, 'get rid of that terrible thing!'
    Corbett and Ranulf took the skeleton out and placed it in a long, wooden box they found in the sacristy. They sealed the lid and, preceded by a trembling prioress, carried the coffin out into the deserted cemetery. In a small outhouse Ranulf found a pick and shovel. A shallow grave was dug and the coffin lowered. Once it was finished, Dame Cecily gave Corbett her solemn word that, at an appropriate time, a cross would be erected there and Masses sung for Alan's soul.
    'The poor bugger will need it!' Ranulf whispered as they went back to the stable yard to collect their horses.
    Corbett paused. 'I wonder!' he exclaimed.
    'Wonder about what, Master – the chalice?'
    Corbett grinned. 'No, let the convent keep that. I am wondering about the priest, Father James, and Alan of the Marsh's involvement in his disappearance.'
    Ranulf kicked the ground with the toe of his boot.
    'I don't know; there's a deeper mystery here. I still think we should take that cup.'
    Corbett laughed softly. 'It's a chalice, Ranulf, a sacred vessel. It is where it should be! Edward would only give it to Surrey. Now come, let's go!'
    They found Maltote warming himself in the smithy. He demanded to know why they had been so long. Ranulf shook his head, raising a finger to his lips as a sign for silence until they had left the convent.
    Once out on the moors, Corbett halted and looked back at the convent.
    'Nothing,' he murmured, 'is what it seems to be. Who would guess that a house dedicated to prayer and God's work could harbour such dreadful secrets?'
    'We have done some good,' Ranulf replied with a smile. 'We have exorcized a ghost, discovered the truth and given that arrogant woman a lesson she'll never forget as long as she lives!'
    And, as Corbett urged them on, Ranulf pulled back to whisper to Maltote what they had discovered at the convent. Corbett rode ahead, lost in his own thoughts. He didn't take the path back to the manor but rode to the cliff top. He paused for a while, staring down at the beach, watching the waves sweep in and recalled how he had nearly met his death there. He sat, letting the spray-soaked wind whip his face and hair whilst brooding on what he had learnt.
    'Master, where to now?' Ranulf called. 'What do we do next?'
    Corbett stared down at the grey mass of heaving sea.
    'Master,' Ranulf persisted. 'Is it finished? Do you know where the rest of the treasure is?'
    Corbett turned his horse's head and winked at them.
    'It's beneath our noses,' he replied cryptically. 'Right beneath our noses and has been all the time. But, come, it's back to Mortlake Manor. We have to trap a murderer!'
    He spurred his horse into a gallop across the moor, on to the path skirting the village and into Mortlake Manor.
    Once there Corbett became infuriatingly absent-minded. He went to the buttery for something to eat and drink and then back to his chamber. He took out pumice stone, ink horn and quill and a small roll of parchment and began to write furiously, listing everything he knew. He refused to answer Ranulf's questions. Now and again he would look up, stare into space and tap the quill against his cheek. He'd make some exclamation and go back to his writing. Only once did he break off, to ask Ranulf to bring to him the dead Cerdic's shirt. He scrutinized this, muttered to himself and went back to his writing. Ranulf had seen him like this before.
    'Old Master Long Face is in one of his moods – he's as miserable as sin,' he whispered to Maltote. 'He is setting his traps.'
    At last Corbett was finished. He rose and stretched, trying to force the cramp from his tired back.
    'What now, Master, what now?' Ranulf asked.
    'Go down to the hall. Give Sir Simon my regards. Tell him that I would like to dine tonight with him and his wife. He is to invite those who attended our first dinner here.' He paused. 'And one extra guest.'
    'Who?'
    'Fourbour the baker.' Corbett went across to the table and poured himself half a goblet of