The Treason of the Ghosts

whispered at Sir
Louis to look after Parson Grimstone. He led the two clerks down the stairs,
not saying anything until they were out in the cold night air.
    ‘It’s
Curate Robert,’ he whispered. ‘He’s hanged himself.’
    They
hastened across the marketplace and through the dark entrance of the church.
Burghesh grasped a spluttering sconce torch just inside the porch and led them
into the bell tower. In the poor light the curate’s corpse, swaying slightly on
the end of a bell rope, sent the shadows dancing.
    ‘I
didn’t cut him down. I came in, lit the torch and...’
    Corbett
ordered Ranulf to bring candles from the sanctuary. These were hurriedly lit to
reveal the full garish scene. Curate Robert dressed in his gown and sandals,
hung, hands down, neck twisted. His face was pallid, mouth open, tongue
slightly out, eyes staring in a look of horror. Corbett went up the steps and
pulled the swaying body towards him. The knot had been expertly tied behind the
curate’s left ear.
    Using
his dagger, Corbett prised the knot loose. Ranulf and Burghesh took the corpse
and laid it out on the cold flagstones outside the bell tower. Corbett grasped
a torch and moved further up the steps. The tower was dark and freezing. He
heard the squeak of rats, their scampering feet further up the darkness. He
looked into a large window embrasure and, going back down, carefully examined
the other three bell ropes. Each had a heavy weight tied to the bottom to keep
it secure. The one Bellen had used had its weight removed. Corbett found this
behind the door of the tower.
    ‘Master!’
    Corbett
went out. Ranulf handed him a piece of parchment.
    ‘This
was up the cuff of his gown.’
    Corbett
undid the piece of crumpled parchment.
    ‘It’s
a quotation from the Psalms,’ he remarked. ‘ “ I have
sinned and my sins are always before me.“ ‘
    He
went and knelt over the corpse, made the sign of the cross and said a quick
prayer.
    ‘Is
it suicide?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘It
must have been.’ Burghesh pointed to the door of the bell tower, a set of keys hung
in the outside lock. ‘He must have waited till we’d gone, came in, locked the
door be hin d him and went up into the bell tower. He removed a weight,
tied the rope round his neck and then simply jumped off the steps.’
    ‘And
that caused the bells to ring?’ Corbett asked.
    Burghesh
nodded. ‘It would be swiftly done. Look!’
    He
led them back into the bell tower, grasped the rope and climbed the steps. He
then jumped down, clearing three or four steps, holding on to the rope and, as
he did, the bell clashed and clanged above him.
    ‘You
probably heard them ring again,’ he added. ‘That’s when I came in. I tugged on
the corpse, feeling for a life pulse in his neck or wrist. There was nothing so
I hastened back to the Guildhall.’
    ‘He’ll
need the last rites,’ Corbett declared. ‘You’d best get Parson Grimstone.’
    ‘He’s
in his cups.’
    ‘He’s
still a priest,’ Corbett replied. ‘And he’s the only one we have. Master
Burghesh, I would be grateful if you’d do what I ask!’
    Corbett
waited until he had gone and closed the door behind him. He went back into the
bell tower and scrutinised the bell rope and steps before returning to kneel
beside the corpse. He examined the red weal round the neck and then the
curate’s wrists. The corpse was not yet cold.
    ‘Do
you think it was suicide?’ Ranulf asked.
    Corbett
turned the body over. He could find no other wound or cut except that ugly scar
round the throat.
    ‘It
must have been,’ he declared. ‘Bellen came in here.’ He sniffed at the man’s
mouth. ‘He’d drunk some wine, then God knows what
happened. Perhaps this cold darkness finally tipped his wits? There was no
struggle, no sign of binding round the wrists or a blow to the head. Master
Burghesh is correct, Curate Robert must have come in
here intending suicide.’ He tapped the piece of parchment lying beside the
corpse. ‘He put this into the cuff of his sleeve, made
sure the church door was locked and went into the bell tower.’ Corbett paused.
‘He then removed the weight from one of the ropes, tied the rope round his
neck, climbed the steps and jumped: that’s the bell we heard. Burghesh came
across and discovered the corpse.’
    ‘Could
Bellen have been the murderer?’ Ranulf declared. ‘He was strong enough to kill
Molkyn and Thorkle and, being a priest who visits parishioners, would know
about the squint hole