Watchers of Time - Charles Todd [41]
“Yes, I had noticed. Is this considered advice? Or an offering to the gods to keep you safely in Norwich?”
Opening the vestry door, Monsignor Holston smiled. “Yes, there’s that. I don’t mind coming here for the services. I just don’t have a fancy for staying.”
“I should think with Walsh’s capture that much of the strain would begin to dissipate.” To soften the remark, Rutledge added, “Although that will take time, I’m sure.”
Monsignor Holston shook his head. “There’s still something in that house”—he gestured toward the unseen rectory—“that would keep me awake at night!”
“The coffin door knocker, for one?” It was said lightly.
The smile returned. “That was a bit of whimsy on some Victorian priest’s part. A reminder that dust to dust is everyone’s fate.” He took off his robes and laid them carefully in the small black case on the table. After a moment he said, “I was surprised to see you still here, Inspector. I had thought you’d go back to London, duty done.”
“I had every intention of going,” Rutledge answered. “But Inspector Blevins has asked me to stay on a day or two. Until they are sure that this man Walsh is the one they want. They only brought him in yesterday, and there’s still a great deal to find out about his movements.”
Monsignor Holston nodded. “Blevins spoke to the Bishop last night. ‘Early days’ was what he said, but I think he’s very hopeful. Bishop Cunningham asked to be kept informed.”
“Blevins would also like to see this ended.” Rutledge paused, watching Monsignor Holston as he added the consecrated wafers to his case and closed the lid. As they walked out the vestry door into a spreading patch of sunlight, he said, “I’m just going to the hotel to see about a room. Will you join me for lunch?”
Monsignor Holston sighed. “I’d like that very much. But I have to be back in Norwich for a service tonight. If you’re here next Sunday, I’ll accept.”
“If I’m still here,” Rutledge agreed. “Where did you leave your motorcar?”
“Behind the rectory. Look, if you are staying on here, will you keep me apprised of the situation? I’m sure Inspector Blevins will have his hands full. And—I’d appreciate it.”
“Yes, I will.”
And Monsignor Holston was gone, hurrying around the apse into the churchyard, lifting a hand in farewell as he disappeared in the direction of the rectory.
Hamish said, “He left with indecent haste.”
“Yes. I don’t know what he’s afraid of, but Monsignor Holston is a man looking over his shoulder. He wanted me to come inside with him because he didn’t want to be in that church alone. At a guess I’d say he’s not sure the evidence against Walsh will stand.”
“Aye,” Hamish said thoughtfully. “There’re ghosts there. But of his making or are they real?”
“I wish I knew!” Rutledge answered, walking back to his own motorcar.
The Osterley Hotel had once been grander, when the town was closer to the sea. Now it offered comfort to what travelers there were and to families and merchants staying for market day. Rutledge thought it might also be the only lodging within several miles where townspeople could put up guests.
The hotel stood on Water Street, where the road ran along the quay, and was built of the ubiquitous flint, three stories with windows looking out over the marshes or onto a courtyard at the side of the building, where carriages and motorcars could be left.
The woman who came to the desk as he entered was nearing fifty, he thought, her graying hair tidily pulled back into a soft knot at the nape of her neck. Clear gray eyes met his when he asked for a room. “For the night?”
“For several days,” he said.
She nodded, pleased. “There’s a nice view of the sea from number seventeen. If you have keen eyesight,” she added with a smile. “What brings you to Osterley? We don’t get many holiday-makers this time of year.”
“A matter of business,” he said pleasantly. “When did the sea recede?”