Cuthbert's Way (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #17)(77)

“They’re the last things he would leave behind,” Ryan agreed.

Phillips thought about mentioning the basement area they’d uncovered during an initial search of Houghall Hall, but decided against it, on compassionate grounds. The place had been kitted out as a kind of fantasy dungeon devoted to Cuthbert; a replica of Inner Farne, with giant murals of the sea, speakers and even a tiny stone hut, built to resemble Cuthbert’s hermitage. There’d been wigs and masks—horrifying masks, made especially to resemble the face of the dead saint—and stacks of notebooks containing information about people he planned to ‘convert’.

Ryan didn’t need to know about any of that, or the extent of Chatterley’s obsession; not when he was doing all he could to hold himself together and stay strong.

“What can you tell me about the coat of arms I found on the wall of the cave?”

“It belongs to the De Villiers family,” Phillips said. “It’s one of the most ancient names in the UK, dating back to Norman times, so I had a look at the College of Arms website and managed to find it in the ‘Old and Illustrious’ section.”

At another time, he might have joked about there being no ‘Phillips’ listed in that section, but not today.

“What does the De Villiers family have to do with Cuthbert?” Ryan asked.

“I had a look through that folder Anna put together for you, and there was a link to a website about the monastic history of Britain. On there, you can see a list of all the names of the monks recorded as being a member of each monastery, the dates of their deaths and whatnot. It’s a bit hit and miss, at times, but—”

“Was De Villiers on there?”

“He was,” Phillips was pleased to say. “Edward De Villiers was a monk at the monastery in Durham his whole life. He died there in December 1537, which is also when King Henry VIII’s Commissioners were said to have paid a visit to the Cathedral, and…”

“When, according to Cuthbert’s Code, the saint’s body was switched with that of a recently deceased monk.”

“Bingo.”

“What’s the connection with Wooler?” Ryan wondered.

“From what I can gather, Edward De Villiers came from an aristocratic family and there’s an old listing for a manor house owned by the family near to Wooler. St. Mary’s Church would have been nearby—perhaps the De Villiers used it as their family chapel.”

“So, if the legend is to be believed, rather than sending Edward De Villiers home to be buried with his family in Wooler, they may have switched the bodies, which means that it could be Cuthbert’s remains buried in the De Villiers family crypt, and not Edward’s?”

“It seems that way,” Phillips said. “What are we going to do about it?”

Ryan was already on the road to Wooler, to see the grave site for himself.

“Chatterley wants the remains by nine o’clock,” he said. “If it means getting my wife back, then I’ll do whatever it takes, Frank.”





CHAPTER 41


Wooler was a small town on the edge of the Northumberland National Park, often referred to as the “Gateway to the Cheviots” given its close proximity to the Cheviot Hills, which were a walkers’ paradise with their waterfalls and gorges, peaks and troughs. The town itself was another calling point on the ‘Cuthbert’s Way’ walking route, and attracted plenty of tourists who shared an appreciation of the Great Outdoors and of ancient landscapes. On another day, Ryan might have enjoyed the sight of the hills rising up towards the darkening sky, which was a melting pot of deep blues and lilacs as day turned into night. He might have smiled at the Christmas lights, which spanned the High Street of the town, or admired the tall Christmas tree that held pride of place in the town square.

But he thought none of these things—he thought only of Anna.

St. Mary’s Church was situated in the centre of the town and, though a supermarket chain and other shops might not have been there when its foundation stone was laid, it retained a quaint charm, especially at that time of year. Phillips had told him that although the present church was built in 1764, the remains of stonework from the twelfth century had been uncovered some years earlier, and the churchyard contained a number of graves dating from the same time period.

It was almost six-thirty, by the time Ryan made his way into the churchyard, armed once again with a powerful torch to help him see in the velvety darkness. There had been no time to try to source a map of the graveyard, so Ryan scanned the area for the oldest looking stones and made a start there.

Unfortunately, the stonework was so old, it was impossible to read the wording, the facing having eroded over the centuries.

As he walked the rows, Ryan’s foot met with something firmer than fertile grass. It was a rectangular slab of black marble, noticeably different in quality to some of the other corroded stones around it, and it caught Ryan’s attention. Trailing plants and tufts of grass had grown between its cracks, and he propped the torch on the ground nearby, so he could kneel down and clear away the detritus to see the carving beneath, which read:



“Here lieth the remains of our most esteemed brother, Edward, whose sacrifice hath made him the most glorious of God’s servants.”

d. December 1537