Cuthbert's Way (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #17)(81)
Only then did he break down, pouring his heart out to the wind as he wept for all that could have been lost, and for all that had been saved.
CHAPTER 43
Christmas Day
It had often been said that the sea was a cruel mistress, who did not like to be scorned.
Though Mother Nature had been unable to claim Anna that night on the causeway, she had claimed another soul, instead.
William Chatterley’s joy at having been united with Cuthbert’s bones was short-lived, and dissipated as soon as he opened Ryan’s leather holdall. For, rather than containing the precious relics that he believed would cure the cancer in his brain, the bag contained nothing more than a collection of trainers and gym gear, which Ryan had thrown in the boot of his car the previous day, in anticipation of some lunchtime running sessions with Phillips.
There had been nothing to live for, then; no hope of a miracle, and William had experienced another epiphany.
It was all meant to be—and in accordance with Cuthbert’s plan.
Why else bring him to Lindisfarne, where he had been bishop, and why else steer the boat out towards Inner Farne, where Cuthbert himself had died? It would be a fitting end to a distinguished life and perhaps, one day, others would look upon him as they looked upon Cuthbert.
Yes, he could see it now.
So engrossed was he, in the fantasy of his own veneration, that William Chatterley was too late to avoid the jagged rocks which lurked beneath the shallows, ready to claim their next sailor.
There had been an almighty crunch of metal, then the boat tipped up at the bow, once, before capsizing into the water to join its fellows on the sea bed.
Shipwreck divers were deployed in the aftermath of the accident, and their discovery of Cuthbert’s original pectoral cross made worldwide news, before it was restored to its rightful place in the Open Treasures Gallery of Durham Cathedral. Upon his return from a week’s holiday in the Canary Islands, Mike Nevis, the Head of Security, was tasked with designing an even more elaborate system, to deter any would-be thieves who’d been inspired by one man’s obsession.
“It’s been a right ol’ year, hasn’t it?” Phillips declared, as he whipped up his special Yorkshire pudding mix, ahead of a Christmas feast, fit to end all feasts.
“You can say that again,” MacKenzie said, as she added the finishing touches to an enormous Black Forest gateau. “I think we’re all ready for the Christmas break.”
“And to spend it with good friends, and family,” Anna said, coming to slide an arm around them both. “I’m so glad you could join us.”
MacKenzie laid her head briefly on Anna’s shoulder.
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said, then glanced over her shoulder to where Samantha was presently fleecing Charles for all he was worth on the Monopoly board.
“Another hotel?” he said, weakly. “What if I only want to stay in a hostel?”
“Bad luck, grandpa,” Sam giggled. “Let’s see the colour of your money.”
Charles tried to hide a smile, but failed, since he was enjoying every moment.
“You just wait until I get the Cluedo board out,” he warned her. “Then we’ll see.”
Samantha smiled indulgently, and wondered when the grown-ups would ever learn.
*
Later, when Charles and Phillips both snored in tuneful abandon from the comfort of their armchairs, and the baby slept upstairs, the others settled down to enjoy the last few hours of what had been a wonderful day.
“I was wondering about something,” Ryan said. “It’s to do with the gravesite I found, supposedly belonging to Edward De Villiers. You know the story about how the switch of the bodies could have been made, which means, in theory, that’s Cuthbert lying in St. Mary’s churchyard. I was wondering whether that’s something people would want to know. Is it a secret that should be kept?”
Anna frowned, thinking through all that Ryan had told her before, and the timing of Edward De Villiers’ death.
“There is another theory,” she said, slowly.
All heads turned in her direction.
“I was thinking over this idea of the monks having switched Edward and Cuthbert’s bodies, so that Edward’s body is the one lying inside Cuthbert’s Shrine at the Cathedral, and vice versa—Cuthbert’s remains occupying Edward’s gravesite in Wooler,” she said. “The thing is, it would have been much more fitting for the monks to have tried to keep Cuthbert’s remains on-site at Durham, which is where, legend has it, he always wanted to rest. It would have seemed sacrilegious, I think, to have buried him in another monk’s grave.”
“What are you saying?” Ryan asked. “That he never left Durham? There’s always a possibility the Code is a load of nonsense.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “Perhaps, not. You see, back in the sixteenth century, there were certain formal rites that were followed after a monk died, including time spent in the ‘Dead Man’s Chamber’ and then in the chapel, where the other monks would pray over his body. At the end of it all, the monk was buried in an unmarked graveyard along with all his brothers before him, there at the cathedral.”
Ryan began to see her line of thought, and was intrigued.
“So, let’s say Edward died around the same time Henry’s commissioners turned up—the monks might have taken the opportunity to protect Cuthbert’s remains by transplanting him into a grave intended for a monk who’d recently died. Is that what you mean?”