“All right, so the church has ghosts and Mr. Firth wanted their pictures.” Barrett sounds as if he’s skeptical too but suspending judgment in the interest of getting the whole story from Mr. Nugent. “That was all it took for you to give him the key and say, ‘Have at it’?”
Even as Mr. Nugent flinches, he rallies to his own defense. “It may sound stupid to you, but St. Peter’s really is haunted—by the ghosts of people who died in 1832.”
Reverend Thornton stops pacing. “Nonsense! St. Peter’s wasn’t even built until 1840, which you well know.”
Shrinking from the vicar’s disapproval, Mr. Nugent explains to Barrett and me. “In 1832, there was a cholera epidemic in London. More than three thousand people died. There were so many bodies that needed to be buried quickly that the cemeteries couldn’t accommodate them all. They were buried together in pits. One of the cholera pits was on the future grounds of St. Peter’s. Ever since then, many people have sighted the ghosts of the dead, wandering in the church.”
“You’re an educated man,” the vicar says. “You should know better than to believe that humbug!”
“But I’ve seen the ghosts myself!” Mr. Nugent’s eyes blaze with sincerity. “A few months ago, I went to the church late at night to fetch a book I’d left there. I heard footsteps in the crypt, and when I went down to see who it was, I saw …” Recollected terror hushes his voice. “There were two of them—a dark man and a pale woman. The man was carrying the woman, like so.” He extends his arms, and I picture a limp, ethereal white form cradled in them. “It must have been the ghost of a resurrectionist with a corpse he’d stolen from the pit.”
Resurrectionists were grave robbers who sold corpses to hospitals and medical schools for dissection. I shudder despite my scorn for the curate’s tale.
A muffled cry turns everyone’s attention toward the doorway. There stand a boy and girl—the Thorntons’ grandchildren. The vicar introduced me to them the day Barrett and I met with him and explained that he and his wife are raising Daniel and Lucie because their parents are dead. They’re twins, and they’re twelve years old, but they don’t look it. Lucie is small, delicate, childish, and dark. Her hand is clamped over her mouth, and her black eyes are round with fright. Daniel is blond, rosy, and big for his age—almost a man. He puts his arm around Lucie and glowers at us, as if we’re a threat and he’s her protector.
Mrs. Thornton hurries to them. “Daniel. Lucie. What are you doing here?”
“We wanted to know what’s going on.” Daniel’s voice cracks—it’s changing already—but his face is still soft and boyish. He casts a wary glance at Barrett and me.
“You’re supposed to be upstairs doing your lessons.” Flustered, Mrs. Thornton explains to us, “They don’t go to school. They have a tutor and study at home.” She turns on Mr. Nugent. “See what you’ve done—you’ve frightened Lucie with your talk of ghosts. Come, children.” She hustles them out of the room.
It seems peculiar that they study at home when the church school is right next door. They seem an odd pair.
Reverend Thornton takes up the conversation where it left off. “The bodies of the cholera victims were wrapped in cloth soaked with tar, then covered in lime, so they would be too decomposed for dissection,” he tells Mr. Nugent. “A resurrectionist wouldn’t have stolen from a cholera pit. That’s just one reason you didn’t see what you thought you saw.”
“I did see it!” Mr. Nugent says. “And corpses covered with tar were known to show up in the dissecting rooms.”
I wince at the thought of blackened, decomposed flesh.
“Another reason is that the crypt was dark,” the vicar says. “It was probably a trick of the shadows and your imagination.”
Mr. Nugent juts out his trembling chin. “I know what I saw. You can’t change my mind.”
“Your mental state makes me wonder whether you belong here.”
Dismay flares in Mr. Nugent’s eyes. “Do you mean to terminate my curacy?”
“It may come to that. Perhaps you would be better suited to a different profession.”
Although I don’t believe Mr. Nugent, I think the vicar is being too harsh on him. I feel sorry for Nugent because his convictions could cost him his career in the Church.
Barrett hastens to smooth troubled waters. “The murder has been a shock to all of us. Let’s not make big decisions right now.” He speaks with the calm authority he’s learned during eleven years on the police force.
The vicar frowns but nods. Mr. Nugent’s concave chest swells and deflates with a sigh of tentative relief.
“I’ve a few more questions,” Barrett says to Mr. Nugent. “Who else knew that Charles Firth was in the church last night?”
“Nobody, as far as I know.” Mr. Nugent casts a guilty look at the vicar.
“You should have told me,” the vicar says between clenched teeth.
“I knew you wouldn’t approve. But I was hoping Mr. Firth would get photographs of the ghosts. I wanted proof to show everyone that what I’d seen was real.”
“Mr. Firth might have told someone,” I say.
“He might have let the killer in,” Barrett says.
“The killer could be someone among his relatives, friends, or acquaintances.” Once again, I wish I’d known Mr. Firth better, so that I might have their names.
“But the church door was locked this morning. Mr. Firth couldn’t have let the killer out and locked the door, because he was dead,” Barrett says.
Mr. Nugent says timidly, “If the killer was a ghost, it wouldn’t have needed to be let out, or in.”
As I picture a translucent wraith walking through the church wall, I begin to understand how people come to believe in ghosts. The imagination is powerful. I shake my head. The ghost angle is an unwelcome complication that could make the case harder to solve. A public uproar, false tips, and controversy could muddy the waters in which Barrett and I must fish for suspects.
Reverend Thornton bends a warning look on Nugent. “The killer must have taken the key and locked the door when he departed. I’d better have the locks changed.”
“Did you or Mrs. Thornton see or hear anything unusual last night?” I say.
“No. We were asleep.”
“What about Lucie and Daniel?” Barrett says.
“They were asleep too.”
But I know from personal experience that children aren’t always asleep when they’re supposed to be, and they see and hear more than adults realize. “Perhaps we could talk to them?”
“They would be of no help, and children shouldn’t be interrogated about a murder. Daniel and Lucie are particularly sensitive children, and Lucie is already very upset, as you saw.” The vicar then says to Barrett, “Isn’t it high time for you and your new bride to attend your wedding breakfast?”
CHAPTER 3
Our wedding breakfast is in the church hall, located a block from St. Peter’s. As Barrett and I walk there, he draws my arm through his. I glance around to see if anyone is watching this display of intimacy—and then remember that it doesn’t matter anymore. When we were single, I was embarrassed to flaunt our relationship and think people were speculating about the nature of it; now, it’s completely aboveboard. We smile at each other, and I feel as though we’re radiating light, outshining everyone around us, and I’m secure after a lifetime of insecurity. Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder.