Bones and Silence. Reginald Hill

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СКАЧАТЬ now they came into the cathedral close and everything changed. Little of the mediaeval had survived the ‘modernization’ of the eighteenth century when Wyatt the Destroyer’s internal restorations had been mirrored and magnified in a ruthless external clean-up of what even antiquarians had had to admit was an ecclesiastical slum. A fourteenth-century deanery had been spared because the eighteenth-century dean had simply refused to move his large family, and a row of Jacobean almshouses had presented a similar logistical problem. Between these and a scattering of other survivals had sprung up new buildings in styles ranging from neo-classic domestic, through romantic picturesque to Victorian Gothic; and by one of those coincidences quite beyond the wit of architects and planners, the result was a delightful and harmonious meld. Nothing was here to provoke a Prince.

      The close was entered through a granite gateway in a sandstone wall, and though the old wooden gates had long since vanished, there was still a sense of being admitted, of passing from the hectic and neurotic atmosphere of modern life into a balmier, more restful air.

      Chung made a mental note to get the gateway measured. She wanted her procession to be fun, and she didn’t want it to end in farce with a pageant firmly wedged between the pillars. She had hold of the Canon’s arm now to steer him along her reconnoitred route while at the same time permitting him to imagine that it was his expertise which was showing her the best way. This was not easy as the best way could hardly be said to involve the cathedral close at all, since Charter Park, the proposed site for the daily performance of the Mystery Plays, lay as far to the west of the market place as the cathedral lay to the east. Chung had justified her diversion on ecclesiastical grounds. The grand opening procession must be seen to embrace the sacred as well as the profane.

      Her real reason, however, was that she had no intention of staging her production in the Park, which was broad and flat and bounded by a main road and a canalized river, providing a choice between a static background of gloomy warehouses or a moving one of double-decker buses.

      Her chosen site was much closer at hand. On the far side of the cathedral and belonging to it stretched an expanse of green and pleasant land, dotted with old trees and sinking down in a shallow valley before swelling up once more to a natural vallum where remnants of the city’s mediaeval walls could still be seen. More substantial than these stood the ruins of St Bega’s Abbey from which had come much of the impetus and, after its closure, some of the material to enlarge the small Anglo-Norman cathedral into a huge Gothic edifice which could hold its own against any in the land.

      This was the setting Chung lusted after.

      They had arrived at the great building itself. She paused and craned her neck to take in the soaring bulk of the lantern tower.

      ‘It’s incredible,’ she said. ‘How did they do all this without machines?’

      ‘They had something better. They had God,’ said the Canon.

      It was a good feed. She looked at him appraisingly and said, ‘And that’s all you need? I think I’m getting close to finding mine. Canon, would it be possible to climb the tower to get a bird’s eye view of things?’

      Horncastle hesitated but his wife inadvertently came to Chung’s aid. Pointing across the road to a tall gabled house as narrow and forbidding as the Canon himself, she said, ‘I thought as we were so near home, a cup of coffee perhaps …’

      ‘Dorothy,’ said the Canon testily, ‘I have pledged myself to advise Miss Chung this morning. In an hour’s time I have an important luncheon appointment at the Palace. I hardly feel that taking coffee in my own parlour would be a fruitful way of filling the intervening period. If you would follow me, Miss Chung.’

      He headed into the cathedral. Chung smiled apologetically at his wife and said, ‘Another time, huh?’ before following.

      It was a wearisome climb up a steep, dark, spiral staircase, but worth every ounce of sweat. The city lay stretched beneath them like an illuminated plan, and there was little to interrupt the eye’s flight to the distant green and blue horizons. The only contender in terms of height was the narrow tower which had tumesced out of the old redbrick university in the expansive sixties, and though it flashed back the light of the cold wintry sun most defiantly, its glass and concrete hardly gave promise of another six centuries of such defiance.

      Chung moved from side to side, removing her snood to let the chill wind unravel her long black hair. The Canon stood and watched her delight with proprietorial pleasure. Dorothy Horncastle emerged a few moments later from the narrow oak door and stood unnoticed.

      Chung came to rest by the eastern parapet and looked down towards the dwarfed ruins of the old abbey. Horncastle came and joined her.

      ‘It’s magnificent,’ she said sincerely.

      ‘Yes. I pride myself that we have a setting and outlook dramatic enough to stand comparison with any in the country,’ said the Canon complacently.

      ‘A dramatic setting?’ said Chung, eagle-eyed for an entrée. ‘Yes, I see what you mean. You must be a classicist, Canon. That fold of ground there, the Greeks would have had to turn it into an amphitheatre. And the ruins, what a backcloth! No chance of transferring them to Charter Park for the Mysteries, I suppose?’

      ‘If it were feasible, you should have them,’ replied the Canon, quite happy to hypothesize the impossible in return for Chung’s smile.

      ‘Pity,’ she sighed. ‘That tatty park could surely do with something to match the material. But you’ll be doing wonders enough if you can get us permission to route the procession through the close. I gather the Bishop is none too keen.’

      ‘Indeed? I can assure you that whatever route we decide on today will be the route you take,’ said Horncastle sharply.

      ‘You can? That’s great,’ exclaimed Chung at full glow. ‘But your other idea, about the ruins, that would take a real miracle, huh?’

      There it was. A temptation on a tower. If he followed the best precedents, the Canon would scornfully deny ever having had any such idea about the ruins. Or he might compromise, and still take it as a joke about transferring the ruins to Charter Park. Or he might be vain enough to let himself be manipulated into accepting parenthood of a proposal to use St Bega’s as the main Mysteries site, and with parenthood, responsibility.

      Then she looked into his hard unblinking eyes and knew she had made a mistake. He was a bright man within his limits, and she had seen only the limits and forgotten the brightness.

      She smiled, acknowledging defeat, and said, ‘But it’s a great route. Thanks for your help.’

      And submission proved the key. The Canon said, ‘I think I might rise to the occasional miracle, in a purely dramatic sense, of course.’

      ‘You mean you think you could really swing it for us to use St Bega’s?’

      ‘It would require the approval of the Chapter but that would be something of a formality once the Bishop and I showed the way. Would you like me to attempt the miracle, as you call it?’

      There was the scent of a bargain here which made Chung momentarily uneasy. But clerics should know better than to do deals with pagans.

      She said, ‘It would be truly marvellous.’

      ‘In that case I shall speak to his lordship at luncheon today. Now let us descend. Permit me to lead the way. The stairs are steep and there is danger here for the unvigilant.’

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