By three o’clock, the skeleton has been excavated. It’s not very tall and, from the pelvic bones, Ruth thinks that it is female. She allowed the students to help with the final stages and they are in a state of high excitement as they load the numbered paper bags into a box marked ‘Archaeology Lab’. Ruth is in a more sombre mood. She always feels that she should handle the bones as if the dead person’s relatives are watching her and that’s no different if they died ten years ago or in the fourteenth century. Besides, her back is aching.
Ruth walks back to the car park with Ted. It’s been a grey day and is already getting dark. Lights shine in the cathedral close and the church itself looms above them, birds circling the tower and steeple. An omen of something, Cathbad would say.
‘Are you OK to take the bones back to UNN?’ asks Ruth. ‘I’ve got to pick up Kate. Her childminder can’t make it today.’
‘No problem,’ says Ted. He’s carrying the box under his arm. A human being weighs very little in the end.
‘Ruth!’ A figure appears from one of the many secret archways that surround the cloisters. A woman, wearing a grey cloak that flutters dramatically in the uncertain light.
‘Blimey,’ says Ted. ‘It’s the Grey Lady.’
The Grey Lady of Tombland is a famous Norfolk ghost but Ruth has recognised the apparition. It’s Janet Meadows, a local historian who also works as a cathedral guide.
‘Hi, Janet.’
‘Hallo, Ruth. Have you been involved in the excavation?’
Ruth nods towards the box in Ted’s arms. ‘Just finished.’
‘Do you think it’s a plague victim?’ says Janet.
‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ says Ruth, ‘but I think we might just have come across a cemetery that used to belong to one of the churches.’
‘Can I talk to you?’ says Janet. ‘Have you got a minute?’
‘I’ve got to collect Kate from school. Could we get together another day? Have coffee or something?’
‘Of course,’ says Janet. Ted loads the bones into his van and drives off with a cheery toot of the horn. The birds fly squawking into the air and the two women watch him go.
‘What did you want to talk about?’ says Ruth.
‘The plague,’ says Janet.
Chapter 6
Judy faces Saffron Evans and Brady Wilson across their mother’s grey and pink sitting room. It’s a pleasant space, furnished with the kind of decorating flourishes that Judy never quite achieves: multiple cushions, fringed lamps, framed photographs in tasteful clusters. Even the books are arranged by colour, their spines unbroken. Judy’s living area includes Cathbad’s driftwood collection, Michael’s piano and Miranda’s artwork pinned onto the walls. Their books are dog-eared and arranged by psychic connection. Judy doesn’t possess any chenille cushions and, if she did, Thing would eat them.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Judy says. ‘This must be very hard for you.’ She has told the family that this is a courtesy call, to explain the police procedures for investigating an unexpected death. She won’t mention Nelson’s suspicions, unless the siblings give her reason to suppose they share them.
‘It’s just a shock,’ says Saffron. She’s probably in her late twenties, as immaculate as the room, blonde hair in a French plait, nails a perfect shell-like pink. Brady is tall and muscular, looking as if he is about to burst out of his black tracksuit. They look more like actors in a soap opera than real-life people.
But Saffron’s tears are real enough. ‘I just can’t believe it,’ she says, taking a tissue from the floral-printed box on the table.
‘You were saying your mother’s death was a shock,’ Judy prompts gently. ‘Had you any idea she was feeling depressed?’
‘Mum wasn’t depressed,’ said Brady. ‘She just didn’t do depression. She got on with things.’
Judy doesn’t answer that depression does not stop people getting on with things, that it’s an illness that many people live with all their lives. Instead she says, ‘When did you last see your mum?’
‘The day before,’ says Brady. ‘The day before. . . she was found. I usually pop in on my way home from the gym. I wasn’t going to be able to come on Friday so I texted her and then phoned. I thought it was odd that she didn’t answer. So I came round.’
‘Mum always answers texts immediately,’ says Saffron. ‘Usually with a row of emojis. Smiley faces, hearts, cry laughing. I used to say I regretted showing her where to find them on her phone.’ She holds the tissue up to her eyes.
‘And Samantha seemed her usual self on Thursday?’ asks Judy.
‘Yes,’ says Brady. ‘She was going to photocopy some more personal training leaflets for me. She used the machine at the library. We talked about that. And about Poppy. My little girl. She’s three. Mum doted on her.’
‘We all do,’ says Saffron.
