Peering into the room, all she could see was a mass of papers. They covered his desk and a fair amount of the floor. How ever did he afford it? He must spend most of his salary on paper.
“I can come back later, Vicar.”
“No, no. But perhaps we should talk in the library, as it’s a little more comfortable. Next door on the right,” he said, seemingly in a fluster.
Rosalind nodded, perusing his face. He looked exhausted, as though he had been working night and day to scribble…well, whatever he was scribbling. Lucas had been right: he was a handsome man. But now his dark eyes looked strained with tiredness and his cravat was loose and badly tied. The man needed a wife.
Following his direction, she entered the room to the right. In all the years she’d been visiting the vicar, she had never ventured into the library. It was a huge room, the walls covered by heavy, oak bookcases filled with massive tomes. The desk had more books strewn upon it, and she casually inspected one of them.
It was horrible: an engraving of an infant being held upside down by the ankle, a knife at its throat. Another book was open at a picture of a woman being restrained on an oval slab, a curved dagger slashing at her bosom. She gasped and then felt the vicar enter the room.
She couldn’t move: she felt imprisoned by the violent images. He closed the door behind him and came close, peering at the same drawings.
“Awful, are they not? Yet this goes on, under our very noses, Miss Trewent.”
“It does?”
“I have seen it. I havewitnessedit. We should leave them to it, don’t you think? We cannot win against such…acts.” Rosalind inched away from the table.
“I can see you are busy, Vicar. Perhaps I will call another day?” She glanced up at him. The man looked awful and she could see why he’d called off the previous visit. He’d appeared well enough when she’d visited with Lucas so had some illness befallen him since then?
“No that won’t be necessary. If you are interested, you should see my cabinet.”
“Cabinet?” Rosalind’s voice descended to a whisper. Oh goodness, she was acting like some delicate maiden confronted by a ghoul. This was the vicar…
“Yes, come and look. I don’t get to show many people. They wouldn’t understand, but you are an insightful girl, I’ve noticed that.” He tramped over to the large, shuttered furniture in the corner. On the way, he snatched a half-full glass from the side table and drank the contents in one gulp. It was a clear liquid and had a smell she faintly recognised.
Rosalind was fully aware that she should leave now, but she was also curious to see what was in the cabinet, so she crossed the room to stand beside him; he smiled at her. It wasn’t a frightening smile, or even an angry one. It was sad and wretched. Even so, she reached into her reticule and palmed her flick knife, just in case.
He opened the doors and she looked inside. Some items were ordinary, well, ordinary for a curiosity cabinet – a large exotic shell, a fossilised leaf, a bone of some description. She peered closely at the bone – a dog? Or some other mammal?
“That’s my wife’s ring finger.”
Rosalind jerked back, but he didn’t seem to notice and continued, “I didn’t want to bury her there. I wanted to bring her home, but they wouldn’t let me. I had to bring something back.”
“Oh, that’s…” He looked down at her as though expecting a word. “Romantic?” she proffered, and he frowned severely.
“Of course, I loved her desperately. And they killed her.”
“Who did?”
“He did.” And he pointed into the cabinet at a small statue. It was wooden and rather grotesque. In the shape of a man, about hand high but with sharp, pointed teeth and a tongue that stuck out. A wicked dagger was held to his side. He was naked and had a…its pego was huge, sticking out in an incongruous way, and not at all in proportion to its body. “He did it because we shouldn’t have been there. And now he torments me. I have to do it. I can’t help myself.”
Rosalind backed away slowly, but he was gazing intently into his cabinet.
“I will return later. I can see you are busy,” she said softly, hoping it didn’t raise his ire. But he didn’t seem to detect her withdrawal; he simply nodded and reached out to stroke his wife’s finger. Rosalind retreated from the room, eyes never leaving the vicar, and bumped into her maid at the door.
“Have you fini–”
“We have to leave now.”
“He’s got his wife’s finger in a cabinet. That’s not normal.”
“It’s a tad gruesome, but that doesn’t make him a murderer.” Lucas smiled and passed her a large glass of brandy, which she hoped wouldn’t mix with the earlier spiced wine and fuddle her.
By the time she had finished explaining, Lucas was no longer smiling. “It does seem very strange and I can see why you left. I don’t know what I’d do if any harm came to you.”
“Ah, you’re so quaggly sweet.” She slapped her palm over her mouth as she realised she’d said it out loud.
