Page 79 of A Feud with the Duke

The elderly clergyman rubbed his chin, pursing his lips. “Not by me. I merely recount the gossip. I did not say I believed it.”

He looked from Alice to Harold and a smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. “Am I to be cast in the role of a Friar, bringing two star-crossed lovers together to end a deadly feud?”

Alice understood the allusion and blushed, looking at Harold. He was still glaring at the Reverend.

“I refer to the Bard, of course. I take it you are not a reader of Shakespeare,” Archer said.

Recognition dawned on Harold’s face, the frown lessening slightly.

“I am not. But the color in Alice’s cheeks tells me all I need to know. Does it end well for those star-crossed lovers?”

Archer laughed, an explosive bark of a sound. “Your Grace, I must not answer that question. In fact, I will not. You must read the play. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“We have come to see the crypt, Reverend Archer. To pay our respects.”

Archer looked from Alice to Harold and back again, then stepped aside, extending an arm to the interior.

“A Hathway is of course always more than welcome to pay homage to their interred ancestors here at Trinity.”

Alice led the way into the church. She walked past the central aisle, the altar resplendent at the far end. Ahead and facing the door was a narrow archway. It was shrouded in shadow, the door that she knew to be within, obscured. Upon reaching it she turned the cast iron handle, which squealed angrily as it turned. Then she pushed the door with both hands. A waft of damp, cold air reached up from the depths through the open door.

“I will fetch candles for the pair of you,” Archer called out, opening a cupboard, and taking two white sticks of wax out.

He pinned them to two brass candle holders, then lit them from nearby votive candles that were already lit. Alice took one, Harold the other and they entered the darkness. The flickering light illuminated a narrow, stone staircase that led down into the crypt. At the foot of the stairs was a long narrow room with a vaulted ceiling. Set into the walls were alcoves within each of which was a coffin. Alice peered at the first, bearing a date some three hundred years into the past on a brass plaque attached to the coffin.

Walking along, she noted the dates becoming more recent. Her breath clouded before her face as she walked, and from within the darkness, the sound of rats reached them. It was to be expected and was entirely natural, but it still made Alice shudder. It added to the macabre atmosphere of the place.

“I feel as though we are not wanted here,” she said.

“We will not tarry. I’m sure your venerable ancestors will appreciate our need,” Harold said from close behind her.

They reached the end of the alcoves. The room stretched on for a dozen more yards, running the entire length of the church.

Plenty of room for Simon, Ruth, and myself when the time comes. Lord, I don’t want to think about that.

“This is my father,” Alice said, reading the name on the plaque.

“So the next one will be your brother, Edward,” Harold said.

They both moved on, holding their candles high to cast the maximum amount of light. Alice held her breath as the next alcove appeared. The candlelight revealed a coffin. It bore the name of Edward and the dates of his birth and death. They both stood looking at the sleek, wooden shape.

“I did not think it would be here,” Alice said.

“Nor I. Well, we know that he is, in fact, dead. This proves it.”

“And does nothing to prove our cause. There is no evidence here that will convince Simon to give up his hatred of you and your family,” Alice said, in despair.

This cannot be where it ends. I will not accept that I must choose between my love or my family. That there is nothing that will convince Simon that Harold is not guilty of the crimes of which he is accused.

But there was nothing she could think of that would resolve their problems. Despite the account of the Hitch’s and the theories she had based on those accounts, here was the final resting place of Edward Hathway, Viscount Lindley. Whatever had been the reason for his visit to Wales, he had died there and his body had been returned to the place of his birth, to lie with his ancestors.

“I must get out of here,” Alice said, suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

She hurried out of the crypt, Harold following her. As she neared the steps, she felt as though the stone walls were getting closer, the ceiling lowering. She almost dropped the candle in her haste to ascend the steps and emerge back into the light. Reverend Archer waited at the entrance to the crypt. As Harold emerged behind Alice, Archer spoke.

“Forgive me. There is a peculiarity in the architecture of this church whereby at certain places, sounds from other parts of the building can be heard quite clearly. I was about to go to the vestry when I reached just such a place and heard you talking.”

“A private matter, Reverend,” Harold said.

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