He spun around in the doorway. “What is it?”
“I thought I saw . . .” I stared hard, but the light had vanished. “A meteor. I thought I saw a meteor. I wanted you to see it, but it’s gone.” I could sense the tension draining from his body.
“It was a kind thought,” he said, “but—”
“I know,” I interrupted. “I shouldn’t have shouted. I’m sorry. Go to bed.”
“You should do the same,” he advised, and left the balcony.
I remained at the parapet, staring at Cieran’s Chapel.
Had I seen what I thought I’d seen? Perhaps a rogue wave had tossed a sliver of moonlight into the air, or perhaps—and the thought never would have occurred to me if not for Dimity—perhaps I’d joined the ranks of the privileged few who’d witnessed Brother Cieran praying through all eternity for the souls of the dead. I couldn’t be sure, and until I was, I wasn’t going to say anything to Damian. I didn’t want him to think that I’d been unduly influenced by Sir Percy’s story.
I retreated from the balcony to the bedroom, took Aunt Dimity’s journal from the bedside drawer, and sank onto the edge of the bed.
“Dimity,” I said, opening the journal, “would you do me a favor?”
To my relief, Dimity replied promptly.
Certainly, if it’s within my power.
“I’m pretty sure it is.” I thought for a moment, then repeated everything Sir Percy and Damian had told me about Brother Cieran. It wasn’t until I finished telling Dimity about the tenth earl’s final resting place that I hesitated.
Two words appeared on the page: Go on.
“When I got back to my room after dinner,” I said slowly, “I went out onto the balcony. I was about to come back in when I saw a light on Cieran’s Chapel. It was there only for a moment, but it was definitely there.”
Have you told your bodyguard about the light?
“Sort of.” I frowned worriedly down at the journal. “I said I’d seen a meteor because . . . because I don’t want Damian to think . . .”
You don’t want Damian to think that you believe in ghosts. Should I be insulted?
“Damian hardly knows me,” I said hastily. “I don’t want him to think I’m . . . impressionable.”
His opinion of you is unimportant at the moment, Lori. Damian Hunter is responsible for your safety. I’m sure he’d want to know about any unusual events you might witness, and since the islet is uninhabited, the light surely counts as an unusual event.You should tell him about it.
“I will,” I said, “as soon as I’ve eliminated Brother Cieran from my list of suspects.”
Ah. I see. I believe I can guess what favor you wish to ask of me.
“Could you check it out for me, Dimity?” I asked. “Would you . . . er, ask around and find out if Brother Cieran’s still . . . um, in residence?”
It might not be Brother Cieran, you know. Perhaps you saw the tenth earl taking the night air. But rest assured, I will make inquiries.
“Thanks, Dimity.” The weight of the day descended on me suddenly, and I gave a tremendous yawn.
It’s time you were in bed, my dear.We’ll speak again tomorrow.
“Good night, Dimity.” I watched the lines of royal-blue ink fade from the page, then returned the journal to the drawer and got ready for bed.
It wasn’t until I was lying beneath the blankets, gazing into the moon-washed darkness, that I became aware of a sound I hadn’t fully noticed before. The regular thud and boom of the surf came to me, as if from a great distance, like the pounding of a gigantic fist on solid rock.
It should have been a soothing sound, but it wasn’t. A wave of loneliness began to close over me, and I reached for Reginald. My pink bunny wasn’t a perfect substitute for Bill, but he’d serve until the real thing came back again.
Even with Reginald cradled in my arms, I should by rights have lain awake late into the night, haunted by visions of Abaddon climbing through my window with a knife clenched between his teeth. I should have tossed and turned, tormented by the muted screams of massacred monks. Instead, I drifted into sleep thinking only of Brother Cieran. Was he still chained by guilt to his lonely sanctuary? What, I wondered, would release him from his vigil?
Eight
When I awoke, bars of sunlight were falling across my bed. I squinted at the mullioned windows, peered muzzily at the massive fireplace, and gradually remembered where I was and how I’d come to be there.