WHEN FATHER PRIOR and his remaining officers reassembled in the Postgate Room, I saw that the abbot and the headmaster had joined them.
‘You’ve something to tell us, Nick?’ asked Prior Tuck who, as the man in charge of the monkstables, was responsible for the next stage of our search.
‘Yes, it’s important. There is yet another hunt in progress around us – it’s linked to the murder investigation and concerns Harvey, the sculptor, a large black-clad man you might have noticed at work in the crypt. He’s fled, so there’s now a search for him.’
I told them about Harvey running from the murder room. ‘He could be hiding somewhere on the premises or nearby. Keep a watchful eye open, he’s easily recognizable. Report any sightings to the murder room.’
Father Robin asked, ‘Is he a suspect?’
‘I can’t say.’ I tried to be honest. ‘All I can tell you is that he was being questioned by Detective Chief Superintendent Napier when he bolted before anyone could stop him. He ran into those woods on the north of the campus – he could still be hiding there or have got away somewhere else by now. I believe you all know about his white van? If you see him or his van, don’t approach him, he could be dangerous, but let the murder team know as soon as possible.’
They all agreed to do whatever was necessary to deal with this unexpected development. At this stage, I felt it was time for me to back away from the operational aspects and sit on the sidelines as an observer, or perhaps a consultant if needed. After all, Prior Tuck, not me, was in charge, but he said, ‘Before I allocate this afternoon’s duties, Nick has news of another development.’
‘Thanks. I’ve been told that Father Will can offer suggestions for extending and perhaps concentrating our searches. By the way, a team of police dogs will be en route, when they’ve dealt with another matter. We shall use them to search for Simon, although the murder teams are anxious to deploy them too – especially in their hunt for Harvey.’
Father Will rose to his feet. ‘Thanks, Nick. As some of you know, I used to be a pupil here and I quickly learned it was part of one’s education at Maddleskirk to find secret places no one else knew about. I am referring especially to any of the monks or teaching staff not knowing about them! Let me give examples.’
He moved towards the whiteboard and pointed. ‘Consider the clock tower, nineteenth century with a Norman base below ground level. It’s accessible from the school library cellar via a maze of passages. Even if you could find a way through, they’re too narrow for an adult to use. Men of former times were smaller than modern people – even a medium-sized boy could get stuck. There’s said to be a complex code that can guide you through, if you can decipher it. I’ve never found it.’
From the map I realized they could lead to the cellar below the crypt but he moved steadily through the diagram to highlight further hidden doors, cellars, steps and tunnels. I was surprised there were so many of them still on record.
‘One channel emerges into the monks’ choir in the church,’ he told us. ‘From the choir stalls, the entrance looks nothing more than a flat heavy stone but from beneath it can be pushed upwards and to one side if you are strong enough, to lead into the choir. Catholic priests of medieval times were pretty good at creating hiding places. There are not many in the modern parts of the abbey but old sections do contain hiding places and they’re the ones that need to be searched – urgently. They were overlooked during our initial searches, not out of carelessness but simply because few know they exist. I’ll be pleased to guide anyone. And, of course, if anyone knows of any others, you must let me know.’
There were murmurs of agreement – certainly the first searches had been rather superficial, being based on the theory that Simon might have fallen asleep or have discovered somewhere quiet from where to watch the birds. Possibilities that he was either ill, or had been trapped somewhere, had not been diligently considered.
‘We can work from this plan on the wall. I will indicate some of the places that need to be especially examined. I am sure you know the way around the main centres of the campus. Ask if you have problems.’
‘Fine,’ agreed Prior Tuck.
Father Will continued, ‘There is one other place that needs this kind of attention and it is not part of this campus and therefore not shown on this plan. I am speaking of the ruins of Ashwell Priory and its woodland. I know it has been searched already by the estate workers and staff, but because we haven’t found Simon, I think we need to try again. I will deal with that proposal in a moment.’
Then he highlighted with bright orange ink the sections of the college and abbey to which he referred. As Prior Tuck watched, he named a monkstable who would investigate each part and report back within the hour. One of them would also be detailed to visit the infirmary to talk to the schoolgirl and all were warned again not to place themselves in danger if they confronted Harvey. If there was any indication that Simon was ill or had been trapped or injured in such a secretive place, the alert must be raised and official rescue plans implemented immediately. He instructed them not to attempt any search alone in dangerous places – if deep and dangerous holes or tunnels were to be explored, it must be done with lights, ropes and teamwork.
‘Now,’ continued Father Will, as he turned to face Father Mutch, ‘Father Matthias Miller? I believe you have caving experience?’
‘It was a long time ago, but yes, you’re right. Please ask me if you think I can help in any specific case.’
‘Thank you, but I have a special task for you.’
Father Mutch, as Father Miller was known, bore shoulder number 16 and was a former champion weightlifter. Before becoming a monk, he had once, with his teeth, hauled a double-decker bus for a hundred yards. Now in his mid-forties he had settled down as a monk, was a capable chef, a very good baritone and his hobby, since retirement from exploring or mapping caves, was reading detective novels. One of his oftrecounted successes since becoming a monk was to rescue a motor cyclist who had crashed into a deep ditch with the machine crashing down upon him and pinning him down. Father Mutch happened to be passing, saw the incident and with his bare hands and sheer strength hoisted the machine off the injured man and then carried him to safety.
We all waited as Father Stutely moved onto his final suggestion – the task for Father Mutch. He pointed once more to the plan on the wall, but now indicating the road that led from Elsinby to the rear entrance of the campus. It was, in effect, the southern boundary of the entire estate but the road was rarely used, except by local people. It was more of a lane than a road although it had a sound tarmac surface – in fact, local people called it Back Lane. At the far side of it lay the ruins of Ashwell Priory, the old barns and the former holy well. All were mine! I didn’t mention it as I wanted to retain my secret for as long as possible. But could Simon be lost or trapped on my property? A long shiver sped down my spine.
‘Just across this lane lies the ancient estate of Ashwell Priory. Lost under repeated landslides of rocks and fallen trees are what remains of the priory – quite a substantial amount in fact, including some old cells. There is also a large expanse of deciduous woodland with a few conifers flourishing among them, and in the hills to the western end is the former holy well of St Valentine, once a place of pilgrimage, especially for young lovers. It’s now a pond and needs to be searched too.’
He paused and I interpreted that as a hint that Simon might have ventured there with his secret girlfriend. But Father Will did not elaborate. He continued, ‘I’m sure most of you know about this place but for adventurous lads those ruins have always presented a challenge. It has long been out-of-bounds to students, but, of course, that’s never stopped them.’
As I listened, I realized I had no idea of the extent or condition of my old ruins and had never explored them, not even when I was a policeman in the district. As he continued, Father Stutely suggested that a substantial part of the old priory had survived beneath avalanches of earth, rocks and trees.
I spoke now, ‘You mean there are entire buildings under there?’
‘There are indeed,’ agreed Father Stutely. ‘Those hidden places in Priory Wood were a challenge. Exploration of the ruins is very exciting for boys … especially after a storm such as the one last night.’
‘I thought it was nothing but ruins!’ was all I could think of saying.
Father Mutch stood up and addressed us. ‘Those who explored the ancient tunnels and cellars found a veritable labyrinth, despite restrictions imposed by the college, but the old Priory was, and probably is, one of the greatest secret challenges of college life. Neither the teachers nor monks say anything about it because to do so might be an encouragement. You enter through one hole and emerge from another which can be several hundred yards away, using a complex system of passages and ruined walls – an underground maze.’
‘Dark and dangerous too,’ added Father Stutely.
‘I had no idea that went on!’ I added. ‘Even when I was the village constable at Aidensfield, I never heard those tales!’
‘It is not generally known, Nick; it was kept a close secret but I think elder brothers passed the information to their siblings.’
‘So, are you suggesting Simon might be there?’ asked Prior Tuck. ‘Trapped, or worse?’
‘It’s increasingly likely.’ Father Mutch spoke for both monks and sounded confident. ‘His bike was in the barns which are themselves out of bounds. The police have confirmed he used it so we know he got that far. I know the first search, on the surface, didn’t find him but we can’t ignore the possibility he could be trapped somewhere underground.’
I reminded them, ‘He mentioned woods in his diary, shown in the space for Sunday. Yesterday.’
Father Will entered the discussion. ‘That could be significant. Is there any way we can get access to the passages? Things have changed since I was a pupil.’
Father Mutch said, ‘Landslides have obliterated lots of entrances and passages. I haven’t been in there for years, but that sort of thing never stops adventurous lads. And there’ll be fallen trees and landslips from yesterday’s storm.’
‘We’ll need guidance, but we’ll also be trespassing,’ Prior Tuck reminded his troops. ‘Besides, I don’t get the impression that Simon is particularly adventurous.’
‘He’s a young lad,’ I told them. ‘He’s as likely to get into trouble as any other. But we wouldn’t be trespassing if we search for him, Father Prior. Police, fire, ambulance and indeed ordinary people can trespass to carry out lawful acts such as rescuing people and animals, saving lives, preventing danger and so forth.’
‘So we don’t need permission from the owners?’
I was almost tempted to admit that I was about to become the new owner but with some difficulty held my tongue.
‘That’s right,’ I told the gathering. ‘We can take whatever steps are necessary to achieve our purpose without fear of being accused of an illegal trespass – which is not a crime, merely a civil tort.’
‘Well, that’s one hurdle crossed,’ beamed the prior. ‘So, Father Stutely, what sort of problems are we likely to meet?’
‘As we all know, the old priory was a Carthusian establishment, one of only two in England. The other is Mount Grace Priory on the western edge of these moors.’
‘Why is that relevant?’ asked Brother George.
‘It’s to do with the type of buildings. In most monasteries monks lived a communal life. They all slept in the same dormitory, ate together in the same refectory, worked in the grounds and walked in the cloisters and so forth. That meant that their communal areas were large, as you can see if you visit most of our ruined abbeys. If a tree fell down today and smashed the wall of a ruined abbey, the chances are that no one would be hurt. There’d be damage to the ruins but hopefully no injuries.’
‘I’m not sure I understand your point,’ admitted Prior Tuck.
‘With a Carthusian monastery,’ pressed Father Stutely, ‘each monk lived his life in isolation, spending almost his entire time in a tiny cell, permitted to leave only to attend mass. Lots of cells were arranged around three sides of a cloister, rather like a giant honeycomb, and each was large enough only to accommodate one monk. He had a living room downstairs and a bedroom above, plus a small oratory. He was not allowed even to see one of his fellow brethren and so his food was passed to him through an angled hole in the wall.’
‘And your point?’ queried Prior Tuck once again.
‘If just one tree or a high wall collapsed in such a monastery, it could trap several monks. Their cell walls would crumble, roofs would cave in. Because of regular landslides and crashing trees over the years, new tunnels would be created among those old cells and voids could develop. It’s a honeycomb under there, ideal for trapping someone. There could be injuries and more structural damage than in any other type of monastery.’
Father Will said, ‘In truth, a genuine troublesome labyrinth aggravated by neglect?’
‘Completely,’ interrupted Brother George. ‘So you’re saying some of those old cells still exist under all the debris?’
‘Yes, I am,’ said Father Stutely. ‘They have survived despite the damage. It’s a testament to the original builders but it means the place is riddled with tunnels, often with dead ends. And don’t forget there was a mighty storm on Sunday night with trees and rocks dislodged … and floods … water from the wishing well flows under the old ruin too and its route could be blocked, with flooding as a consequence. Need I say more?’
‘I never went that far inside!’ muttered Father Mutch.
‘Some of the derelict cells could make ideal hides for bird watchers,’ smiled Brother George. ‘But, before we risk our own lives in there, have we any evidence that he’s definitely inside?’
‘Nothing positive but several clues,’ I had to admit. ‘The indications are that he was going out for a day watching birds. On top of that, we are certain he used the bike. Why leave it so close to the woods if he was heading somewhere else? We think he also took a torch. That’s significant, I feel. It all makes sense – the storms mean he could be trapped somewhere below ground.’
‘Dogs will make a thorough search,’ suggested Brother George. ‘When I was farming you could rely on Jack Russells to flush rabbits out of their burrows….’
‘The police dogs can reach places we can never hope to reach and their sense of smell will quickly find a human, dead or alive,’ I assured them.
‘You’re not suggesting he’s dead, are you, Nick?’ asked the abbot, his voice registering his alarm.
‘It’s something we must be prepared for. There was a new landslide yesterday, I noticed the freshly uncovered earth on the hillside this morning….’
‘That’s terrible!’ The abbot sounded and looked extremely worried. ‘We must pray for him to be found. So will police dogs carry out the search without the press being notified?’ he asked. ‘He has been missing for more than twenty-four hours now.’
‘Yes, we can ask the handlers not to publicize their work. They can always call it an exercise.’
Prior Tuck took command. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘it’s time for action. I have allocated each of you a specific search area with Father Will, Father Mutch and Brother George being advisers. Nick, if you can ensure that the police dog and its handler arrive in time to help, they could meet us near the old barns.’
‘I’ll make sure they do.’
‘Right, we’ll start without them. Father Mutch, we will need torches and equipment. Can you get some from your stores?’
‘I’ll see to it. I’ll meet you all there.’