‘Not really out of place …’ She broke off, torn between honesty and discretion, and Penrose waited impatiently as she looked to Mrs Pendean for guidance.
‘Is it me you’re thinking of, Rosie?’ the housekeeper asked, and the girl nodded vigorously, obviously relieved to have the decision made for her.
‘You were at the church last night, Mrs Pendean?’ Penrose asked, trying to keep a note of judgement out of his voice as he wondered why she hadn’t said anything before.
‘Yes. I always go last thing on Christmas Eve, just to make sure that everything’s ready for the following morning. The church is my responsibility, you see – always has been.’
‘And what time was this?’
‘Oh, quite late. Just after midnight, I’d say. Would that be about right, Rosie?’
‘Something like that, Mrs Pendean. I saw you as I was drawing my curtains, so it must have been around then.’
‘Thank you, Rosie,’ Penrose said. ‘Does anybody else have anything to say? In that case, I’ve kept you from your work long enough, but if I could have a private word with you, Mrs Pendean?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He waited while she dismissed her staff and instructed one of the kitchen maids to bring him some breakfast, which arrived almost immediately. ‘How are you?’ he asked, when she had settled again. ‘It must have been such a shock for you.’ She stared at him, thrown by the change of tone. ‘To see the vicar’s body this morning?’
‘Oh, yes. Yes, of course. It’s a terrible thing to have happened here. This is a quiet place these days, in spite of its history. We’re not used to violence.’
How inconsiderate of Richard Hartley to have brought it here, Penrose thought cynically, but he wasn’t surprised that the islanders’ first thought was for the impact on the Mount’s tight-knit community; things would no doubt be different if one of their own had been killed. ‘Were you in the church for long last night?’ he continued.
‘No, not long at all. Ten minutes at the most, I’d say.’
‘And did you go there on your own?’
‘Yes. Other people had been coming and going, obviously, because there was a path trodden through the snow, but that’s not unusual. It’s a beautiful church and most of us use it, especially Miss St Aubyn. It was empty when I went in, though.’
‘But it’s possible that somebody could have been in the tower?’
She looked suddenly frightened. ‘I didn’t go to the tower. Why would I?’
‘No reason at all, and that wasn’t what I meant. I just wondered if you saw or heard anything out of the ordinary while you were in the church? Anything at all, even if it didn’t seem significant at the time.’
She considered the question, then answered it reluctantly. ‘I did hear someone in the tower last night.’
‘Go on,’ Penrose said, resisting the temptation to curse her for not saying so earlier.
She shrugged. ‘That’s it, really. I heard someone coming down the steps, so I hid in the hermit cell.’
‘Why, if you were doing nothing wrong?’
The ‘if’ obviously grated on her, but she didn’t argue. ‘It was late, and I didn’t want to see anyone, so I waited there until I heard the main door close. Then I left and went straight home.’
‘So you have no idea who it was?’
She shook her head. Penrose studied her face, noticing how tired she looked. He remembered what Josephine had said the night before about her being upset, and wished he had taken more notice. ‘How long have you worked here, Mrs Pendean?’ he asked.
She seemed more guarded as the questions took a personal turn, but answered them readily enough. ‘All my adult life,’ she said. ‘I grew up here, and my first job was as a stillroom maid. That was the best part of forty years ago now.’
‘And you’ve worshipped at the church all that time?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you’ll have known the Reverend Hartley before he moved to London.’
‘I knew of him, that’s all. You don’t know someone personally just because you’ve heard him preach or waited on his wife.’
‘Of course not, but I wondered if you could think of any reason at all why someone might want to do this to him?’
‘No, absolutely not. It’s a wicked thing to do.’
There was a knock at the door, and Tom Pendean put his head round. ‘Miss St Aubyn said you wanted me, sir?’ He looked with concern at his wife. ‘Everything all right, love?’
She stood up, obviously embarrassed by the term of endearment while she was at work, and Penrose thanked her for her help. ‘Mr Penrose was just asking about the Reverend Hartley,’ she explained. ‘He wondered if I could remember anything that might help, back from when the vicar used to be chaplain here.’
‘You should talk to Emily Soper, sir, if you want to know anything about the island.’
‘Who is that?’
‘She’s got the museum at the head of the causeway, and what she doesn’t know herself she can always look up. There are photographs and newspapers going back years down there, as well as all the general displays.’
‘Mr Penrose isn’t here for a history lesson, Tom,’ the housekeeper said impatiently. ‘He’s got more important things to do than look for a needle in a haystack, and you know how Emily likes to talk. It’s you he wanted to see.’
‘Actually, that might be very useful,’ Penrose said, looking at his watch, ‘but first I need to know if there’s any chance at all of getting to the mainland? I know low tide isn’t for an hour or two yet, but is there anyone who would be prepared to take a boat across with me?’ Pendean looked doubtful. ‘I don’t want you to take any risks, but I really can’t stress how urgent this is.’
‘All right. I’ll take you, but I’ll need some help.’
‘Tom! It’s not safe!’
‘Let me talk to some men down in the village,’ Pendean said, ignoring his wife’s protestations. ‘If you can wait, the best thing might be to go for the causeway at the lowest point of the tide. We’ve done it before, with a few of us roped together, so if I can get a couple of volunteers, I’m happy to give it a go.’
‘Thank you,’ Penrose said gratefully. ‘Will you see what you can do now? And I’ll come down to the village with you and have a look at the museum.’
As they left the servants’ hall together, Penrose couldn’t help but feel guilty at how distressed the housekeeper seemed by her husband’s offer to risk a sea crossing. God forbid that anything should happen to them, he thought; the last thing the Mount needed today was another tragedy, especially one brought about by his own recklessness. He accepted the long oilskin jacket and boots that one of the footmen found for him, and was glad of their protection as he followed Pendean down the winding cobbled paths to the village. The wind caught at their heels and the early brightness of the day had long since disappeared, replaced by a light but insidious rain. He turned to look back at the castle, and offered a silent prayer of thanks that at least Richard Hartley’s body was no longer exposed to the elements.