Song of a Dark Angel

tale.
    'God save me, Master Fourbour! I mean no offence,' Corbett declared, 'but God knows why Amelia Culpeper married you. She may have been attracted to you. She may have wished to escape the malice of her neighbours in Bishop's Lynn or perhaps she knew that Father Augustine was in Hunstanton. Whatever the reason, she came here.'
    'But she didn't like him!' the baker cried. 'She said she only went to church on sufferance!'
    'Amelia Culpeper must have been a remarkable woman,' Corbett said. 'Her public attitude to Father Augustine was only pretence. Don't you remember telling me how she liked to go for walks or rides? I am sure that she went to see her long-lost lover, Father Augustine.'
    'I can't believe this!' Fourbour whispered.
    'It's true,' Corbett told him. 'There must have been several lover's meetings. But Amelia's very presence was a threat to everything Father Augustine had worked for. The night she died Amelia took a horse and rode out to meet him on the moors. Father Augustine had invited her, though he had also made preparations. Remember, the night was dark, wild and blustery. He had already prepared for murder, coating the rope and noose on the scaffold in black pitch to camouflage it against any prying eyes. Tell me, priest, what do you use on the wooden crosses in the cemetery?'
    The priest smiled, a fox-like grin, as if savouring some secret.
    'That same pitch,' Corbett answered for him, 'you used on the scaffold rope.' He paused and stared around. Father Augustine was gazing coolly around the hall. There was an air of controlled menace about him that made Corbett uneasy. The others, including Ranulf and Maltote, sat like a group of children waiting for a minstrel to finish his tale.
    'We are waiting,' Father Augustine said softly.
    'Aye, just as Amelia must have waited,' Corbett said. 'I suppose you were all loving towards her that night. Everything was ready. The noose had been coated with pitch earlier in the day. You'd use twigs to remove any sign of your presence there. And you went to meet Amelia.' Corbett watched the priest. 'You went on foot. You'd share her horse – Amelia would like that, perched on the saddle before you, two lovers riding into the night. You'd take her to the place where your ancestor died. Amelia knew all the legends.' Corbett glanced at Fourbour. 'Hence, her veiled remarks to you about Hunstanton being richer than it knew.'
    The baker covered his face with his hands as Corbett continued.
    'God knows what happened then? Perhaps you paused for a while, murmuring endearments into Amelia's ear? She was distracted, delighted by what she heard. Your hand goes out. You clasp the swinging rope, slip the noose around her neck and move the horse away. It would have been so simple.'
    He turned to Selditch. 'I believe Amelia's neck was broken?'
    'It was,' Selditch agreed. 'The head was loose. Her neck must have snapped like a piece of thread!'
    'Perhaps she struggled,' Corbett continued, trying not to be distracted by Fourbour, now sobbing till his shoulders shook. 'Perhaps she fought against the noose, but it would have been over in seconds. There's a rope round her neck, the horse she was sitting on moves away, she drops-' Corbett drew a deep breath. 'You check her wallet, but there's nothing in it except some sachets of perfume, which you remove. You ride to the edge of the village. You pass some peasants. They see the baker's horse and a cloaked figure sitting sidesaddle and think it's Amelia Fourbour. Now the church is on the edge of the village-' Corbett paused and tried to catch Ranulf's eye, whilst quietly cursing his own ineptitude. No longer the humble parish priest, Father Augustine had a definite air of menace. Does he have a knife, Corbett wondered, remembering de Luce, canon of St Paul's, who had inflicted the knife wound whose scar he still bore.
    'On the edge of the village,' Corbett continued, getting to his feet, 'you slipped off the horse and disappeared into your church.' He began to walk towards the priest, but he was too late.
    Father Augustine sprang to his feet and, before Corbett could shout a warning, took the few steps that put him to stand beside Alice.
    'Sit down, Father!' Corbett commanded.
    'Sit down! Sit down!' Father Augustine mimicked.
    He had his head lowered, chin pressing into his chest. Catchpole regained his wits and made to rise but the priest's hand came sweeping out of his cloak and he pressed the point of his dagger against Alice's soft