Carved into the wall where the chancel met the southern transept was a manticore, a beast with human head, the arms and body of a lion and a scorpion’s sting in its tail. It seemed an unlikely decoration to find on the exterior of a church. Colbeck was still trying to work out why it had been put there when he heard a voice behind him.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked Percy Vaughan.
‘Good day to you,’ said Colbeck, turning round to see the curate walking towards him. ‘I suspect that you may well be the person I came to see.’
After introducing himself, he explained why he’d come. The curate was both shocked and wounded. He was a lanky, rather sallow man in his mid twenties with a scholarly intensity. He peered at Colbeck through narrowed lids as if scrutinising a problematical passage of Scripture.
‘Imogen has disappeared?’
‘I fear so,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’ve yet to decide if she was abducted or if the young lady disappeared of her own volition.’
‘Why, pray, should she do that?’
‘I was hoping that you might be able to provide an answer.’
‘I’m afraid that I can’t.’
‘Mr Tunnadine thought it might be some jape devised by your brother.’
‘No,’ said the curate, forcefully. ‘Even George wouldn’t stoop that low. He loves Imogen — we all do. He’d never do anything to frighten her like that. Tunnadine is quite wrong.’
‘Have you met the gentleman?’
‘Indeed, I have, Inspector.’
‘Did he strike you as a fit husband for your cousin?’
‘It’s not for me to pronounce upon that. He was Imogen’s choice.’
‘I fancy that Sir Marcus might have brought his influence to bear.’
‘Well,’ said the other, guardedly, ‘that’s inevitable, I fear. He’s always taken the major decisions at Burnhope Manor. And if he hasn’t done so, then my aunt has been a willing deputy.’
‘In other words,’ said Colbeck, watching him carefully, ‘their daughter had no control over her life. Do you think she found that irksome?’
Percy Vaughan made no reply. His sister had told Colbeck that her elder brother was in love with Imogen but the curate did not wear his heart on his sleeve. From his blank expression, it was impossible to tell what he might be thinking. There was a lengthy pause. To break the silence, Colbeck nodded towards the church.
‘I was just admiring your manticore,’ he said.
‘I’m impressed that you know what it is, Inspector. Very few people do. It’s supposed to hail from Abyssinia. We have a second one at the foot of the tower. They add something to the church. Some believe that they were put there to ward off evil spirits.’
‘Or to ward off questions from Scotland Yard detectives,’ suggested Colbeck, with a mischievous gleam. ‘Your father told me that you were keen to come to North Cerney. It has a link to his college, I gather.’
‘It’s true,’ said the curate, showing some animation at last. ‘The college bought the advowson in 1753. It cost an immense amount of money. At the time, of course, theology was the main subject of study at the college. I’m by no means the first person to move from there to North Cerney.’
‘But you’re only a curate here.’
‘The rector will retire in due course and I will take his place. At the moment, I have a small cottage in the village. I look forward to moving closer to the church.’ He glanced covetously at the nearby rectory. ‘As it is, the rector spends a lot of time elsewhere. I have to take most of the services.’
‘That seems a trifle unfair.’
‘One has to earn one’s spurs, Inspector.’
‘That’s a curious phrase for a man of God to use.’
‘I don’t see why. When I visit my parishioners, I spend a lot of time in the saddle. Some of them live in outlying farms and hamlets.’
Colbeck looked across at the rectory. It was a long, low, capacious house with a thatched roof and an ample garden in full flower. At times when he’d contemplated ending his life in a rural retreat, the rectory — in size, shape and position — was exactly the image that had come into his mind.
‘It will be a fine place to live,’ he observed. ‘The rectory will make an ideal family house. I envy you. Tell me,’ he went on, probing gently, ‘has your cousin ever visited you here?’
‘Unfortunately,’ said the curate, sadly, ‘she has not. However,’ he added with the first hint of a smile, ‘when I was ordained as a deacon in Gloucester Cathedral, both Imogen and Lady Burnhope attended the service. I was touched by their support.’
‘No doubt your own family was there as well.’
‘My parents came and so did my sister, Emma, but it was too much to ask of my brother. George is something of an apostate. My own view is that it’s more of a posture than anything else. He keeps rather unsavoury company in London and has to treat religion scornfully to stay in with his cronies.’
‘Is he a good artist?’
‘He has a talent, assuredly, but I’m not certain that he knows how best to develop it. Artists are peculiar individuals.’
‘I know,’ said Colbeck, fondly. ‘I live with one. Though the kind of paintings that my wife produces are, I suspect, far distant from anything your brother might choose to put on canvas.’
A sudden look of panic came into the curate’s eye. He grabbed Colbeck’s arm.
‘You will find Imogen, won’t you?’ he asked.
‘Without question, I will — and I expect her to be unharmed.’
‘That’s a relief,’ said the other, leaving go of him. ‘But you won’t find her in North Cerney. That much is certain. What exactly prompted this visit?’
‘I was interested to hear your opinion of the young lady and of the man to whom she is betrothed. Anything you can tell me about her life at Burnhope Manor would be of use. I’m sorry that you feel unable to talk about it.’
Percy Vaughan studied him for a long time before finally speaking.
‘I will answer your questions, Inspector,’ he promised, ‘but I have a more urgent summons. Forgive me while I go into the church to pray for Imogen and her maid. The Almighty must be enlisted in the search for her.’
‘I’ll gladly join you,’ said Colbeck, following him towards the door. ‘And afterwards, I trust, you’ll talk more freely.’
‘I give you my word.’
‘Thank you.’
They walked on together. The curate stopped him at the door.
‘Do you have any clues at all as to the reason for her disappearance?’
‘We have a number of clues,’ said Colbeck, ‘and others will certainly turn up.’
Sir Marcus Burnhope held it in his hands and examined it from all angles. When he put it back on the table, he walked around it in a circle and kept his eyes fixed on it. Eventually, there was a tap on the door and the butler ushered in Vernon Tolley. After nodding obsequiously, the coachman approached his master.
‘You sent for me, Sir Marcus?’
‘Yes,’ replied the other. ‘Something was found yesterday evening in the Mickleton tunnel.’ He pointed to the table. ‘I’ve never set eyes on it before so it can’t belong to my daughter. What about you, Tolley?’
The coachman recognised the hat at once and leapt forward to snatch it up. He stroked it lovingly and even held it to his cheek for a second. Aware that he was being watched, he carefully replaced the hat upon the table.