while my vision adjusted.
Though my nerves were still tense, I found I could breathe more easily in the wider space. But with those deeper breaths emerged a new scent—one that was faint but somehow familiar, though mingled with the dirt, the damp, and the musk of ancient stone I found difficult to place. Whatever it was left a sour taste at the back of my throat that with each swallow made the lump of uneasiness forming in my gut grow bigger. I allowed my gaze to linger over the skeletons still draped in their disintegrating coarse woolen cassocks. Their bodies had long ago decomposed, even in the cool climate of the crypt. Even so, not all sense of their humanity had drained from them. The bony hand of one monk still clutched a wooden cross to his rib cage.
Lord Edward stepped closer, leaning against the wall to my right. “This is the supposed final resting place of Friar Thatch,” he declared, dipping his head toward the skeleton in the lower niche, where I noticed an old, dusty bottle had been set in the far corner for dramatic effect.
I nearly rolled my eyes, knowing full well the monks would never have set it there. It had been added at a later date, probably by one of the Duke of Bowmont’s ancestors. Possibly the same ancestor who had first dreamt up the absurd tale of Friar Thatch’s haunting.
“At this hour, you’re most likely to see his ghost seated at the top of the crumbling walls of the bell tower, swigging from a bottle. But at times, he roams the corridors of the catacombs. You’ll hear his hearty chuckle as he jests with the bones of his long-dead brothers.”
Lord Edward gave his own hearty chuckle, clearly amused with himself. However, I was more interested in Lord Henry’s reaction. He had taken a step closer to the lower recess to the right of Friar Thatch’s, the bells on his shoes jingling. His brow was furrowed with obvious confusion, and a quick study of the niche in question explained why.
The body or object that lay there was not open to the air like the others, but had been stuffed into a crude sack of some kind—one of a far more recent construction than the fabric of the long-deceased monks inhabiting the other recesses. The pair of ragged holes the canvas sported had not been caused by time, but most likely by the rats Lord Edward had informed us lived in these passages. Meanwhile, the niche above was naught but a disorganized jumble of bones and cloth rather than a ceremoniously laid out skeleton.
Lord Henry’s expression left no doubt that he was surprised to see the canvas sack, and a quick glance at Lord Edward’s face when his words faltered showed that the discovery was also unexpected. That, or he was simply a very good actor.
He stepped forward. “Now, what do we have here? I wonder if our friendly friar has been making a bit of mischief,” he remarked as he reached out to finger the largest hole.
I heard the pops of ripping fabric as he widened the opening. It was then that something inside the sack shifted and suddenly out flopped an arm. Or rather, what was left of one. The skin between the gloved fingers and the coat had been gnawed.
I turned away, pressing a hand to my nose as recognition of the stench that had been tickling at my nostrils finally became clear. With that rend in the fabric, the scent had grown stronger, and I struggled to retain my composure as memories battered at my senses. Gage’s arm tightened around me, anchoring me to the present.
CHAPTER FIVE
One of the ladies screamed at the sight and another joined in as two rats scampered from the sack and dashed down the corridor into the darkness. The space rang with their shrieks of horror and the men’s shouts of outage, making the dank air tremble, but the duchess’s sons only had attention to spare for each other. Their jaws hardened and their eyes flashed with misgiving.
“What is the meaning of this?” one man bellowed, the lady beside him cowering into his shoulder. “Frightening ladies with such gruesome and vulgar tomfoolery. The duke will hear of this, for I cannot believe he would sanction such shameful nonsense.”
Lord Edward inhaled a deep breath, as if much struck by this comment, and then wrinkled his nose, clearly regretting it. “Yes, yes. My apologies. Perhaps in hindsight this was