Island of Bones Read Free Page B

far more suitable – then they can call it something nicer. Briggs Island, perhaps,’ she added, and sniggered a little into her cards. Mr Sturgess had supported the Princess wholeheartedly. The Vizegräfin’s son, Felix, had contributed nothing to the conversation but a yawn.
    Mrs Briggs had presumed the subject would be forgotten as the cardswere laid down, but the following morning Mr Sturgess had called at Silverside to tell them that the vicar of Crosthwaite would be happy to receive the tomb and the bones it contained, and to give Sir Luke and his wife a home on consecrated ground. The Vizegräfin began to draw plans for a summerhouse. Mrs Briggs was still not convinced about the necessity of rebuilding, but at least the nagging guilt about the First Lord Greta’s mortal remains would be removed, and she was hopeful that the Vizegräfin and her son would leave Silverside before she had to commit to constructing any of the gothic wonders that now decorated that noble lady’s sketchpad.
    The Vizegräfin moved swiftly towards the tomb, leaving Mrs Briggs to follow her. As she passed, Mrs Briggs noticed spots of colour on her guest’s cheeks. She bore down on the two labourers whose efforts had finally dislodged the cover from the tomb. Thin-faced, mean-looking men, they stood behind the opened tomb like penitents with their heads lowered and their caps in their hands. The Vizegräfin’s dark-blue skirts brushed over the stone flags, stirring last autumn’s dead leaves. She walked with a straight back and a quick even step that had been perfected by a number of expensive dance masters in her youth, so she gave the impression of floating from one place to the next in time to some unseen music. To the men at the tomb, it seemed as if one of the prettier saints had broken free of the stained glass in Crosthwaite Church, but she aged as she approached through the shadows of ruined masonry and overhanging foliage. The young and graceful female became, as she drew closer, a woman something over forty whose dress and deportment were perhaps a little more hopeful than wise.
    Mrs Briggs glanced at the effigies of Sir Luke and his wife. Their stone faces had become washed and worn with rain and snow. They looked weary and ready for a warmer bed Their hands were held over their chests in attitudes of prayer. At the lady‘s feet, a greyhound was curled with its alabaster nose tucked into its tail, and its ears flat; at the gentleman’s sat a tiny lion, its mane carved in carefully tumbled locks.It reminded Mrs Briggs of the style Felix von Bolsenheim had of arranging his hair. He had avoided their party, calling his mother morbid, and taken his longbow out to hunt rabbits on the fells instead. The Lady had apple cheeks; the Lord was bearded and had a long nose. Mrs Briggs had recently donated, from the collection at Silverside Hall, a portrait of this gentleman to the new museum in Keswick. She had always felt that the portrait disapproved of her and had been glad to be rid of it, having deserted it in an upper corridor for thirty years. The painted face seemed to her always to be stiff with outrage that his lands were now in the possession of a man who had started life as a clerk.
    The Vizegräfin reached the lip of the tomb and looked down into it, then gave a little screech and hastened away. Mrs Briggs approached more carefully and took in the sight with less eagerness and greater calm, Mr Sturgess at her side. There were two wooden coffins within, as had been advertised by the effigies, and though worn and rotten, their structures had held. But across the two coffins lay this extra body, a corpse incongruous even in a tomb. It was curled head to knees, its flesh turned leathery, its clothes faded, its mouth pulled wide open. There was a dry, almost sweet scent to the air. Even Mr Sturgess looked pale and Mrs Briggs so far forgot herself as to bite the side of her thumb. She thought the Vizegräfin noticed and frowned at