Dark Angels. Katherine Langrish

hear — over Devil’s Edge — from the great Abbey of Christ and St Ethelbert at Wenford?”

      “Yes, sir—”

      “I would like to hear more about that,” said Howell wistfully. “It is my dream one day to visit that great abbey where the bones of Saint Ethelred rest.”

      Wolf interrupted. “Sir, please! What was that thing outside? I could see right through her. I—” He stopped. In a dry whisper he added, “In the chapel — there’s a tomb. With a woman lying on it. Lord Hugo’s wife. Eluned.”

      Old Howell’s eyebrows shot up, and his forehead wrinkled. With his halo of downy white hair and his rosy apple of a face, he couldn’t look really stern, but he did his best. “The Lady Eluned died almost seven years ago in the faith of Our Lord and is assuredly now in Paradise with holy Saint Catherine and blessed Saint Margaret. Do you really suppose she would leave the bliss of Heaven to wander about our yard?” His tone was severe.

      “No sir. I suppose not.” Grimly, Wolf wondered what Howell would say if he knew that Lord Hugo had been calling his wife’s name into a black cave on Devil’s Edge.

      “No, indeed!” The old man’s face relaxed. “But our little White Lady,” he said almost tenderly. “Everyone knows her. Nobody minds her. She does no harm at all.”

      “But what is she? Why does she want to get into the chapel?”

      “Ah, she often flits about the chapel. She can’t get in, and that makes her curious, you see. As for her nature, I don’t know for sure, but —” Howell rubbed his nose thoughtfully “— do you know the history of this island of Britain?”

      “No.” Wolf blinked at the sudden change of subject.

      “Then it will be my pleasure to instruct you!” Howell lifted a gnarled finger. “The first settlers came here not long after the city of Troy burned to the ground, fully one thousand years before the birth of Our Lord! And what did those first men find? Giants (which they killed), and spirits such as pans, fauns and naiads, which our Lord God set from the beginning of the world to dwell in every element, some in air, some in fire, and some in water. If you stay here you’ll notice our White Lady loves the cistern. There’s a spring bubbles up in the corner, and often a bit of a mist floating over it, and the water is the sweetest you’ll ever taste. And it’s my belief she’s nothing other than an elemental spirit, placed there long ago as the keeper of the spring by the will of the Creator, blessed be He.”

      “Oh?” Wolf hesitated. He knew what Brother Thomas would have called such creatures. Demons, without a shadow of a doubt. But poor, mournful Ladi Wen didn’t seem very demonic.

      “Shouldn’t you sprinkle her with holy water?” he mumbled. “Wouldn’t that get rid of her?”

      “Why should I want to get rid of her?” Howell asked. “What harm does the poor creature do? They even say that if she ever leaves, the luck of the place will go with her. She belongs here, and always has. Doubtless, she has no soul, and perhaps she and all her kind will pass away forever at the dreadful Day of Judgement, but let us leave that to the mercy of God.”

      Wolf felt rather ashamed. “She did save me from falling over the pig,” he admitted. Old Howell’s face creased into a million merry wrinkles.

      “My Morwenna! I heard her squealing. So it was you who disturbed her, was it? A wonderful pig she is. And clever, my goodness!” He turned and spoke to Hunith, who clapped her hands in delight. Her face shone.