What Remains of Heaven Read Online Free

scrambling from his perch at the rear of the carriage. “Ne’er you fear.”
    “Oh, and Tom—ask around a bit while you’re at it. I’d like to hear what the locals are saying about all this.”
    “Aye, gov’nor.”
    “Lord Devlin,” called Sir Henry, coming up to him. “So the Archbishop convinced you to take an interest in the investigation after all, did he? I feared he might not succeed. This isn’t exactly your normal type of murder.”
    Sebastian hopped down from the curricle’s high seat. “I didn’t know I had a normal type of murder.” Once, this earnest little magistrate had sought Sebastian’s own arrest. But over the past year and a half the sternly religious magistrate and the urbane, irreverent Viscount had built an odd friendship, founded on mutual respect and a strong, abiding sense of trust. Sebastian said, “Bow Street didn’t object to the suggestion that I become involved?”
    One corner of the magistrate’s thin lips twitched with the faintest suggestion of a smile. “I wouldn’t exactly describe Sir James’s reaction as pleased. But when the Archbishop of Canterbury personally intervenes in an investigation, not even the Chief Magistrate would dare complain.”
    “And you?”
    “Me?” Turning, Lovejoy led the way to the northern side of the ancient parish church, where scattered piles of building rubble lay deserted beneath the strengthening sun. “When it comes to murder in the upper reaches of society and government, I know our limits. A delicate business, this. And puzzling. Most puzzling.”
    Sebastian’s head tipped back, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the worn, age-darkened stone walls of the church. The nave of St. Margaret’s had the narrow, round-topped windows and heavy masonry typical of the early Norman period. Only the tower was noticeably lighter and more delicate, its spire probably added in early Tudor times.
    He let his gaze fall to the rubble at their feet. Through the remnants of a broken wall he could see the upper reaches of a set of worn stone steps that disappeared down into a well of black. “How long ago was the crypt bricked up?” he asked, peering into the darkness. His voice echoed back at him from below.
    “As near as anyone can remember, it was around the time of the revolt in America.” The magistrate had an unnaturally high-pitched voice that had a tendency to squeak when he became excited or nervous. He was squeaking now.
    “So, thirty or forty years ago.”
    “Something like that, yes.” A lantern rested on a large, flat-topped stone near the broken wall. Stooping, Lovejoy flipped open the door and began to kindle his tinderbox. “According to the workmen, an old charnel house stood here. They were in the process of demolishing it when they stumbled upon the entrance to the crypt. It’s been closed off for so long that people had forgotten the stairs were here. I gather it was a bit of a shock when the workmen broke through the wall. And even more of a shock when a couple of the lads decided to go exploring and tripped over the body of a man, dressed in the velvets and lace of the last century and with a knife sticking out his back. According to the workmen, the Reverend took one look at the body and left almost immediately for London.”
    Sebastian stared off down the hill, to where the millstream curled lazily around a stand of willows. “It seems a curious thing to have done. Why go to the Bishop? Why not the local magistrate?”
    Lovejoy frowned over his task. “From what I understand, Reverend Earnshaw is of a somewhat, shall we say, excitable disposition.”
    Sebastian raised one eyebrow in surprise. “You haven’t actually spoken to him?”
    The magistrate was still struggling with his tinderbox. “Not yet, unfortunately. The discovery of the Bishop’s body on top of the other horrors of the crypt seems to have been too much for the man. He managed to stagger over to the Manor and tell his tale to Douglas