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"
He
collected
antiques
?
"
I
suggested
doubtfully
.
"
No
.
He
carved
this
himself
.
It
hung
on
the
wall
above
the
pulpit
in
the
vicarage
where
he
preached
.
"
I
wasn
’
t
sure
if
my
face
betrayed
my
shock
,
but
I
returned
to
gazing
at
the
simple
,
ancient
cross
,
just
in
case
.
I
quickly
did
the
mental
math
;
the
cross
was
over
three
hundred
and
seventy
years
old
.
The
silence
stretched
on
as
I
struggled
to
wrap
my
mind
around
the
concept
of
so
many
years
.
"
Are
you
all
right
?
"
He
sounded
worried
.
"
How
old
is
Carlisle
?
"
I
asked
quietly
,
ignoring
his
question
,
still
staring
up
.
"
He
just
celebrated
his
three
hundred
and
sixty
-
second
birthday
,
"
Edward
said
.
I
looked
back
at
him
,
a
million
questions
in
my
eyes
.
He
watched
me
carefully
as
he
spoke
.
"
Carlisle
was
born
in
London
,
in
the
sixteen
-
forties
,
he
believes
.
Time
wasn
’
t
marked
as
accurately
then
,
for
the
common
people
anyway
.
It
was
just
before
Cromwell
’
s
rule
,
though
.
"
I
kept
my
face
composed
,
aware
of
his
scrutiny
as
I
listened
.
It
was
easier
if
I
didn
’
t
try
to
believe
.
"
He
was
the
only
son
of
an
Anglican
pastor
.
His
mother
died
giving
birth
to
him
.
His
father
was
an
intolerant
man
.
As
the
Protestants
came
into
power
,
he
was
enthusiastic
in
his
persecution
of
Roman
Catholics
and
other
religions
.
He
also
believed
very
strongly
in
the
reality
of
evil
.
He
led
hunts
for
witches
,
werewolves
.
.
.
and
vampires
.
"
I
grew
very
still
at
the
word
.
I
’
m
sure
he
noticed
,
but
he
went
on
without
pausing
.
