Lamb’s regard clouded, then he turned his gaze on me.

‘And you, sir?’

‘This is Dr John Watson, an army surgeon and my colleague in work,’ said Holmes.

Lamb took me in, then turned abruptly back to Holmes.

‘London, you say? A consulting detective who plays the violin? Well, you certainly must be unique. How is it that I can help you, sir?’

‘Is Deacon Buttons here at present?’ asked Holmes.

‘No. He is with the Carews, a family struck by illness. Terribly sad, the mother will expire soon.’

‘May we wait for him?’

‘I suppose so. Though it is not clear how long he may be.’ The priest smiled politely. ‘You are a detective. Has a crime been committed?’

Holmes glanced around him. Through an open doorway we could see the altar and the pulpit. A small vase of roses sat next to the pulpit, clearly cut from the garden outside. Lacking all the gilded paraphernalia, the embroidered draping, the accoutrements of the popular and well-funded Catholic Church, these were a modest though charming offering.

‘Perhaps, Father. Deacon Buttons mentioned that a Miss Odelia Wyndham is a congregant here?’ said Holmes.

‘She is.’

‘Is her family Catholic?’

‘The mother, perhaps. Lapsed.’

‘But the young lady? How long has she been attending church here?’

‘For some months now. Shortly after we began here.’

‘Interesting. You are aware that the family has reported Miss Wyndham missing?’

The priest paused, feeling the weight of Holmes’s gaze settle upon him. He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Young Buttons mentioned it, yes.’

‘And that her doll was found floating in the Jesus Lock?’

‘What? A doll? No. But she is a mature young lady—’

‘Her childhood doll. A favourite, apparently. And found by the deacon in the lock.’

The priest looked puzzled. ‘I see. How can I help you?’

Holmes had stood up and was now moving about the room. As it was bare stone with only the benches on which we sat, I wondered what he would be looking for.

Holmes’s movements made the priest uneasy. My friend looked down at the stone floor with interest and brushed his foot across two of the stones. A few pebbles scraped underneath his boot.

Lamb stared at Holmes. ‘Did her parents call you in?’

Holmes smiled at him but said nothing.

‘We have had some repair work done. Ongoing. Some loose stones replaced,’ the priest said.

‘Ah! Was anyone buried here?’ drawled Holmes. ‘I know that in many churches it is the custom to bury past clergy or notable congregants directly under the church flooring. Although usually there is a plaque memorializing them.’

‘I am afraid that information has been lost to time,’ said Lamb. ‘Those records have not come down to us. The church has had a number of lives. It was a kind of sanctuary for the vagrants of Cambridge until recently. And, I believe, someone attempted to open a restaurant here before that. But back to the young lady …’