Ianto set down the printouts and looked a Tosh with a frown.

“Yes.” She answered the unspoken question. “The accident report is rubbish. The AIB inspector arrived three days after the Navy pulled the plane up. He spent less than a day looking over the wreck and issued a report stating that the plane had been hit by lightning. He ignored the Navy's own reports. There were two destroyers in dock for repairs with skeleton crews on board. Five of the crew members reported hearing the plane's engine stall before the explosion. One of them, an experienced clairvoyant, also reported seeing a man's hand holding a knife and cutting through a fuel line.”

“Do we know anything about this inspector?”

She slid another printout across the table. “He left AIB three months after the accident. Set up a small consulting company working with plane designers and engineers. CT Consulting, Ltd. CT for Cameron Tucker. Became very wealthy and then left it all and became an anchorite.”

“That's an... unusual career path. Catholic or Celt?”

“Celt. He's at Pontiscill Abbey near Merthyr Tydfil. I called earlier and spoke to the abbot. Brother Adwr will see us.”

“One wonders why he named himself Brother Coward.” Ianto said softly. “Anything else?”

“Right before Emma-Louise went on the trip she made a will leaving everything to one Alan Vansittart. Aristocratic wastrel in the Victorian Gothic style. Family disowned him. He was making a living by squiring older wealthy ladies about.” She grinned when Ianto gave her the raised eyebrow. “That's what they called it in those days.”

“And he found Emma-Louise and his life of service was over. Do we have anything on him?”

“Oh yes. He made a try for the fortune, but it turns out that majority of it was in a trust that specified that Emma-Louise couldn't dispose of it until she received it outright. He did get the Cowell house and about twenty-five thousand pounds, plus Emma-Louise's personal property, jewelry and so forth. He left town immediately and everything went on the market. Fetched him another ninety thousand or so.”

“And where is Mr. Vansittart now?”

“Dead. He was killed about six months after the accident. He was visiting friends in the Lake District and they went swimming. By all accounts, Alan Vansittart was an expert swimmer, but he drowned in one of the most placid stretches of water in these isles. At least one person swears to this day that he was pulled under by something.”

“What happened to the money?”

“It went to his younger sister, specifically to pay for her children's education.”

“Can we talk to her?”

“She lives in Richmond. I asked Lily to go visit and see what she could get.”

Ianto nodded. Lily Chen was a Canary Wharf survivor, a talented empath. After the disaster she had refused to return to Torchwood, so Jack had placed her on a personal retainer. If anyone could get through to Vansittart's sister, it was her. “Do we know what happened to the Cowell fortune?”

“Arthur Cowell and John Ellis had a partnership agreement that stipulated that if either one died without heirs, or if the heirs themselves died without issue, the money would revert to the other partner. In this case, John Ellis Jr. inherited the whole thing.”

“Oh?”

“Which he promptly used to create a loan scheme for women wanting to start small businesses. In honor of Emma-Louise, whom he said would have been a great businesswoman. He was considered a radical and even denounced in Parliament. It's still an ongoing concern.”

“The Women Enterprise Fund?” At her nod, he sighed. “No joy there. Same for John Ellis Sr. Stiff-necked old conservative and people sometimes hated his guts for his business deals but there's no doubt of his devotion to Emma-Louise. Diane Holmes, well, she had what in those days was considered a reputation, but by our standards she was a nonstarter. Orphaned as a teenager, turned her love of flying into a way to support herself. Nobody was inquiring too closely into the real age of anyone who could pilot a transport plane while all the men were on the Spitfires, so when she showed up she was snagged and put to work. After the war she couldn't find a job. Too many male pilots returning to civilian aviation. Then Throughton offered her a job. She had saved his life once during the war.”

“And the man who killed himself?”

“Peter McCreigh? If he were alive today he would have been diagnosed as a manic-depressive. Mind you, he could have been diagnosed but the fact kept secret. In those days mental illness was a stigma most families would have done anything to keep private.”

“So all we have is our former inspector turned religious contemplative?”

“And the unexpected drowning of the one man who seemed to have benefited from the plane crash. I'll head out to Merthyr Tydfil...”

“We'll head out. No, don't argue with me. I've already put the whole place on stand-and-watch mode and notified Andy. So if you're thinking of leaving me behind, think again.”

Ianto gave her a cheeky grin. “I was just going to recommend that you change your shoes. Most abbeys have restrictions about driving into the grounds.”

Pontiscill Abbey sprawled along the shore of a natural lake that had been turned into a reservoir. They skirted the Brecon Mountain Railway station and passed a cluster of very elegant homes before entering a thick forest. A few miles in, the road paralleled a high stone fence and then turned, coming to an abrupt end in front of the Abbey gates. A young monk was waiting for them. He gestured towards the small parking area to one side.

Beyond the gates, a trail led steeply downwards towards a slate-roofed basilica in the old Roman style. Its long axis lay along the shore. An arched passage faced the trail, leading into the atrium courtyard. The trail itself opened up into a semicircular drive of crushed stone lined with planters filled with eglantines. From the side closest to the portico another trail led up to the graveyard and a small hut beyond.

“Brother Adwr lives there,” the monk pointed. “He tasked me to inquire if either one of you is of our faith.”

“I am,” Ianto said.

“Then you are to go alone and speak to him.” He looked apologetically at Tosh. “I am sorry. He is old and becoming a little set in his ways.”

“I understand. Is it all right if I just sit there,” she pointed at a small bench set among the flowers “and wait? It is a lovely day and the roses are beautiful.”

“Yes, of course.”

Ianto climbed the path to the hut. The structure was about as large as Jack's room below the office, and it was completely bricked in. The only access was through a small window cut on the seaward side. “Brother Adwr?” he called.

A face appeared at the opening. It was seamed with wrinkles, and dirty white hair formed a cloud about it, but the eyes were clear and very aware. “Torchwood?”

“Yes, sir. I'm Ianto Jones. I've come to ask you about the Sky Gypsy. The accident?”

“It was no accident. I knew it as soon as I looked at it. I had a touch of Talent, enough to see.” Long hands that had once been elegant rubbed at the hair and face. “I knew it was murder.”

“Then why did you report it as an accident?”

“Fear. And greed. I was assigned to the job the day after the request came in from the Cardiff authorities. I was finishing up another case so I could not leave until the next day. That morning, as I was packing, an envelope arrived in the morning post. It contained two drawings. One was of my family, my wife and daughters and myself, seated in a garden as if for a tea party. The other showed me on my knees in front of my wife and daughters' graves. There was a slip of paper inside. Someone had printed on it in block letters twenty-five thousand says it was an accident.” The old man took a deep breath. “There was no way anyone outside our office could have known I would be assigned to Cardiff. My supervisor used a lottery method to assign cases.”

Ianto nodded. “So you went to Cardiff and you did as you were told. And the money arrived.”

“One week later. I used it to start my business. Made money as it I were the Bank of England. But I couldn't stand it, the idea of how it all came about. Once my wife died I came here. I thought, maybe if I pray long and hard enough I can cleanse my sin.” He laughed harshly. “I don't believe that anymore, but I still pray. Now go. You can send the police any time you want.”

Ianto lowered his wards for a second and looked at the old man. “There will be no need.”

He retraced his steps and found Tosh holding a conversation with a badger under the fascinated eyes of the young monk. She saw him coming and crooned something to the animal, who scurried away into the trees.

“Lily called.” She told Ianto. “Mrs. Ayres was reluctant to discuss her brother, but she finally agreed to talk. Turns out Alan Vansittart had been thrown out of the family home because he liked to play with black magic. The nasty kind. They found him with a hand of glory.”

“That fits in with what Brother Adwr told me. Come on, we need to talk to Jack. I think I know what's going on. And if I'm right, ” he shrugged, “it's not going to be easy to end this.”

As soon as they were on their way, Ianto activated the SUV comm. “Jack's not answering his phone.” He dialed another number. “Andy? I need you to get Brother Allan out to the airport. He has experience with wraiths... yes. We'll be there in about twenty minutes.”

They made the ride in tense silence. As the SUV pulled into the construction site, they saw not only Andy but what seemed like most of the local constabulary. They jumped out and ran across the field to where Andy and a small, rounded man in monk's robes stood waiting for them.

“There's some sort of field over the hangar. We can't get in and I don't think anyone can get out.” Andy looked unhappy. “And we keep hearing the sound of a plane engine revving up.”

“All right.” Ianto said. “The short version of a long tale goes like this. Emma-Louise Cowell met and got engaged to Alan Vansittart. Right before going to Paris with her guardian, John Ellis, she made a will in Vansittart's favour. Vansittart cut the fuel lines on the plane. After it crashed he laid claim to the estate and got a healthy chunk of it. I think that in her last moments, Emma-Louise understood what had happened. Her rage and fear was strong enough to lock her spirit in this plane as a vengeful wraith. Six months after her death, she drowned Alan Vansittart. I think she expected his spirit to join her, but it didn't. I think Emma-Louise is recreating the afternoon of the accident over and over again to force Vansittart's ghost to come here. But she's forgotten she's doing it.”

“Is that possible?” Tosh asked.

“Oh, yes.” Brother Allan nodded. “It's not unusual for the poor soul to forget what they meant to do and repeat a certain pattern over and over again.”

“So how do we break her out of it?”

“”We present her with Alan Vansittart.” Ianto said. “I can make her believe that I'm him. The problem is that she is likely to remember the truth at some point and I would prefer not to be dragged to the Other Side by a vengeful wraith.”

“That's where I come in, then.” Brother Allan said. “I have to block her way.”

“Exactly.”

“Perhaps I can help,” Tosh said. She turned her face upwards and her eyes unfocused. A kestrel dove out of the clouds to perch on her extended arm. She brought him close until his beak rested against her face. After a while, she looked up. “He thinks they can help. Kestrels can move across the Rift. If she manages to get the plane off the ground, they will slow it down.” She grinned impishly at the staring men. “What? We can use the help, can't we?”

Ianto gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Every bit we can get.” He gave himself a quick once-over. “Let's get this over with.”

He lowered his wards and focused as he moved forward. He felt energy crawl over him, but he brushed the sensation away as he concentrated on maintaining the illusion. He pulled the hangar door opened. “I'm sorry I'm late, everyone.”