From Insurrection: Weddings can be murder:
“He crawled a little closer to the edge of the rood loft, intent on concealing himself between the newly replaced statues of Christ on the cross and the Virgin Mary.
He cursed as a jagged splinter from the roughly hewn loft floor speared into the palm of his hand.
God’s teeth! That’ll leave a scar, he muttered, seemingly oblivious to the sacrilege.
Absentmindedly, he sucked the stream of blood from his palm while he peered down into the gloomy nave of St Mary le Bow church. Two churchwardens were laying out silver flagons and plate, but otherwise the building was empty.
I can’t stay here much longer. They’re preparing for Evensong.
After kneeling for so long, his knees creaked when he tried to stand, and he might have fallen had he not braced himself against Mary’s flank. As he limped toward the stairwell, his bloody palm-print gleamed wetly on the statue’s blue-painted robe, illuminated by a shaft of sunlight that pierced the stained glass of the chancel’s window.
Pausing at the base of the stairs, he checked the nave again.
Still quiet…I’ll have to risk it, else I’ll be late. And I don’t want to be known as the late Sir Nicholas Throckmorton!
He chuckled grimly at his own weak joke, then hurried toward the door, ignoring the querulous looks from the forgettable churchmen.”