Appointed to Die (27 page)

David was even more interested in the political ramifications of Rupert's resignation, news that they'd heard not only from Judith but from Jeremy and from Lucy's father. ‘It will change the balance of power in the Chapter,' he ruminated as they approached Malbury. ‘Assuming that the rest of them would all vote together against the Dean, that is. Now, if the Dean can swing one more vote, or manage to get rid of one of the others . . . What does your father say about it?' he asked curiously.

‘Only that he thought that Arthur Brydges-ffrench was less than pleased.'

‘I can imagine.'

‘But David – the important thing is Judith. She'll be so much happier in London. And the fact that Rupert was willing to make such a big change . . .' She shook her head. ‘Arthur Brydges-ffrench and the rest of them will get over it,' she predicted, confidently if naïvely. ‘In a few months' time they won't even remember what all the fuss was about.'

But David wasn't so sure that it would be that simple.

* * *

The dinner party at the Bishop's House which had been cancelled in the wake of Ivor Jones's death had been rescheduled for that evening, though in a different form than originally planned. Only Lucy, David and Canon Kingsley would be dining with the Willoughbys, but their intimate meal was preceded by a festive drinks party to which the entire Close had been invited.

This time the gathering was in the drawing room rather than the kitchen. It was a large and rather grand room, seldom used by the informal Willoughbys, who preferred to do their entertaining on a smaller scale.

The guests of honour arrived a few minutes early, and David endeared himself immediately to Pat by offering to help her with the dispensing of drinks and food. ‘How kind!' she said. ‘George is absolutely hopeless when it comes to such things. He gets sidetracked talking to someone, and forgets that he's meant to be refilling glasses. Not the ideal host, I'm afraid.'

‘I don't know what you're talking about, my dear,' the Bishop grumbled, leading John Kingsley off to his study for a long discussion of cathedral business.

David and Lucy followed Pat to the kitchen to help her with her final preparations, and they had a few minutes to chat before the other guests began to arrive. ‘I don't suppose that either one of you knows too much about the rather peculiar format of our Patronal Festival,' Pat said. ‘Have you been before, Lucy?'

‘I remember coming years and years ago with the family, when I was quite young. When my mother was still alive.'

David looked puzzled. ‘What makes it different from any other Patronal Festival?'

Pat laughed. ‘If you're expecting the rarefied incense-vestments-procession of some spiky London church's version of a Patronal Festival, I'm afraid you may be disappointed. We're much more homespun out here in the country.'

‘You intrigue me,' confessed David, taking it upon himself to give a last-minute polish to a trayful of glasses.

‘I suppose that the term “Patronal Festival” is really a misnomer when it comes to what goes on here,' she explained. ‘It just happens to take place around the Feast of St Malo. But it could be better described as a diocesan country fête, a real Barbara Pymish affair. It's not the least bit smart or grand – far from it. It's primarily for the bell-ringers, the diocesan Mothers' Union, and the parochial clergy – they're all encouraged to come, from all the country parishes, and everyone mucks in together and has a good time.'

David smiled maliciously. ‘Somehow it doesn't sound exactly like the Dean's cup of tea.'

‘Oh, I'm quite sure it's not.' Pat laughed again. ‘But it was all planned long before he came – it was too late for him to alter it. It's been going on like this since long before George and I came to Malbury. George thinks it's important to make everyone feel that they're a part of the diocese, to realise that they matter.'

‘What, exactly, does it involve?' asked Lucy. ‘My memories of it are pretty dim – I just remember that Andrew – my oldest brother—' she explained in an aside to David, ‘wanted to come because he was a bell-ringer.'

‘Yes, it's quite an event for the diocesan bell-ringers,' Pat confirmed. ‘Through most of the day there's a big striking competition, with plenty of beer – Watkins always sends along a barrel of Ploughman's Bitter. Of course we have open house here at the Bishop's House all day for the diocesan clergy and their families. And in the afternoon, by long-standing tradition, the Mothers' Union, or at least the diocesan committee and the Enrolling Member of each chapter, are entertained to tea at the Deanery.' She chuckled.

‘The Deanery?' David raised his eyebrows in amusement.

‘Yes, the Deanery! And believe me, those Mothers' Union women can be pretty formidable
en masse
. I wouldn't want to be in Stuart Latimer's shoes if he tries to cross them!' Pat smiled at the mental picture of an army of women with permed hair, pleated skirts and sensible shoes storming the Deanery. But she grew suddenly sober as she went on, ‘But I suppose we'd all better enjoy it this year, as it will probably be the last. I'm sure that the Dean will put a stop to it from now on.'

The Greenwoods arrived, and Lucy was pleased to see how happy – and haw attractive – Judith looked. She was wearing a dress that Lucy had chosen for her on their London shopping trip, and her cheeks glowed with a natural colour that was far more becoming than make-up. She greeted Lucy with delight, and together they retreated to a corner for a long chat.

‘I'm not saying that things are perfect between Rupert and me,' confided Judith, ‘but in the last few weeks we've talked so much more than ever before. He just never had any idea how I felt about Malbury.'

‘You never told him before,' Lucy pointed out reasonably.

‘No. I'm not blaming him,' Judith was quick to reply. ‘I shouldn't have expected him to read my mind. But I just thought . . . well, I thought that if two people were married, and loved each other, they ought to know how each other felt without saying anything.'

Lucy's voice was wry. ‘I'm afraid it doesn't work like that. No matter how much you love each other.'

Judith smiled shyly. ‘Oh, Lucy. London is going to be like a new start for Rupert and me. I can hardly wait.'

‘How does Rupert feel about it?'

‘He's looking forward to it, too. The new church sounds ideal – it has a fine musical tradition for him to build on. Though he'll be sorry to leave Malbury, of course. He's a bit worried about what will happen when he's gone.'

Lucy frowned slightly, remembering David's concerns. ‘About the balance of power in the Chapter, you mean?'

Judith's reply was puzzled. ‘No, he hasn't mentioned that. He's just worried about the lack of supervision for the music until a new organist and a new Precentor are appointed.'

The balance of power in the Chapter was one of the matters that the Bishop was discussing with John Kingsley. ‘Rupert's resignation has changed everything,' George Willoughby assessed cogently. ‘You realise, don't you, John, that if just one more of you goes, the Dean will be in a position to get his own way on anything he wants?'

‘I'm not planning on resigning,' Canon Kingsley assured him with a half smile.

The Bishop laughed heartily. ‘Oh, I didn't mean you, John! But what about Arthur? Do you think he'll go?'

John Kingsley considered the question seriously for a moment before replying. ‘I think he might,' he said at last. ‘I think he realises how futile his resistance will be, with Rupert breaking ranks. And Philip threatening to go as well.'

The Bishop's furry white eyebrows rose. ‘Oh, is he, now?'

‘I don't know if it will come to anything,' his friend hastened to assure him. ‘But it all makes Arthur feel rather abandoned, I'm afraid.'

‘Have you talked to him about it?'

‘Yes, just yesterday, in fact.'

‘And what did he say?'

‘You want to know honestly? I think that he's almost at the point of deciding to go. It wouldn't take much persuasion to push him over. He's a desperately unhappy man, George.'

The Bishop stroked his beard thoughtfully. ‘And how do you feel about it, John? Do you think that he should go?'

Again John Kingsley considered his answer. ‘I have very mixed feelings.' He sighed. ‘I'm not sure that it's a good thing for the Dean to get what he wants, especially when it comes to the Cathedral Centre. In itself it's a good thing, I suppose, but the cost is too high.'

‘Too high? But raising the money will be his problem, not yours.'

‘I don't mean in money, George. I mean in human and emotional terms. Think about poor Dorothy Unworth, and about Victor and Bert. And Arthur too, of course.' He sighed again, deeply. ‘That's why, in the end, I think it's best for Arthur to go. For his own peace of mind. If he retires now, he can do it with dignity and with a chance of rebuilding some sort of emotional equilibrium. If his going means that it's easier for the Dean to get his own way . . . well, so be it. We'll have to live with the consequences. But Arthur is the most important consideration now. And I shall continue to do my best to move him in that direction, for his own good.'

Arthur Brydges-ffrench was also being discussed in the drawing room. ‘He said he didn't feel well enough to come here tonight,' Todd Randall confirmed to Olivia Ashleigh and Rupert Greenwood. ‘So Evelyn said that she'd look after him – make sure he got a nice meal and everything. It was a good thing that I was coming here – Evelyn told me, in the nicest possible way, to get lost for the evening.'

Olivia laughed, proffering a bowl of crisps. ‘Poor Todd. Have a crisp.'

He eyed the tiny bowl dejectedly. ‘There aren't enough potato chips in that little bowl for one person, let alone a whole room full. And there's no McDonald's in Malbury – I'll starve!'

Rupert looked around the room, his eyes lingering for a moment on the corner where his wife chatted vivaciously with Lucy. ‘I don't see the Dean here,' he commented. ‘Isn't he coming? Or wasn't he invited?'

‘Oh, he was invited, all right!' Olivia assured him. ‘But I think that he had more important fish to fry, so to speak. Rumour has it that he's entertaining Canon Thetford and his wife to dinner tonight.'

‘Ah.' Rupert contrived to look uninterested.

‘Don't mention dinner,' Todd groaned, patting his empty stomach melodramatically.

Jeremy was also keeping a discreet eye on the corner where Lucy talked to Judith, waiting for his opportunity to pounce. At least David was fully occupied helping Pat, he thought with a smile; David had recently refilled his glass with a barely concealed glare of suspicious antipathy, following Jeremy's gaze.

Almost as if by chance, Rowena materialised beside him, raising her glass in a friendly way. She, too, was aware of where Jeremy's attention was fixed, and she bit back a waspish comment about the charms of Miss Kingsley. ‘So, tomorrow is the big day,' she began conversationally.

Jeremy frowned, uncomprehending. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Isn't tomorrow the day the Dean unveils his grand plans for all the world – or at least for the Malbury diocese – to see?'

‘Oh, that.' Jeremy was cautious, unsure how much she knew.

‘The grand Cathedral Centre,' Rowena amplified. ‘The Dean's bid for immortality in the cathedral world. And yours as well, I suspect,' she added shrewdly. ‘It's something we have in common, you and I,' she went on. ‘An interest in the Dean's plans. An interest in seeing them carried out.'

Jeremy's mind worked quickly. ‘So you got what you wanted?'

Rowena's smile was deliberately bland, though tinged with triumph – and perhaps with something else. ‘I've told you before – I always get what I want. And you?'

The architect gave a noncommittal nod as he tried to gauge to what extent Rowena had been taken into the Dean's confidence. ‘Perhaps we should pool our information. For our mutual benefit – and protection.'

Rowena turned puzzled eyes on him. ‘Protection? What do you mean?'

‘Well, it never hurts . . . to be cautious.'

Studying her drink, Rowena remembered the Dean's veiled hints about her lease. ‘Do you think he's a man to keep his word?' she asked quietly. ‘Do you think we can trust him?'

Jeremy took a sip of wine before he replied. ‘I hope so. But I'll give you a word of advice – if I were you, I'd have the lease of your house drawn up in your own name, rather than as head of the Friends. Just to be on the safe side.'

‘I see.' Her voice was thoughtful.

‘And then there's the problem of Canon Brydges-ffrench,' Jeremy added.

Rowena nodded. ‘Come round and have a chat some time.' She kept her tone cool, lowering her eyes. ‘Perhaps between us we can come up with a way to deal with Arthur. From what I understand, he's being awkward and obstructive.'

‘And I'm afraid that your feminine wiles, though they may have captivated the Dean, won't get you very far with that one.' Jeremy raised an eyebrow with a malicious grin. ‘I'm not so sure, in fact, what sort of a bribe you could use to get on the good side of the Subdean. An antiquarian book, perhaps?'

‘Crème de menthe Turkish Delight,' Rowena countered immediately. ‘He can never resist it.' She smiled. ‘Perhaps that's not such a bad idea after all. At any rate, it couldn't hurt. I'll get a box tomorrow, and I suggest that you do the same!'

Jeremy laughed. ‘Well, that's the Subdean taken care of! Now if we can only manage to keep the Dean sweet . . .'

CHAPTER 27

    
For thither the tribes go up, even the tribes of the Lord: to testify unto Israel, to give thanks unto the Name of the Lord.