Murder in a Cathedral (3 page)

‘She was a good girl,’ said the baroness gruffly.

‘She was. I am utterly bereft. For I fear that apart from being a wonderful wife, she protected me so much that in addition to being a widower, I feel like a constitutional monarch, suddenly deprived of his wisest counsellor – his prime minister – just at a moment when the country faces revolution.’

The baroness spoke gently. ‘David, just tell us the story of what’s been going on at Westonbury.’

‘I don’t know where to begin.’

‘Begin with your appointment.’

‘I was asked last September to take the job.’

‘Right.’

‘I didn’t really want to but Cornelia said I should. She pointed out that although our theological college had been spared the axe there was no guarantee it would survive the next round of cuts. Life is very insecure since the church commissioners lost all those hundreds of millions in property speculation. Why, there is a possibility that they may decide to sell my palace and dispatch me to a villa.’

‘Surely you fancied being a bishop just a little bit? However high-minded you are, it must be a slightly thrilling prospect. At the very least all that flummery must be great fun – swanking around in public in cloaks and purple waistcoats and silly hats. In the Lords we only get to put on fancy dress once a year. You’ll be doing it at least once a week. I feel quite envious.’

‘You would.’ Elworthy smiled gently. ‘But then you always liked showing off. I don’t. Except sometimes when I win a game of tennis or score in some scholarly debate. But of course I would be deluding myself if I didn’t admit I was pleased with the honour conferred on me by Her Majesty. And Westonbury wasn’t a frightening cathedral. It’s small, off the tourist track and it seemed quite tranquil. “Mouldering”, Cornelia called it approvingly. After all it seemed to have run smoothly for twenty-five years under the same bishop and dean.’

Amiss sat up. ‘Twenty-five years! What age were they when they were appointed?’

‘When they died they were respectively eighty-four and eighty-two.’

The baroness snorted. ‘Good for them. Though I thought they booted you out at some absurdly young age these days.’

‘Yes, indeed they do. No one appointed these days can stay beyond seventy. But anyone
in situ
before that can hang on as long as they can get away with it. Hubert was lucky enough to die with his mitre on. Literally. He had a heart attack when disrobing in the sacristy. And Reggie Roper, the dean, died in his bed a few weeks later.’

The baroness scratched her head. ‘Clean sweep, eh? Who’s the new dean?’

‘Ah, my dear Jack. You have put your finger on the nub of the matter. Though before I tell you what I know of Norman Cooper, I had better explain a little about the current state of Westonbury.’

‘We know, don’t we? Run by a coven – or whatever is the male equivalent – of raving Romish poofters.’

Elworthy looked uncomfortable. ‘Romish is putting it a little strongly, but I must admit the force of your description. Really the only matter on which most of the canons differ from the present pope is in their attitude to gays—’

‘I told you to reserve that word for its proper place.’ Her voice rose in song:

‘Stately as a galleon, I sail across the floor.

Doing the Military Two-step, as in the days of yore…

So gay the band,

So giddy the sight…

‘Bugger. Can’t remember the rest.’ She shot Elworthy a reproving look. ‘Do you realize good stuff like that is unperformable these days because it makes idiots titter? We’ve got to fight to recapture our language.’

Seeing Elworthy’s confused expression, Amiss intervened. ‘Jack, will you please desist from refighting a battle that was lost about ten years ago and let David get on with his story.’ He turned to Elworthy. ‘You were saying – when you were so rudely interrupted – that your new colleagues are as High as kites.’

‘That’s right. Well, that is, some of them are. And I don’t mind that really – except for the misogyny evinced by a few of them. But while I love tradition and quite enjoy Anglo-Catholic trappings like candles and incense, they’ve gone too far in some respects – as you’ll see when you come to Westonbury. And there’s worse to come!’

‘What sort of worse?’ asked the baroness.

‘I’d rather not talk about it here. I’ll have to show you the plans.’

‘So your problem has to do with making these guys see reason and play down the gaiety, is it?’

‘If only that were all, Robert.’ Elworthy rested his forehead in his left hand for a moment. ‘Let me put this plainly. What I’m facing in Westonbury is a horrifying confrontation between the spiritual legatees of a pig-headed old queen – Cornelia’s term not mine – and someone equally pig-headed who despises Anglo-Catholicism and wants to try to turn our cathedral into what has been described to me as a “happy-clappy, devil-stomping, bible-thumping rave”.’

‘Norman Cooper?’

Elworthy nodded and shuddered. ‘Or Norm, as his wife calls him. It was her description.’

‘How did the appointments unit come to perpetrate such lunacy?’ asked the baroness.

‘He kept a rein on his excesses until he got the appointment. After that he started to let rip in his own church: I’ve heard some frightening stories of what goes on there.’

‘Exaggerated perhaps?’

‘Maybe, Robert. And I admit he’s kept quiet since he was installed at Westonbury a couple of weeks ago, but his colleagues are fearful of what he might have in mind and so too am I.’

‘Won’t you be able to keep him under control?’ asked Amiss. ‘Dammit, you’re the bishop.’

‘I can see you have a lot to learn about the Church of England,’ said Elworthy wearily. ‘I have a certain amount of power over the incumbents of the parishes in my diocese, but the best I can hope for within the cathedral is influence. Those with control are the dean and five canons who are in charge of the building itself and the houses and offices within the close, the music and the services. I can’t even preach there without a formal invitation.’

‘Didn’t you follow what went on in Lincoln?’ demanded the baroness of Amiss.

‘Wasn’t it something to do with sex?’

‘At core it was a dispute between bishop and dean,’ said Elworthy. ‘The dean was a tactless reformer who had upset many of his colleagues and things got so poisonous that the bishop backed the application by a female verger to take the dean to a church court, charged with sexual misbehaviour. It took eighteen months, cost a fortune, he was found not guilty and the whole thing brought shame on the church and resolved absolutely nothing. In fact the net result is that the pressure is on to keep the lid on domestic rows and sweep anything troublesome under the carpet.’

‘How unlike the British Establishment,’ said the baroness.

Elworthy looked at his watch. ‘My goodness. Is that the time? It’s late.’

‘I would hardly call ten-thirty late,’ said the baroness.

‘I expect you don’t rise at six to run.’

‘You expect right.’

Elworthy drained his glass. ‘My terror is that Lincoln’s problems will pale into insignificance compared to what is brewing in Westonbury. If Dean Cooper is remotely as extreme as I fear him to be, much exposure to his new colleagues will cause him to run amok. The only bright spot is that there’s a stay of execution: he’s off to America for a month on Tuesday.’ He stood up.

‘When your wife died,’ asked Amiss, ‘were you tempted to duck out of the appointment?’

‘Tempted! I’ve never been so tempted by anything in my life. But when she realized she was dying, Cornelia told me it was my duty to soldier on. “Pray!” she said. “And get yourself some allies to do the dirty work.” ’

The baroness’s eyes filled with tears. ‘A great woman, Cornelia.’

Turfing Plutarch off her lap, she jumped up and gave Elworthy a clumsy hug. ‘Off you go now, up the wooden stairs to bedfordshire. Robert and I will take the cat for a stroll in the starlight. Sleep peacefully in the knowledge that you’ve got yourself two doughty allies.’

With a ‘Goodnight and God bless’ Elworthy departed, unaware that Amiss’s pleasant features were contorted with alarm and apprehension.

Chapter 3

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As they emerged from the cathedral in the midst of the throng, Amiss shook his head vigorously. ‘Do you think we could get some fresh air before we proceed to lunch? All that incense made me feel quite sick.’

‘Really? It always gives me an appetite. But yes, certainly. Fresh air by all means. Can’t have you throwing up all over the festive board. Come on, then. Turn sharp left and we’ll take a canter along the river,’

By the time they had crossed the bridge to the towpath Amiss was feeling better. ‘Blimey,’ he said. ‘Talk about smells and bells!’

‘Yes, excellent, wasn’t it? There were moments when I could hardly see the congregation through the smoke.’

‘You’re pretty High Church as atheists go, aren’t you?’

‘Of course. Tell the truth but don’t stint on the glory, that’s my motto. What’s the point of religion if it isn’t full of spectacle? That was terrific stuff. All those self-important bishops in embroidered copes and boy sopranos in starched surplices and poncy canons in fancy cassocks and stately processions and the right hymns and the unadulterated Book of Common Prayer. Excellent, excellent. You’d think time hadn’t moved on in centuries. As long as it’s the product of a long tradition it’s fine by me. Don’t you agree?’

‘Don’t know. All this is new to me. I fear the Amiss family went in for a dreary Low-Church austerity. Our local church was chilly, bleak and without any architectural merit and the vicar’s cassock sported no flounces.’

‘His chasuble fell short on the orphrey front, I infer.’

‘Whatever you might find a turn-on we were definitely short of in St Joseph’s.’

‘Too bad. I hadn’t realized how deprived was your childhood.’

‘You know, I wouldn’t have associated you with religious carry-on. Stupid of me, really. I should have realized you’d be attracted by excess in any form. I’m surprised you didn’t go over to Rome.’

She shook her head. ‘Alas, I couldn’t do that. The trouble with Rome is they expect you to take it seriously, believe in God and obey all the ghastly rules stopping you doing anything you want especially if they haven’t had it themselves, and what’s more, they disapprove of you only turning up to services when you want to.

‘Roman Catholic prelates look good, but sadly they’re mostly life-denying misery-guts. And what’s more they’ve got rid of their greatest glory – the Latin mass. Now that was something that used to carry me away – a sung Latin mass.’ She bellowed ‘Kyrie Eleison’ a few times. ‘In any case Rome is Rome and I’m not going to be pushed around by a crowd of wops. The Church of England is right for England.’

‘You mean full of dottiness and doubt and tolerance and the rest of it.’

‘Absolutely. Fortunately’ – she stopped and pointed towards the cathedral – ‘we’ve got all the grandest buildings. The papists haven’t anything to beat that. Look at it. Nigh on a thousand years of faith and hope and Englishness.’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘Isn’t that magnificent?’

‘Englishness is pushing it a bit, isn’t it? That’s surely a Norman tower.’

She hit him a painful blow with her handbag. ‘Stop being such a fucking pedant. We Anglo-Saxons absorbed those buggers in no time at all. Anyway, while I grant you the tower and those superlative spires, what makes Westonbury one of my favourite cathedrals is all that Gothic exuberance. No other cathedral can beat that explosion of naturalistic carving.’

‘
L’excès, toujours l’excès
.’ He dodged another swing of the bag. ‘OK, OK. It is wonderful and I am moved by it. It’s just that I get embarrassed and English about admitting such emotions.’

‘You’ll come to love it.’

‘Jack, I have explained to you in words of one syllable that I am shaking the dust of Westonbury off my feet after today and going home for good. I was not taken in by that cock-and-bull story about your needing to be protected from David’s advances. Maidenly delicacy is not a problem with which I associate you.’

‘Not even maidenly indelicacy?’

‘Shut up!’ Grimly he continued. ‘I know very well that you wish to maroon me down here to act as some kind of undercover agent. As I told you on Friday night, it is out of the question. Do I make myself clear?’

‘You’re so hysterical. Calm down. It’ll all work out. Now come on, it’s time we turned back. David will be looking for me. I think I’m supposed to be gracing the top table.’

‘You’ll fit in. In fact the more I look at you the more I think you resemble not just a bishop’s wife, but an archbishop’s. You have that indefinable air of righteous authority.’

‘Jolly good. Just the effect I was aiming at. It’ll put the fear of God into them.’

‘Into whom?’

‘Never you mind. Now off we go.’ She accelerated. ‘Oh, and by the way.’

‘Yes?’

‘We’re not dining alone tonight. David wants to see us privately after all this is over, so I promised him we’ll have dinner with him in the palace. Just the three of us.’

‘What’s going on, Jack? Surely he should be dining with all sorts of visiting dignitaries – archbishops, and so on.’

‘No. He pleaded weariness caused by his bereavement. It worked like magic. They all backed off instantly from sheer embarrassment.’

Amiss shook his head in wonderment. ‘It’s really amazing. Even the clergy in this country can’t cope with death.’

‘Aha. That’s because when it comes to a clash between their essential Englishness and their religiousness the Englishness wins. And that,’ she added, with a smirk of satisfaction, ‘is as it should be. First things first.’

‘Get her!’

Following the gaze of his neighbour, Amiss focused on a willowy man in a beige linen suit whose clerical collar appeared incongruously above a yellow shirt and a red waistcoat with an oriental design.