Murder in a Cathedral (6 page)

‘Did she mention his wife?’

‘Just that his first wife died some time ago, and he only acquired this whatshername
…
?’

‘Tilly,’ said Amiss.

‘…Tilly, a year or two ago.’

‘From my lunch-time experience, I have to tell you that she is a lady whose religious fervour would be more suited to the American Bible Belt than an English cathedral town.’

‘Wall-to-wall fundamentalist claptrap in other words,’ said the baroness. ‘Robert certainly had an instructive lunch wedged between her and the little Davage woofter. Oh, yes. And we’ve seen the lady chapel.’

‘You’re beginning to get some idea of what I’m up against. I can’t bear even to think about that picture. When Cornelia explained the significance of it to me I couldn’t believe it. She said it would be one of our jobs to have it quietly removed.’

‘I can’t imagine Davage letting it go quietly,’ proffered Amiss. ‘And since he’s a public figure he’ll be in a good position to kick up a stink.’

‘It’s all too much for me,’ said the bishop. ‘Much too much for me.’

The baroness waved her empty glass. ‘More brandy, Robert. Now, David, stop whinging, pull yourself together and tell us about the rest of the gang.’

The bishop sat up obediently. ‘Obviously the key people are the members of the chapter.’

‘You’ll have to spell all this out to Robert. He’s next thing to a pagan.’

‘I do apologize. How parochial I am! The cathedral is run by the dean and the chapter, which in Westonbury consists of five residentiary canons. You don’t want to be bothered with the twenty-four honorary canons, who don’t really count and most of whom I don’t know from Adam.’

He consulted his book. ‘Cecil Davage is sixty-two, educated at Cambridge, Chichester Theological College, then back to Cambridge as a college chaplain, fellow and lecturer in fine art. Arrived here ten years ago as treasurer.’

Amiss was puzzled. ‘Isn’t that more an accountant’s job?’

‘No, no. In fact in most cathedrals it involves few duties, but here, where we are very traditional, he’s in charge of looking after all the cathedral’s valuables.’

‘He showed me what’s on display. Absolutely marvellous – particularly, of course, that magnificent diamond-studded gold crozier.’

The bishop sighed. ‘Ah, yes. St Dumbert’s Staff. I worry about it, you know. These days it’s asking for trouble to have such a valuable object in a public building. Not to speak of everything else – all those exquisite rings and reliquaries, for instance. But it would be wrong to put such things in a bank vault: they belong to the people. Remember Auden’s lines?

‘Cathedrals,

Luxury liners laden with souls.’

‘The cases seemed pretty impregnable,’ said Amiss soothingly. ‘And Davage seemed very happy with the alarm system.’

‘I suppose so.’ The bishop looked back at his book. ‘Then there’s the precentor, Jeremy Flubert, who is in charge of the music.’ He consulted his book. ‘He’s forty-seven, went to King’s, Cambridge, then the Royal College of Music in London; his theological college was Wescott House, Cambridge, and from there he came straight here as organist and Hubert’s domestic chaplain until fifteen years ago, when he became precentor. As you’ll have heard today, Westonbury’s music is sublime, and it’s said to be mainly his doing. He’s a great organist and a marvellous inspiration to the boys.’

‘What’s he like?’

‘What’s he like?’ The bishop threw his hands wide. ‘I don’t know. He seems perfectly nice.’

‘Woofter?’

‘I don’t know, Jack. He’s not married. But then none of them is.

‘Then there’s the chancellor, Sebastian Trustrum. He’s the chap in charge of the services, Robert. A rather acerbic little man. I suggested a small liturgical change in the service for my consecration, and he was very short with me. Very short indeed. Of course, he’s getting on a bit.’ He fumbled through the pages. ‘Sixty-six, according to this.’

‘That’s young.’

The bishop smiled. ‘Not everyone bears his years as easily as you, Jack. Anyway Trustrum has had a more conventional career: university and theological college in London, a couple of country curacies, then became a vicar in this diocese, an honorary canon and twenty years ago, chancellor.’ He riffled through the pages. ‘Ah, here’s Dominic Fedden-Jones. Forty-two, Exeter University, Cranmer Hall, Durham, curacies in Guildford and Gloucester, then oddly came straight in here as a canon residentiary. I can’t think of anything to tell you about him. Spends quite a lot of time away, from what I can gather.’

He lapsed into silence.

‘That’s four,’ said the baroness in a surprisingly patient tone. ‘Who’s the fifth?’

‘Oh, sorry. How could I forget? Alice Wolpurtstone.’

‘Alice Wolpurtstone!’ exclaimed both his listeners.

‘Oh, my goodness, didn’t you know? First female canon in the country, in fact.’

The baroness sat bolt upright and slammed her glass heavily down on the table. ‘In this haunt of misogynistic woofters you have a female canon? I thought they were violently opposed to even the ordination of women.’

‘I do realize it’s a little surprising. In fact when Cornelia first heard about Canon Wolpurtstone, she said, “Mark my words. Some deal has been done here.” But that was just when she became ill and I haven’t given it any further thought.’

‘Frankly, David, you don’t seem to have given anything much thought.’

He looked stricken.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Thoughtless of me. Considering what you’ve been through, you’ve done well just to survive the last few months.’

‘Do you know anything about the Reverend Alice?’ enquired Amiss gently.

The bishop’s brows knitted. ‘Seems a nice woman.’ He delved back into Crockford’s. ‘Thirty-five, educated Bristol University. A three-year gap, then studied at theological college in America; she came back here seven years ago and was ordained deacon, then priest two years ago and then a canon just a few months ago.’

‘America indeed. Oh, oh,’ said the baroness.

‘Oh, really, Jack,’ said Amiss. ‘Curb your prejudices just for once. People can have studied in America and still be sane, you know.’

‘Only Mary Lou. What else do you know, David? What qualifications did she have to secure such a ground-breaking appointment?’

‘I’ve no idea. But Cornelia heard she was elected to replace a canon who defected to Rome last year because of his opposition to women priests.’

‘That was a splendidly bitchy revenge, I have to say,’ observed the baroness. ‘What are her ecclesiastical politics?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t understand any of it except that it’s all going to be awful if Dean Cooper starts the crusade he’s threatening.’

‘Which is?’

‘To weed out what he calls depravity, indulgence and Romanism.’

‘Crikey. That’ll keep him busy.’

‘It’s not funny. I’m afraid of what he’ll want to do to the services and the music.’

‘Why did he allow today’s service to go ahead in that form? I’d have thought he’d at least have cut the incense ration.’

‘It was all set in stone before he arrived, Robert. And with the archbishop coming he couldn’t have risked a row, I suppose.’ He rocked back and forth. ‘It’s going to be dreadful. My auxiliary bishop is not very sympathetic, and pays no attention to what goes on in the cathedral. And I don’t even have a domestic chaplain in whom I can confide. When I told him last week that I was glad we now ordained women and could see no argument against female bishops, he marched straight upstairs, packed his bags and left. His last words were that he was going over to Rome.’

The baroness got up, went over to the bishop and put her arm around him. ‘You poor old thing. You must be very miserable.’

‘I would feel completely desperate if it wasn’t that Robert’s going to help me.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You’re not?’ The bishop’s voice was agonized.

‘I just can’t.’

‘Of course you can,’ said the baroness. ‘It’s only temporary.’

‘Look, David, it’s not that I wouldn’t like to be of use, but what you need to help you in Westonbury is a holy hit squad – not an atheist who doesn’t know the difference between a cathedral and a synagogue.’

‘My dear young man, above all other attributes I require someone with no ecclesiastical axes to grind. From what I’ve seen of you and from what Jack’s told me, you’re ideal – intelligent, discreet and honourable. Surely a job as a temporary researcher-cum-personal assistant will help you financially while you seek permanent employment.’

‘But…’

‘And you’re understanding.’

To Amiss’s horror, the bishop began to cry. ‘Without a confidant I will go mad.’

The baroness pulled his head onto her ample chest and patted him on the back. ‘There, there.’ She glared at Amiss. ‘How could you be so heartless?’

‘Oh, God,’ he said. ‘I give in. When do I start?’

Chapter 6

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‘It’s all very well for you, you double-crossing…’

‘Son of a bitch?’ suggested the baroness affably. ‘Oh, shut up whining. You know you’ll enjoy it. You’ve been secretly pining for something interesting to do. Stop griping and look over there and marvel.’

Amiss’s gaze climbed slowly up the opulently lit exterior of Westonbury Cathedral to where – several hundred feet up – darkness fell just beyond the top of the highest spire. Further up again was an expanse of star-studded darkness. There was no sound except faint lapping from the distant weir, until the baroness murmured, ‘ “By night an atheist half believes a God,” ’ and they began walking again towards their hotel.

‘I suppose I might enjoy the peace of it all.’

‘Of course you will. Besides, Plutarch needs a change of air.’

Amiss’s serenity was shattered. ‘Oh, bugger, I’d forgotten about her. Wouldn’t she be better off with you?’

‘This is a much better environment. It might have a lasting spiritual effect.’

‘I can’t just import her into the palace. She might tear its fabric apart.’

‘You misunderstand that animal. It’s confined spaces and sudden shocks that make her cross.’

‘Cross is not the word I would have chosen. How about vindictive? Vicious? Destructive? Murderous? I’ve seen her lay whole rooms waste and make grown men cry.’

‘
You
made a grown man cry this evening.’

‘Not by scratching him.’

‘No, by refusing him succour – temporarily, at least. And that’s typical of you. Plutarch is a passionate creature whose sins are sins of commission. You, on the other hand, tend towards the cold-blooded, so yours are sins of omission.’

‘That’s preposterous crap.’

‘It is not. Take, for instance, your treatment of Plutarch. You deny her love. Admit it, you hardly emanate affection. Poor little thing feels unwanted.’

‘She is bloody well unwanted. And highly inconvenient and expensive to boot. I am dutiful towards her and she treats me, at best, with disdain. Anyway, all this is bollocks. I grant you she gets on well with you, but even when billeted at St Martha’s she still creates mayhem from time to time.’

‘Only through an excess of youthful high spirits.’

‘The high-table salmon?’

‘Healthy appetite and discerning palate. No more than I’d have done myself in her shoes.’

‘ “
Rent acu tetigisti
”, as Jeeves would say. You get on so well with her because you are two of a kind.’

‘Anyway, I’ve already squared it with David. He likes her. Said she’d be company.’

‘But…’

‘Stop arguing. Tell you what. I’ll deliver her personally on Sunday when I come down to hear Norm the Noodlehead preach. I’m in need of a good laugh. I look forward to enjoying the occasion with you.’

‘I won’t be here.’

‘What do you mean you won’t be here? You said you were coming back tomorrow.’

‘Yes, but I’ll be going back to London on Saturday evening, so as to be ready the next morning to attend festivities in Battersea
chez
Bev.’

The baroness looked blank.

‘Norm’s successor. He sounds potentially very entertaining. Davage met him this morning and squeaked apoplectically about his awfulness. Apparently he likes to be known as the Rev. Bev.’

The baroness began to protest volubly, but Amiss cut her short. ‘Just shut up, Jack. I’ve a long-standing date to spend Sunday next with Ellis Pooley. He and Jim were so tied up with the Wimbledon serial murderer that we haven’t had a chance to meet for ages. I have absolutely no intention of welshing on the arrangement. You should be patting me on the back for combining business with pleasure by persuading him to suss out Norm’s past.’

The baroness chuckled. ‘So be it. I would give a lot to see young Master Pooley leaping around being saved.’ She sighed. ‘In fact you now make me envious: I expect you’ll have much more fun than is likely to be on offer from Norm’s Old Testament ravings.’

‘I expect so too. From what Tilly told me, the Rev. Bev is not to be missed: charismatic, joyful and ready to heal at the drop of a cassock, apparently.’

The baroness yawned. ‘Good, good. Norm looks a bit dour by comparison. Still, I will extract from the occasion what entertainment I can and trust you to do the same.’

They turned into the hotel grounds. ‘Now how do you suggest I square Rachel?’ enquired Amiss. ‘She’s becoming increasingly tired of what she calls my Flying Dutchman approach to life.’

The baroness stopped and looked grimly at him. ‘Tell her to accept you for what you are. If she doesn’t enjoy your adventurousness, ingenuity and dash, then she doesn’t deserve you.’

He went to bed comforted.

‘So now to the matter of the dean’s memorial,’ he wrote to Rachel.

‘I am told that the major inspiration for this was an immense monument in Winchester Cathedral to one of its Victorian bishops, who was clearly a chap with ideas above his station and whose memorial includes four sizeable angels carrying the bier and a vast eagle poised at the great man’s feet – presumably to carry his soul to heaven.