Holy Disorders. Edmund Crispin

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       4

       Teeth of Traps

      The clergy-house drawing-room was a large one, shabby but comfortable, well-lighted, and decorated, not with Pre- Raphaelite Madonnas, but with caricatures by Spy of ecclesiastical dignitaries long dead and awaiting transfiguration, together with one original Rowlandson etching tucked away in a corner. This represented two obese clerics, one throwing bread contemptuously to an equally contemptuous rabble, the other surreptitiously embracing a large and simpering wench, very décolletée; a cathedral which was recognizably Tolnbridge stood in the background. A few scattered books showed tastes not far removed from the worldly: fiction by Huxley, Isherwood, and Katherine Mansfield; plays by Bridie and Congreve; and, in another but still noble sphere, John Dickson Carr, Nicholas Blake, Margery Allingham, and Gladys Mitchell. The cathedral clergy are great readers – they have little else to do.

      Geoffrey and Frances had left Fielding at the Whale and Coffin to unpack and were sitting together, talking a little restrainedly. Now they were alone, Geoffrey felt even more attracted by her, and she quieted his bachelor’s misgivings (which she may have suspected) by an almost timorous reserve. The evening sunlight lay green and gold on the broad lawn outside the French windows, glistening on the thickly-clustered yellow roses and the shaggy chrysanthemum blooms. A faint scent of verbena drifted in from a plant which clung to the grey wall outside.

      It appeared that since Brooks’ arrival at the hospital little more had been heard of him. The nature and cause of his insanity were still unknown, except perhaps by the doctors who attended him, and no friends had been allowed to see him. Of near relatives he had only a brother, with whom he had been on the worst possible terms. This brother had been summoned by telegram, but had not appeared, and indeed it seemed doubtful whether he would have been the slightest help to anyone if he had. This much Frances knew, and no more.

      There was still no sign of Fen.

      Geoffrey asked who would be at dinner that night.

      ‘Well, Daddy’s coming over,’ said Frances. ‘And then there’ll be Canon Garbin and Canon Spitshuker, and little Dutton, of course – the sub-organist. Oh, and Sir John Dallow’s dropping in for coffee – there’s to be some sort of meeting afterwards. Have you heard of him? He’s the big noise on witchcraft in this country.’

      Geoffrey shook his head. ‘Is Canon Garbin married?’

      ‘Yes. Why?’

      ‘There was a Mrs Garbin in the compartment we travelled down in. With a young clergyman.’

      ‘Oh, that was probably July Savernake. Come to think of it, he did say he’d be back today. I expect he’ll be at dinner too.’

      ‘What about him?’

      ‘How do you mean?’

      ‘Well, what sort of person is he?’

      She hesitated. ‘Well…he’s Vicar at Maverley, about twelve miles from here. Got the living almost as soon as he was ordained.’ Geoffrey sensed a deliberate reservation behind the recital of facts, and wondered what its cause might be. ‘He spends half the year buying expensive books and wine and playing the curé bon viveur, and the other half having to economize, and playing the “poore persoun”. A see-saw sort of existence.’ Frances laughed apologetically. ‘That doesn’t tell you much, I’m afraid. But you’ll be meeting him, anyway.’

      Fielding came in, and Frances left to supervise the final preparations for dinner. ‘Hideous little room I’ve got,’ said Fielding mournfully as he fell into a chair, ‘but it will do. How are you feeling?’

      ‘A bit nightmarish.’

      ‘It is rather like that. Do you know, I’ve been wondering if those attacks on you weren’t bogus from beginning to end – designed to conceal the reason for something else. Probably the attack on Brooks. All those preposterous warnings! That would bring you into the limelight all right – which is just what they wanted. I suppose they didn’t care whether you were killed or just injured. Whoever it is, and whatever they’re after, it seems they can afford to waste lives like water.’

      Geoffrey lit a cigarette and sucked at it without pleasure. ‘It sounds plausible, but there might be some other explanation.’

      ‘There’s only one way of testing it out,’ said Fielding emphatically, ‘and that is by keeping quiet about it. If we once let out that we’ve rumbled it, they’ll abandon the whole business. But if they think it’s taking people in, they’ll probably try something else – try to kill you again, for example.’

      Geoffrey sat up in annoyance. ‘A nice thing,’ he exclaimed bitterly, СКАЧАТЬ