Murder in a Cathedral Read online

  ‘It’s so insular, so privileged, so little in contact with the real world—with ordinary people. I’ve been amazed to find clergymen who never seem to have anything whatsoever to do with the needy.’

  She nodded eagerly.

  He leaned forward confidingly. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m not very happy. You see, I took this job because I wanted to add a spiritual dimension to my life and I’ve been very, very disappointed. I suppose it’s different for you, being a canon and having a role in the cathedral.’

  ‘Oh, but I haven’t. I expect I’ve less to do than you. I might as well not exist for all the use I am at Westonbury.’

  ‘What a waste. And I can’t understand it. What is the point of having people dedicate their lives to God if they aren’t serving the poor and the despised and the rejected? Isn’t that how wisdom is acquired?’

  He gazed earnestly at her. ‘I know that what I have learned from friends of mine with Aids has added a huge and rich dimension to my life.’ As he lobbed this in, Amiss tamed his protesting conscience by reminding it that, yes, he had one friend with Aids, yes, Peter was bearing up courageously, yes, he was in his own way a bit of an inspiration and yes—cynic that he was—he would chortle at being trotted out piously in such circumstances.

  It was a bull’s-eye. There was a catch in her voice as she said, ‘I’ve never found anything as rewarding as my work with Aids victims. I didn’t want to leave and come here.’

  The dam broke and Amiss found himself in the middle of every man’s nightmare—escorting a crying woman in public.

  ‘All I’ve ever wanted,’ she sobbed—so violently that the assistant, who had been sitting behind the till vacantly stroking a black cat, livened up and showed some interest—‘is to look after people. Sometimes I wish I were dead.’

  Following immemorial male custom, Amiss looked embarrassed, passed Alice a clean tissue and muttered a few ‘there, there’s’. When she had wiped her tears, he decided on a policy of distraction rather than confrontation. Woo the filly first, as the baroness, in her helpful way, had once put it to him; some of them take fright if you try to corral them too early. So when she calmed down, rather than pressing her to talk about herself, he confided in her about his rootlessness, his striving for the worthwhile life and any other relevant problems he could manufacture: she brightened up in no time, clearly thrilled to be viewed as a sympathetic ear.

  ‘I so much like Bishop Elworthy,’ he confided. ‘A good and kind and Christian man—and of course I’m glad to feel I can help him a little, but somehow I feel that I would like also to be assisting more materially deprived people.’

  He shook his head sadly. ‘Of course, not being myself a believer, I couldn’t bring anyone religious comfort, but I might be able to offer a little practical help.’ He sighed. ‘In another time or another place perhaps.’ He decided to play a long shot, leaned back in his chair and waved vaguely at a pile of coloured rocks. ‘I suppose I’m very typical of my generation. I look around a place like this and recognize it is a Mecca for people similarly engaged on a spiritual quest…Not,’ he added, in response to her slightly worried expression, ‘that I think this New Age business is for me, but I have a curiosity about these people and about what they believe. One can always learn from others, don’t you find?’

  Alice could hardly contain herself. She gazed at him with such glowing excitement that it was a relief to him to remember that she was, after all, a lesbian; he had enough troubles without incurring the devotion of doe-eyed clergywomen.

  ‘How strange,’ she murmured, ‘for that too was part of the attraction of Westonbury for me. I had heard about it as a centre for these people and I knew that somehow they too were in search of spiritual grace.’

  ‘And have you managed to meet any of them?’

  ‘Yes, a few. I didn’t get anywhere for a long time. None of them was welcoming at first. Of course they thought I was trying to convert them, or being patronizing, and anyway most of them didn’t need any help. And there are as well so many varieties of pagans dotted around the outskirts of Westonbury, it’s very hard to know what they actually believe and to avoid offending them. I’m afraid I put my foot in it with the Satanists particularly.’ She winced. ‘But I have managed to get to know two groups a little.

  ‘The separatist feminist witches have been quite welcoming, and also there’s a small encampment of shamans at the bottom of the town where I go quite often now and they let me bring them groceries and play with the children.’

  Amiss said hesitantly ‘I don’t suppose…?’

  ‘You mean you would like to visit too?’ She ventured a little smile. ‘I’m afraid the witches wouldn’t welcome you, but I don’t see why you shouldn’t just come along with me to the shamans. I’ll just say you’re a friend and with you wearing jeans and so on they won’t see you as a threat from society.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And, obviously, you won’t mention the dope to anyone.’

  Amiss looked solemn. ‘Of course not.’ He looked at his watch. ‘My goodness, it’s eleven o’clock already. Can we manage a quick visit now, do you think? I said I’d be home for lunch.’

  ***

  ‘I felt a complete and utter bastard.’

  ‘Stop being so sensitive. You’ve a job to do. You can’t be a good spy and indulge in a tender conscience.’

  ‘I didn’t want to be a spy, Jack. I just keep getting pushed into it.’

  ‘Bollocks! It’s in your nature. You were born to be a spy and a seducer—in the nonsexual sense, that is, for most purposes, more’s the pity. You persuade people to blab like no one I’ve ever known. If it makes you uncomfortable, you’d better have a conscience transplant. Now will you please tell me what you found out?’

  ‘She’s a walking bleeding heart, guilty about her background, guilty at having had a loving family, guilty about having money in a world of inequality. A missionary by instinct, of course. A hundred years ago she’d have been preaching Christianity to African natives, but that’s not PC any more. And of course rebellion against family values requires her to champion the cause of every section of society which her father no doubt daily denounces at the breakfast table.’

  ‘Why did she let herself be appointed to Westonbury then?’

  ‘Good old-fashioned emotional blackmail by her family—“Mummy’s heart”—in addition to the bullying by David’s predecessor. As well as that it emerges that she was optimistic about the new dean, who she thought would shake up Westonbury and bring in the marginalized. Gays, lesbians, travellers—the lot. She’s a bit rattled since she heard him preach.’

  ‘She seems very wet and a real silly-billy. I’m no expert on these matters, but I wouldn’t have thought that Bible-thumpers were very keen on homos of either sex.’

  ‘Unless repentant, of course. Anyway, she’s planning…’

  ‘Damn! Have to go. Trouble.’ The phone went dead.

  ***

  ‘I don’t want to be a sneak.’

  The bishop looked worried. ‘Why then, of course, you mustn’t be, my dear Robert. More cheese?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ For the first time in their burgeoning friendship, Amiss felt like hitting Bishop Elworthy. He imagined that the late Cornelia must occasionally have been similarly tempted. How very Church of England he was, with his propensity to allow tolerance to spill over into moral abdication.

  ‘However, I have little option, since my real job here is to keep you abreast of what’s going on in the cloister.’

  ‘Oh, but my dear Robert, you must not in any way allow that to sway the dictates of your conscience. Think no more about it and let me instead tell you about my happy visit this morning to the Centre for Ecumenical Debate.’

  ‘No, David. That would be an evasion of responsibility by both of us. My duty is to you, so here goes. I have to tell you things I’d rather not tell you and that you’d rather not hear.’ Ignoring the dread gripping the bishop’s features, he continued, ‘It’s Alice Wolpurtstone.
She’s mixing in very undesirable company and is so frustrated by the pointlessness of her life in the close that she’s almost certainly going to precipitate a crisis.’

  ‘Oh, dear. Of what kind?’

  ‘First, she’s meditating moving in with a crowd of dodgy New Age travellers.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be a problem, would it?’

  ‘Perhaps not for a good Christian like you. Or even for a mad evangelist like Dean Norm. But I have a feeling she’s too innocent for such a world. I’ve seen this crowd. They call themselves shamans…’

  The bishop put down his knife and fork. ‘My goodness me. How amazing to find devotees of a religion which goes back to before the Bronze Age. Well, well, well. Gods, spirits and souls, eh? I’m not at all surprised Canon Wolpurtstone wishes to study them more closely: it would be a great anthropological treat.’ He jumped up. ‘I must rush upstairs and look them up to see by what migratory routes they have arrived here.’

  Amiss spoke firmly. ‘Please sit down, David. These people are no more shamans than I am. They’re hopheads, acid-droppers…’ He observed the incomprehension on the bishop’s face. ‘Sorry, they smoke cannabis all day and take LSD by night. As well, they are idle good-for-nothings and probably petty criminals. And yes, I know I sound sixty rather than thirty, but I do know an idealist from a layabout.’

  The bishop threw up his hands. ‘But we can’t stop her. Why don’t we leave her alone to help them if she can. She seems a girl of good heart who must be allowed to follow her instincts.’

  ‘It could all end in tears and excruciatingly embarrassing tabloid publicity. Besides, from what I’ve seen of the leader of that group—a charmer called Tengri—I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t asking her to join them because he’d like to rape her.’

  The bishop’s jaw dropped open. ‘Oh, how terrible! Surely you’re wrong. No one could be so wicked.’

  ‘Of course they could. Now, in addition, she’s involved in some sort of lesbian witches’ coven, and the result of her attempts to minister to them in an ecumenical manner is to bear fruit in a coming-out ceremony in the lady chapel on Thursday night.’

  ‘A what?’ As always when he was particularly alarmed, the bishop tugged his hair in an agitated fashion.

  ‘On Thursday night she’s holding a coming-out service in the lady chapel for a group of lesbian witches.’

  ‘Witches!’

  ‘Good witches, I understand, who want to hold hands across the divide that divides pagan from Christian.’

  ‘How can she? Who would give her permission?’

  ‘She has the right to hold services in the lady chapel and only in the lady chapel. Who is there to intervene? The dean is still away, Trustrum refuses to have anything whatsoever to do with her, Cecil Davage—presumably from sheer mischief—has encouraged her and neither Fedden-Jones nor Jeremy takes any interest.’

  ‘But the dean hates homosexuals and lesbians. She will get into fearful trouble if he finds out about it.’

  ‘What I’m trying to convey, David, is that she doesn’t care. She’s a kind, dutiful woman who feels she’s wasting her life here and has reached that point of desperation where she’s prepared to take any risks. She would like nothing more than to be drummed out of the cathedral and released for what she thinks is real work—helping those in trouble.’

  ‘So you don’t think you could persuade her at least to postpone the service?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I’m still trying to win her confidence—not alienate her. In fact she’s given me permission to observe the ceremony discreetly. I can’t participate, fortunately, because they’re separatist feminists.’

  The bishop slumped back in his chair. ‘The poor girl. Is there anything that can be done?’

  ‘Well, for a start, you might take a bit more interest in her.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t expect you to be her confessor, but you could chat to her a bit about religion. For God’s sake, she seems to be the only one of the canons with any interest in it.’

  ‘But if I ask to see her, she’ll know you’ve been…sneaking.’

  ‘I could ask her over here for a drink and you could arrive accidentally. I might even propose that you take each other on at tennis. Fedden-Jones tells me she used to play at county standard before she turned to higher things.’

  ‘Tennis. Oh, my goodness, I’d give a lot to have a tennis partner. Running gets very lonely—even with dear Plutarch.’

  Amiss snorted. ‘Running isn’t having much effect on Plutarch’s figure.’

  ‘Well, I suppose in truth the dear thing doesn’t actually go very far along the route with me. I do detect a tendency to accompany me for the first fifty yards and then lie down until my return. And of course she has a hearty appetite.’

  ‘And all those snacks in the cathedral must add on the pounds,’ added Amiss bitterly. ‘Although I have to admit they’ve diminished since I cut off what you might call her takeaway service. I discovered she was getting most of her prey by lying in wait on top of the north tower for the kestrel to drop a juicy corpse into what it considers its larder. Since the door’s been kept shut she’s been on short rations. All she’s caught since last Tuesday was one fluffy yellow duckling. Removing its mangled remains was yesterday morning’s treat.’

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear. How very unpleasant for you. But we can’t blame Plutarch. She is, after all, feline and it is in her nature to hunt. To criticize her for following her instincts would to be question divine providence.’

  ‘Perish the thought. Now can we get back to Alice? Do I have your agreement to arrange for you to meet accidentally?’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Please. No one here has been looking after her. You could at least offer some interest and support and see if you could find her some less risky good works, couldn’t you?’

  ‘You make me feel ashamed, Robert. I fear I am still emotionally so feeble I am dodging all but my formal responsibilities. Poor girl, I shall make a point of seeing her just as soon as I can.’ He pulled out his diary. ‘I could be here at around six next Monday evening.’

  ‘Is that the earliest you can do?’

  ‘Truly it is. I have no free time between now and then, what with the visiting Africans, the address to the archdeacons’ conference and that frightful fund-raising committee.’ He looked at his watch. ‘And now I must run. I’m sure you will do your best for Alice in the meantime and at least prevent her from moving out before the dean returns on Friday. And let us hope that the…the ladies’ ceremony passes off successfully without attracting any attention.’ Addled and worried, he ran out of the kitchen.

  Chapter 11

  Just before dawn the following morning, Amiss was awakened by the sound of engines in the close. Unable to think of a rational explanation, he tried to block out the sound and will himself back to sleep, but eventually he was driven by curiosity to get up and creep down the hallway to the great window that overlooked Bishop’s Green. There he found the bishop wringing his hands.

  ‘I don’t quite know what’s happening, Robert, but I fear it must be something terrible. Why should people be surrounding the palace? Could it be protestors? Or even terrorists?’

  ‘I can’t think there’s anything to protest about and terrorists are usually keen to be quiet.’ They stood for a few minutes watching lights swinging around the close. ‘They seem to be moving onto the lawn. Should we find a torch and go out and warn them off.’

  ‘Surely there may be a perfectly innocent explanation for all this.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Tradesmen, perhaps? Anyway, dawn is about to break. Let us wait for a few moments so as to see what really is going on.’

  Within a couple of minutes the objects on the lawn below began to take shape. Suddenly Amiss banged his hands together in fury. ‘Shit! It’s the fucking shamans! Sorry, David. But this is serious. Alice hasn’t moved in with them. They’ve moved in with us!’

  ***
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  At Amiss’s insistence, the bishop agreed that in the absence of the dean it was his job to take the initiative. ‘But, my dear Robert, what is to be done? Why, Bishop Moputowke and his colleagues are due here at nine-thirty and we cannot be involved in altercations then.’

  ‘Get dressed. I’ll call a council of war. We need to know at least how the law stands.’

  By 7:45, all seven inhabitants of the close were gathered in the drawing room in varying moods of apprehension and anger. The first twenty minutes consisted mainly of squeals of rage from Cecil Davage about vandalism, enlivened by a long monologue from Sebastian Trustrum about how such an event was without precedent and how in addition these people were a very low and degenerate form of life and vastly inferior to gypsies, who were at least rooted in tradition and not given to peddling ersatz philosophies. Fedden-Jones said that decisive action needed to be taken, although since he had to catch a train at 10:15 and still had to pack, he would be unable to be of much assistance. Flubert suggested that perhaps they might just go away if left alone and Alice timidly suggested that perhaps the role of the canons was to welcome them into their midst and offer them material and spiritual help. The cacophony of outrage that broke out in response to that caused the bishop for once to exercise his authority and call for silence.

  ‘Thank you, Canon Wolpurtstone, for that inspiring suggestion. I acknowledge the depth of your feeling and the great-heartedness of your desire for putting Christianity into practice. However, the chapter has the duty to safeguard the fabric of the cathedral: in the absence of the dean it is entirely your responsibility. We must seek to balance our duty to love our neighbour against the need to protect this great institution for subsequent generations.’

  Davage glared at him. ‘And how do you suggest we reconcile those irreconcilables?’

  Amiss came in smoothly. ‘Perhaps before we devise a plan of campaign, we should know how the law stands. Is the close private property?’

  ‘Yes,’ chorused the male canons.

  ‘So we can just throw them out,’ said Davage.