A Dead Man Out of Mind (24 page)

‘Is Dolly Topping around?' asked Ruth. ‘I've never met her. I'd like to know who she is.'

‘I think she's in the kitchen. I'll let you know if I see her.'

Ruth folded her arms across her chest and regarded the room full of chattering people with something approaching loathing. ‘I wish I knew which one of them killed her,' she muttered, almost to herself.

‘What did you say?' Vera turned a startled face on the girl.

‘I said I wish I knew which one of them killed her,' Ruth repeated defiantly. ‘One of them did, you know. I'm sure of it. They said it was an accident, but I don't believe that for a minute.'

‘Oh, my dear!' Her voice fluttered with dismay.

‘Don't you believe me? There's no reason why you should, I suppose – no one else does. Not my aunt, or anyone else.'

‘Oh, if it were true . . .' Vera faltered, looking down at her hands.

Standing near the food table in the dining room, Emily introduced Lucy to the churchwarden Martin Bairstow. ‘A sad occasion to bring us all together today,' Bairstow said with lugubrious gravity. ‘And a great loss for us at St Margaret's.'

Father Keble Smythe chimed in, ‘She gave of herself so unstintingly to all of us. Rachel Nightingale was a rare young woman. Not that the principle of women clergy is one we can all subscribe to, of course. But Rachel was different.'

‘Different,' echoed Norman Topping. ‘Even Dolly always said so.'

Stanley Everitt wrung his hands. ‘The Church of England is the poorer for the loss of such a one.'

‘And she was a pretty little thing, as well,' twinkled old Dr Bright, drawing horrified looks from the others. ‘Well, she was,' he insisted, unrepentant. ‘Pretty as a little rose. And always as charming as could be to me, when she came to bring me the Sacrament or to see my Vera.'

Lucy edged away from them and over towards the food table, where she contemplated the array on offer. As a vegetarian, her choices were necessarily limited, but there were cocktail sticks with cheese and pineapple, and what looked like a cheese and onion quiche, as well as a number of salads. She had just picked up a plate and begun to help herself, giving the sausage rolls a wide berth, when Ruth flew up to her in a state of high excitement. ‘Aunt Lucy!' she hailed her in a shrill voice that carried much more penetratingly than she realised. ‘I'm not the only one who thinks that Rachel was murdered! Miss Bright thinks so too, but that's not all! She won't tell me, but I'm sure she knows who did it!'

CHAPTER 21

    
I am wiser than the aged: because I keep thy commandments.

Psalm 119.100

‘But I don't see why I can't go!' Ruth whined. ‘It's not fair for you to go off and leave me by myself – you're supposed to be looking after me, Aunt Lucy. I don't think my parents would be very happy if they knew that you were abandoning me.'

‘Ruth, darling.' Lucy struggled to keep her voice even. ‘You're continually telling us how grown-up you are, and keep reminding us that you're not a baby. This is your chance to prove it. It's only for a few hours – I think you're quite capable of amusing yourself for one evening. Surely you can read a book, or watch the telly.'

‘But I don't
want
to stay here by myself! You're going to talk about Rachel, and I should be there! After all, I've said all along that someone did her in, but no one believed me.'

Lucy looked at David, hoping for moral and verbal support, but he was too busy counting to ten – repeatedly – to notice her unspoken plea for help. Going to Emily and Gabriel's for supper was the last thing he wanted to do that evening; Ruth's intractable whingeing only deepened his gloom.

In the end the grown-ups prevailed and Ruth, protesting to the end, was left behind. They were able to talk more freely in the car en route than they had at home. ‘I still don't see what this is all about,' David stated. ‘I can't see that it has anything to do with the church.
If
Rachel's death was something other than an accident, I think it's fairly clear that her brother-in-law was behind it. He was the one who had everything to gain.'

‘You're being as stubborn about this as Ruth,' Lucy pointed out. ‘Don't you think you should keep an open mind until you hear what Gabriel has to say?'

David bristled at the comparison, while acknowledging to himself that there might be truth in it. ‘I'll listen to what he has to say,' he conceded grudgingly.

His underlying apprehension about the evening was dispelled somewhat by the spontaneous warmth of Emily's greeting, as she embraced him unreservedly. He had always got on well with Emily, in spite of factors that should have made them adversaries; the fact that he hadn't seen much of her during the course of his relationship with Lucy didn't seem to make any practical difference, and she seemed willing to pick up their friendship where they'd left off.

Gabriel's greeting was slightly less enthusiastic, if only in comparison. He kissed Lucy's cheek and shook David's hand, masking any discomfort in a way that a clergyman well practised in such social niceties should find well within his powers. He asked the time-honoured question for smoothing over social awkwardnesses. ‘What can I get you to drink?'

‘I'll have a glass of white wine, if that's on offer,' said Lucy, taking a seat in their handsome sitting room.

‘Gin and tonic, I think,' David replied, perching next to her on the sofa.

Gabriel poured generous measures of gin into two glasses while Emily went to the kitchen for the wine. There was a fractional moment of silence, then the three of them began talking at once.

‘My niece wasn't very happy about being left at home tonight,' said Lucy.

‘Have you had this room redecorated?' was David's contribution.

Gabriel said, ‘We missed you at the funeral yesterday, David.'

They all laughed, the ice was broken, and Emily returned a moment later to find the atmosphere considerably eased. Over their drinks they settled down to inconsequential small talk about the weather (improving), the twins (thriving, though the vexed topic of their schooling was assiduously avoided), Lucy's paintings (selling well), David's new job (challenging) and Ruth's visit (trying).

It wasn't until they had moved to the dining room and were into the first course that Gabriel broached the subject on all of their minds. ‘I apologise for having brought you here at such short notice,' he said, ‘but I thought that it might be a good idea for us to put our heads together.' He flashed an ingratiating smile at Lucy, then at David. ‘The two of you have had some experience at this sort of thing, I believe.'

‘
What
sort of thing?' David asked with deliberate obtuseness.

‘Informal investigation, if you'd like to call it that.'

‘Gabriel thinks that Rachel's death might not have been as accidental as it's been made out to be,' Emily intervened. ‘And from what Ruth said yesterday at the vicarage, he's not the only one to feel that way.'

Mentioning Ruth was not a good move in trying to enlist David's support. ‘And why should I believe the fantasies of a hysterical, hero-worshipping teenager?' he snapped. ‘Why should
you
, Archdeacon? I would have thought you'd have more common sense.'

Gabriel took it with a smile, including the almost insulting use of his title. ‘I was about to tell you that,' he said gently.

David, unwilling to admit or to share the basis of his own suspicions of the dead woman's brother-in-law, subsided into silence.

‘Rachel talked to Emily on the phone just a few hours before she died,' Gabriel began.

‘Yes, Emily told me,' said Lucy. ‘Rachel was telling her about Colin's illness.'

‘But that wasn't the reason why Rachel rang. She didn't ring to talk to Emily – she wanted to talk to
me
.'

That announcement took David by surprise; he raised his head from contemplation of his avocado vinaigrette.

‘To
me
,' Gabriel repeated for emphasis. ‘Not personally, but in my official capacity. She said that she wanted to discuss something with me. What were her exact words, darling?'

Emily's brow furrowed as she called on her excellent memory. ‘She said that she wanted a word with Gabriel – the Archdeacon, she said. I asked her if it was urgent, since he wasn't at home, and she said something like, “No, not urgent, but it's important, I think. I'm not even sure that he's the person I need to talk to, but there's something that's bothering me, something not quite right, and I thought perhaps I should tell him about it.'

‘“Something not quite right'',' echoed Gabriel. ‘And a few hours later she was dead.'

‘What are you implying?' David asked slowly.

‘That she might have uncovered some funny business at St Margaret's – something she wanted to discuss with me – and that someone was sufficiently concerned about the consequences of discovery to want to stop her. With a convenient accident.'

‘It could have happened, quite easily,' Emily added earnestly; evidently the two of them had discussed the possibility at some length. ‘David, did you hear about the row at St Margaret's just before the accident? I mentioned it to Lucy yesterday.'

‘What row?' He took a fortifying gulp of wine and tried to concentrate on what was being said. ‘I don't know about any row. What happened?'

Concisely, Emily described the circumstances of the unfortunate encounter in St Margaret's, as gleaned from the accounts of several who had been present. ‘And so Rachel left early, and apparently was on her way to see Colin when the accident happened. Anyone who'd been at the church that night could have followed her by car and knocked her off her bike.'

‘She went early?' David picked out the relevant fact and caught Lucy's eye with a slight grimace; his
de facto
case against Francis Nightingale was based entirely on the supposition that Rachel's nightly visit to her husband took place every night at a regular and verifiable time. This new piece of information seemed to make that impossible: her brother-in-law couldn't conceivably have known that she'd go early that night.

But anyone who had been at St Margaret's would have known. David pressed his fingers to his temples and admitted to himself that he'd been on the wrong track all along.

‘Quite early, as a matter of fact. The service didn't take place, so she was probably an hour and a half earlier than usual,' said Emily, demonstrating that she had thought it through.

David made one last attempt to preserve his neutrality. ‘But perhaps you're overreacting to what she said on the phone, in the light of what happened afterwards. It might have been just some small incident – Dolly Topping being rude to her or something else minor. Archdeacons must get curates complaining to them all the time about trivial things like that.'

‘Rachel wasn't like that,' Emily defended her friend. ‘She was sensible, and she was used to being badly treated. I'm sure she wouldn't have even thought of bothering Gabriel unless it was something really important.'

Lucy, who had been absorbing the unfolding story in silence, nodded her agreement. ‘Emily's right. I'm sure it's relevant. It's certainly consistent with what we know about Rachel.'

‘And about St Margaret's,' added Gabriel.

‘What do you mean?' queried David.

‘I was concerned about that church well before Rachel died. As I said, there are some rather peculiar things going on there.'

‘Do you mean Dolly Topping and her opposition to women priests?' David challenged. ‘It's not the only church in the diocese to have outspoken opponents of the ordination of women in the congregation. I really don't see how that can be turned into a motive for murder.'

‘That's not really what I meant.' Gabriel looked thoughtful as he framed his words carefully. ‘You've been involved with them – with the churchwardens and the Vicar – on this proposed selling of the silver.'

‘Yes?'

‘Well, you must admit that it doesn't add up. All that holy claptrap about providing housing for homeless people. Does that square with what you know about those two churchwardens? Or the Vicar either, for that matter?'

For the first time that evening, David laughed. ‘Not at all,' he admitted. ‘I never believed that that was their true intent – in fact, the Vicar hinted as much, the first time I met him.'

‘He didn't happen to say what they were
really
up to?'

‘No.' David picked up his wine glass and twirled it by the stem. ‘He wasn't in on it, that much I know. It was the churchwardens who were scheming, and he was trying to out-guess them.'

‘A nice little setup.' The Archdeacon gave an unamused laugh.

Emily hopped up. ‘Just a minute. The casserole will be all dried out if we don't eat it soon.' There was a pause while she cleared the plates and served the main course.

‘So,' said David as they resumed eating. ‘The churchwardens were playing a little game with the Vicar and the diocese, and had something to hide. But they'd given up on the plan to sell the silver, once the DAC ruled against them.'

‘That doesn't mean that they didn't have something else up their sleeves,' Gabriel pointed out.

‘No . . .'

‘And then there's the Vicar, our friend Father Keble Smythe himself,' Gabriel went on. ‘I don't think he's exactly as pure as the driven snow, either.' Automatically he lowered his voice. ‘This isn't to go beyond these four walls, of course, but he's written me a most peculiar letter. When he came to see me a while ago, absolutely desperate to have a replacement for his curate, I told him that there was no one available but Rachel. A woman. I expected him to refuse outright, given the presence of people like Dolly in his congregation. And the fact that he likes to be known in the diocese as a Catholic, albeit a fairly moderate one.'