Appointed to Die (26 page)

The Dean began to see where this might be leading – or at least where it might lead, if he played his cards right – and consciously suppressed his own rising excitement, retaining his careful neutrality. ‘And how,' he asked, ‘can I help you with this . . . problem?'

Rupert clasped and unclasped his hands for a moment, framing his words. ‘Judith wants to leave Malbury,' he blurted out at last. ‘She . . . insists. She wants me to get a position in London. She said . . . she suggested . . . that you might be able to help.'

The Dean took his time in answering, allowing Rupert to suffer as long as he could. ‘Well, yes,' he said, consideringly. ‘That just might be possible. We should be sorry to lose you here, of course, but I certainly understand how difficult wives can be!' He laughed in a matey sort of way. ‘My wife doesn't think much of Malbury either!'

‘Then you think . . .' Rupert raised his head and looked at him with hope, for the first time seeing a possible escape from his thorny dilemma.

‘Leave it with me, Rupert.' The Dean used his Christian name for the first time; his voice was reassuringly soothing. ‘I know enough people in London – it shouldn't be difficult. That is, if you're
sure
. . .'

‘Yes, I'm sure.' The Precentor sighed.

‘Then I shall do my best for you, Rupert. I assume that you would want to go as soon as possible?'

‘Oh, yes.'

‘In that case, I shall make some phone calls this morning, and may have some news for you within a few days.' Stuart Latimer smiled, showing his teeth, and shook his head sympathetically. ‘Ah, Rupert. The things we men do to please our wives.'

CHAPTER 25

    
For he spake, and it was done: he commanded, and it stood fast.

Psalm 33.9

Stuart Latimer approached his second Chapter meeting, at the end of October, with even greater anticipation than his first. In spite of a few setbacks in his initial week, he reflected, he had recovered brilliantly, and had made great strides towards his eventual goal of making Malbury Cathedral a going concern.

They were gathered once again around the table in the room of the diocesan office building which was used as a makeshift Chapter House. Not an ideal situation, but one which would be remedied with a purpose-built Chapter House when the new Cathedral Centre was built, for that was the name with which he had decided to christen his project.

But that would come later. As he had done at the first meeting, he looked around the table at the four men. Philip Thetford met his gaze, bellicose. John Kingsley, too, looked back at him steadily, though his face was unreadable in its customary serenity. Rupert Greenwood appeared detached, looking off into space, managing somehow to give the impression that the proceedings had nothing to do with him. It was only Arthur Brydges-ffrench who quailed before the Dean's stare. His dark-spotted hands, trembling slightly, rested on a ledger book in front of him on the table.

‘Good morning, gentlemen,' began the Dean. ‘Are there any matters arising from our last meeting?'

Canon Brydges-ffrench swallowed, sending his Adam's apple up the length of his scrawny throat. ‘Here are the books from the music festival that you asked for,' he said feebly, pushing them across the table to the Dean. He darted apprehensive glances at Rupert Greenwood, who continued to look off into space, and at Philip Thetford, who took a sudden and inexplicable interest in his fingernails.

‘Thank you, Canon.' The Dean scarcely looked at the volume, pushing it dismissively to one side. ‘Anything else? How about the lists I asked you for?'

‘Here is the list of books in the library that you wanted,' volunteered Canon Kingsley without expression.

‘Thank you. And the treasury list?' He turned his attention back to Arthur Brydges-ffrench.

‘Um. No. That is . . .' The old man blinked rapidly and swallowed again. ‘That is,' he burst out passionately, ‘I won't allow you to sell the cathedral's silver! It's our heritage – our history!'

The Dean's jaw clenched. ‘We will discuss this in private, Canon,' he said in a controlled, steely voice. ‘Later.' He moved on quickly, before he lost control of his temper and the meeting. ‘At our last meeting I mentioned the matter of leases. I believe that I shared with you a few of my thoughts about the refectory, and its current tenant. As I'm sure you all know, Miss Unworth operates the refectory under contract, renewed annually. It is my intention not to renew that contract. Likewise, the lease of the Cathedral Shop is up for renewal next year. I am convinced that the way forward for us is to turn both of these concerns over to the Friends of the Cathedral to operate. Mrs Hunt has expressed a willingness to take them on.'

‘Yes, I'll bet she has,' muttered Canon Thetford snidely.

The Dean ignored him. ‘It will mean a great deal of extra work for Mrs Hunt, and I for one am very grateful to her.'

‘I will never agree!' Canon Brydges-ffrench burst out defiantly. ‘You can't treat people like that! Victor, Bert, Dorothy Unworth – they've all served the cathedral faithfully for so many years! As faithfully as . . . as . . . I have. You can't make a decision like that on your own. Surely it will require a vote in Chapter, and I will never agree!'

In the silence following that outburst, John Kingsley spoke quietly. ‘I'm sorry, Dean, but I must side with Arthur on this. Faithful servants of the cathedral are not to be cast aside on the scrapheap for a whim, like last year's Paschal candle. And Arthur's right. It will require a vote.'

The Dean did a quick calculation, and decided not to take the risk. ‘Very well. We will postpone the vote until our next meeting.' Anything, he told himself, could happen between now and then to alter the vote. He must ensure that he didn't let Rowena down. ‘I have discovered,' he went on smoothly, ‘that there is one more lease which will be expiring within the next year: that of the house now occupied by Miss Evelyn Marsden.' There was an indrawn breath from Canon Brydges-ffrench, but the Dean continued. ‘She has been paying a derisory rent for many years. That situation cannot be allowed to continue. The rent is to be raised to . . .' He consulted his notes and named a figure several times higher than the current rent. ‘If Miss Marsden does not wish to renew her lease under these new terms, I have another prospective tenant in mind.' He allowed a note of jocularity to creep into his voice. ‘Although many of us – not to mention our wives,' he added, glancing at Rupert Greenwood, ‘may not consider Malbury the second Garden of Eden, there are many in London who yearn for the country life, at least part of the time. One of my father-in-law's colleagues, who was here for my installation ceremony and who found Malbury enchanting, has expressed an interest in renting a property in the Close for use as a weekend retreat.'

Arthur Brydges-ffrench opened his mouth as if to speak, but the Dean forestalled him. ‘We will not discuss the matter further at this time,' he stated. ‘There is no hurry, as Miss Marsden's lease has several months yet to run. I will put it on the agenda for next month's meeting. In the meantime, of course, I would appreciate it if none of you would mention the matter to Miss Marsden. I plan to speak to her myself in due course.' He looked hard at the Subdean, who refused to meet his eyes.

‘Now,' said the Dean, pausing a moment to change gears as he reached for the roll of sketches that Jeremy had drawn. ‘I have something to share with you that is possibly the most exciting development this cathedral will have seen in this century. Gentlemen . . .' He unrolled the drawings with a dramatic flourish, ‘the Malbury Cathedral Centre!'

The announcement took them all completely by surprise. As the Dean unveiled his plans, detail by detail, he was met by stunned silence.

‘So you see,' he concluded, ‘that all our needs will be taken care of, now and for the foreseeable future.'

‘No,' Arthur Brydges-ffrench whispered, drawing his handkerchief from his sleeve. ‘You can't possibly consider building on the green. It would alter the character of the cathedral beyond all recognition! And it's consecrated ground, where the Nave used to extend . . .' He mopped his forehead and regarded the Dean with something approaching hatred. ‘I shall do everything in my power to block this . . . this desecration!'

The Dean narrowed his eyes and snapped, ‘You haven't a hope of stopping me.'

Canon Thetford couldn't resist mouthing the old cliché. ‘While there's life, there's hope,' he said unctuously.

But the Subdean had the last word. He sat up very straight, towering over the Dean, and spoke with ominous dignity. ‘Or as a wise old clergyman I once knew was fond of saying, “While there's
death
. . . there's hope.”'

There was yet one more bombshell to be exploded in their midst. Just before the meeting ended, Stuart Latimer said, ‘I'm sure that you will all be sorry to hear what I am about to tell you.' He watched as they all turned interested eyes in his direction – all, that is, save the Precentor, who had yet to speak or even make eye contact. ‘Sorry, that is,' he amended, ‘on a personal level, though it is of course good news for one of our number.' He paused for effect. ‘Rupert Greenwood will be leaving us by the end of the year.' There was a generalised gasp from the other three Canons.

‘Perhaps I should elaborate,' the Dean went on. ‘Last week Canon Greenwood came to see me. He felt that the time had come for him to leave Malbury, and asked for my advice.' He smiled, most unconvincingly. ‘Naturally, I said that we would be very sorry to lose him, but that we would not wish to hold him back. Precentors, after all, are strange birds of passage. Their unique talents mean that their stay in a cathedral is usually brief. Canon Greenwood has been at Malbury for six years, and he is now ready to move on.' It was difficult for him to disguise his feelings of triumph as he continued, ‘I do have a few connections in London,' – here he chuckled modestly – ‘and fortunately I was able to help Canon Greenwood to locate a new position appropriate to his talents quite quickly. He will be taking over the living of a church in London where he can continue to exercise his musical skills with limited parochial responsibilities. And might I add,' the Dean said with a noticeable lack of subtlety, his gaze moving around the table but lingering on Philip Thetford, ‘that I would be happy to do likewise for anyone else who felt that . . . perhaps it was time for them to move on elsewhere. I am not without influence, especially in London. As I said,' he concluded, ‘we will be very sorry to lose Canon Greenwood. But I'm sure I speak for all of you when I say that we send him forth with our very best wishes for all possible success in his new appointment.' Rupert, still not meeting anyone's eyes, inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.

They all lingered for a few moments after the Dean had gone home to his lunch. John Kingsley pored over the plans for the Cathedral Centre which the Dean had left behind for their inspection, while Philip Thetford rounded on Rupert Greenwood.

‘Oh, Rupert!' he hissed. ‘How could you do it? How could you sell us out to that unspeakable man?'

The Precentor spoke at last. ‘I didn't sell you out, Philip. I had to do it.'

‘What sort of pressure did he use on you?' questioned Canon Brydges-ffrench in a moan.

‘No, you don't understand.' Rupert's voice was calm. ‘I had to do it to save my marriage: It was either leave Malbury or lose Judith. He . . . the Dean . . . helped me. He was very understanding. He found me the new appointment.'

‘Helped you?' the Subdean echoed with scathing sarcasm. ‘You can't be that naïve! He wanted to get rid of you! Divide and conquer, you know. As I've said before, united we stand, divided we fall. Whatever will become of the rest of us when you're gone? When he replaces you with his own creature?'

‘That,' said Rupert remotely, ‘is none of my affair.'

Philip Thetford thought aloud. ‘If Rupert is going, then perhaps we should all go. As Arthur says, losing Rupert will alter the balance of power completely. Perhaps we should just cut our losses and leave. He's offered to help us find new appointments. He helped Rupert. He'd help the rest of us as well. So what if it's only because he wants to be rid of us? At least we'd be out of the mess we're in.'

Canon Brydges-ffrench turned on him as though he had suggested burning down the cathedral as a remedy for woodworm. ‘Don't be absurd! We can't possibly go!'

The Canon Missioner's pale face was mottled with emotion. ‘We could, and we probably should. I, for one, am going to consider the Dean's offer very carefully, and I think that you should do likewise, Arthur.'

Fat tears ran down the channels on either side of the Subdean's mouth, and his voice quavered, revealing how close he was to losing control. ‘The rest of you may do as you like. Sell your souls to the devil, if that's what you want to do! But I will never abandon this cathedral. Not as long,' he pronounced, ‘as there is breath in my body.'

CHAPTER 26

    
For they have cast their heads together with one consent: and are confederate against thee.

Psalm 83.5

The Feast of St Malo falls on the fifteenth of November; at Malbury Cathedral it was customary to celebrate it as the Patronal Festival, on the weekend nearest the fifteenth.

So it was late on the following Friday afternoon that David and Lucy began the long drive to Malbury. David had been somewhat reluctant to go, for various reasons: it meant an early departure from work, and there was the unsatisfactory situation of the sleeping arrangements at Canon Kingsley's house, but even more importantly, he had come to dread the feeling of unease that Malbury always roused in him. But Lucy was anxious to see Judith Greenwood. She'd had an ecstatic letter from Judith, and had phoned her once or twice, but wanted an opportunity to talk to her face to face and to assure herself that things were indeed working out for the other woman.