Appointed to Die (38 page)

Lucy laughed; she hoped it didn't sound as strained to Jeremy as it did to her own ears. ‘I'm sure that your intentions are honourable.'

His eyebrow inched higher and he kept his voice light, teasing. ‘I wouldn't be so sure about that, my dear. You know that I'm absolutely mad about you.'

‘Then I suppose I'll have to take my chances.'

‘So be it.' He led her up the stairs and into the spacious front bedroom.

Although it was an airy room, illuminated by large windows, it was to Lucy's eye undoubtedly a man's room, with no feminine touches at all: the furniture was massive and dark, and there was a total lack of decorative items of the sort favoured by women. Even the walls were bare, save for the painting on the wall facing the bed. Lucy wondered, not for the first time, what Jeremy's late wife had been like. Had this been her furniture, in their marital home, or had he got rid of anything that might remind him of their life together, and begun anew? Impossible to say.

Stifling her impulse to pity, Lucy thought quickly how she might get an uninterrupted look out of the windows. She studied the position of the painting with every evidence of grave consideration. ‘No,' she said at last. ‘I don't like it there. The light's not right at all. I think it would look much better over here, on this wall. Then it wouldn't be fighting with the shadow from your wardrobe.'

Jeremy followed her pointing finger. ‘Yes, I suppose you're right. You're the artist, after all,' he added humbly.

‘Do you have a hammer?'

‘Downstairs. I won't be a minute.'

As soon as he was out of the door, Lucy went to the window. Jeremy had been right: the view of the Becket window was superb, especially in the sunlight. For a window that was nearly eight hundred years old it was in remarkable condition. The stonework surrounding it, though, did not look as though it had been disturbed recently; there were no tell-tale differences in the colour of the stone, or marks indicating mending. Lucy remembered what the bell-ringers had told David about the scaffolding. She remembered a few other things as well, and suddenly all the pieces slotted together in her mind: the discrepancies in the fabric funds, Bishop George explaining that Jeremy had discovered the need for urgent repairs to the window, Jeremy telling the American tourist all those months ago that the window had been re-leaded and the stonework renewed some ten years ago, Todd mentioning at the Patronal Festival Evensong that the window looked exactly the same as it had before the urgent repairs. Of course it looked the same, she told herself – nothing had been done. The window itself was mute testimony: not a tribute to the restorer's art, but rather immutable evidence of fraud. David had been right. And if Jeremy had cold-bloodedly concocted this elaborate scheme to line his own pockets with cathedral funds, what else was he capable of doing to conceal his duplicity? She caught her breath at the possibilities.

Jeremy paused in the doorway, hammer in hand, struck dumb at the sight of Lucy at the window, her hair a flaming halo against the sun. All of his resolution to play it cool evaporated as his chest constricted with desire for her; scarcely aware of what he was doing, he crossed the room in a few strides, put his arms around her, and buried his face in her hair. ‘Oh, Lucy,' he groaned, ‘how beautiful you are.'

Gasping, she tried to pull away from him, but his arms were unexpectedly strong. ‘Don't be afraid,' he murmured. ‘I want you, Lucy. I could please you more than David ever could. Why don't you give me a chance to show you? Isn't it about time you stopped keeping me at arm's length?' With one hand he groped for her breast, and his mouth sought hers roughly.

In the few seconds that it all took, Lucy's emotions went from speculative apprehension to stark terror: terror at the look in his eyes, his face bending close to hers, and terror at the implications of the situation she had walked into. Was this man a murderer? At that moment she could well believe it. And the hand that was against her back, pressing her tightly to his chest, held a hammer.

CHAPTER 39

    
Deliver me, O Lord, from the evil man: and preserve me from the wicked man.

Psalm 140.1

Fighting the urge to scream, an action which she instinctively knew could be disastrous, with an enormous effort Lucy remained calm. She wrenched her face away from his, scraping her cheek cruelly against his beard. ‘Let go of me, Jeremy,' she said firmly, amazed and grateful that her voice didn't quaver to betray her fear. ‘Don't be so silly.'

Astonished, he complied; his arms dropped to his sides and he took a step backwards.

She decided to strike while he was as off balance as she was, realising as she spoke that she was taking an enormous risk. ‘The window,' she said. ‘The Becket window. There weren't any urgent repairs, were there? Nothing's been done to it.'

Jeremy stared at her. ‘What do you mean?'

‘I have eyes, Jeremy. I'm not stupid. Nothing's been done to that window in the last ten years. I heard you tell that American tourist last summer that it had been re-leaded ten years ago, and the stonework renewed. You can't expect me to believe that it had got in such a bad state since then.'

She spoke forcefully, almost aggressively, but Jeremy's reaction surprised her almost as much as anything else he'd done: he shrugged and raised his eyebrows in a characteristic way. ‘You win the prize,' he said with a short laugh, tossing the hammer on the bed.

‘But why, Jeremy? Surely you weren't so hard up for money that you had to come up with such an elaborate scheme to defraud the cathedral?'

His laugh this time was more prolonged, and he seemed almost genuinely amused. ‘Is that what you think? Is that what you really think it was all about?'

‘Well, wasn't it?' she demanded. ‘What else am I supposed to think?'

Jeremy crossed to the window and looked out at the Becket window as he explained. ‘I did it to help Arthur Brydges-ffrench out of a tight spot. The Malbury Music Festival was a financial disaster, as you should have realised at the time – all those expensive glossy programmes, and all the other expenses, and no one came. Brydges-ffrench was in a real panic about it, especially with the new Dean on the way. So we worked out a little scheme to transfer money from the fabric fund to cover the shortfall. I thought it was rather clever, myself.' He turned to her with a self-congratulatory smile. ‘It was my idea – to use the excuse of the window for the outgoing funds. I didn't think that anyone would question it, when the scaffolding went up and there was every appearance of work being done. After all, as people are fond of saying, the Becket window is the cathedral's greatest treasure, and no expense is too great to preserve it. I even got Rowena Hunt to kick in ten thousand pounds from the Friends – and she'd already turned Brydges-ffrench down when he asked for her help in getting out of his predicament.'

Lucy was speechless. Before she could formulate a reply, the doorbell rang, breaking the spell. David, she thought irrationally, knowing full well that David was in Shrewsbury. Whoever it might be, though, she was very glad of the interruption; she followed Jeremy down the stairs with relief.

The caller at the door was Todd. He didn't see Lucy at first, behind Jeremy in the entrance hall. ‘Hello, Jeremy,' he said in his usual open, friendly way. ‘I just wondered if you by any chance still had Canon Brydges-ffrench's keys – I was supposed to get them back from you last week, but I forgot.'

‘Yes, they must be here somewhere. Come in while I find them.' Jeremy moved to the hall table and began shifting papers around.

‘Todd! I didn't know you were back in Malbury!'

He was nearly as surprised to see Lucy there as she was to see him. ‘Lucy! I just got back a few minutes ago. I couldn't stand being so far away from what was happening here, so I had to come back.'

Jeremy located the keys and tossed them carelessly to Todd: a great fat bunch of keys on a massive ring. ‘I would have returned them sooner, but you weren't around.'

‘Thanks.' Todd turned to go.

‘I'll come with you, Todd,' Lucy said quickly, following him out of the door. ‘Goodbye, Jeremy. I'll be seeing you.'

‘Lucy . . .' Jeremy called after her. ‘I think we need to talk some more.'

‘Not now.'

Jeremy stood at the door watching them as they walked away, so they spoke quietly. ‘What's going on?' asked Todd.

‘It's a long story. Where are you going now?'

‘I thought I'd stay at Canon Brydges-ffrench's house for the moment, but then I remembered that I didn't have the keys.'

‘Come with me to the Bishop's House,' Lucy urged. ‘I'm desperate for a cup of tea, and there's so much to tell you.'

‘All right.'

‘By the way,' Lucy asked, with a frown that was only partially for effect, ‘what have you done with Sophie? Have you abandoned my poor cat?'

Todd had the grace to look shamefaced. ‘I left her with your cleaning woman. She said she'd look after her – I hope you don't mind. But I just couldn't stay away any longer.'

‘I don't mind at all. In fact,' Lucy confessed, ‘I can't tell you how glad I am that you showed up when you did!'

Back in Pat's kitchen, Lucy suffered a delayed reaction to the shock she'd undergone and collapsed trembling into a chair, her head in her hands and tears running down her cheeks. She might even have become hysterical at that point, but for Pat's calm efficiency. The Bishop's wife made her a strong cup of tea and put it in her suddenly nerveless hands. ‘Now, my dear. Tell me what's the matter.'

Lucy took a deep, shuddering breath and touched her abraded cheek. ‘Promise me that you won't tell David.'

‘Very well, if that's what you want.'

Bit by bit, with many painful stops and starts, the story came out of her spur-of-the-moment visit to Jeremy and its unforeseen consequences. Todd was aghast; Pat was sympathetic but practical. ‘Don't you see, my dear – you must tell David. He'll have to know what you found out about the window.'

‘Yes, I realise that. But I couldn't bear for him to know . . . the rest of it. He'd never forgive me for going there and putting myself in such a position, and he'd . . . well, I can't even imagine what he'd want to do to Jeremy.'

‘Then you must tell him as much as you think he needs to know for the moment. Eventually, I think, you'll have to tell him the whole story.'

‘I shouldn't have gone. I was foolish to go,' Lucy reproached herself. ‘Oh, Pat! Why on earth did I do it?' Even to herself, she was unable to articulate the horror of what might have happened.

The other woman gave her a brisk hug. ‘What's done is done. Unpleasant as it may have been, there was no lasting harm done. And at least we know about the window now.'

By the time David arrived back later in the afternoon, everything had been arranged: Todd was to stay at the Bishop's House. Pat wouldn't hear of him going to the vacant Subdean's house, and he admitted that he was not yet ready to return to his room at Miss Marsden's, so it was settled. Cain and Abel were ecstatic, thrusting their large wet noses under his hand as they vied for his attention and caresses.

But David scarcely paused to register Todd's presence, much less to inquire into the particular circumstances that had brought him back to Malbury, or the subsequent arrangements.

‘It could have happened!' he announced with great excitement. ‘Someone else
might
have poisoned the Turkish Delight!'

‘But how?' asked Lucy, who had by now recovered her equilibrium.

He sat down and accepted a cup of tea from Pat. ‘I asked the Dean about it. He wasn't particularly inclined to be cooperative, but I explained to him that it might be our only chance of getting him off. So he thought about it, and remembered that he'd talked to Jeremy after Evensong, and mentioned to him about the Turkish Delight.'

‘That he'd bought it?' Todd queried; Lucy and Pat had filled him in on the state of the investigations, so he was able to keep up with the discussion.

‘Yes, and that he'd invited Canon Brydges-ffrench to supper, after which he was planning to serve the Turkish Delight.'

‘So Jeremy knew,' Pat said thoughtfully, looking at Lucy.

‘But what about Rowena?' Lucy asked, unwilling to relinquish her prime suspect. ‘Did the Dean tell her as well? Did you ask him?'

‘I asked him – and he didn't tell her. But he thought it was possible that she might have overheard when he told Jeremy,' admitted David. ‘She was standing nearby. So she can't be discounted yet.'

Todd's questions showed that he understood the nuances of the situation. ‘When was the box opened? And where did he put it afterwards?'

David smiled appreciatively. ‘After Canon Brydges-ffrench arrived. The Dean had planned to keep it until after supper, but to get over the awkwardness of the Canon's arrival he decided to offer him a piece straightaway, to get things off on a friendly footing. So he took the cellophane wrapper off and offered it to him. But the Canon said he'd wait till later, so the Dean put the box down in the entrance hall, where it remained until they'd finished eating, going on for ten o'clock. Lucy's father rang at ten,' he added, ‘and the Dean said that it was only a few minutes earlier that he'd brought the box through to the dining room.'

‘So,' Pat summarised, ‘we can narrow down the period of time during which anyone could have tampered with the Turkish Delight. If Arthur arrived at the Deanery at eight o'clock, and John rang at ten, that leaves a period of less than two hours when something might have happened to it.'

‘And Jeremy knew enough to have been able to do it. The bit I can't work out, though,' David admitted, ‘is how he might have got
into
the Deanery, as well as getting
to
the Deanery unseen. As Lucy said, he would have had to go all around the Close.'