Death in Holy Orders (7 page)

It was noticed that the Warden had always been at his most relaxed and cheerful when his wife was in college. Father Martin’s imagination obdurately refused to encompass the idea of Father Sebastian and Lady Veronica in the matrimonial bed, but he had had no doubt, seeing them together, that they had liked each other very much indeed. It was, he thought, one more manifestation of the variety and peculiarities of the married state of which he, as a life-long bachelor, had never been more than a fascinated observer. Perhaps, he thought, a great liking was as important as love, and more durable.

Father Sebastian said, “When Raphael arrives I shall, of course, speak to him about the Archdeacon’s visit. He feels very strongly about Father John—indeed, he sometimes seems hardly rational on the subject. It isn’t going to help things if he provokes an open quarrel. It could do nothing but harm to the college. He’ll have to learn that the Archdeacon is both a trustee of the college and a guest and must be treated with the respect due to a priest.”

Father Peregrine said, “Wasn’t Inspector Yarwood the police officer in charge of the case when the Archdeacon’s first wife committed suicide?”

His fellow-priests looked at him in surprise. It was the kind of information Father Peregrine tended to acquire. It sometimes seemed that his subconscious was a repository of assorted facts and snippets of news which he could bring to mind at will.

Father Sebastian said, “Are you sure? The Cramptons were living in North London at that time. He didn’t move to Suffolk until after his wife’s death. It would have been a matter for the Metropolitan Police.”

Father Peregrine said placidly, “One reads these things. I remember the account of the inquest. I think you’ll find that it was an officer called Roger Yarwood who gave evidence. He was a sergeant in the Metropolitan Police at the time.”

Father Sebastian creased his brow. “This is awkward. I’m afraid that when they meet—as they inevitably will—it will
bring back painful memories for the Archdeacon. But it can’t be helped. Yarwood needs a period of rest and recuperation and the room has been promised. He was very useful to the college three years ago, before he was promoted, when he was on traffic duties and Father Peregrine backed into that stationary lorry. As you know, he’s been coming to Sunday Mass fairly regularly, and I think he finds it helpful. If his presence awakes distressing memories, then the Archdeacon will have to cope with them as Father John copes with his. I shall arrange for Emma to be in Ambrose, immediately next to the church, Commander Dalgliesh in Jerome, then the Archdeacon in Augustine and Roger Yarwood in Gregory.”

They were in for an uncomfortable weekend, thought Father Martin. It would be deeply distressing for Father John to have to meet the Archdeacon, and Crampton himself was unlikely to welcome the encounter, although it could hardly be unexpected; he must know that Father John was at St. Anselm’s. And if Father Peregrine were right—and he invariably was—a meeting between the Archdeacon and Inspector Yarwood was likely to embarrass them both. It would be difficult to control Raphael or to keep him apart from the Archdeacon; he was, after all, the senior ordinand. And then there was Stannard. Apart from any devious motives in coming to St. Anselm’s, he was never an easy guest. Most problematic of all would be the presence of Adam Dalgliesh, an implacable reminder of unhappy events which they thought they had put behind them, viewing them with his experienced and sceptical eyes.

He was roused from his reverie by Father Sebastian’s voice. “And now I think we’ll have our coffee.”

R
aphael Arbuthnot came in and stood waiting with the graceful assurance that was typical of him. His black cassock with its row of covered buttons, unlike those of other ordinands, looked newly tailored, elegantly fitting; its dark austerity, contrasting with Raphael’s pale face and shining hair, imposed a look which, paradoxically, was both hieratic and theatrical. Father Sebastian could never see him alone without a tinge of unease. He was himself a handsome man and had always valued—perhaps over-valued—handsomeness in other men and beauty in women. Only with his wife had it seemed unimportant. But he found beauty in a man disconcerting, even a little repellent. Young men, and particularly young English men, should not look like a slightly dissolute Greek god. It was not that there was anything androgynous about Raphael, but Father Sebastian was always aware that this was a beauty more likely to appeal to men than to women, even if it had no power to stir his own heart.

And there came again to mind the most insistent of the many worries which made it difficult to spend time with Raphael without a renewal of old misgivings. How valid really was his vocation? And should the college have agreed to take him on as an ordinand when he was already, as it were, part of the family? St. Anselm’s had been the only home he’d known since his mother, the last Arbuthnot, had dumped him on the college, a two-week-old baby, illegitimate and unwanted, twenty-five years ago. Wouldn’t it have been wiser, perhaps indeed prudent, to have encouraged him to look elsewhere, to apply to Cuddesdon or St. Stephen’s House at Oxford? Raphael himself had insisted on training at St. Anselm’s. Hadn’t there been the
subtle threat that it was here or nowhere? Perhaps the college had been too accommodating in their anxiety not to lose to the Church the last of the Arbuthnots. Well, it was too late now, and it was irritating how often these fruitless worries about Raphael would keep intruding on more immediate if mundane matters. Resolutely he put them aside and addressed himself to college concerns.

“A few minor details first, Raphael. Students who persist in parking in front of the college must do so more tidily. As you know, I prefer cars and motorcycles to be left outside the college buildings at the rear. If they have to be parked in the front courtyard, at least take some care. This is something which particularly irritates Father Peregrine. And will students please remember not to use the washing machines after Compline. Father Peregrine finds the noise distracting. And, now we are without Mrs. Munroe, I have agreed that bed-linen for the present shall be changed fortnightly. The linen will be available in the linen-room and students should help themselves to what they require and change their own beds. We are advertising for a replacement but it may take some time.”

“Yes, Father. I’ll mention these matters.”

“There are two more important items. This Friday we shall be having a visit from a Commander Dalgliesh of New Scotland Yard. Apparently Sir Alred Treeves is dissatisfied with the inquest verdict on Ronald and has asked the Yard to make inquiries. I don’t know how long he will be with us, probably only for the weekend. Naturally we shall all co-operate with the Commander. That means answering his questions fully and honestly, not venturing opinions.”

“But Ronald’s been cremated, Father. What can Commander Dalgliesh hope to prove now? Surely he can’t overturn the findings of the inquest?”

“I imagine not. I think it’s more a question of satisfying Sir Alred that there was a thorough investigation of his son’s death.”

“But that’s ridiculous, Father. The Suffolk Police were very thorough. What else can the Yard hope to discover now?”

“Very little, I imagine. Anyway, Commander Dalgliesh is coming and will occupy Jerome. Apart from Emma Lavenham,
there will be three other visitors. Inspector Yarwood is arriving for a recuperative holiday. He needs rest and quiet and I imagine will take some of his meals in his room. Mr. Stannard will be back, continuing his research in the library. And Archdeacon Crampton is expected for a short visit. He will arrive on Saturday and plans to leave immediately after breakfast on Sunday. I have invited him to preach the homily at Compline on Saturday night. It will be a small congregation, but that can’t be helped.”

Raphael said, “If I’d known that, Father, I’d have taken good care not to be here.”

“I realize that. I expect you as senior student to be here at least until after Compline and to treat him with the courtesy that you should extend to a visitor, an older man and a priest.”

“I have no trouble with the first two, it’s the third which sticks in my throat. How can he face us, face Father John, after what he’s done?”

“I imagine, like the rest of us, he takes solace from the satisfaction of believing that at the time he did what he thought was right.”

Raphael’s face flushed. He exclaimed, “How can he think he was right—a priest hounding another priest into prison? It would be disgraceful if anyone did it. Coming from him it’s abominable. And Father John—the gentlest, the kindest of men.”

“You forget, Raphael, that Father John pleaded guilty at his trial.”

“He pleaded guilty to misbehaviour with two young boys. He didn’t rape them, he didn’t seduce them, he didn’t physically hurt them. All right, he pleaded guilty, but he wouldn’t have been sent to prison if Crampton hadn’t made it his business to start delving into the past, digging up those three youths, persuading them to come forward with evidence. What the hell business was it of his anyway?”

“He saw it as his business. We have to remember that Father John also pleaded guilty to those more serious charges.”

“Of course he did. He pleaded guilty because he felt guilty. He feels guilty at just being alive. But mainly it was to prevent those youths perjuring themselves in the witness-box. That’s
what he couldn’t bear, the harm it would do them, the harm they’d do to themselves by lying in court. He wanted to spare them that, at the cost of going to prison.”

Father Sebastian said sharply, “Did he tell you that? Have you actually discussed this with him?”

“Not really, not directly. But that’s the truth of it, I know it is.”

Father Sebastian felt uncomfortable. That could well be. It was something he had thought out for himself. But this delicate psychological perception was appropriate to him as a priest; coming from a student he found it disconcerting. He said, “You had no right, Raphael, to talk to Father John about this. He’s served his sentence and he’s come to live and work with us here. The past is behind him. It’s unfortunate if he has to meet the Archdeacon, but it won’t be made easier for him or for anyone if you attempt to interfere. We all have our darkness within. Father John’s is between him and God, or for him and his confessor. For you to intervene is spiritual arrogance.”

Raphael seemed hardly to have heard. He said, “And we know why Crampton’s coming, don’t we? To nose about, getting fresh evidence against the college. He wants to see us closed down. He made that obvious as soon as the Bishop appointed him as one of the trustees.”

“And if he’s treated with discourtesy then he will be provided with the additional evidence he needs. I’ve kept St. Anselm’s open by such influence as I have and by carrying on quietly with my work, not by antagonizing powerful enemies. This is a difficult time for the college and Ronald Treeves’s death didn’t help.” He paused, then asked a question that until now he had left unspoken. He said, “You must have discussed that death among yourselves. What view of it was taken by the ordinands?”

He saw that the question was unwelcome. There was a pause before Raphael replied. “I think, Father, the general view was that Ronald killed himself.”

“But why? Did you have an opinion on that?”

The silence this time was longer. Then Raphael said, “No, Father, I don’t think we did.”

Father Sebastian went over to his desk and studied a sheet of paper. He said more briskly, “I see the college will be fairly
empty this weekend. Only four of you remaining. Remind me, will you, of why so many are on leave and so early in the term.”

“Three students have started parish training, Father. Rupert has been asked to preach at St. Margaret’s, and I think two students are going to hear him. Richard’s mother has a fiftieth birthday coinciding with a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and he has special leave for that. Then you remember that Toby Williams is being inducted to his first parish and quite a number of people will be supporting him. That leaves Henry, Stephen, Peter and myself. I was hoping I might have leave after Compline. I’ll miss Toby’s induction but I’d like to be present for his first Parish Mass.”

Father Sebastian was still studying his paper. “Yes, that seems to add up. You may leave after you’ve heard the Archdeacon preach. But aren’t you down for a Greek lesson with Mr. Gregory after Mass on Sunday? You’d better clear this with him.”

“I have, Father. He can fit me in on Monday.”

“Right, then I think that’s all for this week, Raphael. You may as well take your essay. It’s on the desk. Evelyn Waugh wrote in one of his travel books that he saw theology as the science of simplification whereby nebulous and elusive ideas are made intelligible and exact. Your essay is neither. And you misuse the word ‘emulate.’ It is not synonymous with ‘imitate.’ ”

“Of course not. Sorry, Father. I can imitate you but I can’t hope to emulate you.”

Father Sebastian turned away to hide a smile. He said, “I would strongly advise you to attempt neither.”

As the door closed behind Raphael the smile lingered; and then the Warden remembered that he had extracted no promise of good behaviour. A promise, once given, would be kept, but there had been none. It was going to be a complicated weekend.

D
algliesh left his flat overlooking the Thames at Queenshythe before first light. The building, now converted into modern offices for a financial corporation, had previously been a warehouse, and the smell of spice, fugitive as memory, still lingered in the wide, sparsely furnished and wooden-clad rooms which he occupied on the top storey. When the building was sold for development he had resolutely resisted the prospective new owner’s effort to buy out his long lease, and at last, when Dalgliesh had rejected the final ridiculously high offer, the developers had conceded defeat and the top floor remained inviolate. Dalgliesh had now been provided, at the company’s expense, with his own unobtrusive door at the side of the building and a private and secure lift up to his flat at the cost of a higher rent but an extended lease. He suspected that the building had in the end been more than adequate for their needs and that the presence of a senior police officer on the top floor gave the night watchman a comforting if spurious sense of security. Dalgliesh retained what he valued: his privacy, emptiness beneath him at night and almost no noise during the daytime, and his wide view of the ever-changing life of the Thames borne beneath him on the tide.