Free Murder in a Cathedral by Ruth Dudley Edwards Page B

opportunity to get to know another part of the building well. He had always tended to be an impatient visitor to great and beautiful places and things – one of those who gets around a building of great architectural interest in twenty minutes while the Louvre or the Uffizi takes no more than an hour and a half. But as the gentle pace of Westonbury had its effect, he found there were great pleasures to be had from applying himself to quiet contemplation of the sunlit rose window or the intricate carvings on the choir stalls.
    This period of soothing the spirit was frequently necessary in order to calm Amiss’s soul after he had attended to Plutarch’s perpetrations and desecrations, for she had taken to demonstrating her fondness for the cathedral by bringing it gifts of dead wildlife. It was only because she liked to take a well-earned nap beside the remains of the rat, water vole or blue tit that had the misfortune to cross her path, that Amiss was able to locate the corpse most mornings before anyone else did. It was once again the bishop who saved her from being ignominiously exiled when Amiss found her lying on the altar asleep beside a well-chewed pigeon.
    He spent a great deal of time alone, for the bishop was required to attend, reluctantly, numerous working lunches and welcoming dinners, but Amiss enjoyed the opportunity to read, think and amble by the river – sometimes with Plutarch – and occasionally he went to the cathedral for evensong. Perhaps his greatest and most unexpected pleasure – for he had never particularly liked organ music – was sometimes after dinner, when the bishop was at his lectern, to go over to the cathedral to listen to Jeremy Hubert practising and go back to his little house in the close for a glass of wine.
     
    A week or so after he settled in Amiss had caught up with Flubert after evensong just as he was unlocking his front door. ‘You’re the precentor and organist, aren’t you?’
    ‘And you’re the mysterious assistant. Come in and have a drink.’
    Flubert had waved Amiss to a brown leather winged armchair which proved to be wonderfully comfortable and crossed the room to switch on his CD player; Chopin came on quietly. ‘You don’t mind the music, I hope. I fear I’ve become like one of today’s wretched children – hardly able to function without music in the background. I’m almost on the point of succumbing to one of those dreadful Walkman things, though I’m sure it’s the worst kind of self-indulgence.’
    ‘Seems pretty harmless as self-indulgence goes.’
    ‘What a comforting thing to say. You’re probably right; there is somewhere buried within me too much of the Calvinist spirit. I am an escaped prisoner from the Plymouth Brethren. Every day I thank God for my luck and for giving me the chance to create what I have created here. Sherry?’
    What was it about the British Establishment and sherry, wondered Amiss fleetingly. ‘Thank you.’
    Flubert filled two small glasses, passed one to Amiss and sat down opposite. ‘So tell me why you have moved into the palace. My colleagues are agog.’
    ‘Dr Elworthy needs someone to organize him a bit and help him with his academic research. I’m an historian by training and an administrator by profession – at present between jobs – so it’s an excellent temporary job for me.’
    ‘I’d be inclined to guess you’re adding a little bit of espionage to your activities.’
    Amiss adopted his bewildered look. ‘Come again?’
    ‘Oh, now, come on. Our bishop is an innocent, there is no dean to hold his hand and we are a rum lot in the chapter. I should think he needs help to understand what is going on.’
    ‘And what is going on?’
    ‘You’ve come to the wrong person. There is nothing I care about except music.’ He smiled. ‘And a few creature comforts.’
    Amiss looked around the room. Three of the walls were lined with books. Directly in front of him was a long row of volumes of Grove’s