Free Evil Angels Among Them by Kate Charles Page A

syndrome of the middle-aged woman with too much time on her hands, exacerbated by the move to strange surroundings. Stephen felt sorry for Diana Mansfield, but so far had been unable to think of a way to help her.
    Quentin Mansfield, who ushered him into the library and offered him a drink, was a different matter. He had always seemed to Stephen to be entirely self-sufficient and self-possessed. A large man with a businessman’s paunch, he was conscientious in his church attendance but he seemed uninterested in assuming the role of the village squire.
    A fire had been lit against the chill of the day, and Stephen sank gratefully into a comfortable leather chair as he accepted his drink.
    His host remained standing, leaning against the carved wooden mantelpiece. ‘Well, Rector?’ he said. ‘What’s this all about? I’m not flattering myself that this is a social call.’
    â€˜Well, no, not exactly.’
    â€˜Money, is it?’ he asked bluntly. ‘Is the roof leaking? It’s no good asking me for money for vestments or any of that High Church rubbish – you know very well that I don’t approve of such nonsense.’
    Stephen was caught off balance, but recovered quickly. ‘No, Mr Mansfield. It’s not about money. Not directly, anyway.’ He smiled. ‘And I do know that you don’t share my churchmanship, but I don’t think that should prevent us working together.’ He took a sip of his drink, deciding that the direct approach would be most effective. ‘I’ll come to the point. Roger Staines has been told by Dr McNair that he can’t continue as churchwarden. That means there will be a vacancy to be filled at the Easter Vestry, and I was wondering whether you might be interested in the job.’
    â€˜Churchwarden, eh? You do surprise me.’ Mansfield turned and scrutinised the young priest. ‘Doesn’t one have to be born in Walston, or at least in Norfolk, to be considered for such an honour?’
    â€˜I don’t know about honour,’ Stephen demurred. ‘It’s a great deal of work, and quite a responsibility – legally as well as practically.’
    â€˜Then why, I wonder,’ the other man mused with a cynical smile, ‘does no one ever want to give the job up? Fred Purdy has been churchwarden for so many years that even he has lost count, and from what I hear Ernest Wrightman would have held on for ever if it hadn’t been for his health. That probably goes for Roger Staines as well.’
    Stephen looked thoughtful. ‘There’s something in that,’ he admitted. ‘I suppose it is a very powerful position, and there are people who thrive on power. I wouldn’t put Roger in that category, though.’
    â€˜And what about me?’ Mansfield posed bluntly. ‘Is that why you’re asking me? Because you think that I thrive on power?’
    A question like that, Stephen recognised, deserved an equally straightforward answer. ‘I’m asking you because I think you have the financial acumen that we need, and because I believe that I can trust you to act for the good of St Michael’s, and for the good of the Church of England. I believe, Mr Mansfield, that you are a man of sense and judgment, all questions of churchmanship aside.’
    â€˜Ah.’ Mansfield abandoned his position at the mantelpiece and sat down opposite Stephen in a matching leather chair. ‘Now we’re talking. So it is to do with money.’
    â€˜Indirectly. As you must know, Mr Mansfield, the Church of England is not in an enviable financial position at the moment.’ Stephen smiled wryly. ‘The Church Commissioners haven’t done us any favours, losing all that money, and the result is that the burden is falling, and will increasingly fall, on the parishes themselves.’
    â€˜Obviously.’
    â€˜And there are those who, for various reasons, believe that the