Free Evil Intent by Kate Charles Page B

talented artist. That’s her vocation, just as the Church is mine.’
    ‘Callie,’ called a voice off to the side.
    She turned to see Brian Stanford, who had another man in tow.
    ‘I wanted to introduce you to Benedict Burton,’ he said. ‘A retired priest in the Deanery who helps us all out by taking the odd service or covering for our holidays. I’ve been trying to convince him that he’ll like you.’
    That, Callie thought, was not a very promising start. ‘Hello,’ she said warily.
    The man nodded. He appeared to be quite advanced in years, his shiny head covered with liver spots rather than hair. ‘It’s nothing personal,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’m sure you’re a very nice person.’
    ‘Benedict isn’t very keen on women priests,’ explained Brian in a hearty voice.
    The other man shook his head. ‘It makes me sad, that’s all. That the Church of England should take a decision like that all on its own. And why change things that have worked for centuries?’ There were tears in his rheumy blue eyes. ‘It’s no longer the Church I grew up in, the Church I’ve served for so many years.’
    Callie found herself feeling unexpectedly sorry for him: things had changed, and as she knew in her own life, change was usually painful. ‘Why have you stayed?’ she asked him. ‘You didn’t have to stay.’ There was, she knew, money on offer for those who were unable to accept the new order, and many had taken it.
    He bowed his head. ‘Because it’s my Church,’ he said with touching simplicity. ‘I may not agree with the direction it’s taken, but it’s still my Church. And unlike others, who don’t believe that women’s ordination is valid, I only go as far as to say that it’s valid but irregular. Irregular,’ he repeated. ‘To say it wasn’t valid would be to cast doubt on my own ordination.’
    All at once there was evidence of movement, as people began drifting towards the semi-circle of chairs which had been set up at the other end of the room. It was as if some inaudible bell had rung, but as Callie followed Brian, she saw that Leo Jackson had taken the chair in the centre, and his arrival was a signal to the rest that the formal meeting was about to get underway.
    There was still no sign of Frances. Callie chose a seat beside Brian, leaving an empty chair on her other side for Frances. Adam, already seated, was at an oblique angle to her, so at least she wouldn’t have to look directly across at him during the meeting.
    The man who had identified himself to her as the speaker sat next to Leo, and at the last minute, Frances slipped into the empty chair to Callie’s right, giving her arm a discreet squeeze of greeting. ‘Sorry to have left you on your own,’ she whispered. ‘You seem to have survived.’
    ‘It’s not been too bad.’
    ‘You’ve managed to avoid them, then?’ Frances nodded her head across the semi-circle in the direction of the two men who had walked out of the service.
    ‘Yes. Who are they, anyway?’
    Frances whispered close to Callie’s ear. ‘Father Vincent is the white one, the one who looks like a slug. And the black one is Father Jonah.’
    A slug. Callie studied him while Leo made a few introductory remarks. The description seemed apt, though she wasn’t quite sure why. There was, perhaps, a sluglike inertia about him in his posture, his hands folded complacently over his substantial belly. The expression on his very round, very pink face was smug, self-satisfied. He had a thatch of abundant white hair, styled in a way which suggested that he was proud of it, considering it a virtue to have retained such a quantity of it at his age when so many around him had lost theirs.
    She was snapped out of her reverie at the sound of her own name. Leo was mentioning her, welcoming her to the Deanery, waving his hand in her direction. She composed her face into what she hoped was an appropriate expression and nodded in acknowledgement.
    ‘And we also