Free The Black Seraphim by Michael Gilbert

long hallway at a speed the Archdeacon could hardly match. “He’s in his study. Working on a sermon, he said.”
    The study overlooked a stretch of lawn running up to the wall which divided the North Canonry garden from the Cathedral School playground. As the Archdeacon came in, Canon Maude swept a copy of the Times under a pile of papers and bobbed up to welcome him.
    “My dear Raymond. An unexpected pleasure. What can I do for you? Please sit down. You’re looking very well. Take a chair. No, that one, please. It’s much more comfortable.”
    Without speaking, the Archdeacon drew an upright chair to the other side of the table, cleared a space by pushing some of the clutter to one side and laid on it a single sheet of deckle-edged notepaper and an opened envelope.
    Canon Maude looked at it. His face, which was normally the pink and white of a healthy baby, was now pink all over. A deeper red flush started on his cheekbones and spread upward toward his forehead. He put one hand out as though to pick up the letter, thought better of it and drew it back.
    “What’s all this, Raymond? What is it?”
    “It’s a letter.”
    “A letter?”
    “And that is the envelope it came in. Which is addressed, as you can see, to William Anstruther, who is a boy at the choristers’ school. I understand that it was dropped over the wall of your garden into the playground. Since you wrote the letter yourself, I’m sure you know what’s in it.”
    Canon Maude looked up at the ceiling as though seeking inspiration, but found none there.
    “Is it your habit to write love letters to boys?”
    “Love letters,” said Canon Maude faintly. “Really, Raymond.”
    “I should imagine that is how the court would construe a letter which referred to red-rose lips and velvet eyes and—what was that other expression?” The Archdeacon picked up the letter and examined it critically. “Oh, yes. This bit at the end about his sylphlike figure and slim gilt soul.”
    “What did you mean?” said Canon Maude tremulously. “When you spoke about the court?”
    “I meant what I said. Anyone reading this letter would assume that you were trying to seduce the boy. If his father, Brigadier Anstruther, saw it, his first instinct would be to come round here with a horsewhip. On further reflection he would probably decide to hand the letter over to the police.”
    Canon Maude was now as white as he had been red before. He said, “But he must never see it, Raymond. Never, never, never.” His voice rose in a squeak. “I should never have written it. It must be destroyed.”
    He put a hand out, but the Archdeacon intercepted it, picked up the letter and envelope and restored them to his own pocket.
    He said, “Fortunately, the boy had enough sense not to show this to any of his friends. Indeed, I should imagine he was deeply shocked. He took it straight to his form master, Mr Fleming, who handed it to the headmaster. He gave it to me, after the meeting this morning. By doing so, he laid on me the onus of deciding what to do about it.”
    Canon Maude said, “Think of the Chapter, Raymond. We must stand by each other.”
    “I am thinking about the Chapter. But I am also thinking about myself. The boy has promised to keep his mouth shut. But if this did get out – if his father heard about it and discovered that I had decided to hush the matter up – my own position would be far from agreeable. You appreciate that?”
    “I do, Raymond. I do. I should be eternally grateful.”
    “Very well. I have decided to take no further step in this matter. But on one condition: that you give me your solemn word that you will never do such a stupid thing again.”
    “I give you my word, Raymond. I do indeed.”
    There was a single tear at the corner of each of his eyes.
    The Archdeacon rose to his feet. He stood for a moment staring down at Canon Maude, who seemed incapable of moving. He said, “I took particular note of one comment you made, Mervyn.” His