Hansard was there before me. ‘You are to quit this post? And join a missionary society in Africa? You know that if a white man can survive there for six months it is a miracle?’
‘As the Bard made Edmund say, Some good I mean to do Despite of mine own nature. My nature is not naturally bad, gentlemen. Indeed, I have always tried to do good. But events overtook me. I did harm, quite by chance – and became trapped into doing more and more. When I go to Africa I can do good for however many days the Almighty pleases to spare me. That will be my penance. That and the knowledge that I will not have long to wait for a horrible death far from home. I shall miss this house. I already miss Horatio. But not as much as I miss God’s love. I must show him how penitent I am, so that on the Day of Judgement my Saviour will intercede for me.’ He gave me a quizzical, even amused glance. ‘You are a devout man, Campion – may I ask you to pray for me? And for my work for my new flock in Africa, of course. Thank you. I am sure you will understand if I bid you good day – I have much to finish here before I leave forever tomorrow morning.’ With some embarrassment he extended his right hand.
I had to shake it, did I not, and forgive him for what he had tried to do to me. ‘You know it is not in my power to forgive what you did to others. For myself, however, I freely forgive you for the harm you did to me. May God bless you and keep you,’ I said, my voice gravelly with emotion.
‘Thank you. So, gentlemen, farewell!’
It was a very subdued group of friends around the dinner table, free to talk in the absence of any servants. Jem in particular was unhappy. ‘So no justice is done. Three harmless old men die on behalf of some killers who will never be identified. The churchwardens claim to be good men. The archdeacon, who clearly knew of the dangers Coates brought with him, can skip off to Africa. I do not like any of this, I tell you straight.’
Toone nodded. ‘Some justice has been done, but not all – and none of it in the open. In 1815 we will celebrate the six hundredth anniversary of Magna Carta: have we learnt nothing?’
There was a knock on the door. Burns entered to speak to Edmund, who looked quizzically at me. ‘There is a man dying in Clavercote. Do we trust the wardens’ promise that we are now safe?’
‘You will be safer with an escort, if Mrs Hansard will excuse us,’ Jem said, rising and looking Toone in the eye.
I do not recall anyone speaking as we made our way to the smithy where Adam Blacksmith’s daughter admitted us, her face ashen and drenched with tears. Clearly she was no comfort to the grizzling, struggling baby, which Toone removed gently from her arms, taking it out into the evening sunshine.
‘No ring, you see, no ring,’ Adam gasped, pointing a huge accusatory finger. Jem scooped her out his sight, presumably joining Toone.
‘She says he promised marriage. Him!’
‘Coates?’
Even the steady approach of death did not curb a string of expletives.
At last I asked gently, ‘Did you help kill him?’
‘Not so much kill, as hold him on to that tree while the others nailed him. And I burnt all the clothes he had on. Brave lads that did it: two of them died when that roof fell in, trying to save those inside. One went to be a soldier, they say – he won’t have long for this world I dare say, not would he want to, seeing what happened to his wife and daughter. Will that count, do you think, Parson, on the Day of Judgement? Being good to make up for being bad?’
‘I hope and pray it will. But now, Adam, it is your own death you must think about, and making your peace with your Maker.’
He smiled oddly. ‘Someone will look after that babe, won’t they? Nice little creature, considering its sire. I meant to drown it, like you’d drown an unwanted whelp. But I found I couldn’t. I beat my daughter like buggery when I found out. For all that, she’s stood by me. Bless her for that. I don’t have much to leave, but I want her and the nipper to have it. Can you write that down? It’s got to be writ down, to be my Will! Write, write! Then I can sign it and die.’
‘While Dr Hansard writes, why do you and I not tell God how sorry you are, and how you hope to be forgiven?’
‘Your resignations?’ I repeated, pushing the two letters from me. I was in the calm of my study but now all around me there was chaos again. ‘Why, gentlemen?’
Boddice looked at Lawton, then spoke first. ‘You once said we were the most important laymen in the parish. And it seems to us that knowing what we knew, we ought to have done more. We did what we thought we could, but we should have done more. We should have told Lord Hasbury about the goings on. The bishop himself … We should have – we know not what we should have done. So we do not think we are worthy, not anymore. So we want you to look over these here letters to the bishop and tell us if they’re all right.’
I considered the case. Two ordinary men, thrust willy-nilly into a situation not of their making, driven by their consciences to give up roles they both valued, grovelling to a man so much their social, intellectual and ecclesiastical superior who had helped cause the chaos they had to deal with.
‘We should have set an example,’ Lawton added, ‘not turned our backs on it all. At least that’s what people think. You do yourself, don’t you, Parson?’
‘I no longer know what to think. I suspect you have less to blame yourselves for than you think. But I applaud you for responding to what your consciences tell you. Tell me,’ I said, playing for time, ‘are there any other good and reliable men whom you can recommend to take your places?’
At last Boddice spoke. ‘Everyone knew something. Every last one of us knew something. But not everything. Not enough to point a finger in accusation. It’s on all our consciences, I suppose. But what use is a conscience when your roof is rotting over your head and there’s no food to put in your children’s bellies? That’s what they’d say. It took the Big Storm to make things a bit better, to make people act as neighbours again.’
Toone would have nodded sagely, as they supported his angry theory that if you made the world better you would make men better too.
As for me, what did I know? Less than nothing. I could not ask my bishop for help, knowing his part in it all. The archdeacon was heading open-eyed to his penitent death.
‘Let us pray together, and see if we can hear an answer,’ I said at last.
EPILOGUE
It is the most subdued service I have ever taken, but probably the most important. It is also one the bishop knows nothing of, although the church is full. It certainly has no ecclesiastical precedent that I know of. Together we recite the General Confession. Then, led by their wardens, each man, woman and child rises to confess his or her part in the murder. On our knees we plead for God’s forgiveness and each other’s. At last, blessed in the knowledge that our saviour died to save us from sin, we rise.
I tell them of the new rector, a kind old man, who will come to work amongst them. They must welcome him, and his wife of thirty years, or they will answer to God – and, more immediately – me.
As I ride away, I have no idea if I have done right. Toone, for one, disagrees, insisting that the bishop should have had to answer to his peers for his wrongdoing. Jem supports this view, but doubts if, being who they are, they would find much fault. Maria and Edmund are more pragmatic, though both continue to hold their breath every time I head for Clavercote without Mrs Trent. If Toone has tried to lure her away from me, I do not know, but she continues loyally with me, occasionally giving me enormous pleasure when she behaves unexpectedly. Robert, despite having a puppy to care for, still prefers the stable as a bedchamber. Susan is wooed by Tufnell’s grandson.
Now I have to do something I will permit no one else to do. I must oil my bat for the first match of the cricket season.
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ALSO BY JUDITH CUTLER
THE TOBIAS CAMPION SERIES
THE KEEPER OF SECRETS
SHADOW OF THE PAST
THE FRAN HARMAN SERIES
LIFE SENTENCE
COLD PURSUIT
STILL WATERS
THE JOSIE WELFORD SERIES
THE FOOD DETECTIVE
THE CHINESE TAKEOUT
SCAR TISSUE
STAGING DEATH
DRAWING THE LINE
By Judith Cutler
THE TOBIAS CAMPION SERIES
The Keeper of Secrets
Shadow of the Past
Cheating the Hangman
THE FRAN HARMAN SERIES
Life Sentence
Cold Pursuit
Still Waters
THE JOSIE WELFORD SERIES
The Food Detective
The Chinese Takeout
Scar Tissue
Staging Death
Drawing the Line
Copyright
Allison & Busby Limited
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First published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2015.
This ebook edition published by Allison & Busby in 2015.
Copyright © 2015 by JUDITH CUTLER
All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The moral right of the author is hereby asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978-0-7490-1743-9
Cheating the Hangman Page 25
