Page 143 of Storm of Bells
‘You are responsible for the spiritualwell-being of your congregation and for official events such asmarriages, deaths and christenings.’
‘Well, err…yes.’ The poor man was shiftingand wriggling like a worm caught in the claws of a bird of prey.What was the matter? I wasn’t that intimidating, was I? ‘Thatand…in the spirit of Christianity, the clergy is responsible forthe welfare of the poor, and for, um…reminding the more wealthymembers of society of their charitable duties as Christians.’
Slowly, things started to come together. Agrin spread over my face. This had nothing to do with Dalgliesh.This was a hundred times worse, and a million times better.
‘Oh, of course! You’ve come to see myhusband-to-be and ask him for a charitable contribution. Verycommendable. Let me call Benson to show you up to Mr Ambroseand—’
‘No!’ I had never in my life seen anyoneshake his head so fast without it toppling off in the process. ‘Sokind of you to offer, but, no. I, err….I’m afraid I have alreadyattempted to approach Lord Ambrose regarding this matter once sincehe arrived, and…’ The clergyman shuddered. ‘Let’s just say it didnot go as I hoped.’
Oh dear. I exchanged a quick look withAdaira. ‘What did he say?’
‘He did not say anything, Miss Linton. Havingannounced the reason for my visit to the butler, I did not get anyfarther than the hallway. But Lord Ambrose sent down a message tome. A rather…forceful message.’
Delivered by a certain bearded heathen,most likely.I could hardly keep myself from grinning. ‘I bethe did.’
‘Pardon my asking, but…your future husband isnot a very fervent supporter of good causes, is he?’
‘Of course he is!’
‘He is?’ The vicar’s face brightened.
‘Oh yes. He just has a slightly definition ofwhat constitutes a “good cause”—i.e.,anything that fattenshis wallet.’
‘Ah. Um.’ He cleared his throat. ‘That isregrettable. I had hoped…that is…There are some sections of thevillage, especially the outlying tenant cottages belonging to theestate, that are in severe disrepair. I’ve been writing to Londonfor years, trying to get the attention of the lord of the manor anddraw his attention to the problems on his property, but…’
‘Let me guess. You never received areply.’
‘Err, yes I did. Once. Someone sent back aninvoice for seven pounds twelve shillings, for administrativefees.’
He looked around, as if expectingincredulity.
‘Lucky you.’ Adaira patted his shoulder. ‘Yougot off cheaply.’
The vicar looked pained. ‘So, you see, MissLinton, if I were to go up there now and renew my request forcharitable donations…’
‘You will be swiftly donated out of thewindow.’
‘Quite possibly. But…but…’ The poor man wasringing his hands by now. ‘That would mean that…that…’ Lowering hisvoice, he leaned closer. ‘…that Mr Ambrose isnot a charitableman!’
Adaira and I exchanged a look.
‘Yes?’ We both said at about the sametime.
‘Surely, that cannot be true!’ His imploringeyes turned to me. ‘Surely, as the woman who loves him, you mustknow that deep down underneath his, um, rather cool exterior beatsa heart of gold, right?’
His voice was filled with desperate hope.
‘A heart of gold? Err…well, yes. One in acast-iron safe, guarded by a platoon of bank guards and man-eatinghounds.’
The reverend gazed around at us one after theother, waiting for someone to start laughing at my joke. Whennobody did, he pulled himself to his full height of about fivefeet.
‘No. No, I just can’t believe that. Deepdown, I’m sure Lord Ambrose has a generous, giving heart, like allgood Christian folk.’
I had a sudden, violent coughing fit. Forsome reason, it sounded a bit similar to laughter.
‘Miss Linton! Miss Linton. Are you allright?’
‘Ehem. Yes. Yes.’
