A Pattern of Lies by Charles Todd

Author:Charles Todd [Todd, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical mystery
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-08-17T14:00:00+00:00

No one was in the best of spirits that morning. A sea mist had rolled in, draping everything in long tendrils of wetness that seemed to cling to everything.

Restless, I walked into town, not toward the square but toward the church towers I could see above the bare trees. The man delivering the milk touched his cap to me and went on his way as I turned into the gate through the low stone wall around the churchyard.

The board told me that this was the Church of St. Anne, and that a Mr. Gardener was the Vicar. Looking up, I saw that the towers were lost in the mist. The rectory stood next to the church, set back to one side of the churchyard, and it loomed like a ghostly edifice until I was close enough to realize it was a pretty stone house with flower pots by the door and a knocker in the shape of a lamb. I smiled as I lifted the knocker to let it fall against the plate.

A housekeeper answered the summons, and I asked if the Vicar was receiving callers.

He was.

I followed her into the hall, and down a passage to a closed door that led into the rectory parlor.

It was a large room with dark furniture and antimacassars and a Sansevieria that was thriving in the light from a pair of windows. The mantel was marble, with blue tiles surrounding the hearth. There was money in this living, apparently, and I wondered if it had come from the powder mill.

The door opened a moment later and a tall, thin man stepped into the room. He had a kind face, but his chin was weak, and I wondered if I’d made a mistake in coming here.

“Good morning, Sister. Which of course is an expression of hope rather than a description of the day.”

“Indeed,” I said, smiling, as he gestured to a chair and took his own seat.

“And what brings you to the Vicarage? Is all well with Mrs. Ashton?”

So he knew who I was. But to my knowledge he had never come to the house while I was visiting, not even the day Philip Ashton was taken into custody, when presumably the man’s wife would be in dire need of comfort.

“She is a strong woman with a strong faith,” I said. “She believes her husband will be exonerated.”

“I have kept him in my prayers every day. And Mrs. Ashton as well.”

“Then you don’t believe that Philip Ashton deliberately killed all those men in his employ?” I asked bluntly.

“I find it hard to believe he could do such a thing. And yet the police have seen fit to take him into custody.”

“The police are sometimes wrong.”

“That’s true.”

I couldn’t tell whether he was guileless or devious. Or if he was trying to sit astride the fence and not alienate any of his parishioners, whichever side they were on.

“Can you tell me who is behind this campaign of slander and accusation that has caused the family so

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