Murder in Retribution (A New Scotland Yard Mystery) by Anne Cleeland

Author:Anne Cleeland [Cleeland, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2014-07-29T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 24

WHEN DOYLE ENTERED THE FLAT, HOWEVER, IT WAS TO DIScover that Acton was to be given a reprieve in the form of a visitor. Father John and Acton were seated before the fire, drinking scotch, and Acton rose to greet her, approaching to kiss her cheek. He paused. “What is it?”

“It can wait,” she replied, and hoped this was true—although surely, as long as he was here with her he was not arranging to murder people, left and right. Or one would think.

“I thought we were to go to Candide’s,” he chided her gently as he helped her remove her coat.

“I completely forgot; I was too busy sleuthin’. Has Williams reported?”

“No.”

It was the truth. Interesting, she thought—Williams is going to stay well out of it. Perhaps he has divided loyalties; after all, his mother likes me. “Is it instruction night?” Occasionally Father John and Acton met at the flat for Acton’s instruction ; more often they met at the church.

“No; he wanted to come speak to both of us.”

Reminded of the probing questions the priest had asked at the end of lunch, Doyle found this to be ominous—faith, it never rained but it poured—and indeed, it seemed the clergyman was not his usual self as he rose to meet her. “Kathleen ; I’m sorry to be disturbin’ you at home.”

“Not at all, Father; I’m that glad to see you again.”

“Come sit down,” suggested Acton, and Doyle could only sink gratefully into the sofa next to her husband, resisting an urge to put her head in his lap like a child, and sleep away every unsolvable problem.

The priest hesitated, and Doyle could see that he was deeply troubled. “I am not certain how to go about broachin’ the subject.”

Oh-oh, thought Doyle, and remembered his questions about Acton’s fidelity. Merciful God, she pleaded; no more bad news, please—a body can only bear so much. She sat up straighter and sidled closer to Acton. No matter what, she thought as she firmly took his hand in both of hers, I’m his wife and I love him.

Acton glanced at her in surprise before addressing the clergyman with his best interrogation technique. “Why don’t we start with explaining what you were doing, and then we can explore what it was you saw and heard.”

“Oh,” said the priest, startled. “It’s not that I’m a witness, or anythin’. Well, not in a manner of speakin’, anyway.”

Doyle reminded herself that she should not be impatient with a man of the cloth, even if he was taking forever to get to the point and it was something very bad—she could feel it. She clung to Acton’s hand and closed her eyes to ward it off, whatever it was.

“I hope you’re not thinkin’ I’m a foolish old man,” Father John continued, apologetic. “I read a lot of mysteries and it puts ideas in my head, sometimes.”

“What is it, then?” prompted Doyle, who had opened her eyes because she was thinking rather optimistically that this didn’t much sound like an adultery speech, thanks be to God.

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