Read Online A Bedlam of Bones by Suzette Hill - Free Book Online

when he stumbled on it? But would a neutral professional have adopted quite such a malign tone? The letters had been penned with a sneering relish which seemed to go beyond the mere desire for monetary gain … although, as the bishop had surmised, perhaps that was all part of the softening-up device, a cynical means of destroying his victims’ defences before making the attack when they were at their lowest ebb. Perhaps, perhaps …
    I sighed and returned to the rallying call. ‘Service,’ I wrote, ‘is one of the most worthy and honourable activities we are called upon to perform, and each task from the most complex to the most menial has a special point and value, which when offered with both zest and humility will …’ Here I paused, chewed my pen and went back to thoughts of Clinker. Supposing it did hit the press, would it really cause such a stir? Was the public not growing more tolerant of such indiscretions? Besides, it had all happened before the war, nearly two decades ago … another age! But to both questions the short answers were respectively a resounding ‘Yes’ and ‘No’, and I studied the blotter in dismay. Then, bending once more to my task, I picked up my pen and made desultory jottings about shoulders and wheels and hands and decks.
    Just now and again, to my surprise, I can produce quite an effective address, and one which even the pernickety Colonel Dawlish will approve. But such was not the case that morning: the Muse was patently sulking or otherwise engaged, and there seemed little hope that the Lay Ladies’ putsch would gain much animus from their vicar. Far better, I decided, for it to come from Miss Dalrymple herself. Of foghorn voice and gimlet gaze, she seemed eminently suited to stir the flagging cohorts. With her pennant flying in their faces, who but the brazen would resist the call to supervise sewing-fests, tea urns, biblical beanfeasts and the Young Wives’ gym displays? Yes, I would telephone immediately!
    ‘But I think at least you ought to be there, Canon,’ she told me. ‘It would lend gravitas.’
    ‘Really?’ I exclaimed, going pink with pleasure.
    ‘Well, sort of,’ she modified. ‘And I do feel you should say a few words as well. Reminds them who’s boss.’
    ‘Absolutely,’ I replied. ‘And naturally I’ll give full support – be right behind you.’
    ‘Yes, but don’t stand too close. We don’t want my thunder stolen, do we?’ I wondered who on earth would try a thing like that; but before I could say anything she barked a laugh, and, clearly satisfied, rang off.
    Relief! I lit a Craven ‘A’, went to the piano, and, shooting my cuffs, embarked on Fats Waller’s ‘The Joint Is Jumping’. It’s a tricky piece but I hammered away merrily, blackmailers and Lay Ladies banished to limbo. I think the dog had hoped for something more sober, as with a disgruntled burp he sloped off to the kitchen. Hard cheese.
     
    With the burden of address eased from my shoulders by the redoubtable Dalrymple, I was able to pass a moderately painless afternoon. Her exhortation (plus a few politely received words from myself) seemed to do the trick, and the Lay Ladies bubbled and chirruped with renewed and lively energy. I still wasn’t quite sure of all their many functions, but worked on the principle that as long as I kept on smiling and asked no leading questions, I could remain safely detached.
    All went well, and when the time came for tea and biscuits it seemed that escape was nigh. Not so. The breathy voice of Mavis Briggs was suddenly heard announcing she wished to give a vote of thanks to their ‘quite dazzling ’ speaker, and if we didn’t mind, she had a few things of her own to add as well. Dear God, I thought, she’s going to spout some poems! That we were spared. But she launched into a long and meandering reminiscence about the origin of the organization and the vital part played by its founding members – of which, naturally, she was one.
    If