Read Online Late of This Parish by Marjorie Eccles - Free Book Online Page A

– though like everyone else we have unfortunately to keep the doors locked nowadays. Mr Willard himself had a key. I didn’t like the idea of him waiting outside if he happened to arrive before I did, which was normally the case. And if 1 wasn’t able to be here, he could come along and say Evensong himself, without any bother.’
    Mayo could have wished that the Rector had been slightly less swift in his reactions. He hoped by what he’d done that he hadn’t queered the pitch for the SOCOs. 'Who else besides yourself and Mr Willard had keys to the church?’
    â€˜Only the churchwardens, Brigadier Finlay and George Washburn. Anyone else who needs to get in is handed a key by one or other of us. There’s a notice by the gate advising anyone who wishes to look round the church where to apply. We do have a few visitors, especially in summer. The brasses, you know, the memorials ...’
    â€˜Do you keep the belfry locked?’
    â€˜The belfry?’ The Rector looked puzzled. ‘Oh yes indeed, always. The stone steps are worn and most dangerous. I have the only key.’
    â€˜A good many people would know it was a regular habit of Mr Willard’s to come to Evensong?’
    â€˜Everyone who knew him.’ Appalled, he stopped and stared at Mayo. ‘What am I saying? Surely, no one who knew him would even contemplate such a thing!’
    â€˜I can assume from that he was popular and got on well with everyone?’
    The Rector fell silent, tracing the grain of wood along the pew rest with a long, well-manicured finger. Mayo waited patiently, gazing at the two fourteenth-century marble effigies of a knight and his lady, which the church guide had told him were of Sir William de Wyveringe and Eleanor his wife. Their hands reverently placed together in prayer, his feet resting upon his dog, they lay side by side eternally asleep on raised table tombs, their eleven children depicted along the sides. His crest had been a wyvern – a heraldic winged beast with a serpent’s tail and the body and head of a dragon – in punning reference to his name. According to the pamphlet, even to this day the local pronunciation made the village ‘Wyvern’.
    â€˜To be strictly truthful,’ Oliver said at last, choosing his words with some care, ‘Cecil Willard was never a man who was universally loved, I think, but good gracious me, which among us can claim that? I must confess I’ve had one or two small differences with him myself from time to time. He was a little querulous and short-tempered, especially since his stroke, but that doesn’t constitute a right for anyone to take his life!’
    Mayo didn’t doubt the Rector’s sincerity, though couldn’t help feeling there was something vaguely theatrical about him, as if he were playing a part, just a little too much Welsh grandiloquence about his pronouncements. Mayo suspected that he dearly loved the sound of his own voice, and nothing better than a sermon.
    He was also, Mayo felt, hedging his bets, getting his oar in first in case someone else felt inclined to inform the police that he and the old reverend hadn’t been the best of friends. Putting the best construction on it by admitting to a little peccadillo in case some greater one might be suspected. A perfectly natural reaction. But the question had rattled him, Mayo was sure, and he wondered why.
    â€˜Let’s begin by getting a general idea of the set-up here. Was Mr Willard your predecessor?’
    â€˜No. He was Headmaster at Uplands House School until his retirement about seven or eight years ago, when he bought one of the houses just around the corner in St Kenelm's Walk for himself and his daughter. A very scholarly man, a historian. Working on a book. He was of course a regular worshipper and communicant here.’ He paused. ‘I think you should know that my wife saw him coming into the church tonight, at about six.