Appointed to Die by Kate Charles

I’ll get what I want in the end, no matter who becomes Dean of Malbury.’ She put the phone down and said aloud, almost purring with satisfaction, ‘And that includes you , Jeremy Bartlett. I’ll get you yet.’
    CHAPTER 4
    Â Â Â Â  Whoso leadeth a godly life: he shall be my servant.
    Psalm 101.9
    Several weeks later, John Kingsley was at work in the cathedral library when he received a message from the Bishop’s secretary that Bishop Willoughby would like him to call at his convenience. One of Canon Kingsley’s responsibilities as Residentiary Canon at Malbury Cathedral was the care and supervision of the library, which was housed in a long, narrow chamber over the surviving east range of the cloister. Although the library was not large, it possessed a few rare and valuable volumes and a number of other books of some historic interest, and the Canon quite enjoyed the time he spent there.
    Bishop George Willoughby and John Kingsley had been close friends since their days together at theological college. It had taken a number of years for the Bishop to convince his friend to accept a canonry at the cathedral; he’d always been content in his rural parish, with no ambition for higher office, but as he neared retirement age the Bishop had prevailed upon him to finish his career at Malbury. In the end he’d even had to use subterfuge: he’d had to make out that John Kingsley would be doing him a favour by sorting out the library. The Bishop knew Canon Kingsley as a modest man, spiritual and unworldly, and felt that he would be a great asset to the ego-ridden Cathedral Chapter. It was his modesty, lack of presumption and his discretion that had prompted the Bishop to send for him on this occasion.
    Bishop Willoughby opened his front door himself with a grin of delight. ‘John! How splendid to see you! Do come in!’
    â€˜It’s not an inconvenient time, is it, George?’
    â€˜No, of course not.’ He laughed heartily. ‘I sent for you, didn’t I? I’m glad of the interruption, in fact. I’ve been working all day on my book, and to tell you the truth, I’m getting a bit fed up with the Albigensian Heresy. But don’t quote me on that!’ He laughed again, a deep belly laugh. Dr George Willoughby, short and rotund, and with a full white beard and twinkling blue eyes, looked like a cross between Father Christmas and a rather jolly Old Testament Jehovah. He was, in spite of his appearance, a scholar of some note, and an acknowledged expert on the heresies of the Early Church. In addition, his pastoral skills were considerable, and his tenure in the see of Malbury had been a long and popular one. He led his friend through the house, explaining over his shoulder, ‘Pat is in the garden. Why don’t we join her out there? I’ll put the kettle on – I imagine we could all use a cup of tea.’
    The Honourable Mrs Patricia Willoughby, better known throughout the diocese as Pat, had her back to the two men as they came out into the garden. She was expertly and ruthlessly wielding a rather wicked pair of secateurs, divesting one of her prize rose bushes of its dead blooms.
    â€˜Pat!’ announced the Bishop in his rich, booming voice. ‘John has come for tea! I’ve put the kettle on.’
    Pat Willoughby turned with a smile. ‘John! It’s been ages since you’ve been to see us! I think we saw more of you before you moved to Malbury, you naughty man.’ A tall, big-boned woman, she was wearing a large-brimmed straw hat to shade her fair skin from the sun, but her arms were bare and freckled.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ Canon Kingsley apologised. ‘But I know how busy you are. I don’t like to bother you.’
    â€˜Nonsense!’ was her robust reply. She, like her husband, was extremely fond of John Kingsley. Although he was about the same age as the Bishop, the man gave the impression of being