The Dead Songbird (The Northminster Mysteries) by Harriet Smart Page A

most exquisite voice I have ever heard. Not showy – but with such feeling and truth to it. And wonderful diction. I am rather hoping she will come and visit her son, so I might have the pleasure of hearing her again. She might be persuaded to sing in private.”
    “And there is nothing about Watkins that you have found fault with?”
    “No, not really. Well, he was a trifle high-handed at first – in the matter of turning off some of the dead wood in the choir, for example. There was a fellow called Fildkye, well, there’s no doubt he did that badly. And Dean Pritchard was not pleased with him. Neither was I, for that matter, but for different reasons. There was no doubt it had to be done, but there are ways of doing these things that cause less pain. And he did cause pain, there is no doubt of it. But he is a young man and inexperienced, and who of us have not made such mistakes in our careers? When I told him he had done it badly he admitted as much to me. He was suitably penitent and I do not think he will do such a thing again.”
    “But he is still at loggerheads with the Dean.”
    “Yes,” said Lambert, examining the colour of his wine again, “but to be frank, I think we are all at loggerheads with the Dean to some extent. One can only hope he gets his mitre before too long and we will be rid of him.”
    Giles could not conceal his surprise. He was aware that Lambert found the Dean irksome at times, but had not understood the extent of his irritation.
    “Strong words, for you,” he said.
    “I know,” said Lambert. “I ought to endeavour to be more patient, but these last few months I have found it increasingly difficult to bear all his little peccadilloes. I would say he is like some old woman in his fussiness, but that would insult the old women I know, who are far more sensible and forgiving than he is. You know he will not come to dinner with us because Mrs Morgan is coming! Can you imagine it? It is one thing to refuse to receive a person but to turn up his nose at another man’s hospitality and take issue with his choice of guests!” Lambert broke off. “I am as bad as Mr Watkins. But I am sore on this one, I can’t deny it. I feel the insult. God knows, how foolish of me that is. For we shall have a much more amusing evening if they are not there but it is a pity for Miss Kate that she will not get the chance to meet Mrs Morgan. She is such a sensitive musician and it would be of great interest to her, I am sure.”
    “And is Mr Watkins coming?”
    “Yes, of course. He is the whole reason she is here. She is one of his mother’s pupils. And,” he added, rather sheepishly, “we will need a competent pianist, if Mrs Morgan decides to favour us with a song after dinner. Not of course that I expect it, but –”
    “No, of course not,” said Giles smiling.
    “And you will join us, I hope?” said Lambert. “And Mr Carswell?”
    “Of course – if it does not go to his head to be asked out to dine twice in one week. He is bound for the Deanery tonight.”
    “Poor fellow.”
    At this moment, Giles’ sister Sally came in. “Who is a poor fellow?” she said.
    “Mr Carswell, for being asked to the Deanery for dinner. I don’t think he is sensible of the honour of it,” said Giles.
    “If honour equates with three hours of bad food and worse conversation,” Lambert said, “and liquid that cannot be described as wine except by the loosest definition.”
    “Lambert,” said Sally with a frown. “Must you be so sardonic?”
    “I am amongst friends,” he said waving his glass. “Will you have a glass, Sal? We will drink to poor Charlie Barnes.”
    “It is so sad,” said Sally with a sigh.“Poor man.”
    “I cannot imagine he will be anywhere but heaven,” Lambert said, handing her a glass. “But that anyone would anyone want to murder a sweet soul like that!”
    “You are sure it is murder?” said Sally.
    “Unfortunately, yes,” said Giles, sinking back in his chair. “I