The Snares of Death by Kate Charles

sharing what he knew. ‘The Archdeacon told me last week that an appointment would be announced quite soon. That’s all I know, really.’
    â€˜Well.’ She paused significantly. ‘Gwen has met him!’
    Father Mark sat up. ‘Met him?’
    â€˜Yesterday, in church. Didn’t you know that he was visiting?’ Alice couldn’t keep the satisfaction from her voice.
    â€˜But who is he?’ Father Mark turned towards Gwen, who was nibbling nervously on a few scone crumbs.
    â€˜His name is Bob Dexter. That’s what he said, anyway . . .’
    The curate nearly dropped his tea cup. ‘Bob Dexter? Not the Bob Dexter?’
    â€˜I don’t know. I suppose so,’ she faltered. ‘But who is Bob Dexter?’
    â€˜Don’t you know? He’s one of the highest-profile Evangelicals in the Church of England! He’s always shooting his mouth off in General Synod about something or other. And he’s one of the loonies who organise the protests at Walsingham every year!’
    â€˜Oh, no!’ breathed Gwen and Alice in unison.
    â€˜It couldn’t be,’ said Gwen.
    â€˜It could be,’ Alice countered ominously.
    Once the initial shock had passed, and the subject of Bob Dexter had been exhausted, they got down to practicalities. ‘But Father Mark, what will you do?’ Alice wanted to know. ‘If it’s the same Bob Dexter? And even if it isn’t. There won’t be much for you to do at South Barsham once we have a full-time priest again. Your appointment here was really only temporary, wasn’t it?’
    â€˜Yes, but I do have my work at the Shrine,’ he evaded.
    â€˜That’s only part time, isn’t it? Saying masses for parties of pilgrims, and so forth?’
    Father Mark looked at the women’s concerned faces. ‘Well,’ he said slowly, ‘I’m hoping that something else will come up. I’ve put my name forward for – well, for another post. With a bit of luck . . .’
    â€˜What sort of post?’ Alice was unrelenting in her curiosity.
    He hesitated. ‘You mustn’t tell anyone about this.’ They both nodded. ‘Actually, it’s for quite a nice living. I can’t tell you where, but it’s in the gift of the Guardians of the Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham. They have the patronage for a number of livings all over the country, you know.’
    â€˜I’m sure you’ll get it, Father Mark,’ Gwen asserted loyally. ‘After all, with your connections at the Shrine, and all you’ve done for them, they couldn’t very well give it to anyone else, could they?’
    â€˜Well, time will tell, Miss Vernon. Time will tell.’
    CHAPTER 5
    Â Â Â Â  He giveth snow like wool: and scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes.
    Â Â Â Â  He casteth forth his ice like morsels: who is able to abide his frost?
    Psalm 147.16–17
    David and Lucy had had a quick meal before the concert, so it wasn’t too late when he left her at her front door. ‘It was a marvellous concert, wasn’t it? Don’t you want to come in for a coffee or a brandy?’ she urged.
    â€˜I’ll give it a miss tonight, I think. You’ve convinced me that I really have been neglecting Daphne lately, and this would be a good chance for me to have a chat with her. That is, if you don’t mind.’
    Lucy bit her lower lip, longing to put her arms around him, to kiss his generous, mobile mouth, to whisper, ‘Forget the coffee. Forget the brandy. Forget Daphne. I love you, David. Come up to bed with me.’ Was it really so impossible? People could change. After all, he had come back to her. She’d lost him for a time – the hold of the past on him had been too strong then – and he’d come back. She knew that she was important to him, that there was no one else. But he’d never given the slightest indication that he wanted