any juicy murder that remotely concerns you. Is that what you’re really doing in London?’
I tried hard to keep a straight face. ‘The secretary of the commission sent Alan to get to know Mr Lovelace.’
‘I’m sure he did. And if the two of you just happen to stumble across something that incriminates him, you’ll be ever so surprised. And I, incidentally, will be ever so pleased.’
‘Now, exactly what do you mean by that?’
‘Later. After you’ve seen for yourself.’
Daily Evensong is a fixture in most big London churches, some of them having very fine choirs indeed. Westminster Abbey and St Paul’s are usually jammed with tourists for the service, but I didn’t know what to expect at St Barnabas’, which was in a neighbourhood that could charitably be described as ‘mixed’. I was glad for Alan’s solid, reassuring presence as we walked from the nearest Tube station, some distance away.
‘Maybe we should have taken a taxi,’ I said dubiously.
‘Not a taxi sort of area, love.’
We walked on. ‘Tell me what else you know about Mr Lovelace,’ I said to Alan.
‘I don’t want to prejudice you.’
‘That means you don’t like him. Tell me anyway. I know how to make up my own mind.’
‘Well.’ Alan paused to organize his thoughts. ‘Our dean doesn’t care for him, if I’m reading between the lines properly. He didn’t tell me much after his visit, for the same reason I ought not to tell you anything at all.’
I gave him a look.
‘Yes, all right. I’m told he preaches compelling sermons and inspires a loyal band of volunteers, who do amazing work amongst the poor in the neighbourhood of the church. The parish is said to be growing rapidly, in a time of declining church attendance nationally. We’ve also learned that he has some friends in high places.’
I made a face.
‘Yes, he’s an unabashed politician. But the Church is very politicized these days, and someone who knows how to tread the halls of power without stepping on too many toes can be a real asset to any diocese. Not that he’s entirely avoided treading on toes, judging by some of the emails we’ve received. You know I can’t tell you exactly what the writers have against him, but some of the accusations have verged on the hysterical.’
‘Oh, dear! He sounds horrible.’
‘Then I’ve given you the wrong impression, love. Kenneth says the man has that quality that used to be called charismatic.’
‘I don’t care for that sort. I’ve always distrusted charm.’
‘We’ll soon see for ourselves, my dear.’
The shops that lined the pavements as we walked from the Tube station were small and rather tacky, selling used electronics, cheap clothing, and the like. A few newsagent/tobacconist shops looked dreary and unprosperous. A payday loan establishment, on the other hand, was plainly doing a roaring business. Several shops were empty, the papers pasted over the windows torn and dirty. Beggars stood at corners hawking copies of
The Big Issue
, the chronicle of the poor and homeless.
‘Urban blight,’ Alan commented.
‘The Archbishop should get on that loan place,’ I muttered. ‘A scourge.’ For the Archbishop of Canterbury had launched a campaign against the loan businesses that prey on the poor, with their ruinous interest rates and crippling fees. He proposed setting up small banks actually in the churches, combining low-interest loans with financial counselling, an interesting idea certain to meet with fierce opposition.
As we neared the church, however, the appearance of the neighbourhood began to improve. Several small restaurants, mostly serving Asian food of one nationality or another, looked clean and inviting. The streets and pavements were free of rubbish. No obvious beggars were present; the pedestrians seemed clean and decently dressed.
‘We were told,’ said Alan quietly, ‘that Lovelace has done a great deal of good in his parish. Now I believe it.’
‘Jane said it was his