The Black Seraphim by Michael Gilbert Read Free Book Online Page B

fetched.”
    The Dean also got to his feet. He said, “Mullins will show him where the car is. And might I give you a word of advice. Inside the walls of this Close all routine matters are regulated by the Church through its constituted authority, the Cathedral Chapter. There is no reason for controversy and friction.”
    By this time they had reached the front door. The Dean held it open politely. He added, “There are enough troubles in this world, Superintendent, without going out of one’s way to look for more.”
    The Superintendent strode down the path, got into his car and drove off without a word.
     
    Lady Fallingford’s cottage was at the far end of a row of cottages along the west wall of the Close. It was rather bigger than the others and had a sizable garden. James found Mrs Henn-Christie there, with Francis and Betty Humphrey. Paul Wren, the organist, arrived soon after he did.
    “I thought of having tea in the garden,” said Lady Fallingford, “but the flies are really intolerable.”
    “I don’t mind flies,” said Mrs Henn-Christie. “It’s mosquitoes by night and wasps by day. Toby was stung on the nose yesterday and made a terrible fuss about it.”
    Toby, James gathered, was a Siamese cat.
    Since everybody knew everybody and everybody talked at once, it was not easy for James to ask the question he was dying to ask. A fleeting opportunity occurred when their hostess was distributing second cups of tea. He said, “Can someone please tell me. What exactly did happen to Leo Sandeman’s hat?”
    This produced a laugh and everyone tried to answer the question at once. In the end Mrs Henn-Christie had to call the meeting to order. She said, “If you all talk at once, the poor young man won’t hear any of you. It’s your story, Constantia. You tell him.”
    “He’s a terrible little man,” said Lady Fallingford. “He does nothing but make trouble for everyone. He’s on the Council, you know. He’s got some special job. I forget what it is.”
    “Chairman of the Roads Committee,” said Canon Humphrey.
    “Is that right? But what he revels in is his other job. He’s local boss of Newfu. You’ve heard of Newfu?”
    “I’m afraid not,” said James. “It sounds like a health food.”
    “It’s the National Estate Workers Federated Union. They managed to recruit all the men who work on the big estates, particularly the ones that are open to the public. People like the Weldons of Kings Sutton House and the Bridports at Bayford Castle. Last summer they brought them out on strike. I expect you read about it.”
    “I think I did,” said James untruthfully. Among so many strikes this one had hardly caused a ripple.
    “The owners had to give in. It was the beginning of their season, and if their workers wouldn’t work and pickets blocked the entrance gates, they weren’t going to get any visitors at all.”
    “What was the strike about?”
    “What strikes are always about. More money. Lady Weldon said they had to pay so much more that it took away any profit there was. Not that they ever made much. This year they won’t be opening the house at all and most of the staff have lost their jobs. So what good was it supposed to have done?”
    “Union organisers never think about that,” said Betty Humphrey. “Mostly they organise strikes to make themselves feel important.”
    “Well, anyway,” said Lady Fallingford, “the next thing that happened was they tried to rope in the staff here. Sam and young Ernie and the builders. Sam went to see the Dean. He told Sam they were to have nothing to do with it. So, early this summer Newfu tried to blockade the Close.”
    “They did what ?”
    “It’s quite true. They put pickets with banners on all three gates. Can you imagine it?”
    “I can indeed,” said James. “What happened?”
    “The Dean was very angry. Particularly as it was the day of the Diocesan Women’s Institute service. They come in, you know, from all over the diocese.