What Remains of Heaven by C. S. Harris Read Free Book Online Page B

is Sir Peter Prescott?”
    “That’s right. You know him?”
    “We were at Eton together.” Sebastian remembered Sir Peter Prescott as an ebullient, good-natured boy with ruddy cheeks and a ready laugh that hid a quiet streak of mule-headed obstinacy. Aloud, he said, “At exactly what time did Reverend Earnshaw reach London with news of the discovery in the crypt?”
    “Reverend Earnshaw arrived shortly after five. But as he was closeted with the Bishop in private, the details of his conversation with the Bishop were unknown to us.” The Chaplain’s thin nose quivered with indignation at what he obviously considered a personal slight. “Even when the Bishop ordered his carriage for later that evening, he remained uncharacteristically secretive as to the exact nature of his errand.”
    Sebastian frowned. “When did Earnshaw leave?”
    “Some twenty minutes after his arrival.”
    “Yet the Bishop himself didn’t set out for Tanfield Hill until—what? Seven?” Tanfield Hill lay an hour’s drive to the west of London. “Why the delay?”
    The Chaplain sniffed. “Again, the Bishop did not take me into his confidence. I do know he had an important appointment scheduled for six. Presumably, he was reluctant to cancel it.”
    There was a simple opening cut into the wall beside the hearth. Going to stand in the doorway, Sebastian saw that it led to a small bedchamber, unexpectedly plain, almost Spartan, the bed narrow and hard. He said, “It seems a strange thing for Earnshaw to have done, to involve the Bishop of London, personally, in the discovery of a decades-old murder in a rural parish church.”
    The Chaplain cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, the Bishop provided us with little information before his departure. Only that there was an incident in Tanfield Hill requiring his attention, and that he might not return before midnight.”
    “He didn’t mention the murder?”
    “No.”
    Sebastian cast one last glance around the rooms, then turned toward the stairs, the Chaplain following at a noticeable distance. As they reached the first floor, Sebastian said, “How long have you served as Prescott’s chaplain?”
    “Four years now.”
    “So you knew him well.”
    The Chaplain gave a slight bow. “Quite well, yes.”
    “Did he have many enemies?”
    Sebastian expected a quick, automatic denial. Instead, the Chaplain said, “The Bishop was not a man to back away from taking an unpopular stance. Unfortunately, such men do make enemies. Many enemies.”
    “What kind of unpopular stances are we talking about?”
    “Catholic emancipation. The need for child labor laws. Slavery ...”
    “Prescott was an abolitionist?”
    “It was his principal cause. The Bishop of London is responsible for the spiritual welfare of the Colonies, and Bishop Prescott took that aspect of his duties very seriously. As far as he was concerned, seeing the Slave Trade Act passed a few years ago was only the beginning. He was determined to get a Slavery Abolition Act through Parliament.”
    “That’s definitely a good way to make enemies,” said Sebastian. Some very powerful men in England had fortunes sunk in the West Indies; the loss of the islands’ slave labor would ruin them. “Ever hear anyone wish the Bishop harm?”
    “You mean, threaten him?” The Chaplain paused at the base of the staircase, his brow furrowing as if he were in thought. But he only shook his head and said, “No. I don’t think so.”
    Sebastian studied the cleric’s lean, acerbic face. The man was a terrible liar. “I’d be interested to see a list of the Bishop’s appointments for the past several weeks.”
    The Chaplain sniffed. “I will check with the Archbishop. If he has no objection, I’ll direct the diary secretary to make you a copy of the Bishop’s schedule.” He nodded to a hovering footman to open the front door. “You’re actually the second person today to ask for that information.”
    “Oh? Who was the first?” said