at the Establishment would know it, and probably those immediately connected with him, such as Mrs. Blaine, and perhaps the wives of the other scientists there.”
“That says who,” Perth agreed. “And people talk. A woman would be proud of her husband. Perhaps a little rivalry, a little boasting? If there’s a spy in the village, then he’ll be listening to every bit of gossip there is. That’s his job. Still leaves the question, why now? What happened that day, or the day before?”
“Something to do with the work at the Establishment,” Joseph replied. “I suppose you’ve spoken to Mr. Corcoran?”
“Oh yes. He says they were getting very close to a breakthrough on some top secret project.”
“That’s if it was a spy, and not some personal enmity,” Joseph said.
“Exactly. And if Mr. Blaine truly was having an affair with someone, then it would likely have been nothing to do with the work.”
“Any reason to suppose he was?”
“Looks like it, Captain. Which is a pity. And seems as if Mrs. Blaine might not have been in the house, as she says she was. Could have been she was just in the bathroom like she said, and didn’t hear the telephone. Hard to say, isn’t it?” He looked around at the apple trees. “You’ll have a good crop, if the wind doesn’t get them.”
“They’re mostly cookers,” Joseph told him. “Do you actually think Blaine was having an affair? Or is that just a possibility you must consider?”
“Consider,” Perth agreed sadly. “Consider carefully. Very fond of an apple pie. Nothing to beat it, with a good drop of cream on. Have to be new to the village, this spy. Can’t see any of the old families turning a hand to such a thing. Most of them got boys up the front anyway. Been looking into who’s come here in the last couple or three years. Since about 1913, say. Not many. For example, what do you know about the vicar, Captain? You being a churchman, and all, how do you reckon him?”
Joseph was startled. It had never crossed his mind to regard Hallam Kerr as other than the kind of man who adopts the church as an occupation because he isn’t adequate to make a respectable living at any other profession. It would offer him the kind of security and social standing to which his family might well be accustomed. The fact that he was totally unsuited for it may only have become apparent after he was ordained.
“Not naturally gifted,” Perth observed wryly.
Joseph caught a flash of humor in his eyes. “No,” he agreed. “Not at all.”
“And no wife to help him, either,” Perth added. “Is that customary?”
“Not for a parish, no. But then wartime isn’t usual. The previous vicar went to Birmingham, I believe. More to do than here. And now his curate’s gone to London.” Was it even conceivable that Kerr was not the ass he appeared, but something far more sinister? It was a startlingly chilling thought because it was so unexpected.
“You’ve been a priest, Captain. In a way you still are. What’s your opinion, sir? Is Hallam Kerr good?”
Joseph was embarrassed now. Kerr irritated him, but part of that very irritation was because he was sorry for the man. Pity was an acutely uncomfortable feeling.
“He’s inadequate,” Joseph replied finally. “But what can you say or do for those you visit who are faced with unbearable suffering? Who can explain God to someone who has just lost everything they care about in a way that seems totally senseless? One shouldn’t hold Kerr accountable for his inadequacies.”
Perth shook his head. “Isn’t it a matter of degree, Captain Reavley? You can’t help it all, just some of it. Have the courage at least to look at it square, and not tell people lies, or speak to them in quotes.”
That was more perceptive than Joseph had expected and it took him aback. “Yes,” he agreed quickly. “And Kerr has a lot to learn yet, but that doesn’t mean to say he won’t.”
“No, sir, I dare say not. All the same, I think I’d like to find out a bit more about him. Where he’s from, and where he trained for the ministry, things like that. Did he know Mr. Blaine, do you know?”
“I have no idea.”
“Maybe you could find out, sir, without putting the wind up him, like? I’d be greatly obliged.”
In the event, Joseph was prevented from deciding when to go and see Kerr, or how to explain his visit. That evening Kerr arrived at the front door and Hannah had no acceptable alternative but to show him in to the sitting room where Joseph had been reading.
“Don’t stand up!” Kerr said quickly, holding out his hand as if to keep Joseph in his seat by force. He looked harassed and frightened. There were shadows around his eyes and a tightness in his mouth. In the morning he had probably parted his hair in the middle and plastered it down with water, but now it was dry and poked up in spikes.
“Sit down, Reverend,” Joseph invited, trying to sound at least reasonably welcoming. The man was obviously in some distress. “How are you?”
Hannah drew in her breath to offer him tea, but he was already oblivious of her. She withdrew, closing the door behind her. With a sinking heart, Joseph knew that she would not interrupt them.
“This is terrible,” Kerr replied, sitting down wearily in the chair opposite Joseph. “In a way it’s worse than war. It’s the ultimate enemy, isn’t it? Fear, suspicion, everyone imagining the worst. We aren’t united anymore. Or weren’t we ever? Was it only a comfortable delusion?”
Joseph could not find the energy to argue with him, but Perth’s words came back with a darkness that seemed more intense now. Was it really possible Kerr was a German agent or sympathizer?
“What’s happened?” he asked. In the end that was the question that mattered.
Kerr leaned forward in the chair. “One of my parishioners—I can’t reveal who, of course—told me that on the night poor Blaine was murdered, Dacy Lucas and his wife quarreled violently! It was very angry, shouting voices, both his and hers, and then he stormed out of the house and drove away.”
“People do quarrel occasionally,” Joseph replied. “It doesn’t mean a great deal.”
Kerr seemed even more agitated. “It was not a slight or usual thing,” he said urgently. “I am not married myself, but I know that women can feel neglected at times. They don’t understand the moral and ethical demands of certain callings. During wartime, scientific invention and discovery must be at the forefront of our endeavors. Perhaps it would be easier to understand if a man were in the army, but all that is irrelevant.” He jerked his hand sideways dismissively. “This quarrel—and it was a quarrel, Captain Reavley, not just a little complaint—was spoken in unmistakably violent terms.”
“I see,” Joseph said quietly, uncertain if he preferred Blaine’s murder to be ordinary sexual rage instead of a German sympathizer in the village. Perhaps he did.
“That is not all,” Kerr went on miserably. “The late Theo Blaine quarreled with his wife the same night, also very savagely. He left the house to go down to his shed in the garden, which is where he was killed. Mrs. Blaine swore that she did not leave the house, but neither did she see or hear anything at all to make her suspect something wrong. At least that is what she says.” He stared at Joseph expectantly.
Joseph sat still, wondering how Kerr knew all this. It was an old story with many possibilities, all of them sad and very predictable.
“Can that be true?” Kerr demanded, leaning forward and staring at Joseph. “Do you suppose she really saw and heard nothing?”
“I should think so.” Joseph tried to remember the Blaine house from his visit there. The shed was some distance even from the back door, let alone the front where the sitting room was, and the main bedroom faced the front as well. “If he did not cry out, there wouldn’t be much to hear. Let Inspector Perth sort it out.”
“But that’s it!” Kerr said desperately. “He doesn’t know!”
“Know?” Perth had to be aware of the proportions of the house and garden.
Kerr was exasperated. “He doesn’t know about the quarrels! I was told in the utmost confidence—by a parishioner, don’t you see?”
Joseph was familiar with parishioners’ utmost confidences. “They will have to use their judgment whether to report it to the police or not,” he said to Kerr. “You did not hear those quarrels yourself, so you have no knowledge of them. . . .”
“But I do!” Kerr protested. “The person who told me is absolutely honest. And considering the incident, distressed—I may say terrified—that there is an enemy sympathizer among us.”
“Is that fear rampant?” Joseph asked, uncertain quite what answer he wanted. Was one betrayal better or worse than the tragedy of murder by one of their own?
“Absolutely!” Kerr’s eyes opened wider. “It is horrifying to believe that one of us is actually an enemy. Surely
