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‘By the time it was confirmed, you were already on your way.’
‘And who has made this—offer?’ The Archdeacon flicked the envelope almost disdainfully.
‘I have.’ And Jago walked to the front of the hall, ignoring the inevitable buzz that accompanied him.
From head to foot, he was in black again. He was even wearing the belt with the silver buckle that Tavy remembered from their first meeting.
He said, ‘My name is Jago Marsh, and I’m making my home here in this village. Holy Trinity church is at the heart of this community, and I want that to continue. If money is all that’s needed, I can provide it.’
The Archdeacon’s tone was icy. ‘I have heard of you, Mr Marsh. Your exploits in the world of rock music have made you notorious. I presume this is some quixotic attempt to re-establish yourself in normal society—even as Lord of the Manor perhaps.’
Jago shrugged. ‘The original church was built by the family at Ladysmere. I am simply upholding their tradition.’
‘I suppose you realise several hundred thousand pounds is required. Do you wish to bankrupt yourself?’
‘I’ve no intention of doing so,’ Jago returned. ‘I’ve had an independent survey carried out, which indicates that, for some reason, the original estimates were far too high.’
As the murmur in the hall built, Mrs Wilding was on her feet. ‘Even so, the offer cannot be considered, Archdeacon. The parochial church council will never agree.’ She sent Jago a venomous look. ‘This is tainted money from a man not fit to live near decent people.’
There was a concerted gasp and a voice from the back called, ‘Steady on. No need for that.’
But Mrs Wilding swept on. ‘And the Vicar, as I have told you, has been on familiar terms with him, and even allowed his own daughter to be corrupted by this—sexual predator.’
Horrified, Tavy tried to get to her feet in instinctive protest, but her neighbour’s hand on her arm restrained her.
‘Sit still, child. Let them have their say,’ came a fierce whisper.
Mr Denison sat grimly silent, but the Archdeacon was looking totally aghast. ‘Mrs Wilding—dear lady—I recognise that you have concerns, but there are laws against slander...’
Norton Culham got up. ‘Not when there’s truth to be told. And it’s an open scandal what’s been going on. The girl’s a college dropout who can’t hold down a proper job. She chased after Mrs Wilding’s boy, but he wasn’t interested, so she was probably flattered when a fellow with plenty of money started showing her a good time.
‘And then she’s up at the Manor, supposedly working.’ He laughed unpleasantly. ‘Working on her back, more likely. One room in the house fit to be used, and that’s a bedroom all tarted up. My Fiona suspected what was going on and took a photograph of it. Then, she found a drawing he’d done of the girl, parading round in the altogether,’ he added with relish. ‘I have them here for anyone to see.’
‘I would like to look at them.’ It was Tavy’s neighbour, holding out an imperious hand. Norton Culham passed them forward, and she took a quick glance and snorted.
‘As I thought, my bedroom,’ she said. ‘And what right has your daughter or anyone else to invade my privacy taking snapshots? It is blatant intrusion. And the nude girl in the drawing looks to me like that vulgar statue down by the lake.’
She turned and scrutinised Tavy, stricken and blushing to the roots of her hair as she looked down at the sketch. ‘But if it is this young woman, then Jago had better abandon any idea of a career in art, because I see no likeness at all. What do you say, Vicar?’ She rose briskly and handed the drawing up to him.
‘I agree with you, madam,’ Mr Denison said quietly, taking a folded sheet of paper from his inside pocket, and opening it out. Tavy recognised it instantly as the sketch from the church, and her heart turned over. ‘Now this is unmistakably Octavia, wouldn’t you say, Archdeacon?’
The Archdeacon, looking as if he wished to be a thousand miles away, murmured something acquiescent.
‘Just a minute,’ Norton Culham said aggressively. ‘Who’s this woman, anyway?’
She turned slowly, giving him a piercing look. ‘My name is Margaret Barber, and I was at one time Mr Marsh’s nanny. I am now housekeeper at Ladysmere.’ She added, ‘And if you had ever been in my nursery, my good man, I would have taught you to be more civil,’ then resumed her seat.
