I’ve just been over to the farm to have a chat with Walter Nixon,’ Luke told Patience on his return to the rectory. ‘I knew he was sure to be in a state of shock, with Priscilla having been one of his land girls.’

It was true that the farmer was in a state of shock, but what Luke was telling his wife was only half the truth. He felt conscience-stricken; he could not remember any other time when he had been less that completely honest with her. But the burden of his knowledge must remain his and his alone. It would not be right to trouble Patience with it, especially at the moment when she was in the early stages of carrying their child. That stupendous news had had to be put to the back of his mind, but he found it surfacing from time to time in his thoughts, bringing a momentary upsurge of joy in the midst of his consuming worry about Walter Nixon.

‘Yes; I should imagine that Priscilla, and Jennifer as well, had become almost like members of the family,’ said Patience. ‘Ada Nixon told me that they were both very good workers. Oh Luke…it is such a tragedy, and such a wicked wicked deed! I suppose there is no news yet about…about who was responsible?’

Luke remained silent, for so long that Patience looked at him curiously. ‘What’s the matter? Have they arrested somebody?’ she asked.

‘I believe…they have taken a young man in for questioning,’ he replied carefully, ‘so Walter told me. A soldier that Priscilla met recently, from the camp at Catterick. He is called Jeff Beaumont and that’s all that I know about him. Jennifer told me – when I spoke to her yesterday at Miss Thomson’s – that Priscilla was supposed to be meeting him in the Green Man, after choir practice, but she didn’t turn up. Jennifer was there waiting for her with the two young men – Jeff and a friend – but there was no sign of Priscilla. So after a while they went back to their camp and Jennifer went home.’

‘Then…why have they arrested this Jeff?’ asked Patience. ‘It sounds as though he didn’t even see her that night.’

‘That puzzled me too,’ said Luke. He had, indeed, been turning the problem over and over in his mind. That young man was innocent, and there must, surely, be a way of proving it. But from what Jennifer had told him there were about twenty minutes unaccounted for when Jeff had been on his own, looking for Priscilla. He decided to tell Patience about this; she would think it strange if he did not tell her what he knew.

‘Apparently Jeff was worried,’ he continued, ‘and, according to Jennifer, he went off on his own to see if he could find Priscilla. When he came back, twenty minutes or so later, he told Jennifer and his pal that he had walked up as far as the church, circled the green, and then had gone back down the High Street to the pub. But I suppose the police are jumping to the conclusion that there was time, during those twenty minutes, for him to have…committed the murder. They will try to prove that he went up the lane and met her there…’ And it is up to me to prove that he didn’t, thought Luke desperately. Please God, he prayed silently, let me – or the police – find a way of proving it.

‘Of course, it is all what they call circumstantial evidence,’ he sighed. ‘There can’t be any definite proof that he killed Priscilla. He’s innocent…or so I firmly believe,’ he added, aware that he might have said too much. ‘We will just have to pray that there is no miscarriage of justice.’

‘You seem very sure of his innocence,’ said Patience, looking at him a little searchingly. ‘You don’t know this young soldier, do you?’

‘No, I don’t know him, but it’s a feeling that I have, a very strong feeling.’

Patience continued to look at him steadily, then she frowned, shaking her head perplexedly. ‘It was Thursday night, wasn’t it?’ she said, ‘when this dreadful thing took place. I’ve lost track of time with all that’s been happening, but there is something that is just coming back to me… Maisie came back from choir practice and she said she had left her gloves behind; do you remember, Luke?’

‘Yes…I found them for her the next morning. Why? Did she say anything else to you?’

‘No…but she seemed a bit worried about something. I asked her about it the next morning, but she said it was nothing. That wasn’t what I want to tell you, though; it’s something else… I went in to say goodnight to her, and to Audrey and Tim, like I always do, and then I went into our bedroom, Luke, and I stood by the window looking out into the night. It wasn’t quite as black as it is sometimes because the moon was shining, and it all looked so peaceful and quiet. I had really gone to pull the blackout blind and to draw the curtains, but I just stood there looking out at the green and the church and down the High Street.

‘And I remember now that I saw that young soldier – it must have been Priscilla’s friend, Jeff. He walked up from the High Street, and when he got to Miss Thomson’s house he stopped and looked at it for a moment…’

‘He didn’t go and knock at the door?’

‘No… If it was him, this Jeff – and I really think it must have been – perhaps Priscilla had told him that Miss Thomson wasn’t very keen on them having followers. No…he went on walking, past the school, then across the front of the church, then he went past our house and back down the High Street. But, Luke, he didn’t – he most definitely didn’t – go into the lane. I was standing in the bay, and I can see from there quite a long way down the street. I remember hearing the plod plod of his army boots on the pavement, growing fainter as he walked away. He was the only person in sight. I couldn’t say why I was watching him, but I was, and it’s only just come back to me. I suppose my mind was mainly on the doctor’s appointment I had the next day, and everything else just got pushed out.’

‘Well, thank God you’ve remembered now,’ cried Luke. ‘This could be really important, darling. Would you be willing to tell everything you have told me to the police? I really feel it might be a matter of life…or death.’

‘Yes, of course I will…but won’t they think it strange that I’ve only just remembered?’

‘Probably not. It was only an insignificant little incident at the time, but it could save that poor fellow’s life. Come along, my dear. There’s no time like the present. You and I will pay a visit to the police station… Where are the children?’

‘They’ve all gone down to the Saturday market. They have some spending money and I thought it was best to keep them busy. Luke…that night of the choir practice, do you think Maisie might have been worried because she had noticed something… strange?’

Luke pursed his lips. ‘I shouldn’t think so. She was probably just concerned about leaving her gloves. I wouldn’t question her any further if I were you, dear. It is best for her to get back to normal, and in time she won’t think about Priscilla quite as much. What time are you expecting them back for lunch?’

‘I told them to be back at half-past twelve. It will be just soup and sandwiches, and I shall cook a meal at teatime.’

Luke glanced at his watch. ‘It’s only just turned eleven. We can go to the police station and be back before twelve thirty.’

Thank you, thank you, Lord…he was saying over and over in his mind. If Patience’s evidence was enough to free the unfortunate young soldier, then that would be the greater part of his dilemma solved.

‘Thank you very much, Mrs Fairchild, for coming in,’ said the inspector after Patience had given him the details of what she had seen. ‘And you too of course, Reverend. This information is just what we needed…’

He paused, putting his elbows on the table and leaning towards them in a confidential manner. ‘Between you and me and the gatepost, we were just considering letting him go. There isn’t enough evidence to convict him, but he was the obvious suspect. Recent boyfriend of the deceased, and by his own admission he had been up as far as the church and back that evening. He swore blind he was innocent; of course, that’s what they all do, I know. But somehow I believed him – you get a nose for these things – and he seems a genuine trustworthy sort of lad. He went to pieces when he heard about the lass being murdered; that’s nothing to go by either, but I do believe now that it was the first he knew of it.’

‘We are glad to be able to help, Inspector Davies,’ said Luke. ‘Have you any more leads? Or perhaps I shouldn’t ask.’

‘It’s early days yet, but we’ll catch him, make no mistake about that. No…nothing definite, but I would be obliged, Reverend, if you could let me have the names and addresses of all the members of your choir. That was where the young lady had been on the evening in question, and it seems as though some of them might have been the last people to see her alive.’

Luke felt his heart give an extra loud thump. ‘Of course, certainly I will. I take it you mean just the menfolk in the choir? There are ladies as well, and several children, but surely you won’t want to question them?’

‘No, not the children. I did mean the men, primarily, but we ought to question the ladies as well. They might have noticed something suspicious without even realising it was so at the time.’

‘Quite so,’ replied Luke, trying to remain calm and in control of himself. ‘If you would like to call at the rectory I will let you have a list.’

‘We have spoken to Walter Nixon, the farmer that the young woman worked for; and he is in the choir as well, of course. It seems, at the moment, that he might have been the last person to see her that evening; he and a man called Tommy Allbright. Mr Nixon mentioned that they had both been chatting with her after the choir practice, then they said good night and left Priscilla on her own.’

‘Yes, I know them both very well,’ said Luke. ‘As a matter of fact, Tom Allbright is one of my church wardens.’

‘We will be having a word with him,’ said the inspector, ‘to confirm Mr Nixon’s story that they left Miss Meadows at the end of the lane. It is only routine, of course; we have no real reason to suspect either of them.’

Luke nodded. ‘Yes, I see…’ He felt quite sick with the worry of it all, but he knew he had to stand aside and let events take their course. Tempted as he was at that moment, he knew it would be very wrong to speak to Tom Allbright and ask him to substantiate Walter’s story. It would be encouraging him to tell an outright lie. He turned to his wife. ‘Come along, my dear. You have done your duty now and it’s time we were getting home.’

Patience smiled, gathering together her bag and her gloves. ‘Yes, and what a relief it is to have told you, Inspector Davies. I’m glad I’ve been able to help that young soldier.’

He stood up with them and accompanied them to the door. ‘Thank you both once again. I will call round for that list quite soon, or I will send my sergeant.’

The Sunday morning service was just about the most difficult one that Luke had ever had to conduct. The congregation was subdued and the choir sang less heartily and convincingly that usual. Luke noticed that Walter was there in his accustomed place, but to be absent, of course, would only have drawn attention to himself. Luke wondered what Maisie, sitting opposite to Walter, was thinking. What was going through that astute little mind of hers? She had not said anything about the murder to Luke since her disclosure; neither had Luke told her that Walter Nixon had actually admitted to the crime. Maybe, eventually, he would tell her. He might, in fact, be forced to tell her if things went badly for Walter. At the moment, though, he knew it was best not to mention either Priscilla or Walter to her at all.

He had chosen the words of his sermon carefully. It was the season of Lent, a sombre time in the church’s calendar, in any event. The hymn they had sung,

seemed appropriate, telling of Jesus’ temptations in the wilderness. He spoke about the temptations of man, as he had planned to do before the terrible events of Thursday night; the temptations of the world, the flesh and the devil. But Luke was not a rabble-rousing, tub-thumping type of preacher, so he spoke quietly, with sincerity and directness, as he always tried to do. He could see from his position in the pulpit that there were a few women in the congregation who were moved to tears, as handkerchiefs were taken stealthily from pockets and bags to mop at brimming eyes. Walter was not in his line of vision, but Luke had no intention of haranguing the congregation with an appeal to repent of their sins. He had decided that the decision to confess, or not, must be Walter’s alone.

He prayed for the family and friends of Priscilla Meadows that they might, somehow, find comfort in the knowledge that others were thinking about them. He did not pray, as his Catholic brethren might have done, for the soul of Priscilla. It was his belief and the belief of his church that she was already in Paradise. But that was small comfort for those who loved her, he knew only too well.

After the final hymn he stood at the door to shake hands and bid farewell to all his flock. Walter, after changing out of his choir regalia, departed with a brief ‘Good morning.’ Luke had not expected anything different. There was nothing more that either of them could say.

When all the members of the congregation had departed Luke went into the vestry to take off the surplice and stole he always wore for services. One of his church wardens, Albert Carey, was just leaving, but the other one, Tom Allbright, was still there.

‘May I have a word with you, Luke?’ he asked. ‘There’s summat that I’m concerned about, summat that’s puzzling me, and I don’t rightly know what to do about it.’

‘Certainly, Tom,’ said Luke. ‘You know that anything you tell me will not go any further.’ He had already guessed that it might have something to do with the subject that was uppermost in all their minds.

‘Well, it’s about Walter Nixon,’ said Tom, as Luke had thought he would. ‘Him and me, we left at the same time the other night, after the choir practice, and we stood chatting for a while at the end of the path…and Priscilla was with us an’ all. She was a lively lass, Priscilla; we all liked her, especially the men. Now I don’t mean there was owt wrong about it, Luke. We just enjoyed her company, an’ she had that way with her of making you feel good about yerself, as though you mattered, if you know what I mean.’

‘Yes, I do, Tom,’ replied Luke. ‘I know just what you mean. Go on… What is it that you’re concerned about?’

‘Well, I couldn’t help but notice, like, that Walter seemed quite fond of her. But I know it was because they worked together on the farm, an’ he’d got to know her better than the rest of us did. Anyroad, like I said, we stood there chatting for a while, then I said cheerio to them an’ I went off home, out of the front gate. And Walter was still there, chatting to Priscilla…’ He paused, shaking his head bemusedly. ‘And now…well, he’s asked me if I’ll say that he left her at the same time as me, that she was on her own; if the police start asking questions, like… And I don’t know what to do, Luke, and that’s a fact.’

‘I see…’ said Luke. ‘And…have the police questioned you?’

‘No, not yet. But they’re sure to, aren’t they? We all thought as how it must’ve been that soldier she was seeing, but now they’ve let him go. Of course, I know it couldn’t’ve been Walter; the idea is just ridiculous. But I suppose he’s panicking, like, in case they get round to thinking that he was the last one to speak to her and they try to pin it on him. You know what the police are like; they’re determined to get a conviction.’

Luke hesitated. ‘They try to get to the truth,’ he said, ‘and if someone is innocent then they should have nothing to fear. A man – or a woman, of course – is innocent until he is proved guilty; that is the law of our land.’

‘Aye, that’s as may be,’ replied Tom. ‘But you know as well as I do that it doesn’t always work out like that. There must’ve been many miscarriages of justice in the past, fellows that have been hanged, even, when they’ve had nowt to do with it. Not that we’re likely to find out; the police keep that sort of knowledge to themselves. But Walter’s a mate, and for the sake of a white lie…’

‘It’s rather more than a white lie, Tom, if you are telling me you left him alone with Priscilla, and you tell the police something different. Tell me; what do you think happened?’

‘I reckon he walked along the path with her, to make sure she was safe. It’s dark down there between the trees; it was dark there even before we had the blackout. And then…well, I dunno. I suppose she must’ve met somebody, either somebody she knew or a stranger; we all knew she was a friendly lass. We thought it was her boyfriend, but it seeems he’s in the clear. It’s a problem, Luke, an’ it gets worse the more I think about it.’

‘What did you say to Walter?’

‘I said I’d have to think about it; that it was a serious matter to lie to the police. But he looked so bloody scared – pardon me language, Luke, in church an’ all, but it’s enough to make a saint swear, all this lot – he looked so scared that I more or less said, “Aye, all right then.”’

And none of us are saints, thought Luke; not Walter, not Tom, not Luke himself. ‘If you are asking me if I think it is permissible that you should lie, then I’m afraid I can’t give you that assurance, Tom,’ he said regretfully. ‘But you know that, don’t you?’

Tom nodded. ‘Aye, I reckon I do.’

‘All I can say is…just do as you feel you must; it is a matter for your conscience. It has to be your decision and no one else’s. But I think you have known that all along, haven’t you? You just needed someone to confide in; am I right?’

‘You’re right, Luke, as you always are.’

‘Not always, Tom. None of us are always right, nor do we always know what is the right thing to do… I want Walter to be innocent of this crime just as much as you do. He certainly seems to have got himself into a dreadful predicament.’ And that was no more or no less than the truth. It was an evasive answer, maybe, but it was true that he, Luke, did want Walter to be innocent. He was the only one, though, apart from Walter himself, who knew of the man’s guilt. Even Maisie did not know for certain. The burden of his knowledge was not getting any easier to bear, but bear it he knew he must. Otherwise it would mean he had to betray a trust, and be partly responsible for sending not a wicked, but a vulnerable and morally weak, man to the gallows.

‘I’m real sorry to have bothered you,’ said Tom. ‘I can tell by your face that you are deeply troubled, aren’t you, Luke?’

‘Yes…I am.’ Luke nodded. ‘There has never been anything like this before. I have had plenty of ups and downs in my ministry, but nothing has affected me the way that this has.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Come along, Tom; let’s go home. We both have happy homes to go to, and that is a comfort.’ They left the church together and walked along the path to the gate.

‘I suppose I shouldn’t say this,’ said Luke, ‘but I am relieved that I don’t have to face the ordeal of Priscilla’s funeral. That, I feel, would have been too much…’

‘Oh, I see. It’s going to be in her home town, is it? Leicester, wasn’t that where she lived?’

‘Yes, her parents live in Leicester. It’s a terrible tragedy for them to bear, but when the police release…the body, she will be going home to her family and friends… God rest her soul,’ Luke added.

‘Aye, God bless her,’ said Tom. ‘And whichever way you look at it, Luke, there’s nowt we can do – or not do – that’ll bring her back.’

‘That’s another lead that’s taken us nowhere,’ said Inspector Davies to his sergeant, midway through the following week. ‘That Walter Nixon; it all pointed in his direction. But Mr Allbright swears blind he was with him, chatting to the lass, then they left her and went off together. He even said that he walked with Nixon as far as the back gate of the churchyard, because they were deep in conversation; talking about the anthems they were singing for Easter, he said, when I wanted to know what they were talking about that was so important. And then he saw Nixon go along the lane that leads to his farm. Mrs Nixon said her husband came in at more or less the same time as usual; happen a few minutes later, but that’s because he was talking to Mr Allbright. And he’s a church warden, is Tom Allbright, so I can’t see him lying.’

‘It doesn’t always figure, though, sir,’ said Sergeant Taylor. ‘They’re not bound to be speaking the truth, just because they’re church folk. It’s funny how many of ’em there seem to be involved with this case.’

‘That’s because she’d just been to choir practice and they were the last people to see her.’

‘Aye, an’ it were the men, weren’t it, who said what a nice lass she were; real friendly and suchlike. Walter Nixon’s name came up a few times, but they all spoke well of him, said he was more like a father to her because she worked on his farm.’

‘The women weren’t too sure about her, though, were they?’ remarked the inspector. ‘I reckon they were a bit jealous; a pretty young lass – a newcomer an’ all – getting all the attention. But none of them, neither, would say a wrong word about Nixon. And let’s face it, Mike, we’ve nowt much to go on, except that he knew her better than the others did, and he seemed a bit shaken up, but then I suppose he would… There’s no material evidence to link him to it. No finger prints, no blood; it’s not as though she was stabbed; there would have been more to go on if she had been. And she hadn’t been raped; there were no signs of sexual activity. She didn’t seem to have put up much of a fight neither; no scrapings under her finger nails…’

‘And no footprints neither; the ground was dry. If this was one o’ them murder mysteries we were reading, there’d be a nice little clue at the scene; a cufflink or a shirt button.’

The inspector nodded. ‘Aye, you’re right. But this isn’t Agatha Christie, and it seems that neither of us is Hercule Poirot. We’ll have to release the poor girl’s body now and let the family get on with what they have to do. And we’ll have to go on searching and questioning folk even though the trail’s gone cold.’

‘I can’t help thinking though, sir, like I said before, how much the church is involved in this little lot. It was the verger that found her, wasn’t it, and then the rector? All the folk concerned are church folk except for that boyfriend we had in, Jeff Beaumont. And who was it who gave him an alibi? None other than the rector’s wife.’

‘You’re not accusing her of lying, are you, Mike?’

‘No, of course not. She’s a lovely lady, is Mrs Fairchild. You only have to look at her to know that she’s sincere. No; I was only thinking that maybe the Lord looks after his own, or summat like that. I dunno; it’s a rum sort of how d’you do…’