‘Good morning, Reverend. I’m Julia Shields.’
Her hand was cold and thin, like the rest of her. She was pale to the point of translucence, from her colourless hair downward.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Ms Shields.’ Shaking the hand was like shaking frigid air. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Oh, I just wanted to welcome you to Saxonhurst,’ she said, smiling tightly. Withdrawing her hand from Adam’s, she began a slow excursion around the room, picking up ornaments and putting them down as she went. ‘It’s a long time since I visited this house. I used to come here, as a child.’
‘Did you? You’re born and bred in the village?’
‘Yes. Actually, I’m the lady of the manor.’
‘The lady of the manor? Well, I’m honoured.’
Adam felt foolish, wrong-footed somehow. This woman’s motives were veiled in mystery and something about her filled him with profound unease. Talking to her reminded him of trying to talk to girls he fancied back at school – all the conversation flew from his head, leaving him with awkward remnants of words.
‘You should be. Nobody ever visited the last vicar. You’re much younger than him.’
She turned from examination of a watercolour of the church over the fireplace and gave Adam a piercing glare.
‘I’m 31,’ he said, wanting to kick himself for sounding so gauche.
‘Thirty-one. That’s young.’
‘You can’t be much more.’
‘No. I’m 29. But I don’t have a job to do, as such. I don’t have such a very, very difficult job to do. What made you want to come here?’
‘I like to look upon it as God’s decision.’
‘Oh, so you didn’t want to come here?’
Her smile was like the glimmer of light on a blade.
‘I …’
‘Well, anyway, this is all small talk. I do actually have a purpose in visiting you. I have a problem and I want your help.’
‘Oh. A crisis of faith?’
‘No.’ She looked at him pityingly. ‘Sit down, for heaven’s sake. You’re so tall, and in all that black, you loom like a huge crow.’
‘I’ll have Mrs Witts bring us tea.’
‘No, no tea. Do you have any sherry?’
‘I don’t drink.’
‘Ugh. Well. I’ll begin. I told you I was the lady of the manor.’
‘Yes.’
‘My title is in jeopardy. I am still the lady, but I have no manor.’
No manners either, thought Adam, smirking at his unspoken witticism.
‘Oh dear, how come?’ he asked politely.
‘Money. That’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it? I ran out of money. I tried all sorts. I took in paying guests, hosted those awful murder mystery parties. But I couldn’t afford to maintain a place that size. I had to put it on the market – or rather, my bank did. It was bought at auction a few months ago.’