“Right, then, it’s the stony silence you’re giving me now, is it?” he said, still grinning.

Ignoring him, she stared out the window as the hedgerows flew by.

At last the motorcar pulled up to the rectory, which was a squat brick building adjacent to St. Wendreda’s Church.

Although she would have liked to remove herself from the vehicle as quickly as possible, Phyllida forced herself to wait for him to come around to open the door. She even allowed him to help her out, grateful for the gloves she at least wore for the barrier they provided between his large, calloused hand and hers.

“Thank you, Mist—erm, Bradford,” she said airily. “You may return to Mallowan Hall and see to bringing the rest of the supplies at half eleven as planned.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bright,” he said gravely.

The rectory door nearest the parking place had swung open, and there was Rita, wringing her hands in her apron. “Oh, thank you for coming, Mrs. Bright,” she said.

“Of course,” replied Phyllida, starting along the graveled path. The walk was flanked on either side by clumps of red geraniums interspersed with mounds of tiny white daisies, although one of the geranium plants appeared to have been crushed by something heavy, leaving bloodred petals scattered over the walkway and the fragrance of geranium in the air. There were definite signs of portending rain as well, Phyllida noted.

Because she didn’t give Bradford a backward glance and her shoes made crunching noises on the stone, Phyllida didn’t realize he was following in her wake until she was well inside the rectory.

She supposed, in retrospect, she should have known he wouldn’t leave without bothering her further.

“It’s just arful, Mrs. Bright, just arful,” Rita was saying in a variety of forms, volumes, and inflections. “Poor Saint Aloysius. He never deserved anything like this.”

“Saint Aloysius?” Phyllida heard Bradford mutter in a strangled voice as they walked down the cool, shadowy hall.

“He’s right in there,” said Rita, at last stopping by a closed door at the end of the hall.

“And where is the cake?” Phyllida asked.

“It’s in there, too. I did what you said—I closed it all up, even though there ain’t no one here but me right now, although when I got back this morning, I thought someone had been here.”

Phyllida opened the door to what turned out to be Father Tooley’s office.