Rutledge, who understood better than most what restitution and forgiveness meant, didn’t answer. Instead he changed the subject. “Tell me about Herbert Baker.”

“Herbert Baker? Good heavens, what has Baker got to do with Father James?” Surprised, Sims stared at him. “Oh—you must be referring to the fact that he sent for a priest! I don’t know where you heard that story, but it isn’t so remarkable. A dying man is likely to worry about his soul in ways that we, with time to make amends still stretching out ahead of us, can’t imagine. What would be on your conscience that you’ve never told any other person?”

The question was rhetorical. But Rutledge’s face answered him.

“That’s what I mean,” Sims went on, “when I tell you that a dying man is not like other penitents. Baker asked for Father James, and he came as a kindness. I can’t tell you what passed between them. But Father James never gave me any cause to think he was worried about what was said to him that night.”

Hamish, judgmental in his own fashion, said, “Aye, but would he? The Vicar is no’ a man long on wisdom.”

“Did Herbert Baker confess to you?” Rutledge asked Sims.

Sims said uneasily, “Yes. I’m not at liberty—”

But Rutledge interjected, “I’m not asking you to tell me what he said—”

Sims, in his turn, interrupted him. “If you’re asking me if there were shocking revelations, no. I will say he was mainly afraid that he had loved his wife too dearly, and God would hold that against him. She’s dead, has been for a number of years. Apparently they were quite close.”

“And the dead man’s Will, what about that?”

“I expect it was in order. There’s not a lot of money here in Osterley to squabble over. I daresay the house was left to the elder son, but Martin is a very conscientious man. He’ll see his sister and his younger brother right.”

Leaving the vicarage, Rutledge crossed the road and walked up the hill to Holy Trinity. When he tried the north door, he found it was unlocked. Lifting the latch, he went inside, his eyes adjusting to the darkness.

Over his head the king-post roof was dark and lovely, and the sun spilled through a great stained-glass window leaving puddles of color on the stone floor. Looking up he saw that it depicted orders of angels—he could recognize the archangels and angels, seraphim and cherubim in rich shades of yellow and blue and blood red. The orders were a very popular theme in East Anglia. In the center was the symbol of the Holy Trinity, and at the bottom were four figures he couldn’t identify, although one looked suspiciously like early portraits of Richard II and another was self-proclaimed by the scroll spilling across his lap as the Venerable Bede.