Nothing could have prepared Cordelia for the singularity of the rest of Sunday morning. As he was helping himself to his breakfast scrambled eggs Ambrose suddenly paused, spoon in hand.

'My God, I've forgotten to cancel Father Hancock! It's too late now. Oldfield will be on his way to fetch him.' He turned to explain:

'He's an elderly Anglican priest who has retired to Speymouth. I usually invite him to take Sunday morning service when I have guests. People nowadays seem to feel the need of these ministrations. Clarissa liked him to come when she was here for a weekend. He amused her.'

'Clarissa!' Ivo gave a hoarse burst of laughter which shuddered his gaunt frame. 'He'll probably arrive at the same time as the police. So we explain to Grogan that we aren't at his disposal for an hour or so because we'll all be at Divine Service. I can't wait to see his face. Admit that you didn't cancel on purpose, Ambrose.'

'No, I assure you. It entirely slipped my mind.' Roma said:

'He probably won't come. He'll have heard of the murder by now – it'll be all over Speymouth – and he'll assume that you don't expect him.'

'Don't you believe it. If we were reduced by mass homicide to two and Oldfield were available to fetch him, he'd come. He's nearly ninety and has his own priorities. Besides, he enjoys his sherry and luncheon. I'd better remind Munter.'

He went out, smiling his secretive complacent smile.

Cordelia said:

'I wonder if I ought to change out of trousers.'

Ivo seemed suddenly to have found an appetite. He spooned out a generous helping of egg.

'Unnecessary, surely? I don't suppose you've brought gloves and a prayerbook. Never mind, even if the props are missing we can still proceed to church in the approved Victorian fashion, I wonder whether the Munters and Oldfield will come to make a showing in the servants' pew. And what on earth will the old man find to preach about?'

Ambrose reappeared.

'Well, that's settled. Munter hadn't forgotten. Will you all be coming or have we any conscientious objectors?' Roma said:

'I disapprove, but I don't mind putting in an appearance if the object is to irritate Grogan. We aren't expected to sing, are we?'

'Of course. There is the Te Deum and the responses and we have one hymn. Would anyone like to choose it?'

No one volunteered.

'Then I suggest "God moves in a mysterious way". We meet the launch at ten forty.'

And so the astonishing morning got under way. Shearwater beat the police launch to the jetty by five minutes and Ambrose received a frail figure in cloak and biretta who alighted with remarkable sprightliness and gazed on them benignly from moist and faded blue eyes. Before Ambrose could make the introductions he turned to him and said:

'I was sorry to hear of your wife's death.'

Ambrose said gravely:

'Yes, it was unexpected. But we weren't married, Father.'

'Were you not? Dear me! Forgive me, I hadn't realized. Drowned, I think they said. These waters can be very treacherous.'

'Not drowned, Father. She suffered a severe concussion.'

'I thought that my housekeeper said drowned. But perhaps I'm thinking of someone else. The war, perhaps. A long time ago, anyway. I'm afraid my memory is not what it was.'

The police launch shuddered to the quay and they watched while Grogan, Buckley and two other plain-clothes officers alighted. Ambrose said formally:

'May I introduce Father Hancock who is here to take Morning Service according to the rites of the Church of England. It usually lasts an hour and a quarter. You and your officers are, of course, very welcome to attend.'

Grogan said curtly:

'Thank you, but I am not a member of your Church and my men make their own arrangements and in their off-duty time. I should be glad if we could again have access to all parts of the castle.'

'Of course. Munter will look after you. And I shall, of course, be available myself after luncheon.'

The Church received them into its archaic, multi-coloured silence. Simon was persuaded to seat himself at the organ and the rest of the party filed decorously into the high pew originally built for Herbert Gorringe. The organ was old, requiring to be pumped, and Oldfield was already there, hand at the ready. With the appearance of a surpliced Father Hancock the service got under way. Ambrose obviously took the view that his guests were dissenters, if not worse, who required a strong lead in the responses, and Ivo retained throughout an attentive gravity and showed a familiarity with the liturgy which suggested that this was his normal Sunday morning activity. Simon managed the organ competently enough, although Oldfield let it run out of wind at the end of the TV Deum and it produced a late, noisy and discordant amen. Roma forgot her resolve to remain silent and sang in a rich contralto only slightly out of tune. Father Hancock used the 1662 Book of Common Prayer without deletions or substitutions and his congregation proclaimed themselves miserable offenders who had followed too much the devices and desires of their own hearts and promised amendment of life in a slightly ragged but resolute chorus. It was only at the end of the petitions when, unexpectedly, he inserted a prayer for the souls of the departed that Cordelia heard a small concerted intake of breath and the air of the Church grew for a moment colder. The sermon lasted fifteen minutes and was a learned dissertation on the Pauline theology of the redemption. As they rose to sing the hymn Ivo whispered to Cordelia:

'That's all one asks of a sermon. No possible relevance to anything but itself.'

Before luncheon, Munter served dry and chilled sherry on the terrace. Father Hancock managed three glasses without apparent effect and talked happily to Sir George about bird-watching and to Ivo about liturgical reform on which Ivo showed himself surprisingly well informed. No one mentioned Clarissa, and it seemed to Cordelia that, for the first time since her murder, her restless, menacing spirit was subdued. For a few precious moments the weight of guilt and misery lifted from her own heart. It was possible to believe, innocently talking in the sun, that life was as well ordered, as certain, as austerely decent and reasonable as the great Anglican compromise in which they had taken part. And when they went in to their roast ribs of beef and rhubarb tart – a conventional and rather heavy Sunday luncheon provided, she suspected, primarily for the benefit of Father Hancock – it was a relief to have him there, to hear the thin but beautiful voice discussing such a harmless interest as the nesting habits of the song thrush and to watch his frank enjoyment of the food and wine. Only Simon, his face flushed, drank as steadily, downing the claret as if it were water, reaching for the decanter with a shaking hand. But Father Hancock seemed as spry as ever after a meal which would have reduced many a younger man to stupor and he took his leave of them with the same serene contentment with which he had greeted them four hours earlier.

As Shearwater drew away, Roma turned to Cordelia and said with gruff embarrassment:

'I'm going for a walk for half an hour. Would you care to come? I'd like to have a word with you.'

'All right. If Grogan wants us he can send for us.'

They walked together, without speaking, up the long greensward beyond the rose garden, then under the shadow of the beeches, crunching their way through the bright drifts of fallen leaves and hearing above the scuffle of their tramping feet the strengthening pulse of the sea. After five minutes they emerged from the trees and found themselves on the edge of the cliff. To their right was a concrete bunker, part of the 1939 defences of the island, its low entrance almost blocked with leaves. They moved round it and settled their backs against its rough-textured wall, looking down through a green and gold pattern of beech leaves to the narrow strip of beach and the glitter of the sea-washed shingle.