Appointed to Die Read Free

leaving Rowena insufficient time to remove the extra place setting and the chair, let alone to find a last-minute substitution.
    The real problem, of course, was that Kingsley woman. When Rowena had planned this dinner party, weeks ago, it had looked as though there would be an extra man, and that was, although perhaps not ideal, no bad thing. Then just a few days ago Canon Kingsley had rung her, apologetic, to beg off from the dinner party. He’d just learned, he said, that his daughter Lucy was coming for the weekend. He’d happened to mention to Canon Brydges-ffrench, he’d explained, that his daughter was an artist, and the Subdean had immediately insisted that Canon Kingsley contact her and ask her to come this weekend. Planning for his music festival had fallen perilously behind, and the artistic talents of Lucy Kingsley were exactly what they needed at this point.
    Rowena, of course, had insisted that Canon Kingsley must bring his daughter to the dinner party. He had protested that she was a vegetarian, and thus difficult to cater for, but Rowena had explained that she was already committed to providing vegetarian fare for Canon Thetford and his wife – vegetarianism was just one of the many ‘isms’ embraced by that couple.
    She’d had no way of knowing that in addition to being a talented artist, Lucy Kingsley was also an undeniably attractive – some would even say beautiful – woman, with a graceful presence and a stunning nimbus of shoulder-length red-gold curls. The colour and the curl even looked natural, thought Rowena sourly, her hand going to her own glossy black hair, its stylish waves as well as its rich colour pur-chased and maintained at great expense. And the Kingsley woman couldn’t be a day under thirty-five – it just wasn’t fair that she should have hair like that.
    Seated at Rowena’s right, Jeremy Bartlett couldn’t keep his eyes off Lucy Kingsley. It had been a mistake, Rowena now saw belatedly, to seat Lucy on Jeremy’s other side. She had of course expected that Lucy, as a stranger in their little community, would talk to her father. But Canon Kingsley was deep in conversation with Evelyn Marsden, who had been left stranded by Arthur Brydges-ffrench’s defection. Hemmed between John Kingsley and the empty chair, it was only natural that Miss Marsden should address herself to the former, and that he should see it as his duty to attend to the lone woman, leaving his daughter to fend for herself.
    She was fending very well, ruminated Rowena with a savage poke at her tarragon chicken. With Jeremy’s back firmly turned towards her, she had little better to do than to observe her dinner guests and attempt to eavesdrop on their conversations. It was true that Canon Greenwood, seated on her left, was carrying on a monologue which was vaguely addressed to her, but as she had no interest in what he was saying, an occasional nod was all that was required of her.
    Rowena derived some perverse satisfaction from the fact that Evelyn Marsden must be nearly as discomfited over Canon Brydges-ffrench’s non-appearance as she was herself. It had been especially galling to her, Rowena had observed, that she’d had no hint of his ‘indisposition’ until it had been publicly announced. Miss Marsden, proprietary as she was about the Subdean, would have expected him to have phoned her first, and to have given her all the details of whatever had befallen him, so that she could subsequently divulge the facts, or not, as she felt necessary. But she was clearly as much in the dark as everyone else about what was keeping Arthur Brydges-ffrench from this evening’s festivities, and her displeasure was evident.
    If she hadn’t been so upset herself, Rowena could almost have felt sorry for Evelyn Marsden. It must be terrible to be so old, so poor, and so unattractive, she thought – dependent upon the virtual charity of the Dean and