Murder at the National Cathedral Read Free Page A

highly polished cherrywood table. Singletary sat across from him. Although dusk was starting to fall outside, the open drapes had permitted some light to enter. With them closed, the efficacy of the study’s interior lighting seemed to have been diminished by half.
    “Paul, the archbishop is growing increasingly concerned about this Word of Peace thing.”
    Singletary laughed crisply enough to make his point, but not enough to indicate disrespect to the archbishop of Canterbury. Apt continued, and Singletary knew that he was speaking words that had been carefully considered, perhaps even written prior to his arrival at the library. “You must understand that when the archbishop gave his support to Word of Peace, not a great deal was known about it. Frankly, I tried my best to dissuade him from involving us in it.” Apt smiled—not much of a smile, but because it tended to stretch his mouth slightly, it enhanced the feeling that the paste-up job had been hasty. “I must admit that you were very effective when you presented the Word of Peace program to the archbishop. How long ago was that, Paul, a year?”
    Singletary shrugged.
    “Of course, there was the weight of the others with you, especially the African bishop. What’s his name?” Apt asked it with seeming sincerity, but Singletary knew that Apt was well aware of the African bishop’s name. He’d seen Apt do this before, degrade someone by pretending to have forgotten the name.
    “Bishop Eastland.”
    “Ah, yes, Bishop Eastland. Certainly one of our high-visibilitybishops. Nasty mess, that apartheid. We’ll all be happy when that’s resolved. How is Bishop Eastland?”
    “Fine, and still fighting apartheid, according to what I read in the press.”
    “A most impressive man. As I was saying, the archbishop’s enthusiasm for Word of Peace has waned, although he has not withdrawn his support. Has your Bishop St. James’s enthusiasm back in Washington been sustained, or has it waned, too?”
    “Heightened might be a more accurate way to describe it,” Singletary said flatly.
    Apt sat back and clasped his hands on his belly. “Heightened. Interesting.”
    “Malcolm, you said the archbishop wanted you to discuss something with me about Word of Peace. Is this it, that his enthusiasm has waned?”
    “In a sense, yes, although there is more behind it. He is, of course, not only charged with the administration of the church; he is equally responsible for how we are viewed by others. That is also my particular responsibility, one I take very seriously. You will admit that some of those who have become involved with Word of Peace seem self-seeking, or political, and many are controversial at best, including yourself.”
    Singletary laughed again; this time it was more genuine, and with less concern for the archbishop. “Controversial? We pray each night to a highly controversial figure.”
    “Prayers are our leveling factor, Paul. What we do between prayers is another matter.”
    “You mean, of course, to what extent we become involved in …” He thought before finishing. “To what extent we become involved in things not very
churchy.
”
    “I’d rather not be told what I mean, Paul, although that is your prerogative … and bent.” Apt smiled.
    They’d had this conversation before, especially since Singletaryhad become a conspicuous leader of the worldwide and nondenominational Word of Peace movement, in which the world’s clergy were to use their collective weight and individual pulpits to spread the word of peace. Apt, and the archbishop of Canterbury, whose religious philosophy Apt shared (genuinely or because it was good for tenure? Singletary often wondered) were advocates of the Anglo-Catholic division of the church—the “Oxford movement”—archconservative (he was not called “
arch
bishop” for nothing, Singletary thought in a whimsical moment), rigid, authoritarian, puritanical, and intolerant of the more liberal wing that did