The Dead Songbird (The Northminster Mysteries) by Harriet Smart Page B

singer boy from the Minster?” said Carr, handing a glass to Giles.
    “It’s all about town then, Mr Carr?”
    “It is,” said Carr. “And I am not surprised by it. Pack of rascals.”
    “You mean the Vicars Choral?” Carr nodded. Giles went on, “Tell me about Mr Harrison. How long has he been in your employment?”
    “Couple of years. He came here from Winchester. He’d no background in the cloth trade. He was clerking in an attorney’s office. His references were excellent, one from a clergyman at the Cathedral – he was one of the singers there. I was short-handed at the time, and glad to have a presentable man, but he has not proved his worth. Very lax in his timekeeping and the other men do not like him. They do not like his airs.”
    “Airs?”
    “He has a great opinion of his talent. He does sing well, if you like that sort of thing, which I don’t much, but my wife who knows about these things tells me he does. But it is one thing to sing well, and another to regard yourself as better than your fellows because of it.”
    There was a knock at the door and a clerk came in.
    “Harrison has just arrived, sir,” said the clerk. “Shall I send him in to you?”
    “Yes,” said Carr.
    “Might I speak to him alone?” said Giles.
    “My office is at your disposal.”
    Harrison came into the office, looking neither defiant nor penitent. He had the air that Giles had seen many times in court as defendants shuffled into the dock. He knew that he was about to be judged. He was tall and good-looking, but any distinction he might have had was extinguished by the humiliation of the moment. He looked as if he had passed the night in a police cell having been discovered in the throes of debauchery – he had that sallow, dirty look, not helped by the brilliant red of the long scarf he had wound about his neck. With exhausted, nervous eyes he glanced from his employer to Giles, clearly trying to work out what was going on. His glance took in the sherry glasses too – Giles’ was still untouched. A sniff had been enough to establish it was not worth drinking after Lambert’s fine Oloroso.
    “This gentleman is Major Vernon, the Chief Constable, and he would like to speak to you,” said Mr Carr. “And then you and I shall have words, lad.”
    “Save your breath,” said Harrison. “I quit. There – that’s what you wanted, I’m sure.” Carr looked a little startled. “I’ve no damned stomach for this place any more. This whole stinking town.”
    It was evident from the slurring of his speech that Harrison was still somewhat under the influence.
    “Don’t expect a character, Harrison,” said Carr, on the way to the door.
    “I don’t!” said Harrison. “I don’t want one. I shall make my living by my voice. This is slavery and I want no part of it. I was a fool to waste my time here.”
    Carr stopped and turned back.
    “You ought to be grateful I did not put you out on your ear months ago,” he said. “I should sue you for the return of your wages. You did so little work I reckon I would have a fine case.”
    “Oh, go boil your head!” said Harrison, with a flamboyant wave of his hand. Carr left the room without further words but he banged the door behind him.
    “Sit, won’t you, Mr Harrison?” said Giles.
    He did so, wearily, like an old man. He rubbed his face with both hands and then looked at Giles.
    “Chief Constable,” he said. “So, this is about Ch–”
    “Charles Barnes,” said Giles. “Yes.”
    Harrison closed his eyes for a moment. Then he gestured towards the full sherry glass.
    “Is that going begging?” he said. “I’m rather dry. It’s thirsty work quitting.”
    “You’d be better putting your head under a pump,” Giles said.
    “I am not ready to be sober,” said Harrison, each word punctuated with a pause. He reached out and pulled the sherry glass towards him. “And how sad for this poor glass to go to waste.”
    “Talk to me a little first,” said