smile, took a genteel sip of the cognac, and settled down to his story. "As to Ezra," he said, leaning into the table confidentially, "it was a nasty little scene. The only reason I know about it is that I was out that way. Whiskers, you see."
Lynley had gone in this direction once before. "The musical dog."
"Pardon?"
"Father Hart told us that Whiskers liked to lie on the common and listen to you play the organ."
Parrish laughed. "Isn't it the absolute devil? I practise my fingers to the bone, dear ones, and my most enthusiastic audience is a farm dog." His words dealt with the matter in a lambent fashion - as if nothing on earth could really be more amusing. Yet Lynley could see it was a brittle performance, a facade made frangible by the force of a current of bitterness that ran, swift and sure, just beneath the surface. Parrish was working at joviality and rather too industriously.
"Well, there you have it," he continued. He turned the snifter in his hands, admiring the variety of colours that the cognac produced as it caught the light. "A virtual Sahara of musical appreciation in the village. In fact, the only reason I play at St. Catherine's on Sundays is to please myself. God knows no one else can tell a fugue from a scherzo. D'you know that St.
Catherine's has the finest organ in York-shire? Typical, isn't it? I'm sure Rome purchased it personally to keep the RCs in control in Keldale. I'm C of E, myself.
"And Farmington?" Lynley asked.
"Ezra? I don't think Ezra's religious at all. Except," seeing no amused appreciation on Lynley's face, "what you probably mean is what do I have to say about Ezra."
"You've certainly read me, Mr. Parrish."
"Ezra." Parrish smiled and took a drink, perhaps for courage, perhaps for solace. It was difficult to tell. He lowered his voice momentarily, however, and as he did so, a brief glimmer of the real man emerged, brooding and moody. But the chatty gossip replaced him almost at once.
"Let me see, loves, it must have been about a month ago when William Teys ran Ezra off the farm."
"Was he trespassing?"
"Absolutely. But according to Ezra, he has some sort of "artistic licence' that allows him to trespass everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. He was doing what he call "light studies' of High Kel Moor. Your basic Rouen Cathedral sort of thing. Start a new picture every fifteen minutes."
"I'm familiar with Monet."
"Then you know what I mean. Well, the only way - let's say the quickest way - up to High Kel Moor is right through the woods behind Gembler Farm. And the way to the woods - "
"Was across Teys's land," Lynley finished.
"Exactly. I was trotting along the road with Whiskers in tow. He'd put in his usual appearance on the common and, as it seemed late to let the old boy find his own way home, I was taking him there myself. I had hoped our darling Stepha might be willing to do the job in her Mini, but she was nowhere to be found. So I had to drag the old thing out there on these poor, stiff legs."
"You don't own a car?"
"Not one that runs with any reliablity, I'm afraid. Anyway, I got to the farm and there they were, right in the road having the most god-awful row I've ever seen. There was William in his jimjams - "
"Excuse me?"
"His pyjamas, Inspector. Or was it his dressing gown?" Parrish squinted at the ceiling and considered his own question. "It was his dressing gown. I remember thinking, "Lord, what hairy legs old William has,' when I saw him. Quite like a gorilla."
"I see."
"And Ezra was standing there, shouting at him, waving his arms, and cursing in ways that must have made poor sainted William's hair stand on end. The dog got hot into the action and took quite a piece out of Ezra's trousers. While he was doing that, William ripped three of Ezra's precious watercolours into shreds and dumped the rest of the portfolio right onto the verge. It was dreadful." Parrish looked down as he concluded his story, a mournful note to his voice, but when he lifted his head his eyes said clearly that Ezra had got what he'd long deserved.
Lynley watched Sergeant Havers climb the stairs and disappear from view. He rubbed his temples and walked into the lounge, where a light at the far end of the room illuminated the bent head