“No, you can’t. She’s been dead for twenty years.”
“A good job for her,” said Titherington.
“The Archdeacon would agree with you there.”
“What Archdeacon?”
I saw that I had made an unfortunate admission. Titherington, in his present mood, would be quite capable of bringing the Archdeacon down on us here. I would almost rather have a second nurse. I hastened to cover my mistake.
“Any Archdeacon,” I said. “You know what Archdeacons are. There isn’t one of them belonging to any church who wouldn’t disapprove strongly of Miss Beresford.”
Titherington grunted.
“If I thought an Archdeacon would be any use,” he said, “I’d get a dozen if I had to pay them fifty pounds apiece.”
“They wouldn’t help in the slightest. Miss Beresford and Hilda have libelled twenty-three bishops in their day. They’d simply laugh at your Archdeacons.”
“Well,” said Titherington, “I suppose that’s all I am to get out of you.”