“It’s not the Archdeacon this time,” he said. “I wish it was. The fact is I am in trouble again about Lalage. I am on my way up to consult your mother.”
“Has Miss Battersby been complaining?”
“She’s leaving,” said the Canon, at once. “Leaving, so to speak, vigorously.”
“I was afraid it would come to that. She wasn’t the sort of woman who’d readily take to swearing.”
“I very nearly did,” said the Canon. “She cried. It’s curious, but she really seems fond of Lalage.”
“Did she by any chance force her way into the pigsty and find the Anti-Cat?”
Canon Beresford looked at me and a smile hovered about his mouth. “So you’ve seen that production?” he said. “I call it rather good.”
“But you can hardly blame Miss Battersby for leaving, can you?”
“She didn’t see it,” said the Canon, “thank goodness.”
“Then why on earth is she leaving? What else can she have to complain of?”