When Reverend Neville Martingale-Snape swung open the solid oak door of the priest's vestry, ingrained chivalry made him block the view of his Sacristan, Jenny, standing close behind him. For the Rural Dean, Reverend Hawkins, was in the middle of the room. His feet were balancing in the hazy air, and round his neck a yellow rope linked him to the ceiling's one strong beam.

Jenny gasped and he turned round. Taking hold of her shoulders, he could feel the scrawny bones beneath the blue polyester blouse and gave her a quick shake.

"Jenny," he said. "You must stay calm."

Eyes unblinking, she stared at her priest.

"Go to the vicarage," he said. "Ring the police."

*****

"Terrible business," the Bishop gestured Neville into the one hard chair in his living room.

Neville tried to get comfortable, but it was a hopeless task, "Yes, terrible."

"How are you coping? I'm always here if you wish to confide in me."

Neville couldn't imagine anything worse, but was too polite to say so.

"Thank you. That's very kind. It has been a most trying time."

"I quite understand. The shock must have been appalling. I know the police weren't happy, but I think in your position I would have done much the same."

"Whatever do you mean?"

The Bishop waited to speak while Neville took out his handkerchief and dabbed his eye.

"Nothing. Please don't worry about it," he said, leaning forward to pat his priest on the knee. "But the police said they could have learnt more at the scene if you hadn't tried to revive poor Hawkins."

"But I couldn't leave him," Neville sobbed. "It would have been  . . .  unchristian."

"Yes, yes. No-one's blaming you, Neville."

Neville gulped and blew his nose.

"A verdict of suicide will be brought, as it should," the Bishop went on. "And we must all pray for Reverend Hawkins' immortal soul."

"Of course."

"But I don't understand it. He'd only been Rural Dean for two months and had everything to live for. He was so excited and now this," the Bishop made a sweeping gesture to take in the world's problems before bringing his hands back to his lap, where they rested like two doves on a rock. "Why take his own life? And why in your church rather than his own?"

"I don't know," Neville sighed. "Although St Peter's has always been the more beautiful of the two churches. It's a mystery understood only by God. But life must continue."

"Indeed," the Bishop shook his head and drew himself up to his full five foot six inches frame. "Which brings me to a difficult question, Neville."

"Yes?"

"I appreciate you are still in shock and cannot make an instant decision, but  . . . "

"Yes?"

"It will become clear to you over the weeks ahead that the tragic demise of Reverend Hawkins does leave an unfortunate gap in our Deanery administration. And seeing as how you were so very high on our original list of candidates, that is, before Reverend Hawkins moved into our parishes  . . . "

"Yes?"

"We wonder if  . . . "

"Yes?"

"If you would take on the role of Rural Dean at this difficult time?"

*****

"You must be feeling very happy, Reverend."

"Yes, I am, Jenny," Neville replied, slipping his clerical robes over his head. "As happy as one can be in such circumstances."

As he spoke, Neville gave his Sacristan a sharp glance. She'd seemed different since the death of Reverend Hawkins, but not in a way he could interpret.

"Reverend, may I speak to you about something very important?"

"Of course. Would you like to make an appointment for next week?"

"No, Neville. I mean now."

He stared at her. She'd never called him by his first name before. It made him shiver.

"Well, the service starts in five minutes and  . . . "

"Yes. But if you don't listen to me and  . . .  and do what I say, then there won't be any service. You see, I know what you did. I know everything. The night Reverend Hawkins died, I followed you here, like I always do. And I saw you both in church, arguing. I waited for you for such a long time. But you never came."

"No," Neville reached out but couldn't touch her. "You're fantasising."

"It's true. If you don't help me, I'll tell everyone what I know, I'll even tell the Bishop," she pointed towards the church. Everyone Neville knew over thirty years of priesthood was out there. He couldn't throw it all away. Not now.

"I knew how much you wanted to be Rural Dean," Jenny said, her eyes glowing. "I knew you  . . . "

"Shush," Neville's heart was pounding so hard he wondered if the Bishop could hear. "Of course I'll help. You'll have all the help you need and then  . . . "

"Yes, Neville," she whispered. "And if you help me, I'll make sure everything will be fine."

"What do you mean?"

Her answer was a smile.

*****

"Such a joyful occasion, Neville," the Bishop said. "I know the Deanery has been through some troubling times but, as you yourself have said, life must continue. The Lord brings joy out of sorrow indeed, but today I believe He has surpassed even Himself."

Neville swallowed his drink and tried to laugh.

"And dear Jenny is such a wonderful woman. It was charming to see her yesterday when she  . . . "

"You saw her yesterday? Why?"

The Bishop took several paces back.

"Sorry," Neville said. "Just nerves."

"Of course. It's all very new, but you'll get used to it. Don't worry. No, yesterday Jenny gave me a letter and made me swear to keep it safe until she told me to open it or when it felt right to do so. Goodness knows what she meant. Ah, I see my cue to speak has arrived."

Neville closed his eyes and wondered if prayer might be the answer.

"A toast," the Bishop boomed. "To the happy couple on their wedding day."