The Twelve Clues of Christmas (5 page)

“Good morning, Miss Prendergast,” Bunty said and the woman started in surprise.

“Oh, Miss Hawse-Gorzley, you gave me a start,” she replied in a breathless, twittering little voice. “I was completely lost in thought. I have just been working on the church flowers for Christmas. I was planning to surround the crèche with holly but Mr. Barclay told me absolutely not. He said that holly did not grow in the Holy Land and thus it would not be authentic. Really, he is such an objectionable man, isn’t he? An absolute stickler for detail and always insists on his own way. I’m sure our Lord wouldn’t mind being brightened up with some nice red holly berries around him.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t,” Bunty said. “And may I present our guest Lady Georgiana Rannoch. Georgie, this is Miss Prendergast.”

“How do you do,” I said.

She looked stunned. “Oh, my goodness. It’s almost like having royalty visit the village, isn’t it? Delighted to make your acquaintance.” She bobbed an awkward half curtsy. “So you’re here to enjoy the splendid festivities Lady Hawse-Gorzley has planned, are you? I am so looking forward to them myself. Lady Hawse-Gorzley has been kind enough to invite me to join you for the Christmas banquet. Such a treat when one lives a simple lonely life like mine. But I mustn’t keep you.”

And she went on her way.

“Another weird woman?” I asked.

“No, she’s no weirder than the average village spinster. A bit twittery and rather nosy, I suspect. And she’s a relative newcomer, too. She moved here about five years ago. Looked after her aged mother somewhere like Bournemouth. When the mother died she sold the family home and bought that cottage next to the church. Used to come here on holiday as a child, one gathers. And I must say she’s proving to be an asset. Every village needs a willing spinster, don’t you think? Always volunteering for good deeds.”

We found some good holly bushes and started cutting branches. Isn’t it interesting the way they always love to grow near graves?

“We still have to find mistletoe,” I reminded Bunty.

“I don’t really see why.” She gave me a grin. “I’m not sure there will be anybody for you to kiss, apart from old colonels whose mustaches will be frightfully spiky.”

“Nonetheless, your mother asked for some. And didn’t you say you have a dreamy cousin coming?”

“I didn’t say there was nobody for
me
to kiss,” she replied with a wicked grin. “I believe I saw some on the big tree next to the middle cottage. Yes, look up there. I hope you’re good at tree climbing.”

We came to the big elm and saw there was indeed mistletoe growing from an upper branch.

“I suppose I’d better go up,” Bunty said. “Mummy would never forgive me if you fell and broke your neck. Here, give me a leg up.”

I was just hefting her off the ground when she looked down the path, squinted into the sunlight and said, “Hello, who is this?”

I looked too. A small round silhouette was coming up the path toward us. He recognized me at exactly the same moment I recognized him.

“Blimey, strike me down with a feather,” he said, his face lighting up. “What the dickens are you doing here?”

“Granddad,” I said and rushed to him, leaving Bunty suspended in the tree.

Chapter 7

“Granddad, you came! I am so glad.” I hugged him fiercely, feeling the familiar scratchy cheek against mine.

“Well, I couldn’t very well let Mrs. Huggins travel all this way on her own, could I?” he said. “She ain’t been no further than Margate before. But what on earth are you doing here? Did your mum invite you and not tell me?”

“No, she doesn’t know I’m here. I’m actually helping out at the house party at Gorzley Hall. Pure coincidence.”

His little boot-button eyes twinkled. “You know I always say there ain’t no such thing as coincidence, don’t you?”

I laughed uneasily. “Yes, well, we’re both here and it’s going to be a wonderful Christmas. I take it Mummy is already in residence?”

“So is that Coward bloke. Bit of a poofta, isn’t he? And awfully fussy. Likes his eggs boiled three and a quarter minutes, not three, not three and a half.”

I laughed, then heard a slithering sound and saw Bunty lowering herself from the tree.

“Oh, sorry,” I called. “I’ve just had a lovely surprise. Come and meet my grandfather. Granddad, this is Bunty Hawse-Gorzley. She’s the daughter of the house where I’m staying.”

“Pleased to meet you, miss,” Granddad said, holding out a big meaty hand.

Bunty looked surprised, but was too well-bred to comment. “Lovely to meet you too,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind but we’re getting mistletoe from your tree.”

“Not my tree, ducks. Take all you want.”

“I should go inside and say hello to my mother.” I turned to Bunty. “Maybe my grandfather can help you see if there is a ladder in the shed. That will be easier than trying to climb the first bit.”

I knocked lightly and went into the cottage. It was everything a cottage should be and I could tell why Noel had chosen it. Big beams across the ceiling, brass warming pan on the wall, fire crackling merrily in the hearth, copper pots hanging over the kitchen stove. All it needed was a spinning wheel and a white-haired old lady to complete the picture. Instead there was my mother, curled up like a cat in an armchair by the mullioned window, reading
Vanity Fair
. She looked up and those lovely blue eyes opened wide.

“Good God, Georgie, what are you doing here?”

“That’s a nice welcome, I must say.” I went across the room to kiss her cheek. “How about, ‘Hello, darling daughter, what a lovely surprise to see you’?”

“Well, it is, but I mean—what
are
you doing here? I told you Noel and I were going to be working and there’s actually no room and—”

“Relax, Mummy. I’m staying at Gorzley Hall. Pure coincidence that we’re in the same village. I just came down to say hello.”

Relief flooded over her face. “Well, in that case, lovely to see you, darling.” And she kissed my cheek in return.

“Everything all right? All settled in?” I asked her.

“Splendid. Noel’s up in his room, pounding away at his typewriter. Your Mrs. Huggins is doing very well, in spite of Noel’s food fads, and we’ve found a local girl, Rosie, to come and clean for us. At least I hope she’s coming to clean. She should have been here by now.” She glanced at her watch.

I looked out the window and saw a woman break away from one of the tight knots of gossipers and hurry in our direction with a worried expression on her face. It occurred to me that perhaps the gossip was because the villagers had found out about my mother and Noel Coward.

The front door was flung open and the woman came in. “Awful sorry I’m late, ma’am,” she said in a broad Devon accent. “I know I said ten o’clock, but I were that upset—I don’t know if you’ve heard the news, ma’am.”

“About the man who killed himself yesterday? Yes, we were told about that.”

“No, ma’am. Not about him. ’Tis Ted Grover I’m talking about. He were found drowned in Lovey Brook this morning.”

Mummy sat up. “And who is Ted Grover?”

“He were my uncle, ma’am. Owned a big garage just outside Bovey Tracey. Doing awfully well, he were. Owned charabancs and gave tours of the moor. And now he’s gone.” She put her red, work-worn hands up to her face and started to sob noisily. Mummy put a tentative arm around her shoulder. “I’m very sorry, Rosie. I’ll have Mrs. Huggins bring you a cup of tea.”

“What happened to him?” I asked as Mummy headed for the kitchen, calling, “Mrs. Huggins!” in strong theatrical tones.

“Well, he was always popping over for a drink at the Hag and Hounds,” Rosie said. “Leastways everyone knew why he came to this pub and not the Buckfast Arms, which was right next to his garage. And it weren’t the quality of the ale either. He and the publican’s wife were sweet on each other, you see. They’d meet out behind the pub and then he’d cut back across the fields to his place, thinking that nobody saw him. Of course we all knew about it—well, in a village everyone does, don’t they?”

She paused, taking out a big checked handkerchief and blowing her nose. “Well, he had to cross a little stone bridge over Lovey Brook. It’s just one of them simple clapper bridges like you see around here made of big slabs of stone balanced on rocks, and they are not always very stable. So they reckon he’d drunk quite a bit last night and lost his balance, see. Fell into Lovey Brook and hit his head on a rock. Terrible tragedy, just before Christmas. And my poor auntie—knowing how he died, having gone to see that woman.”

I gave a sympathetic nod.

“And of course you know what everyone in the village is saying, don’t you?” She looked up at Mrs. Huggins, who had come in personally with the cup of tea, not wanting to miss out on anything, I suspect. Rosie brightened considerably, having now a larger audience. “Two deaths in two days? They are saying it’s the Lovey Curse, striking again.”

“The Lovey Curse?” Mummy looked amused.

Rosie beckoned me, my mother and Mrs. Huggins into a tight little circle. “You’ve heard about our witch, no doubt? Well, when she was being burned at the stake, she cursed the village, saying every Yuletide she’d be back to take her revenge. And sure enough, something bad always happens here around Christmastime.” She folded her arms with satisfaction. “You mark my words. It’s the Lovey Curse, all right.”

“What in God’s name is all this weeping and wailing?” Noel Coward appeared in the doorway, wearing a striped silk dressing gown, with a long cigarette holder between his fingers and a pained expression on his handsome face. “I thought I chose this place for peace and quiet.”

“There’s been a tragedy, Noel. Rosie’s uncle fell off a bridge last night and drowned.”

“Ah, the transience of life.” Noel gave a dramatic sigh. “Frightfully sorry to hear about your uncle, Rosie dear, but could you grieve more quietly, do you think? The muse was doing splendidly until a few minutes ago, when she fluttered out the window and simply vanished.”

“Do you want me to go looking for it for you, sir?” Rosie asked. “Some kind of pet bird, is it?”

Noel sighed again. “I shall return to my room, I think. Could you be an angel and produce some drinkable coffee, Mrs. Huggins?”

He was about to make a dramatic exit when my mother called after him. “Look who has come to visit, Noel. My daughter, Georgiana.”

He spun around. “Georgiana, of course! I thought the face looked familiar but I couldn’t quite place you. Lovely to see you, my dear. Are you just passing through?”

“No, I’m actually here for Christmas,” I said wickedly as I watched Noel struggling to hide his annoyance.

“She’s staying at Gorzley Hall,” Mummy corrected hastily. “They are going to have a frightfully jolly house party there, so I gather.”

“Well, bully for you,” Noel said. “Claire and I will be working. Slaving away, actually, but do come down for a drink sometime, won’t you?”

With that he stomped back up the stairs.

Mummy gave me a commiserating smile. “You mustn’t mind him. He’s awfully grouchy when he’s working. I’m glad you’re here, darling. We must have some girl time together.”

Mrs. Huggins was loitering at the kitchen door. “Does that mean my Queenie has come down here with you, my lady?” she asked.

I remembered that Queenie was her great-niece. “Yes, she’s here with me. I’ll send her down to say hello to you.”

“Is she proving to be satisfactory, my lady?”

I couldn’t tell the brutal truth that Queenie would probably never be satisfactory in her life. “She’s definitely improving, Mrs. Huggins,” I said.

“Well, that’s nice to know, isn’t it?” She beamed at me as she went back into the kitchen.

Noises outside indicated that a ladder had been found and that Bunty was attempting to go up the tree. “I should go,” I said. “I’m supposed to be gathering mistletoe.”

“I hope there is someone worth kissing at your party,” Mummy said. “Such a waste of mistletoe otherwise.”

I came out to find Granddad steadying the ladder while Bunty clung to it precariously. “I volunteered to go up for the young lady,” he said, “but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Quite right. No ladders at your age,” I said.

“I’m not over the hill yet,” he said. “By the way, what was all that fuss about in there? I heard weeping and wailing.”

“Rosie’s uncle was found drowned in a brook this morning. Rosie’s saying it’s the Lovey Curse striking again. Two deaths in two days in the village.”

“Hmm,” Granddad said. “You know what my old inspector would say about that, don’t you?”

“Well, in this case your inspector would be wrong, I suspect,” I said. “One man shot himself by accident and the other fell off one of those little stone bridges in the middle of the night after he’d drunk too much. I don’t think you can read a curse or anything else into that, can you?”

“Let’s hope not,” Granddad said. “I’d like a nice quiet Christmas, personally, with no complications.”

* * *

B
UNTY HAD JUST
climbed down, waving a sprig of mistletoe triumphantly, when a motorcar drew up.

“Oh, Lord,” Bunty said as several policemen got out. “I thought we’d seen the last of them.”