Evans to Betsy

“So what exactly are you suggesting?”

“I want you to marry me. You know that.”

“No,” she said shakily. “I never really knew that before. You never asked me.”

“I’m asking you now.” He took her hands tenderly into his and was about to drop to one knee.

“Bedpan, nurse,” came a petulant voice from the far end of the ward.

Bronwen looked at Evan and laughed. “Hardly the most romantic proposal I’ve had in my life.”

“Let us both get better and then I’ll do it properly, all right?”

“I don’t need it done properly. I’ve wanted to marry you since the first moment I set eyes on you,” she said. “Which is more than you can say for me, I think.”

“Miss Price, haven’t you gone yet?” The ward sister appeared at the door. “The ambulance is waiting to take you home.”

“Miss Price is coming with me,” Evan said firmly. He put his arm around Bronwen and led her out of the door.

“You don’t have your motorbike, do you? I don’t think I’m up to riding pillion yet.”

“No, just the old bone-shaker, but I think it will get us back up the hill.”

“Talking of hills,” Bronwen said as he opened the car door and helped her in. “They found out what was wrong with me at last. It was Giardia—you know, a microbe you can pick up through drinking in mountain streams. I must have picked it up on that hike I did the weekend you were working.”

“That will serve you right for going hiking without me.” He grinned, then grew serious again. “Thank heavens they found that out. I was so worried.” He climbed in beside her. “I thought all kinds of things, ranging from terminal illnesses to Betsy poisoning you.”

“Betsy poisoning me?” She looked amused. “Well, I suppose she is resourceful.”

“You have no idea how resourceful,” Evan said and told her of the last few days.

“She sounds like an ideal policeman’s wife,” Bronwen said. “Maybe you’d better marry her instead.”

“Oh, no.” He smiled at her. “I couldn’t risk having a psychic wife. She’d be able to spy on me when I was out interviewing beautiful women and—ow, don’t hit me, I’m wounded!”

Bronwen laughed as Evan swung the car up the mountain pass that led home.

The next week a large banner appeared outside the Red Dragon. “Grand Celebration of Kitchen Reopening. Welcome Back Betsy Party. Free beer to all locals on Friday Night.”

“Harry must be very glad to get her back,” Roberts-the-Pump commented to Evan, “to make that old skinflint give away more than one pint of beer.”

“Perhaps it’s South Wales beer,” Evans-the-Meat commented, “and he can’t find a way to get rid of it!”

Evan was about to continue up the street on his evening beat when he heard his name and Mrs. Powell-Jones came running toward him. “Good news, Constable Evans,” she called. “That heathen establishment has been closed down. I read it in the paper. We have taken on the devil and we have won.” She beamed at him. “Now do you believe in the power of the righteous?”

She strode up the middle of the street, back toward Capel Beulah, singing, “Fight the good fight with all thy might.” at the top of her voice. Suddenly there was a loud pop-popping noise and a motorbike came speeding down the hill at great speed, with Evans-the-Post hanging on for dear life.

“Out of the way!” he yelled.

Mrs. Powell-Jones gave a high-pitched scream that echoed from the hilltops as she flung herself to one side and the bike passed her by inches.

Glossary of Welsh Words

Cannwyll Corff—candle of death, pronounced canwheel corf.

Cwm Rhondda—the Rhondda Valley, place and title of hymn tune. Pronounced Coom Rontha.

Derin Corff—bird of death, pronounced as written.

Diolch yn fawr— thank you very much. Pronounced dee-olch en vower.

Escob annwyl— literally, “dear bishop.” Good heavens! Pronounced escobe ann-wheel.

Iyched da— good health, cheers, pronounced yachy dah.

Llanfair—name of Welsh town, pronounced Chlan-veyer.

Maredudd ap Owain—pronounced like the modern spelling of the name, Meredith Bowen.

Nain—grandmother, pronounced nine.

Or gore—all right. Pronounced or goray.

Plisman— Welsh spelling of policeman.

Ysgol gyfun—Welsh secondary school. Pronounced u-skol guffin.

Note: There are many towns in Wales called Llanfair, including the town with the longest name in Britain. My Llanfair is fictitious. I chose the name because it is so generic.

  This book is dedicated to my many friends in the mystery community, with special thanks, for their support and encouragement, to certain ladies known to drink a lot of tea, tell dubious jokes, wear purple thingies, and give great hugs.

And with thanks, as always, to John, Clare, and Jane—my wonderful family critique group.