that Paris and Poppa were home but wearing their earphones?
The glow flickered and died as I entered the kitchen. Was it blatantly obvious I had been crying? I could say my cold was back. Hand on the doorknob, I heard that sound which so often exasperated but was now Beethoven to my ears. Freddy’s voice.
Magdalene murmured something indistinct and then Ben spoke. “Don’t get rattled, Mum. Death is not likely to occur before Dr. Melrose gets here.”
“He’s not the one with a fancy for bumping off elderly women, is he, son? I overheard talk about him on the coach.”
My hand fell off the knob. Ben’s finger must have taken a terrible turn for the worse while I was upstairs wallowing in self-pity. Would he ever forgive me? Did I deserve to be forgiven?
Freddy was slung hammock-style between two chairs. He cocked an acknowledging eyebrow on seeing me and then closed his eyes. Magdalene was hovering over him, mopping at a reddish-brown spot on his shirt-he’d been learning to carve roast beef for almost a fortnight now. And Ben was pouring tea, which seemed all wrong in his disintegrating condition.
“Hello, old sock.” Freddy sounded like he was suffering from a bad case of wrist fatigue.
“Don’t get up for me, Freddy,” I said crisply. Magdalene’s intake of breath filled the room. Ben turned, and Freddy went right on smiling wanly up at me.
“Come to bid me adieu, have you, Ellie?”
“Better not to talk.” Magdalene stopped sponging at the stain. She was hoodwinked, all right. “You need to rest, Frederick.”
“You mean…” I began.
“I mean I am about to die,” replied Freddy serenely. His eyes closed, his hands dragged on the floor.
Good evening, Mrs. Hanover. Is this a bad line or are your customers having a bit of a singsong around the bar? That’s better. You say you had something of a turnup this evening at The Dark Horse? Freddy Flatts… Gracious me! That disreputable young man who caused such a stir at the Haskell nuptials. One worries about that poor young woman… Absolutely! One only has to look at her-so dreadfully changed in a few months… Oh, quite! Out of the frying pan into the fire when she married that handsome fortune hunter… Has his hair cut a lot, does he? Well, that shouldn’t surprise anyone… I do hope Mrs. Haskell wasn’t the one who attacked her cousin. One couldn’t wonder but… Well, that is good news! Now we mustn’t keep chatting; we’re both busy people. Just wanted to let you know you will be working with Mrs. Millicent Parsnip on the night of the 1st of May, at that Retirement Party we talked about… There won’t be too much for you to do, which is good-this being your first assignment… Yes, The Founder is taking a hand in this one. No, no, it isn’t the irrepressible Mr. Daffy, but don’t worry, he’s about to be finally put to rest. Be assured that the next reports of his demise will not be exaggerated! Now, are you ready for your instructions?
A moment, if you please, to wipe one’s eyes. Words cannot express how moved and honoured one is to be part of so momentous an event.
Very good. The Subject To Be Retired on Friday the 1st May is…
17
… “Shot or stabbed?” Hyacinth and Primrose spoke in one voice with intense professional interest.
“Neither. Pinked by a dart thrown by Sid Fowler, who had been so shaken by the mishap that he’d fainted and been in no condition to leave The Dark Horse and bring Freddy home.”
“Most unmanly!” Primrose sounded deeply shocked. “How did cousin Frederick reach Merlin’s Court?”
“Astride his motorbike. I do not believe he seriously considered dying until he saw the effect his wound had upon Magdalene, whereupon his devious mind flew to the possibilities of the effect on Jill. Someone would break the news to her and she would come rushing to his side. Only, needless to say, she didn’t. And by the time her get-well card and recommendation of a honey poultice reached Freddy, he had relapsed into full health. Dr. Melrose’s main concern was that Freddy was up-to-date on his tetanus; after which he prescribed an antiseptic cream, then a stiff drink for all of us.”
Primrose laid her hand on mine. “What did the doctor say about Ben’s finger?”
“Nothing, because he didn’t know about it. I didn’t speak up because I told myself I wasn’t going to be labelled a meddlesome wife and Ben had a mouth of his own. If he was rendered speechless by fear of having the finger lanced and getting jabbed elsewhere with a needle, his mother could whisper in Dr. Melrose’s ear. Magdalene informed me later, at a moment already bleak, that she wouldn’t have dreamed of interfering. A husband and wife have their own lives to lead. Famous last words…”
When I awoke the next morning, Tuesday, Ben had already left for Abigail’s. He had left something behind: a note cut lopsidedly in the shape of a heart. Fingers trembling, I opened it.
Magdalene was mixing up a fruitcake as I entered the kitchen. The table was lined with pans, but it still reminded me of the headmistress’s desk as I presented myself in front of it.
“I’m truly sorry, Magdalene, that I am so late down.” The hall clock struck eleven in slow, heavy emphasis. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. No special reason, you understand. First, I couldn’t nod off and then I kept nodding awake. I do feel dreadful, neglecting you like this.”
Raisins showered into the mixing bowl, and Magdalene plunged a wooden spoon, which was too tall for her, round and round.
“Don’t worry about me, Giselle, I am quite capable of taking care of myself and Ben. He went off to work with a proper breakfast inside him. Gammon and tomatoes, just the way he likes them. He told me you don’t cut the crusts off the fried bread, but we all have our different ways.” She was scraping batter into a tin.
Would it make her like me better if I asked to lick the bowl? What were a few extra calories in so good a cause? Obviously she didn’t hear me or see my outstretched hands because the mixing bowl went bobbing in the sink.
“If you like to have a lie-in every morning, Giselle, you won’t get a word of criticism out of me.” She pushed at the sleeves of her grey cardigan. “I’ve always had to get up early, so as to get to Mass before the shop opened.”
This was getting worse. I needed a calculator to tabulate my sins. Why hadn’t I thought to ask Magdalene whether she wanted to go to daily Mass? A splotch of batter stared up at me from the table; I stretched out a finger, then snatched it back. “Would you like to come down to the village when your cake comes out of the oven? The Catholic church is just off Market Street; you could pick up a timetable and have a kneel there while I take care of some things at Abigail’s, then I could fetch you over to see Ben and-”
“Have a kneel! I don’t think so, thank you, Giselle. In fact”-her lips quivered-“I can’t hope to get to church for awhile… We can miss without fear of mortal sin in… times of illness, flood, blizzard, and other… sincere reasons, such as…”
I caught some words that sounded like “fear for life and limb.” I should have asked her what she meant. So many things might have been different if I had, but my mind was on my reconciliation with Ben.
