The Twelve Clues of Christmas

“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.”