I laughed. “It’s perfect,” I said. “A lovely souvenir of my visit here.”
“So you’ve got the hordes arriving for the Christmas banquet, have you?” Granddad asked.
“Yes, I believe Lady Hawse-Gorzley invites half the village. Oh, by the way, I just saw Wild Sal. She really exists.”
“Does she?” Noel Coward looked interested. “I’ve been dying to meet her.”
“She’s very strange indeed. Walks around barefoot and just stares with these piercing green eyes.”
“Well, she is supposed to be the descendant of the witch who was burned here,” Mummy said. “Isn’t this place fun? I keep telling Noel he should scrap what we’re doing and set his play in a crazy village like this one.”
“Not much of a comedy at the moment with all these deaths,” I said.
“Let’s hope there isn’t another one,” Granddad said. “Did you hear the ambulance go past about an hour ago? It hasn’t come back yet.”
“Oh, no. I suppose driving conditions are terrible today. It’s so slippery out there.” I glanced at my watch. “I should be getting back, I suppose. I’m expected to help entertain and church will soon be over.”
“Have a sherry before you go back,” Mummy said.
“I shouldn’t, thanks. I rather fear that the wine will flow copiously for the rest of the day, and I’m still recovering from the carol singing the other night. I believe it must have been the old ladies’ elderberry wine.”
They all began to chuckle.
“We have a confession to make about that carol singing,” Noel said at last. “Your mother made the punch and put a generous amount of rum in it. I tasted it and thought it needed something and added a bottle of vodka. The result, I’m afraid, was rather lethal.”
“It was the final blow for me, I’m afraid. I was blotto for the rest of the evening.”
I went around and hugged them, one by one, then stepped out into a stiff cold breeze. The clouds above Lovey Tor were heavy and looked as if they might produce more snow any minute. My grandfather walked with me down the path.
“I’ve been thinking about all these strange deaths,” he said. “That Inspector Newcombe thinks I’m some kind of Scotland Yard miracle worker, but I have to say I’m completely in the dark. Usually when there are a string of murders there is a pattern to them, but there is nothing to tie these together, nor, as far as I can see, any clues to point that they were actual murders.”
“I don’t think Inspector Newcombe is too hot at reviewing evidence,” I said. “I suspect he didn’t dust for fingerprints, make imprints of shoe soles, question witnesses. . . .”
“Hark at you.” Granddad chuckled. “You’re sounding like a proper copper. Young ladies of your station aren’t supposed to know about these sorts of things.”
“I’ve picked up a thing or two along the way,” I said. “Well, as far as we know there were no deaths yesterday, so let’s hope that they’ve stopped.” I turned as I heard a snatch of garbled “Good King Wenceslas” shouted loudly into the air. “Oh, look at Willum. Isn’t he sweet?”
And there was Willum, wearing a paper hat from a cracker, cavorting around the village green, interacting with a snowman.
“You’d better go inside,” I said to Granddad. “You’ll catch cold.”
“My chest is so much better down here,” Granddad said. “Feel as fit as a fiddle, me.”
He looked up as we both heard a distant bell. Not from the church this time, but constant and coming nearer. Then the ambulance came into view, making its way down the winding road. As it came into the village, the village bobby appeared from the police station. The ambulance slowed as it approached and the driver wound down his window.
“Nasty crash over at Gallows Corner,” he called out. “Van skidded off the road and went down that slope into the river.”
“People hurt?” the policeman called back.
“Only one bloke in the van—Skaggs, the butcher from town—and he was killed outright.”
The ambulance went on its way. Granddad and I looked at each other.
“It seems I was wrong about the deaths stopping,” I said.
“A motorcar crash might have nothing to do with the other deaths,” Granddad said. “Only too likely if someone was in a hurry on roads like this.”
For some reason I had to swallow back tears. “He was on his way to deliver geese to us this morning. He’d been told we needed them by nine o’clock, so he was probably driving too fast to get here. Poor man. And what about his family too, on Christmas Day. I’d better go and tell them at the hall what happened.”
Granddad nodded and put a big, comforting hand on my shoulder. “Happy Christmas, ducks. Don’t let it get you down. Whatever’s going on down here, it ain’t nothing got to do with us.”
As I walked back up the drive I was overtaken by the ancient motorcar containing the two remaining Misses Ffrench-Finch and Miss Prendergast.
“Hop in, do,” they twittered as they opened the door for me. “Much too nasty to walk today.”
I climbed up and squeezed in beside them. “Thank you,” I said. “It’s certainly treacherous underfoot.”
“We just heard an ambulance going past,” one of them said.
“I’m afraid there was an accident and a van went off the road,” I said. “Someone was killed.”
“How terrible,” Miss Prendergast said. “Was he a local man?”
“The butcher from town. He was delivering geese to Lady Hawse-Gorzley. I expect he was running late,” I said.
“Such a tragedy. On Christmas Day too,” one of the Misses Ffrench-Finch said (I hadn’t quite worked out which was which). “So much sadness at the moment. That man from the garage falling off the bridge on his way home and our poor sister. We debated long and hard over whether we should join the festivities, but dear Lizzie said that Effie would not have wanted us to sit at home moping. Such a tower of strength, our dear Effie. How we miss her.”
“I’m so sorry for you,” Miss Prendergast said. “If there’s anything I can do to help, you know I’ll always be here.”
“Most kind, my dear. You have been a great comfort to us. It was a blessing the day you moved into this village.”
We pulled up outside the house.
“I just saw the local wild woman.” I looked down the driveway, thinking that I saw a movement among the hedges.
“Wild Sal? Yes, one does see her from time to time,” one of the Misses Ffrench-Finch said. “In fact, Cook tells me that she came to the back door on the night our dear sister died. Knocked on the door quite late and asked for food. Cook said it was snowing and she felt so badly that she brought her into the kitchen and fed her.”
The chauffeur opened the door. I alighted first and helped the old ladies out of the motor. But the cogs were whirring inside my head. So another person had been in the house that night after the front door was locked. And not only another person but one who was a descendant of the witch, and who had just given me a strange warning.
Chapter 21
CHRISTMAS DAY IN TIME FOR THE BANQUET
Any worries were put aside as we joined in the festivities. I delivered apologies from my mother and Mr. Coward to Lady Hawse-Gorzley. There were hot sausage rolls and sherry before the meal, then a gong summoned us through to the dining room, which looked absolutely magnificent, the table decorated with holly, Christmas crackers beside every place. To my intense relief I was not seated between any leg fondlers this time, but with Monty on one side of me and Mr. Barclay on the other. The vicar said grace and the feast began.
The first order of business was the pulling of crackers. This happened with a lot of popping and exclamations as contents went flying across the table, but everyone ended up with a paper hat, some kind of toy or game or musical instrument and a riddle. We put on the hats, which looked very silly indeed on most of us, then tried the riddles on each other as the first course was brought in: it was smoked salmon decorated with watercress and thin brown bread. Next followed a spicy parsnip soup and then the turkeys, three of them, resplendent and brown on platters, were carried in and expertly carved by the butler at a side table. They were accompanied by chestnut
