I
'What a relief,' sighed Mrs Oliver. 'To think it's over and nothing has happened!'
It was a moment of relaxation. Rhoda's fete had passed off in the manner of fetes. Violent anxiety about the weather which in the early morning appeared capricious in the extreme. Considerable argument as to whether any stalls should be set up in the open, or whether everything should take place in the long barn and the marquee. Various passionate local disputes regarding tea arrangements, produce stalls, etcetera. Tactful settlement of same by Rhoda. Periodical escapes of Rhoda's delightful but undisciplined dogs which were supposed to be incarcerated in the house, owing to doubts as to their behaviour on this great occasion. Doubts fully justified! Arrival of pleasant but vague starlet in a profusion of pale fur, to open the fete, which she did very charmingly, adding a few moving words about the plight of refugees which puzzled everybody, since the object of the fete was the restoration of the church tower. Enormous success of the bottle stall. The usual difficulties about change. Pandemonium at tea-time when every patron wanted to invade the marquee and partake of it simultaneously.
Finally, blessed arrival of evening. Displays of local dancing in the long barn were still going on. Fireworks and a bonfire were scheduled, but the weary household had now retired to the house, and were partaking of a sketchy cold meal in the dining room, indulging meanwhile in one of those desultory conversations where everyone utters his own thoughts, and pays little attention to those of other people. It was all disjointed and comfortable. The released dogs crunched bones happily under the table.
'We shall take more than we did for the Save the Children last year,' said Rhoda gleefully.
'It seems very extraordinary to me,' said Miss Macalister, the children's Scottish nursery governess, 'that Michael Brent should find the buried treasure three years in succession. I'm wondering if he gets some advance information?'
'Lady Brookbank won the pig,' said Rhoda. 'I don't think she wanted it. She looked terribly embarrassed.'
The party consisted of my Cousin Rhoda, and her husband, Colonel Despard; Miss Macalister; a young woman with red hair, suitably called Ginger; Mrs Oliver; and the vicar, the Rev Caleb Dane Calthrop and his wife. The vicar was a charming elderly scholar whose principal pleasure was finding some apposite comment from the classics. This, though often an embarrassment and a cause of bringing the conversation to a close, was perfectly in order now. The vicar never required acknowledgment of his sonorous Latin; his pleasure in having found an apt quotation was its own reward.
'As Horace says…' he observed, beaming round the table.
The usual pause happened and then:
'I think Mrs Horsefall cheated over the bottle of champagne,' said Ginger thoughtfully. 'Her nephew got it.'
Mrs Dane Calthrop, a disconcerting woman with fine eyes, was studying Mrs Oliver thoughtfully. She asked abruptly:
'What did you expect to happen at this fete?'
'Well, really, a murder or something like that.'
Mrs Dane Calthrop looked interested.
'But why should it?'
'No reason at all. Most unlikely, really. But there was one at the last fete I went to.'
'I see. And it upset you?'
'Very much.'
The vicar changed from Latin to Greek.
After the pause, Miss Macalister cast doubts on the honesty of the raffle for the live duck.
'Very sporting of old Lugg at the King's Arms to send us twelve dozen beer for the bottle stall,' said Despard.
'King's Arms?' I asked sharply.
'Our local, darling,' said Rhoda.
'Isn't there another pub round here? The – Pale Horse, didn't you say,' I asked, turning to Mrs Oliver.
There was no such reaction here as I had half expected. The faces turned toward me were vague and uninterested.
'The Pale Horse isn't a pub,' said Rhoda. 'I mean, not now.'
'It was an old inn,' said Despard. 'Mostly sixteenth-century I'd say. But it's just an ordinary house now. I always think they should have changed the name.'
'Oh, no,' exclaimed Ginger. 'It would have been awfully silly to call it Wayside, or Fairview. I think the Pale Horse is much nicer, and there's a lovely old inn sign. They've got it framed in the hall.'
'Who's they?' I asked.
'It belongs to Thyrza Grey,' said Rhoda. 'I don't know if you saw her today? Tall woman with short grey hair.'
'She's very occult,' said Despard. 'Goes in for spiritualism and trances, and magic. Not quite black masses, but that sort of thing.'
Ginger gave a sudden peal of laughter.
'I'm sorry,' she said apologetically. 'I was just thinking of Miss Grey as Madame de Montespan on a black velvet altar.'
'Ginger!' said Rhoda. 'Not in front of the vicar.'
'Sorry, Mr Dane Calthrop.'
'Not at all,' said the vicar beaming. 'As the ancients put it -' he continued for some time in Greek. After a respectful silence of appreciation, I returned to the attack.
'I still want to know who are 'they'? Miss Grey and who else?'
'Oh, there's a friend who lives with her. Sybil Stamfordis. She acts as medium, I believe. You must have seen her about. Lots of scarabs and beads – and sometimes she puts on a sari. I can't think why – she's never been in India -'
'And then there's Bella,' said Mrs Dane Calthrop. 'She's their cook,' she explained. 'And she's also a witch. She comes from the village of Little Dunning. She had quite a reputation for witchcraft there. It runs in the family. Her mother was a witch, too.'
She spoke in a matter-of-fact way.
'You sound as though you believe in witchcraft, Mrs Dane Calthrop,' I said.
'But of course! There's nothing mysterious or secretive about it. It's all quite matter-of-fact. It's a family asset that you inherit. Children are told not to tease your cat, and people give you a cottage cheese or a pot of homemade jam from time to time.'
I looked at her doubtfully. She appeared to be quite serious.
'Sybil helped us today by telling fortunes,' said Rhoda. 'She was in the green tent. She's quite good at it, I believe.'
'She gave me a lovely fortune,' said Ginger. 'Money in my hand. A handsome dark stranger from overseas, two husbands and six children. Really very generous.'
'I saw the Curtis girl come out giggling,' said Rhoda. 'And she was very coy with her young man afterwards. Told him not to think he was the only pebble on the beach.'
'Poor Tom,' said her husband. 'Did he make any comeback?'
'Oh yes. 'I'm not telling you what she promised me,' he said. 'Mebbe you wouldn't like it too well, my girl!''
'Good for Tom.'
'Old Mrs Parker was quite sour,' said Ginger laughing. ''Tis all foolishness,' that's what she said. 'Don't you believe none of it, you two.' But then Mrs Cripps piped up and said, 'You know, Lizzie, as well as I do, that Miss Stamfordis sees things as others can't see, and Miss Grey knows to a day when there's going to be a death. Never wrong, she is! Fairly gives me the creeps sometimes.' And Mrs Parker said 'Death – that's different. It's a gift.' And Mrs Cripps said: 'Anyway I wouldn't like to offend none of those three, that I wouldn't!''
'It does all sound exciting. I'd love to meet them,' said Mrs Oliver wistfully.
'We'll take you over there tomorrow,' Colonel Despard promised. 'That old inn is really worth seeing. They've
