Mistletoe and Murder Page 8

  “I’d like to teach you a carol I learnt from a wounded German soldier …” A gasp from more than one throat interrupted him, but he continued steadily “ … who was in the bed next to mine in hospital at Christmas in ’18. He translated it for me. It’s very simple. If I sing it through once, I hope you’ll join me the second time.

  “Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree,

  How evergreen your branches!

  You thrive amidst the winter’s snow

  And bloom with lights when cold winds blow …”

  The repeat started uncertainly, then grew in strength, but the sound remained thin. Daisy was sure a number of people were not even attempting to sing. Her mother’s penetrating soprano was missing, for one. She herself sang, thinking of Gervaise, thinking of her dead fiancé, Michael, a pacifist blown up by a mine with his Friends Ambulance Unit. His vision of peace was worth preserving. The Boches—the Germans were human beings after all. Daisy finished with tears in her eyes.

  But all the while she was conscious of the ominous silence behind her. It seemed to focus right between her shoulderblades, though she was sure it was aimed at this impious paean to a pagan symbol.

  Matters were not improved by the next carol, “Deck the Halls,” or after that the “Gloucestershire Wassail,” a paean to good ale. Daisy began to wonder if the choices were a deliberate effort to affront Calloway. If so, they were succeeding. Who had decided what they were to sing? Godfrey Norville was consulting a list as he announced the songs. Had he written it himself? Was it Felicity or Miles’s notion of a lark?

  Miles had been deadly serious, though, when he sang the German carol. On the other hand, that was the one Daisy felt had most upset the clergyman, and not because he hated the Germans.

  “Once in Royal David’s City” and “While Shepherds Watched” improved the atmosphere in Calloway’s vicinity. Then Godfrey Norville announced the final carol, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” which could only be described as a paean to figgy pudding.

  Belinda and Derek threw their hearts into this one:

  “We won’t go until we’ve got some,

  We won’t go until we’ve got some,

  We won’t go until we’ve got some,

  So bring some out here.”

  As the final chord died away, Derek leaned across Daisy and said, “Bel, do you actually like figgy pudding?”

  “Ugh,” said Belinda, “but it’s a jolly good song!”

  They filed back up the narrow, curving steps into the Old Dining Room. At once the Dowager Viscountess began to complain about the German carol.

  “The Germans were our allies a hundred years ago,” Alec pointed out philosophically, “and the French our bitter enemies. I dare say they’ll change places again some day. We can’t hold the whole German race to blame for Kaiser Bill forever, any more than we still hold the French responsible for Napoleon.”

  Lady Dalrymple responded that she for one would never trust the French. Daisy listened with half an ear, more interested in what was going on behind her.

  “Secular songs!” Calloway exclaimed.

  “Celebrating the season,” pleaded Captain Norville.

  “Celebrating strong drink and heathen nature-worship.”

  “Christian charity and the hope of eternal life. Joy at Christ’s nativity,” the captain urged.

  “Secular songs,” Calloway repeated obdurately, “in a consecrated chapel decorated with greenery. I cannot be expected to hold a sacred service surrounded by symbols of pagan polytheism.”

  “I’ll go and take the holly and the ivy down myself immediately,” promised the captain, but Daisy thought she heard as much resentment in his voice as appeasement.

  The children had run ahead into the Hall. Following, Daisy saw that someone had lit all the candles on the tree and extinguished the lamps. Derek and Belinda stood gazing at it, the yearly miracle forever fresh. Then Bel began to sing.

  “Away in a manger, no crib for a bed …”

  Derek joined in:

  “The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head.

  The stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay,

  The little Lord Jesus, asleep on the hay.”

  “Isn’t it beautiful, Mummy? Like the stars in the bright sky for baby Jesus.”

  “It is beautiful,” said someone softly, and Daisy was astonished to find the Reverend nearby. “A beacon of light in a dark world, like our Lord. I cannot see my way clearly. I must pray. Mr. Norville, is the chapel in the woods locked?”

  “No,” said Godfrey Norville mistrustfully, “it’s kept open.”

  “I shall pray there tonight. I must be alone, away from the conflict I feel in this house.”

  “What, now?”

  “No, later. As the hour of the birth of our Lord approaches, I shall pray for guidance.” He laid his hand on Belinda’s head. “Thank you, my child, for helping me to see the meaning.” He moved away.

  “My word!” marvelled Felicity. “Perhaps he’s human after all. I wonder which way he’s going to jump.”

  “Jump?” Daisy queried, hoping for enlightenment.

  Felicity shook her head, a touch of mockery in her smile. “Sorry, Daisy, my lips are sealed.”

  Daisy decided to be frank. “I wish I knew what’s going on. There are so many undercurrents, it’s quite unsettling. The conflict Mr. Calloway feels, I suppose.”

  “I said he’d ruin Christmas,” Jemima butted in malevolently. “I wish he’d never come. I wish Uncle Vic never found him. I wish he was dead!”

  “Oh, stow it, Jemmie. It’s you who’ll be spoiling Christmas if you don’t look out.”

  “Buck up, Jem.” Miles joined them. “You look like the end of a wet week. Think of presents and turkey and flaming Christmas pud.”

  “I don’t like Christmas pudding.”

  “I’ll let you in on a secret: Cook’s made a trifle in honour of our distinguished guests.”

  “I wish they’d never come, too!” said the impossible girl, and flounced off.

  Her brother and sister sighed in union. “Sorry, Daisy,” said Miles. “She’s rather too much for Mother, I’m afraid.”

  “Her manners are simply dire,” Felicity agreed. “I wonder if Uncle Vic or Grandfather could stump up for a couple of years of school for her.”

  “A good idea. It’s worth putting out a few feelers.” Miles paused. “But not until this business is over. There’s no knowing what may come of it. Ah, the candles are sputtering. Light a couple of lamps, Flick, while I snuff them before the tree goes up in flames.”

  Her curiosity burning, with no prospect of satisfaction, Daisy went to send the children to bed.

  “ … And I don’t think I’ve ever been so utterly clueless as to what’s going on.”

  “Daisy, don’t talk to me of clues,” Alec groaned, tearing off his stiff collar. He hated stiff collars, but he would have hated still more to give his mother-in-law any extra ammunition to use against him. “I was hoping for a rest from sleuthing. All that’s happened is that the captain has invited a bigoted zealot to stay and the rest of the family wants—quite reasonably in my opinion—to see the last of him.”

  “He’s simply frightful, isn’t he, darling?” She wrinkled her nose in the adorable way which always made him want to kiss her. “But Captain Norville travelled all the way from India with him, so he knew quite well what he was like. Why invite him? And why try so hard to please him now he’s here?”

  “Common courtesy to a guest. And I expect the captain invited him before he found out what a pill he is.”

  “There’s more to it than that,” Daisy said with conviction. She was halfway out of her frock by now, and Alec didn’t want to talk about the Norvilles, or even think about them. “He’d hardly go off into the woods at midnight on his own to wrestle with his soul about whether to stay a few more days.”

  “Enough, love! If I know Belinda, she’ll be here at dawn to show us the contents of her stocking, ev
en if she doesn’t believe in Father Christmas any more. No doubt bringing Derek with her. Let’s get some sleep!”

  “Sleep?” Daisy queried innocently, but there was a beguiling glint in her usually guileless blue eyes.

  “To bed, woman! I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve folded this damned instrument of torture.” He wrestled with the studs of his starched shirt.

  “Let me help, darling,” said Daisy.

  Somehow the shirt ended up on the floor, where it spent the night.

  Bel and Derek appeared at first light. By the time Daisy chased them out to wash and dress, they had consumed two tuppenny bars of Fry’s chocolate, two sherbet dabs, and the tangerines from the toes of their stockings, and had read their own and each other’s comic papers.

  “I’m sticky,” said Daisy.

  “I’m exhausted,” said Alec, “but I suppose we’d better get up. It’ll take a policeman to stop those two opening all the rest of the presents before breakfast.”

  “Breakfast before presents and presents before church. I suppose Calloway will insist on giving a sermon even on Christmas morning. I hope it’s short and not too full of hellfire.”

  After breakfast everyone gathered in the library. Daisy, having had no idea who lived at Brockdene, had provided a large box of chocolates which was well received. Trust her to get it right, Alec thought.

  He was worried about the present he had bought Daisy for their first Christmas. She had admired some petrified wood they had seen somewhere in the western United States, and he had secretly bought “wood opal” earrings and a long string of beads. Knee-length beads were fashionable, but would she rather have had real pearls, even though he could afford only a short string and not of the best?

  He need not have worried. She was thrilled, and when he muttered something about pearls, she said dismissively, “Oh, everyone has pearls. I bet no one else in England has anything like this.”

  Belinda and Derek were equally pleased with their presents from America, but the big hit was something Daisy had picked up for a few pennies. When she explained that the dried maize kernels would turn into “popcorn” when toasted, they had to try it at once. Derek ran off to the kitchens for a frying pan.

  Everyone gathered around the library fireplace to watch. When the kernels started to pop, Nana howled and hid behind a chair. Some of the white puffs flew out and flared up in the fire. They were bigger than Daisy had expected and soon overflowed the frying pan, eliciting a great deal of hilarity.

  Everyone tasted, including Nana, even Lady Dalrymple, but when Belinda and Derek went on crunching, she said, “Daisy, stop them. They’ll ruin their meal.”

  “No, no,” said Mr. Tremayne, “they’re nothing but air, my lady. And there’s the service in the Chapel for the kiddies to sit through before we get to Christmas dinner.”

  A pall fell over the company. Alec had been aware that Calloway had not joined them at breakfast nor afterwards, but more as a lifting of spirits than a conscious noting of his absence. He was off duty. He didn’t care where anyone happened to be at any particular time.

  “The Rev must be sleeping in after wrestling with his demons in the wood all night,” Miles said lightly.

  “Don’t speak so disrespectfully of Mr. Calloway,” the captain snapped.

  “Especially on Christmas Day.” For once Godfrey supported his brother, though his zeal seemed to Alec less a change of heart than a rather forced and unconvincing tribute to the season of goodwill to all men. “We’d better get along to the Chapel. It’s nearly eleven. He’ll be upset if we’re late.”

  The ancient clock began to chime the hour as Alec followed Daisy down the steps into the Chapel. A few servants sat at the back, though not nearly as many as had come to the carol singing. By daylight the Chapel had lost some of its charm, but several beautiful old paintings were visible and sun slanting through stained glass cast patches of colour on the white walls. There was no sign of Calloway. No doubt he was hanging behind to make a grand entrance.

  The congregation settled down into an expectant hush. Still no Calloway. The children began to fidget. Daisy put her arm around Belinda, and Lady Dalrymple confiscated the rubber band Derek had taken from his pocket.

  Still no Calloway. Captain Norville got up and went out. A couple of minutes later he returned, without Calloway. He went to speak to the housekeeper at the back.

  In the quiet, their whispered exchange was audible.

  “Who took the Reverend his morning tea?” asked the captain.

  “No one, sir,” the woman said unabashed. “Mr. Calloway is not a guest of his lordship.”

  Captain Norville let out a gusty, exasperated sigh. Miles jumped up and joined him. “I’ll go and see if he’s still asleep, sir,” he offered.

  “Thank you, my boy.” The captain raised his voice. “In the meantime, while Miles fetches Mr. Calloway, I suggest that anyone who wishes should go out to the Hall and make themselves comfortable.”

  Daisy immediately shepherded the children out. Alec paused to let Lady Dalrymple go ahead, but she stayed behind for a moment of private prayer. When she caught up with them, she made straight for his side and started to complain about the ill-breeding of modern churchmen in general and the Reverend Calloway in particular.

  Alec supposed it was better to be the recipient of her complaints than their subject.

  He did not have to suffer long before Miles came into the Hall from the East Wing. “Mr. Calloway’s bed hasn’t been slept in,” he announced.

  “He’s hooked it,” Felicity said at once.

  “Don’t be vulgar, dear,” said her mother automatically, but she looked relieved.

  The captain stared at Miles, seemingly silenced by shock, while Jemima muttered, “Good riddance!” and old Mrs. Norville murmured, “Oh dear!”

  “Piffle!” cried Godfrey Norville, much perturbed. “Why should he leave so unceremoniously? As Victor’s guest, he was welcome at Brockdene. We did our poor best to make him welcome, didn’t we?”

  “Don’t worry, Father, he hasn’t gone off,” said Miles. “At any rate, as far as I can tell only his outdoor clothes are missing. Perhaps he decided to walk into Calstock to go to the service there instead of preaching to the heathen.”

  “Miles!” His mother was scandalized.

  “Sorry, Mother.”

  “Maybe he fell asleep in the chapel,” Daisy proposed soothingly. “The one by the river.”

  “Dashed uncomfortable.” Miles shook his head. “No, more likely he fell on his way through the woods. The gale brought quite a few branches down, and it was dark, remember. He might have tripped and sprained his ankle.”

  “I hope he broke his leg,” said Jemima viciously, “or his neck.”

  “Jemima!” Poor Dora grew more and more flustered.

  “In any case,” Alec said calmly, “we’d better go and look for him. Miles, Captain, Mr. Norville, you’ll come with me? I’m not certain of the way.”

  “I’m coming too,” Derek whooped. “Come on, Bel. We’ll take Nana. She’ll be a ripping bloodhound.”

  Daisy instantly quashed that plan. “You’re staying right here, both of you.” She exchanged a look with Alec.

  He seconded her. If they found Calloway injured, or if he’d managed to fall into the Tamar and drown himself, they wouldn’t want the children underfoot.

  When Alec came downstairs, having changed his shoes and put on his overcoat, Miles, Captain Norville, and Mr. Tremayne awaited him.

  “Father’s soothing my mother,” Miles said uncomfortably. “I’m afraid her undutiful children are a trial to her.”

  They walked down the terraces, through the tunnel under the lane, and into the valley garden. Here they spread out to cover the several winding paths, looking about them as they went. The paths, steep and slippery in places, must have been difficult to negotiate safely in darkness, but no one saw any sign of the missing clergyman.

  The previous afternoon, Alec and Daisy had not go
ne all the way to the bottom of the garden. Now, when they reached the woods, Alec saw that Miles was right about the damage done by the gale. The broad woodland path was scattered with twigs and a few quite large branches.

  “If one of those fell on the poor chap,” said Tremayne, “he wouldn’t have had a chance.”

  “No,” Miles agreed, “or he could easily have tripped over one in the dark, though I suppose he brought a lantern.”

  “Let’s assume he didn’t veer from the track,” Alec proposed, “unless we find he isn’t in the chapel. We’ll stick to the track.”

  “Even with no more than a ricked ankle,” said the captain, subdued, “which I hope is the worst of it, he might have gone to the chapel for shelter rather than try to make it back to the house.”

  “Watch out for footprints though,” Alec said. “If he strayed, we might be lucky enough to spot it.”

  But the dying gale had dried the ground, leaving no muddy patches to show footprints. Last autumn’s fallen leaves, spread in drifts across the path, crunched underfoot. Perhaps they left a trail an expert Red Indian tracker could have followed, but to Alec’s eye no obvious trace showed where they had trodden.

  The chapel came into view.

  “Hello, the door’s open,” said Miles. He strode ahead, pushed the half-open door, and went in.

  As the others approached, he suddenly came out, his face dead white. He took two steps and stopped, swaying, his eyes shut, his one hand clenched.

  Alec reached him first. “Steady, old man. Lean on me.”

  “I’m … all right. I’ve seen much worse. It … it’s just that it brings it all back.”

  “What?” the captain demanded. “What did you see?”

  “Calloway. He’s there all right. Dead. With a knife in his back.”

  8

  “No!” Captain Norville rushed towards the open chapel door. When Tremayne caught his arm, the force of his charge swung him round, fists bunching. “Let go of me!”