Read Mistletoe and Murder Online
Authors: Carola Dunn
Mistletoe and Murder (7 page)
“D'you think Lord Westmoor would want it, Bel? Maybe he'd let me keep it.”
“He might; but if it's historical, Mr. Norville will want it. He'd prob'ly get to keep it.”
“But I found it!”
“Nana found itâand she's got something else. Quick, get it away from her!”
How ragged and dirty the dirty rag had been before the puppy got hold of it and Derek wrested it from her would remain a mystery. He swore it was a bloodstained handkerchief. Bel was not so sure, but no doubt that would also remain a mystery.
“At least no one else will want it,” she said.
“I'm going to keep it forever,” Derek vowed. “Let's see if we missed anything else.”
In examining every inch of the cave-room, they discovered a door in the woodwork. “See if it opens,” said Belinda. “I don't want to go back through that horrid tunnel if I don't have to.”
“It might be difficult,” Derek admitted, his voice suddenly shaky. “I think my battery's dying.”
He laid the torch on the floor. By its now wavery light, they shoved frantically on the door.
At last it opened an inch or two, just enough to let in a streak of greenish light. There it stuck.
“It's going to get dark outside soon, too.” Belinda felt her eyes fill with tears. She didn't want to be buried alive, not now, when she had a puppy and a brand-new mummy. And poor Daddy would be most awfully sad!
B
linking away her tears, Belinda put her eye to the crack. Outside was a green gloom, a curtain of ivy. She heard birds singing and water running and muffled voices.
linking away her tears, Belinda put her eye to the crack. Outside was a green gloom, a curtain of ivy. She heard birds singing and water running and muffled voices.
“Someone's there. Let's shout for help.”
“No! That'd be a pretty wet end to a real adventure. Come on, push harder.”
“They might go away,” said Belinda, but she pushed with all her strength.
The door creaked open a few more inches. Nana pricked up her ears, slipped through the gap, and dashed off.
“Nana! Oh no, I'll never find her,” Belinda cried.
“I bet we can get out that way. Take your coat off.”
It was a squeeze, but they made it. Behind the ivy was a tree trunk, and they had to squeeze past that, too. They came out into the valley garden, face to face with Daisy, Alec, and the captain.
Captain Norville took his pipe from his mouth and roared with laughter.
“Where did you two spring from?” Alec enquired around his pipe, grinning.
“You're filthy!” said Daisy. “What have you been up to?”
The story poured out.
The captain laughed again. “An enterprising pair. I knew about the room under the Prospect Tower. God and I ⦔ He cast a quick uneasy glance over his shoulder. “Godfrey and I, I should say, used to play at smugglers down there, and prisoners in dungeons, and all manner of games.”
“We asked Mr. Norville if it was all right to go to the tower,” Derek said.
“Good for you! But I didn't know about the tunnel and the room at this end. Without a map we didn't think to close the trap, so we never noticed the latch. Of course we didn't have electric torches, just stubs of candles usually, or an oil lantern. I wonder if Godfrey discovered it later?”
“He wouldn't have left this there, would he?” Derek brandished the knife. “Uncle Alec, don't you think this is a bloodstain?”
“It could be,” Alec agreed, inspecting the blade. “It's hard to tell, though. My guess is the knife's been there a long, long time.”
“I wonder if it's connected with the story the boatman told me,” Daisy said. “I expect you know the tale, Captain. About a hundred years ago there was a smuggler chief called Red Jack who was related to the Norvilles. The family hid him when he was badly injured by the dragoons.”
“I bet that's it,” said Derek excitedly. “I bet they hid him in the secret room, the
really
secret one, and this is the knife he fought the dragoons with.”
really
secret one, and this is the knife he fought the dragoons with.”
“Could be,” said the captain. “The haft is teak, nicely carved. Dolphins and sea serpentsâtypical. It looks like the sort of sheath-knife seamen still carry today, to be used for rope and 'baccy and salt pork and anything else that needs
cutting or whittling. I've heard the story, Mrs. Fletcher, but Godfrey would know more about it, I expect.”
cutting or whittling. I've heard the story, Mrs. Fletcher, but Godfrey would know more about it, I expect.”
“I'll ask him.” Derek slid the blade back into the sheath. “Come on, Bel.”
“Hold on, young man!” Alec commanded. “First you'll go and shut all the secret doors you've left open.”
“Right-oh, Uncle Alec. But I don't think we can shut the one at this end. It was frightfully hard to open.”
“I'll see what I can do,” offered the captain.
“Gosh, thanks, sir. Bel and I can manage the other end, I think.”
“And then,” put in Daisy, “before you even dream of speaking to Mr. Norville, you'll both go and wash your hands and faces and change your clothes. And brush your hair.”
Bel slipped her grubby hand into Daisy's. “Are you angry, Mummy?”
“Not a bit of it, darling. Like the captain, I think it's frightfully enterprising of the two of you. But you still need to wash your face and comb the twigs and cobwebs out of your hair. Oh, and brush Nana before you go in. Off you go.”
It was nearly tea-time when Belinda and Derek came downstairs, clean and tidy, Derek carrying the precious knife. They met Mr. Norville, Miss Norville, and Jemima in the hall on their way to tea. (“Mincepies and Christmas cake,” the maid who took their dirty clothes had promised.)
“Please, sir, look what we found,” said Derek.
They told the story again. Jemima scowled the whole time. Bel was sure she was dying of envy.
“What an adventure,” said Miss Norville. “Miles will be simply wild. He used to drag me around endlessly hunting
for that passage and the treasure, and we never even found the room under the Prospect Tower. You never told us about it, Daddy.”
for that passage and the treasure, and we never even found the room under the Prospect Tower. You never told us about it, Daddy.”
“There was nothing worth seeing in it.” Mr. Norville didn't seem very interested. He pulled the blade from the sheath and said, “Yes, yes, a common seaman's knife. It could be eighteenth century, but far from rare. The carving might be worth a second look, but I haven't time for such things at present. Leave it here on the table. I'll see to it when everything's settled.”
“No one wants that dirty old thing,” Jemima sneered.
As the children followed the Norvilles to the library, Derek glanced back sadly at his slighted treasure lying abandoned on the hall table. He sighed.
“Never mind,” Belinda whispered. “I bet there's another map, in the South Room, and we'll find the
real
treasure.”
real
treasure.”
Â
The Chapel was decorated with holly, ivy, and evergreens. Candles burned in silver and brass candlesticks on the altar and in the gleaming brass candelabra hanging from the barrel-vaulted ceiling. The woodwork gleamed, too: the pews, the small organ console, and the beautifully carved rood-screen. Whatever their faults, Lord Westmoor's servants took good care of his possessions.
Many of them were already in the Chapel, seated at the rear, when the ancient but still working clock chimed the hour and his lordship's guests and poor relations came in.
As Daisy entered down the steps from the Old Dining Room, she recognized Mrs. Pardon and two or three maids she had met. The others, having had no business with the guests, gazed curiously at the strangers and whispered to each other. The whispering ceased abruptly as the Reverend
Calloway appeared. Daisy, seated in the front row between Bel and Derek, saw the clergyman glance around at the decorations and frown. He really was too finicky for words!
Calloway appeared. Daisy, seated in the front row between Bel and Derek, saw the clergyman glance around at the decorations and frown. He really was too finicky for words!
As it was not a formal service, just carol singing, he sat down in the pew behind Daisy. Dora Norville went to the organ, and her husband stood up at the front and announced, “The Wassail Song.”
“Oh good,” Belinda murmured as the organ piped out an introduction. “We sing this at school.”
“Here we come a-wassailing,
Among the leaves so green.”
Among the leaves so green.”
Daisy heard a snort behind her. She had no doubt from whom it emanated. The Rev's voice was notably not raised in song.
“We have got a little purse,
Of stretching leather skin.
We want a little of your money
To line it well within!
Love and joy come to you,
And to you your wassail too ⦔
Of stretching leather skin.
We want a little of your money
To line it well within!
Love and joy come to you,
And to you your wassail too ⦔
“The Wassail Song” was followed by “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” and that by “The First Nowell.” Mr. Calloway bore a strong baritone line in each. Then Miles stood up and moved to the front.
“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.
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 ⦔
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 Bochesâthe 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.
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.”
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?”
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.”
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.”
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