Ten Lords A-Leaping: A Mystery (Father Christmas)

To view a full-size version of this image, click
HERE
.

6 A
UGUST

Dear Mum
,

Short note this morning as it’s the big day! Mr. Christmas has to be up and out to Plymouth airfield early so he and the others from the village can learn how to properly jump from an airplane without doing themselves an injury. He has looked a bit green about the gills the last few days, I must say. I was fetching a loaf at Pattimore’s yesterday morning before I dropped your letter at the post office and I thought Roger looked a bit off, too, and I said so. He came over all huffy claiming it’s the weight he’s lost so he can fit into one of those
leotards
jumpsuits they have to wear. Ha! I thought, but didn’t say anything. I don’t think his mother
is best pleased her son is going to throw his 16 stone into thin air with only a scrap of silk to
boy bouy
buoy him up. Enid was very quiet, and I could sense she was working herself up to one of her little “turns.” I said to Karla when I got to the wicket at the post office, £10 and a quarter of choc limes if Roger doesn’t pull out at the last minute. But Karla wouldn’t take the bet. As you know, she’s set herself against the Leaping Lords fund-raiser for the new church roof, thinks it’s not proper, although I’m not sure now whether she means it’s not proper for St. Nicholas’s or the church council or Mr. C. or the peerage—or her! Perhaps she means everyone. Anyway, I’ve come around to Mr. C.’s point of view, as it should raise a very good sum quickly and let work start sooner than later on the roof, before water starts to drip on someone’s poor head at Sunday service. I haven’t told Karla I’ve shifted my views, though, as she is apt to get her back up. I don’t blame her at any rate for not wanting to jump from an airplane. Neither do I, as I’ve said, and told Mr. C. before he even asked! He has been very good at chivvying folk in the village to join in, though, getting everyone on the PCC (except Karla!) to sign up and get pledges and getting dozens more in the village, too, although some of the attraction I think is the treat of a day at Eggescombe Park where there’s to be a summer fair, too, and the chance to meet the peerage—once they’ve landed safely on the ground, of course. Ten lords have signed up at last count, Mum, a good job on the part of Lord Kirkbride. I am looking forwards to the day! I’ve never been to Eggescombe Hall, though it is not far.
Have you? I can’t remember if you’ve ever said. Of course, I’ve seen pictures, and they did film one of Agatha Christie’s books there not long ago, The Seven Dials Mystery, I think. Eggescombe Hall stood in for “Chimneys.” Anyway, I’m driving Miranda to Eggescombe in Mr. Christmas’s car later this morning after he and the others take the coach they’ve hired to the airfield. And then he and Miranda will take the car later this afternoon or evening and start their journey to Kent for their holiday. They’re stopping overnight in Exeter with Miranda’s Aunt Julia—did I mention before? I wonder if we shall ever see her at the vicarage again? But I expect not—after everything that happened last year when poor Sybella Parry was found dead in that big Japanese drum. Anyway, I mustn’t dwell on past afflictions. The Met Office says the “barbecue summer” is to continue through the weekend (with chance of late-evening showers in the southwest). The Met is often wrong, of course, but I have my fingers crossed, as I expect all who shall be parachuting do, as leaping into dark clouds might be rather alarming. The sun’s shining right now on the lovely blooms I have in your old
golddish
goldfish bowl on the window ledge. Of course, it will be grand to have some time away from Thornford R myself and it was so thoughtful of Ellen to invite me to stay a few days with her and her husband at Eggescombe. I’m staying with them at the Gatehouse rather than at the Hall, it turns out. Which is just as well, as I would feel odd bumping into Lord or Lady Fairhaven coming out the
loo or the like. It was good of Lord Fairhaven to let their housekeeper have an old friend (me!) to stay, though it may be a bit of a busman’s, Mum, as Ellen told me on the phone yesterday their best daily can’t help at the weekend as she has had a family tragedy. I won’t mind, I don’t think. It will be like being “in service” as great-Grannie was up at the Big House in Thornford before the Great War—only with a dishwasher and a microwave and the other mod cons, of course. It will be good to see Ellen again, too. Hard to imagine it’s thirty years—more!—since we were at cookery school together in London. I was never quite sure why we stopped writing, so I’m looking forward to a catch-up! Well, must go, Mum. I’ll have to see that Miranda is properly packed for the trip and try to get a decent breakfast into Mr. C. He might be a bit squiffy this morning. I popped into the pub last night where all our “skydivers” were gathered having a bit of a knees up and there was much fortifying with Dutch courage, I must say! There’s going to be a few thick heads on the coach this morning. I shouldn’t care to jump from an airplane with a dicky tummy, but there’s always a price to be paid, isn’t there! Cats are well as is Bumble, who will be minded while I’m away by one of the Swan children from the pub, though they haven’t sorted themselves out as to whom
who.
Love to Aunt Gwen. Glorious day!

Much love
,

Madrun

P.S. I can’t believe that mobility scooter I ordered for you last month hasn’t arrived yet! Aunt Gwen was telling me on the phone yesterday. I’ll have to leave it be for the days I’m at Eggescombe, but when I return I shall let ScootersPlus have a piece of my mind!