Twelve Drummers Drumming (38 page)

Thornford Regis TC9 6QX

1 J
UNE

Dear Mum
,

Mr. Christmas went up to hospital to visit Phillip yesterday and I can hardly bring myself to tell you what Phillip told him. It put Mr. Christmas in a right flap, and me too! Phillip told Mr. C. he had taken Mr. Kinsey’s life! Phillip, that is. Do you remember last spring when I was with you when you had your hip replaced and I couldn’t get back for Karla’s dad’s funeral? Well, the evening before the funeral, Phillip met with Mr. Kinsey in the vestry and they had a set-to of sorts over those paintings that used to hang in the Lady chapel that I wrote about in yesterday’s letter. It seems the paintings are worth quite a bit of money and Mr. Kinsey went and sold them and pocketed the money himself. I knew he was a devil. Anyone who doesn’t like my braised oxtail is up to no good, in my book. All that smarm, too. Worked with some women, but not with me. Anyway, I said to Mr. Christmas that I could not believe Phillip would do such a terrible thing. He can be gruff—Phillip that
is—but I didn’t think he would raise a hand like that, although I thought afterwards that maybe he did some awful things when he was in the War, but then that was war, wasn’t it? Dad might have done some awful things, too, when he was in Malta and
Ceylon
Sri Lanka during the War, but then he never talked about it, did he. Well, maybe he talked about the War with you, but he never did with me or Jago. Anyway, I was quite shaken, and I could tell Mr. Christmas was, too. He usually keeps his thoughts to himself but he was quite talkative yesterday. I think he wanted to know what I thought. And I said I didn’t think it was possible. I said I didn’t even think Phillip would be out with Bumble, as it was about suppertime, and you know how Phillip likes his routine and always has his meal promptly at 7. But Mr. Christmas said both Dr. Hennis and Charlie Pike saw him—and without Bumble, too. But now, thinking about what men got up to in the War, I’m not sure about Phillip. I asked Mr. Christmas if he was going to say anything to those two CID who have taken over the Old School Room for an “incident room,” and he gave me this look that told me his mind was much troubled. Anyway, he did say that what he told me was in the strictest confidence, and then he dashed off, but happened I needed a loaf from Pattimore’s, so I stopped in at the post office first and told Karla what Mr. Christmas told me. Karla’s very good, as you know, being a churchwarden and all—she’s very
discreet discrete
discreet and wouldn’t tell a
sole
soul. I thought no one was in the post office but lo and behold there was Roger’s mother off in the corner looking at the knitting magazines which she dropped as soon as she heard me talking about Phillip. I told her it was all in the strictest confidence and she wasn’t even to tell Roger, and she said okay, though she was quite insistent for some reason that Phillip couldn’t have been out and about at the supper hour—something to do with the middle of Coronation Street, but as it’s a programme I don’t watch, I wasn’t sure what she was on about and anyway Enid’s apt to be a little confused
these days. “I feel rather like Jane Marple,” she told me proudly. Jane Marple with a touch of dementia, I thought. Anyway, I was in Pattimore’s a little later and who should I see through the window but Mr. Christmas and Sebastian John going up Orchard Hill together! Mr. Christmas was gone a
very
long time. The veal I had made had turned to parchment and I was quite cross, but Mr. Christmas looked very troubled and barely said a word, though he did try to make an effort with little Miranda who was still bubbling on about some film she’d seen in Torquay the day before. And then he was in his study with the door closed, though he does tend to retreat Saturday evenings, rehearsing his sermon and such. But he left us with some low spirits, so I had the bright idea of a board game before bedtime for Miranda, only it took me a minute to dig through Mr. James-Douglas’s old games from his childhood that were crammed at the back of the cupboard under the stairs. Of course the die and the tokens had gone missing from Snakes + Ladders. The cats had likely made off with them ages past. At any rate, I found a die in the games table and I used my sewing thimble for a token and Miranda pulled out her funny little “clue,” which she now tells me she found in the v. hall, from her jeans pocket, which worked well enough. I wasn’t sure if children play board games anymore. Jago’s two never seemed interested. Anyway, Miranda took to Snakes + Ladders right off, though I think she thought it a bit babyish in the end. She won, of course. She’s such a bright little girl. I think next time we’ll have to try something more challenging. I noted Cluedo in the cupboard, but you need at least three to play properly, and “Reverend Green in the study with the lead piping” probably wouldn’t do after what’s gone on in the village this past week! I asked Miranda if her “clue” had led her to any “solution” in whatever “investigation” she and her detective Barbie were doing, but she said she needed more “evidence.” I wonder and worry at times how her mother’s death has affected her, but I don’t know enough about the 9-year-old
mind, really, at least one like Miranda’s. She’s much more thoughtful than that Swan lot who are always racing about everywhere. And she rarely mentions her mother, at least in my hearing. Maybe it’s still too hard to bear, though I know she misses that French au pair they had in Bristol. She often looks a little vexed that her father and I respond poorly (me, not at all) to her French speaking, though I thought I overheard Sebastian speaking passable French with her the other day in the garden. At any rate, I ended up getting Miranda off to bed at a decent hour. School starts again tomorrow and it will be back to the old routine. I can’t remember Mr. Christmas not tucking Miranda in before, if he was at home and not at some meeting, so me doing it was a turnip for the books, as Dad used to say, although I think Miranda was a bit let down. Your father has a lot on his plate, I said to her, and I’m sure he will look in on you later, which he did. He came out of his study when I was settled into the news looking startled and asked if Miranda had gone to bed, and I looked at my watch and said sternly as it’s ten o’clock, Mr. Christmas, yes she has, and he looked quite downcast, poor man. Anyway, he went up and had a look in. I could hear talking, so it seems she hadn’t been asleep—waiting perhaps for her father. I’m preparing roast beef for Sunday lunch, so I’d best get to it. I can never get any breakfast into Mr. C. on Sundays, as I may have mentioned before, since he has to run up to Pennycross for services first thing, then back to Thornford R for the rest, and seems to run on
adreniline
adrenaline. I shall try to take Miranda to the service at 11, but I may have to send her on her own. In a few years, she will have to go up to Exeter on Sunday mornings to begin classes for her bat mitzvahh, but I don’t know how this shall happen as, of course, Mr. Christmas has his obligations, and Mrs. Hennis, who takes her to synagogue on Saturdays, is assistant choirmaster at St. Nick’s and has to be there at least when Colm Parry is not, as he isn’t likely to be for a while, I expect, given the great sadness that has befallen him
.
Funny Miranda being Jewish while her father is a vicar, but we are all very modern in Thornford R!!! There were lots of visitors in the village yesterday. I reckon all the goings-on here were what drew them. So it shall be interesting to see if church attendance is higher. I know Mr. Christmas would like that, but I don’t think he would be too pleased if it was simply because curiosity got the better of folk. I do hope the swelling in his eye has gone down. He will look a fright in the pulpit otherwise. I wonder if there will be anything in the Sundays on the doings here in the village? Of course, I won’t know until Daniel Swan shifts his backside. Did you see the Saturday papers? At least the quality press had a respectful tone. The picture of Mr. Christmas in the Sun was awful. Must go. Cats are well. Love to Aunt Gwen. Hope you have a fine week ahead
.

Much love
,

Madrun

P.S. I looked in on Kerra at the Waterside yesterday afternoon. So far, so good. I think Liam Drewe is minding his p’s and q’s for the time being
.