‘Laugh,’ said Laura, ‘I thought I should have died! In fact, I believe, I should have died if the other two hadn’t dried me and helped me dress. All the same, it’s great to be in the thick of a murder, and my belief is that Mrs Croc. has got it all taped out, and is only waiting for the last clue, or something, to make her grab. Oh, the ghost! You really ought to have heard the ghost. It was great. We were all scared out of our lives. I say, if you’re going to cut that slice in halves, bags the top half if nobody else wants it. I need fattening, and almond paste is just the stuff, I should imagine. Oh, and Aunt Alison sent her love when I was up there for half-term. I forgot to put it in my letter. She told me I’d lost my guid Scots tongue. Are we all going up there for the New Year?’
‘I beg your pardon, madam,’ said George, ‘but if convenient, could I take Christmas Day?’
‘Of course, George. Take what you like. Do you want to borrow the car? I shan’t want it down here. Mr Carey has his, and Mr Ferdinand will come in his, and we can always hire one in Oxford, if it comes to the point. But it won’t.’
She waited in some curiosity to learn the explanation of this request. George had not taken Christmas leave for several years. He was not bound to furnish an explanation, but she felt sure he would.
‘The fact is, madam,’ he went on, ‘the Chief Engineer at the College has been kind enough to invite me to spend the Christmas with them. I shouldn’t require a week, madam, but if I could get down on Christmas Eve, say, and be back the day after Boxing Day — his brother’s coming home on leave, and turns out to be my old sergeant-major, madam. It’s only an ordinary name, so I never thought anything of it until we were having a yarn one day, so he asked me over.’
‘By all means, George. And don’t hurry back. I really don’t need the car until, anyway, the New Year.’
‘Have you brought a boar’s head, Aunt Bradley?’ was Denis’s greeting as he descended from his motor-cycle and told his friend (riding pillion) to get off. He propped the motor-cycle against the stone wall which marked off the kitchen garden from the surrounding fields and introduced the stranger. ‘This is Carter. I thought we could get up an eleven to play the village. Carter plays hockey, so he’ll be quite useful, as it’s only Soccer.’
‘Hullo, Scab,’ said Carey, coming out of one of the pig-houses. ‘Hullo, Carter. Glad it’s you. Scab didn’t say who.’
‘Hullo, Carey,’ said Carter, demonstrating that his voice was breaking.
‘I don’t suppose Scab bothered to introduce you,’ went on Carey, ‘but this is my aunt, Mrs Lestrange-Bradley.’
‘Oh, really?’ said Carter, blushing. ‘I say… awfully glad, you know. Lestrange said you’d tell us about your murderers. I say, I wish you would.’
‘Well, she will,’ said Denis reassuringly. ‘Come on and meet the others. I say, Carey, where shall I park the crate?’
‘Your motor-bike? Oh, there’s plenty of room in the garage. Come on up to the house.’
‘I was thinking,’ said Denis, ‘that we could get up an eleven. There’s me, and you, old Carter, who plays hockey, Ditch, Walt, Ferdinand, Jonathan, Derek — how many’s that? — one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, that’s eight. We could play three forwards, two halves, two backs and a goal, reduce the pitch by, say, a fifth, and…’
‘Oh, dry up,’ said Carey. ‘I don’t know why I asked you to come. We never get any peace. And, by the way, what about luggage?’
‘Oh, coming. We didn’t pack much. It’ll be here some time. Are we going to have Derek in our room? Because that’s all right by us. You don’t mind, Carter, do you? Oh, and bags I play the organ for Christmas morning service. I’ve been practising, haven’t I, Carter?’
‘He’s rather good,’ said Carter. ‘He generally plays at school now, instead of Doctor Flaskett.’
As Denis’s musical gifts were known and appreciated, this statement was received calmly. Mrs Bradley watched the boys go up to the house with Carey, and then decided to walk as far as Stanton Great Wood, call on her acquaintances at the next farm, a place called Roman Ending, and come back across the fields.
By the time she returned it was dusk, and a deep blue winter twilight lay upon fields and trees. From the large, warm, brightly lighted dining-room of Old Farm came the sound of carols and the thin music of Denis’s flute. Mingled with all this was the sound of an approaching car.
‘Ah, here you are, mother,’ said Ferdinand, getting out and helping Caroline down. Derek also appeared, struggling with some of the parcels with which the interior of the car appeared to be packed. Ferdinand’s sedate chauffeur began to open the boot and take out luggage.
‘The gathering of the clan appears to be complete,’ said Mrs Bradley, permitting Derek to load her with parcels. As they walked up to the front door of the old, stone-built house, she enumerated the guests.
‘And you’ve actually managed to take a rest, away from the College and the case?’ said Ferdinand, shifting the heavy baggage he was carrying from one hand to the other. ‘By the way, I’m sending Bigger and the car into the village. We’ve managed to fix him up a room, so Jenny won’t have to be bothered. What have you done about George?’
Mrs Bradley explained. The next two or three days passed pleasantly; the boys escorted Mrs Bradley into Oxford, selected their presents and bought hers; Ferdinand and Caroline spent most of their time driving into adjacent counties and calling on their acquaintances; the pigs also came in for a good deal of visiting and admiration, and the engaged couple walked over the winter footpaths and came home to tea each day tired, muddy, trailing ivy and holly, clouds of glory and bestowing on all and sundry, said Carey, grinning, the usual nods and becks and wreathed smiles germane to their estate and disability. Jenny’s babies were everywhere — in among the pigs, under the feet of the adults, being perilously swung and tossed by the boys, or hanging on to Mrs Bradley’s skirt and accompanying her wherever she might chance to go about the house.
Added to the noise made by the company, was the bustle of Christmas preparation. Christmas Eve came at last, with its usual last-minute rush of present-buying, sampling the food, carol-singing, decorations and anxieties. Then came Christmas Day and the ritual of early rising.
Denis did play the organ, and Mrs Bradley attended church. In fact, the Lestrange pew was the wonder and admiration of the village and so was its annexe, a second pew to contain those who could not be accommodated in the first one.
Christmas dinner was over, Christmas crackers had been pulled, mottoes read, and, the boys having been coerced into taking a walk with two of the dogs, Jenny was saying that she thought the babies ought to have their afternoon sleep, when the telephone rang.
‘It’s for you, mum,’ said Mrs Ditch. ‘Long distance.’
Mrs Bradley went into the hall.
‘Speaking from Cartaret College, madam,’ said George. ‘We thought you might like to know we’ve been having a busy morning, putting out the fire in the basement’
‘Oh, so she got in, George?’
‘Well, the Chief Engineer reckons she’s been there all the time, madam, waiting her opportunity.’
‘What damage?’
‘Very little, madam. Please don’t trouble to come along. Barring a bit of a mess in the bakehouse which took on from the petrol drips in the basement, there’s nothing can’t be set to rights, we think, before the young ladies come back. There’s nothing really amiss.’
‘Athelstan Hall?’
‘Not touched. Not so much as a scorch-mark, madam, anywhere except in the boxroom and a bit in the passage.’
‘Oh, good. You didn’t catch her, I suppose?’
‘I think when she had dispersed the petrol about the place, she made her getaway, madam. There wasn’t the slightest trace. We didn’t see anybody, although we searched very careful.’