“I spent last Christmas hiding from His Grace’s guests, writing letters in search of a particular tome he wished added to his library.With all those unmarried sons and their friends, his household tends to be very...boisterous.I am looking forward to music and greenery and childish excitement.”Minerva almost raced toward the village in anticipation.If they must catch killers, it should be done with merriment, which was ridiculous and proved the holiday spirit had infected her wits.
It was early yet.Rafe’s kitchen staff had the fire going and breakfast cleared away.Under Fletch’s orders, they were mopping and dusting, but he was already gone, having chosen to ride to Stratford for the mail rather than deal with holiday merriments.
“All right, ladies, today we are to be festive,” Minerva declared.“Mr.and Mrs.Lavigne will be bringing in greenery for decorating the pub.Are any of the guests about who might be interested in helping?”
“Mr.Jasper’s at the hardware store,” Miss Butler replied.“Mr.Cooper’s been staying over to the bakery.He was here last night looking for a meal but hasn’t been in yet this morning.Mr.Fletcher told Parsons to chop firewood, so he’s out back.”
“I’ll talk to Jasper,” Brydie offered.“I’ll ask him to fetch Cooper and bring hammers and nails as his tithe to the church.He should meet the community if he wishes to sell to them.”
While Brydie was hunting for hammers and men, Henri and Patience Lavigne arrived in a cart filled with greenery.This was what Minerva had hoped of her first Christmas in her new home.Forgetting their grim purpose for a moment, she ran out to delight in the fresh smelling evergreens, exclaiming over pinecones and mistletoe as the inn staff joined her.
“I told Paul I’d meet him over at the chapel to finish up some projects.I’ll be back to help you hang the mistletoe,” Henri promised, kissing his wife.
“Take a few of the wreaths with you.”Patience pointed at beribboned holly and ivy entwined in circles.
“My word, you are a saint,” Minerva said in awe, watching the beautiful decorations being carried off to adorn Paul’s modest chapel.“I should learn how to do that.”
“What, be a saint or make wreaths?”Patience dropped a wrapped bundle of holly into Minerva’s arms.“I believe you’ve missed your chance at sainthood.And making wreaths is why you have parishioners.”Patience was the daughter of a curate.Unlike Minerva, she knew how a proper church should be run.
As they carried in their festive boughs, the widows and single mothers still living in the village bustled from their cottages, bearing their own contributions.Before long, Rafe’s pub smelled of a forest and scented candles.Besides the candles, his tables overflowed with baked goods, crocheted ornaments, knitted infant garments and stockings, and anything else that could be put together with what was available.Minerva crowed in excitement over every addition.
Brought in from his woodchopping, Parsons stood on trestle tables to drape holly over the huge mullioned bay windows.Brydie returned with Jasper, Cooper, and hammers to hang the boughs they were stringing together with ribbons and pinecones.
Once she’d set the men to pounding nails, Brydie cornered Minerva out of hearing of the chattering ladies setting up their tables.“You mentioned Mr.Dryden earlier.He arrived with Elton and works for a solicitor’s office, does he not?If Lord Chatham’s manservant claims he saw this solicitor called Turner in LondonandStratford, might Dryden be hiding under the name of Turner?”
Minerva recalled the nervous young man and frowned.“Mr.Browning says his office does not handle the estate trust, just the sale of the house at the estate’s request.And Mr.Dryden is merely a clerk in his office.I cannot feature it, not any more than I can see nice Mr.Jasper or lazy Mr.Cooper.I fear we are being blind and expecting a killer to look like Parsons or Elton or even Gillespie.We cannot believe a gentleman might be a killer.”
“Or a woman,” Brydie noted with a grimace.“Jealousy might be a motive, for all we know.Willa was asleep.How difficult would it be to stab a sleeping woman?”
“She’d have to be strong enough to crown Cooper and knock him unconscious.I suppose...”Minerva wrinkled her nose in disgust.“I hate thinking like this.Let us not for a few hours, or we’ll be suspecting every one of these good women selling their wares.”
“We’ll wait until Verity arrives,” Brydie agreed, sailing off to the kitchen to finish her baking.
Minerva’s insides clenched at just the thought of the plot they’d hatched.So, she wouldn’t think it just yet.She welcomed Paul’s parishioners with open arms, exclaiming over beautifully woven wool blankets, glorious currant cakes, jars of honey, and even homemade whiskey.As they’d hoped, everyone was ready for a little cheer after the dark years of war and poverty.
Once the greenery was hung, including a kissing ball over the pub doorway, and the tables set with tempting gifts, the manor staff arrived with cauldrons of hot, spiced cider for the punch bowl.The pub, already scented with pine and candles plus the cinnamon from baking, now smelled of delicious apples.
To Minerva’s consternation, the men—in their infinite wisdom—had decided to keep an eye on the viscount’s valet by having him serve the punch.Gillespie seemed nervous but quite capable at pouring hot cider into tin cups for the ladies crowding around him.She supposed he was the only person who might recognize Mr.Turner.Minerva held out little hope of a solicitor lingering in Gravesyde, but if they could catch Elton...
They’d stationed as many boys and men around the inn’s perimeter as available, then locked all the inn exits except the one in the lobby.As curate’s wife and ostensibly in charge of a church fair, Minerva stood at the door to greet their customers.She expected no surprises from the village folk, but Brydie’s warning about a female killer had raised her awareness.Most of the local women were elderly, some were very young, but might there be a jealous wife among them?
Half the parish was already inside, hovering over their tables of wares, so it was the manor ladies who arrived as the first customers.Lady Elsa was busy overseeing the kitchen preparations for Christmas dinner on the morrow, but Clare Huntley and Lavender arrived in a sweep of ruffled pelisses and feathered bonnets.Having spent most of her life in a boarding school, Lavender was as excited as a child and swept past Minerva as if she didn’t exist.
Clare laughed and watched her go.“She works so hard, it’s sometimes hard to remember that she really isn’t full grown yet.”
“But she’s adult enough to have made Boxing Day gifts for all her seamstresses,” Minerva said, in between greeting a few of the manor maids arriving next.“I do hope her grandmother has thought of her.Lavender still doesn’t believe that the dowager has softened toward the notion of having an illegitimate grandchild.”
“The old tabby has been contemplating which jewels she should give Lavender next.I told her the child needed a warm shawl more, so she bought pattern books and, besides the shawl, has knitted booties for Lavender’s dog and stuffed a bed for its basket!”Clare let her bonnet fall back on its ribbons to admire the pub’s festivity.“I spent last Christmas trying to scrounge enough coins to buy Oliver an orange and a used mathematics book.Not having to pay for the roof over our heads or the food in our bellies is immensely freeing!I am ready to spread the wealth.”
She sailed into the pub carrying a basket in which to collect her purchases.
The pub was starting to fill with excited chatter and laughter by the time the manor’s grand dames descended in their carriage.Lavender’s grandmother, Lady Marlowe, and Hunt’s aunt, Lady Spalding, spurned current fashions and clung to the lower waists and heavy petticoats of their youth.Minerva was amazed the intimidatingly grandiose Lady Marlowe didn’t still wear a powdered wig.
The dowagers had been outraged widows when they’d first claimed their share of the manor.But now, they’d made up with their families and actually condescended to visit the village’s tiny chapel upon occasion.Minerva hoped they’d tithe generously.
“Did anyone bring mince pies?”Lady Marlowe asked, the mole on her lip seemingly quivering in anticipation.“Elsa refuses to make them.”
“Because we do not need all that suet and you refused to try her apple mince.”Lady Spalding pecked Minerva on the cheek.Rounder and friendlier than the baroness, she eagerly sniffed the tempting scents.“This will be such fun!I’m glad you girls thought of it.”
