Anne Perry: Anne Perry's Christmas Mysteries

“I have no idea,” Caroline replied, moving closer to the fire. “I don’t play, so I have never asked.”

“It requires intelligence and concentration,” Grandmama told her waspishly.

“And a great deal of time on your hands,” Caroline added. “And nothing better to fill it with.”

“It is better than gossiping about your neighbors,” Grandmama rejoined. “Or licking your lips over other people’s misfortunes!”

Caroline gave her a chilly look, and controlled her temper with an effort the old lady could easily read in her face. “We shall be having luncheon at one,” she observed. “If you care to take a walk, it’s wintry, but quite pleasant. And it might rain tomorrow.”

“Of course it might rain tomorrow,” Grandmama said tartly. “In a climate like ours that is hardly a perspicacious remark. It might rain tomorrow, any day of the year!”

Caroline did not try to mask the irritation she felt, or the effort it cost her not to retaliate. The fact that she had to try so hard gave the old lady a small, perverse satisfaction. Good! At least she still had some semblance of moral duty left! After all, she had been Edward Ellison’s wife most of her adult life! She owed Mariah Ellison something!

“Maybe I shall go for a walk this afternoon,” she said. “That maid mentioned something about a church, I believe.”

“St. Mary the Virgin,” Caroline told her. “Yes, it’s attractive. Norman to begin with. The soil is very soft here so the tower has huge buttresses supporting it.”

“We are on a marsh,” Grandmama sniffed. “Probably everything is sinking. It is a miracle we are not up to our knees in mud, or worse!”

And so it passed for most of the next two long-drawn-out days. Walking in the garden was miserable; almost everything had died back into the earth, the trees were leafless and black and seemed to drip incessantly. It was too late even for the last roses, and too early for the first snowdrops.

There was nothing worth doing, no one to speak to or visit. Those who did call were excruciatingly boring. They had nothing to talk about except people Grandmama did not know, or wish to. They had never been to London and knew nothing of fashion, society, or even current events of any importance in the world.

Then in the middle of the second afternoon a letter arrived for Joshua. He tore it open as they were having tea in the withdrawing room, the fire roaring halfway up the chimney, rain beating on the window in the dark as heavy clouds obscured even the shreds of winter light. There was hot tea on a silver tray and toasted crumpets with butter melted into them and golden syrup on top. Cook had made a particularly good Madeira cake and drop scones accompanied by butter, raspberry jam, and cream so thick one could have eaten it with a fork.

“It’s a letter from Aunt Bedelia,” Joshua said, looking at Caroline, a frown on his face. “She says Aunt Maude has returned without any warning, from the Middle East, and expects them to put her up for Christmas. But it’s quite impossible. They have another guest of great importance whom they cannot turn out to make room for her.”

“But it’s Christmas!” Caroline said with dismay. “Surely they can make room somehow? They can’t turn her away. She’s family. Have they a very small house? Perhaps a neighbor would accommodate her, at least overnight?”

Joshua’s face tightened. He looked troubled and a little embarrassed. “No, their house is large, at least five or six bedrooms.”

“If they have plenty of room, then what is this about?” Caroline asked, an edge to her voice, as if she feared the answer.

Joshua lowered his eyes. “I don’t know. I called her Aunt Bedelia, but actually she is my mother’s cousin and I never knew her very well, or her sister Agnes. And Maude left England about the time I was born.”

“Left England?” Caroline was astounded. “You mean permanently?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Why?”

Joshua colored unhappily. “I don’t know. No one will say.”

“It sounds as if they simply don’t want her there,” Grandmama said candidly. “As an excuse it is tissue-thin. What on earth do they expect you to do?”

Joshua looked straight at her and his eyes made her feel uncomfortable, although she had no idea why. He had fine eyes, a dark hazel-brown and very direct.

“Mama-in-law,” he replied, using a title for her to which he had no right at all. “They are sending her here.”

“That’s preposterous!” Grandmama said more loudly than she had intended. “What can you do about it?”

“Make her welcome,” he replied. “It will not be difficult. We have two other bedrooms.”

Caroline hesitated only a moment. “Of course,” she agreed, smiling. “There is plenty of everything. It will be no trouble at all.”

Grandmama could hardly believe it! They were going to have this wretched woman here! As if being banished herself, like secondhand furniture, were not bad enough, now she would have to divide what little attention or courtesy she received with some miserable woman, whose own family could not endure her. They would have to cater to her needs and no doubt listen to endless, pointless stories of whatever benighted spot she had been in. It was all really far too much.

“I have a headache,” she announced, and rose to her feet. “I shall go and lie down in my room.” She stumped over to the door, deliberately leaning heavily on her stick, which actually she did not require.

“Good idea,” Caroline agreed tartly. “Dinner will be at eight.”

Grandmama could not immediately make up her mind whether to be an hour early, or fifteen minutes late. Perhaps early would be better. If she were late they were just rude enough to start without her, and she would miss the soup.

Maude Barrington arrived the following morning, alighting without assistance from the carriage that had brought her and walking with an easy step up to the front door where Joshua and Caroline were waiting for her. Grandmama had chosen to watch from the withdrawing room window, where she had an excellent view without either seeming inquisitive, which was so vulgar, or having to pretend to be pleased and welcoming, which would be farcical. She was furious.

Maude was quite tall and unbecomingly square-shouldered. A gentle curve would have been better, more feminine. Her hair appeared to be of no particular color but at least there was plenty of it. At the moment far too much poked out from underneath a hat that might have been fashionable once, but was now a disaster. She wore a traveling costume that looked as if it had been traipsed around most of the world, especially the hot and dusty parts, and now had no distinguishable shape or color left.

Maude herself could never have been pretty-her features were too strong. Her mouth in particular was anything but dainty. It was impossible to judge accurately how old she was, other than between fifty and sixty. Her stride was that of a young woman-or perhaps a young man would have been more accurate. Her skin was appalling! Either no one had ever told her not to sit in the sun, or she had totally ignored them. It was positively weather-beaten, burned, and a most unfortunate shade of ruddy brown. Heaven only knew where she had been! She looked like a native! No wonder her family did not want her there at Christmas. They might wish to entertain guests, and they could hardly lock her away.

But it was monstrous that they should wish her on Joshua and Caroline, not to mention their guests!

She heard voices in the hallway, and then footsteps up the stairs. No doubt at luncheon she would meet this miserable woman and have to be civil to her.