Rhys Bowen - The Twelve Clues of Christmas

“But fun too,” I said. “I had a lovely Christmas in spite of everything. I think you did splendidly and gave them a perfect old English Christmas just like they wanted.”

She patted my hand. “Thank you, dear. Most kind of you. I did try hard. And between ourselves, I don’t think we actually made much of a profit, but we did eat and drink very well, didn’t we?” She closed the door behind us. “You know, when these deaths started happening, I kept asking myself whether I was being punished in some way for trying to make money out of a sacred holiday. And when I was shot, I really did ask myself if it was the Lovey Curse.”

I chuckled. “Don’t be silly. If anybody was the victim of the Lovey Curse it was the awful man who shot you. At least he and his wife got their just deserts, didn’t they?”

She nodded. “It’s hard to imagine someone could be so warped as to cleverly plot the deaths of twelve innocent people.”

“But speaking of the Lovey Curse,” I said, “I’d like to do something for Wild Sal—send her some clothes or food or something. She saved my life, you know.”

“She wouldn’t accept it, my dear. We have tried in the past and she rejects all help. She’ll probably go on living wild like that until she’s ninety.”

“I don’t suppose I’ll see her again, but do thank her for me when you see her,” I said. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see what my mother is doing. It would be just like her to up stakes and vanish without saying good-bye.”

“Of course, my dear. Off you go, then. Just a simple supper tonight. Thank God.”

I was just walking down the drive when I met Inspector Newcombe’s car coming toward me. The car stopped and he got out.

“Just the person I was coming to see,” he said. “You’re not off yet, are you?”

“I was just going to visit my mother and grandfather,” I said. “I’m not sure when they are leaving.”

“I’ve come to get an official statement about last night from you,” he said, “but I can interview Lady Hawse-Gorzley first. How are you feeling today after your ordeal?”

“Never felt better, thank you.”

“Whoever thinks that the aristocracy are useless and frail should take a look at you,” he said and chuckled. Then he looked at me, stroking his chin. “You had a lucky escape last night. Not many can say they’ve walked away from that bog. And it takes care of the pair of them nicely, doesn’t it? Saves us the trouble of hanging them.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice to speak. The images were still too raw in my mind.

“All the same,” he went on cheerfully, “I’d have liked the chance to question them. To know exactly how he managed to pull off all those murders without being caught. It took talent and skill, I’ll give them that.”

“They used disguises, I’m sure,” I said. “I expect they moved around disguised as Willum and Wild Sal, knowing that nobody would have paid them any attention.”

“Too crafty for their own good,” he said. “Oh, well. Now we’ll never know, will we? I’ll stop off at your mother’s cottage after I’ve talked with Lady H-G, then, shall I? I’d like to say good-bye to your grandfather. A proper old-fashioned gent, isn’t he? I wish there were more like him on the force these days.”

I went on to the cottage and found that my mother was packing up to leave too.

“I’ve had a telegram from Max,” she said. “He is coming to London to meet me. He had a gloomy Christmas and missed me dreadfully. And frankly I’ve had enough of country living. I mean, it’s fun to play at cottages and simple English food for a while, isn’t it? But then one longs for a good nightclub and caviar and the things that make life worth living.”

“Will you be going back to Germany right away?” I asked.

“Actually, I’m going to persuade Max to rent a house in London for a while.”

“So that you can finish working on the play with Mr. Coward?”

She glanced up the stairs and I recognized that expression. “I don’t think this play is going to work out somehow,” she said, sotto voce. “Noel really does want to hog all the best lines, darling, and I’ve only just found out that he sees my character as a mature woman. I ask you—me, a mature woman? Well, really!”

And she made a dramatic exit. My grandfather and I exchanged grins.

“So you’ll be heading back to Scotland, will you?”

“I hope not,” I said. “I’m going to try to find another job. I wish I could come and stay with you, but . . .”

“Of course you can’t, my love,” he said. “We live in different worlds, you and me. But you’re always welcome to come and visit.”

“At least you’ve got Mrs. Huggins.”

He made a funny face and stepped nearer. “Between you and me and the gatepost, she’s beginning to get on my nerves. Fusses over me like an old hen. I don’t mind it when she’s next door, but not under the same roof.”

“Well, I suppose it’s good-bye, then.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “It’s been a sad day. All these good-byes.”

Granddad stroked my hair as if I were a small child. “I expect you’ll keep turning up like a bad penny,” he said fondly.

Mummy appeared at the top of the stairs again. “Georgie, I’ve just had a brilliant idea. Noel suggested I write my autobiography. Won’t that raise some eyebrows!”

“Are you sure you should?” I started to laugh. “Won’t there be an awful lot of husbands who have to do some explaining to their wives?”

“Darling, I’ll be discreet. I’ll only include the really juicy ones. But listen to my brilliant idea. Why don’t you come to London with me and you can be my secretary. Can you use a typewriting machine?”

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

“No matter. I’ll buy you one and you can learn and I’ll scribble down my thoughts and you’ll tidy them up for me. How about it?”

“Sounds like fun,” I said.

I was fully aware as I said the words that working with my mother was not going to be easy. But living in a house in London, with proper heat and decent food, was definitely preferable to the only other alternative—time spent in a bleak Scottish castle with Fig. What’s more, I’d learn to use a typewriting machine and develop a real skill, more useful than where to seat a bishop at a dinner table. And I’d be in London, on the spot, the moment Darcy reappeared in the country. All in all, the future hadn’t looked brighter in a long while.

The next morning Sir Oswald, Lady Hawse-Gorzley and Bunty came out to see me off. The latter two hugged me fondly and begged me to come back soon. What an incredible stroke of luck that I’d seen that advertisement and dared to answer it, I thought as I waved through the rear window. The car took me and Queenie to the station and we caught the train going back to London. The Devon countryside flashed past the train window, with the snow-clad tors of Dartmoor in the background, until they merged into the Somerset lowlands and green fields, and Tiddleton-under-Lovey was just a memory.

The old-fashioned Christmas has almost disappeared, but if you’d like to re-create some of the things in this book, here are some recipes for games, food and fun.

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Christmas Recipes

Mince pies and sausage rolls are traditional Christmas snacks to be eaten warm when guests arrive, after caroling, while opening presents . . . anytime there isn’t a formal meal.

Mince Pies

In the old days people used to make their own mincemeat, which included real meat. Today it comes in a jar (Crosse & Blackwell mincemeat with rum or brandy is the best).

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Make a shortcrust pastry dough (see recipe below). Roll out and cut into circles to fit into muffin pans. Fill half full with mincemeat. Cut smaller circles for tops and cover pies. Crimp edges shut. Brush with beaten egg, sprinkle with sugar. Bake for about 10 minutes or until golden. Cool and eat.