Haunted Christmas

by Pat Herbert

  

  Bernard was in his element. The evening was going to be a great success, thanks, mainly, to Mrs Harper. It would never have got off the ground if it hadn’t been for her organising skills and knowledge of the locals. The food alone was worth the price of admission. The buffet tables were creaking under the weight of all sorts of tempting goodies which she and her army of female friends had provided. It all looked delicious: the delicately cut corned beef and ham sandwiches, pork pies, various sweet and savoury flans, jellies, blancmanges, trifles, cakes and the centrepiece, Mrs Harper’s triumphant Christmas cake which was to be raffled off later in the evening.

  As the people arrived, he stood by the door and greeted each one, thanking them for coming and for supporting the good cause. He could see that everybody was determined to have a good time, and he was certainly going to see that they did.

  Over on the stage, the four-piece band was tuning up. Mrs Harper had obtained the services of her friend, trumpet player Eddie Wells, and the other three musicians for free. Bernard hoped they would be all right, because they looked quite old. Eddie looked at least seventy, and the other three didn’t look much younger. He wanted the evening to go with a swing and everybody up and dancing. He only hoped these old-timers knew some modern tunes. He, himself, particularly liked Cole Porter songs, like I’ve Got You Under My Skin and Begin the Beguine. The latter was a special favourite of his. He and Sophie had danced to its romantic rhythms many times in the good old days.

  Just then, he saw Robbie approach with an enchanting female on his arm. So that’s Dorothy Plunkett, he thought. No wonder he’s besotted with her. He went over to his friend and shook him warmly by the hand.

  “And may I have the pleasure of an introduction to this lovely lady?” he said gallantly. He felt an instant attraction pass between them as he spoke.

  “Bernie, this is Dorothy Plunkett. Dorothy, this is my dear friend, Bernie Paltoquet, vicar of St Stephen’s church.”

  Bernard took her hand tentatively. She smiled warmly at him.

  “Bernie old chap,” said Robbie. “Would you mind taking care of Dorothy for me while I go and fetch Lucy? I said I’d escort her to the dance too.”

  “Ooh, you rogue,” admonished Bernard light-heartedly. “You mustn’t be greedy, you know. Isn’t one lovely lady enough for you?”

  Robbie coughed in embarrassment. “You know how it is, Bernie. Lucy’s on her own. I can’t let her miss out on this occasion.”

  “No, of course not,” said Bernard.

  “Anyhow, I shan’t be long. Take care of her for me.”

  “Of course I will,” Bernard assured him, watching his friend disappear through the throng of people still pouring into the hall. He turned to his fair companion and smiled.

  “May I offer you some refreshment, Miss Plunkett?” he asked politely.

  “Call me Dorothy, please,” she insisted.

  She took his arm as he led her to the buffet tables.

  “Shall I get you a drink while you choose what you want to eat?” he asked, as she picked up a plate. “A glass of wine, perhaps?”

  “No, nothing for me, thank you,” she said. “Do you know, I think I’d better sit down, I’ve got rather a nasty headache coming on.”

  Bernard looked at her with concern. She had gone as white as a sheet. “Oh dear,” he said solicitously. “Do you suffer from migraines?”

  “No, not usually. But I’ve been getting these headaches a lot lately, although I thought they’d stopped. That’s how I met Robbie, by the way, did you know that?”

  “Yes, he did mention that you’d consulted him,” said Bernard, leading her to a chair at the side of the hall. The band was just striking up and people had begun to gravitate onto the dance floor, ready to strut their stuff. Bernard prayed that the first tune, at least, would be a lively one. With relief, he recognised the strains of Alexander’s Ragtime Band.

  He sat next to Dorothy, who was holding her head in her hands. “It’s never been as bad as this before,” she muttered. “Have you got any aspirin?”

  “In the vicarage,” he said. “Maybe you should come over with me and rest there? This noise can’t be doing your headache any good.”

  “Maybe I should,” she agreed. “Thank you.”

  She rose unsteadily and took his arm. Bernard led her gently out of the hall into the cloakroom. “Which is your coat, Dorothy?” he asked, rummaging among the piles of outdoor wear that had been dumped anyhow on the pegs, a lot of which had since fallen to the floor and been trampled on by eager guests.

  “Oh dear,” she said. “What a mess. Why can’t people be more careful?”

  “Never mind,” said Bernard. “Can you see your coat among this lot?”

  “No, I can’t,” she said. “But I can hardly see anything at the moment. This headache is blinding me.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll find your coat later. Here, put my jacket on.” And, so saying, Bernard gallantly took off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

  “Thank you, Bernard,” she said gratefully, as he led her out of the hall towards the vicarage a few yards down the road.

  

  When Robbie returned to the hall with Lucy Carter on his arm, he could see many eyes on him. He supposed it must have looked odd to see him with another pretty female in tow. That’s no way for a doctor to carry on, those eyes seemed to be saying.

  Lucy looked very charming in a kingfisher blue dress that twirled around her ankles. She smiled gratefully at Robbie as he took her coat and led her through the crowd to the buffet table. He fetched her a glass of wine and some food, then looked around for Dorothy. He was alarmed when he couldn’t see her anywhere, nor, he realised, could he see Bernard. Where had they gone?

  “Would you mind if I left you here for a moment, Lucy, dear?” he asked.

  She smiled at him and sipped her wine. “Of course not,” she said. “I can see a couple of people I know over there. I’ll join them. You go and look after your proper date.”

  It was said with meaning, but Robbie was too worried about Dorothy to take much notice. He looked around him, searching the crowds. Was she on the dance floor? Had she been whisked away by some bloke? Maybe she was even dancing with Bernard. But no, he could see no sign of either of them.

  As he continued to look around the hall, the music stopped for a break and the floor emptied. It was clear that neither Dorothy nor Bernard were there.

  As he was thinking about checking the room at the far side of the hall which he could see contained quite a few people, he caught a flash of something out of the corner of his eye. He turned quickly and thought he saw a child dart through the people making their way to the buffet tables for refreshment. He rubbed his eyes. That’s odd, he thought. There weren’t supposed to be any children allowed. Still, maybe whoever’s child it was had been let down by their babysitter at the last minute. Anyway, he was more concerned about finding Dorothy. And where on earth had Bernie got to?

  

  “Are you feeling a little better?”

  Dorothy Plunkett was sitting by the fire in the vicarage study, having swallowed a couple of aspirins. She continued to sip the glass of water with which she had washed them down, and Bernard could see her hands were still shaking.

  “A little, thank you,” she said, although she was still very pale. Even the glow from the fire wasn’t helping to dispel her pallor.

  “Perhaps I should fetch Robbie to take a look at you?” said Bernard, sitting down opposite, regarding her with concern.

  “No, please don’t bother him. I’ll be all right soon,” she said, sinking back against the cushion with a sigh. “I’m so sorry to be such a nuisance.”

  “Don’t be silly,” protested Bernard. “You just sit there and relax.”

  Poor Robbie, he thought. He’d probably be wondering where they had both got to. He supposed he had better get back to the hall soon, but he didn’t want to leave her on her own while she was feeling so
unwell.

  “Maybe I should fetch my housekeeper to look after you,” he said, after a minute or two. “I’m afraid I’ll have to get back to the hall.”

  “No, please don’t bother her. I’ll be all right here by myself. I’ll probably have a little nap, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course,” said Bernard. “Go right ahead. I’ll tell Robbie you’re here. I’m sure he’ll come and keep you company. I’ll give him the key to let himself in.”

  “Thank you, Bernard, you’re very kind. But, before you go, I think I need to tell you something.” She made an effort to sit up straight.

  “Not now, Dorothy. You’re in no state to talk. Just rest.”

  “No, I can’t. Not until you hear what I have to say.”

  She seemed determined, so Bernard sat down again. “What is it?” he asked gently.

  “The reason I’ve got this headache is because – well, you know I’m a psychic medium, don’t you? Robbie mentioned it?”

  “He did tell me, yes.” What on earth was she going to say?

  “Well, I think I’m getting these headaches because of something very wrong in the hall. I felt it the minute I walked in there, and my headache started almost at once. I tried to ignore it, but it was no good. There’s something not right and it’s in the church hall somewhere.”

  “What do you mean? Not right?”

  “I can’t easily explain it,” she said, stroking her forehead. “I just wanted to warn you, that’s all. I don’t want the evening to be ruined.”

  “I’ve no doubt of your good intentions, Dorothy,” said Bernard, a little sternly. She may be lovely, he thought, but she needn’t think I’m going to believe in any psychic rubbish. “But I’m sure everything is fine. I’m sorry about your headache, but I don’t see how anything in the church hall could have caused it.”

  “I can see you’ll take some convincing,” she said, giving him a wan smile. “I only know I first started getting these headaches when I visited the greengrocers in the High Street. Morrie’s, I think it’s called.”

  “Ah, yes. Morrie’s,” he said. “That’s where the tree in the hall came from.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. He donated it in exchange for free tickets to the dance.”

  “I think I’m beginning to see a connection,” she said, her face becoming slightly more animated and a little flushed.

  “A connection?” She wasn’t making much sense to him. Maybe she was a little delirious?

  “Don’t you see? I got a headache every time I went to the greengrocers,” she said. “And I remember there were Christmas trees propped up inside, as well as outside, the shop.”

  “Well, there would’ve been. It is near Christmas, after all,” Bernard pointed out.

  “Yes, yes. But don’t you see? The last time I visited the greengrocers I didn’t get a headache...”

  “There you are then,” he interrupted. “Can’t be the Christmas trees.”

  “Yes, it can,” she said impatiently, “because that time I noticed that his stock of trees had been depleted. There were only a few left. So the tree that caused my headache had probably been sold.”

  “How on earth can it have been a tree that gave you a headache?” Bernard was completely baffled.

  “Because I know now what’s been causing my headaches. I haven’t usually suffered like this, but occasionally I’ve felt unwell when I’m close to some violent event which has taken place. Like murder, for instance.”

  “I think you need a drink,” said Bernard, scratching his head nervously. “Would you like a whisky or a sherry?”

  She ignored him. “I got a headache tonight because that Christmas tree in the hall was causing it.”

  Bernard sighed. “I think I’ll have a sherry anyway.” He got up to fetch it.

  “Please, Bernard, listen to me. I’m not mad. Something horrible happened around that tree – I don’t know when and I don’t know where, but it did.”

  

  “Mrs Harper, have you seen Bernie or Miss Plunkett about anywhere?” asked a very worried Robbie. She paused in the act of dishing out the trifle and sniffed.

  “No, Doc, I ’aven’t. Not since they went out of the ’all.”

  “Oh? When was that?”

  “About ten or fifteen minutes ago,” she replied. “Wait your turn, Fred. There’s enough for everybody,” she turned to admonish a young man who was elbowing his way to the front of the queue.

  “And you haven’t seen either of them since?” Robbie was being jostled by the guests who were trying to get at the fast diminishing food on the buffet tables.

  “No,” she said huffily. “They must be about somewhere. Now, you can see I’m busy. If you don’t want any trifle can you let them as do get a look in?”

  Robbie turned away and headed out to the cloakroom. He began hunting for Dorothy’s coat, but couldn’t see it under the mêlée of outdoor wear that was festooned there. He had just started to pick up some of the coats that had fallen onto the floor when Bernard returned.

  “Ah, there you are!” exclaimed Robbie. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Since I came back with Lucy I haven’t been able to find you or Dorothy. What have you done with her?” He couldn’t keep the accusatory note out of his voice.

  “I’ve been looking after her at the vicarage,” Bernard started to explain.

  “You what?” yelled Robbie. “I wouldn’t have put you down as a fast worker.”

  Bernard stared at him. “What on earth do you mean by that?”

  “As soon as my back’s turned, you whisk her away to your lair. What sort of man are you?” Robbie was red with anger. His complexion almost matched his hair.

  “You idiot!” Bernard yelled back. “I don’t even think I should reply to that insinuation. I’m no Lothario, for God’s sake!”

  Robbie’s anger began to subside as he started to realise what a fool he was being. “Bernie, look, I’m sorry, I know you’re not like that. I think it’s just that I’m rather too keen on Dorothy for my own good. I’m not really the jealous type – normally.”

  “Well, I should think not,” said Bernard, also somewhat placated. “I took Dorothy to the vicarage because she had a headache. I gave her a couple of aspirins. She’s resting now. I said I’d send you to her. Here’s the key.” He handed it to him.

  Robbie was suitably embarrassed by his outburst. “Thanks, Bernie. I should have known better, shouldn’t I?”

  “Yes, you should.” Bernard was still a little upset by his friend’s apparent mistrust of him. “Before you go, Robbie, could I have a private word? In here.”

  So saying, Bernard led Robbie into a little side room, which had also started filling up with people’s outdoor apparel. Other than that, it contained a broom and a bucket, as well as various other cleaning materials. They inched in beside each other and Bernard closed the door.

  “What’s all this?” Robbie asked, puzzled. “It’s a bit cloak and dagger, isn’t it?”

  “Look, I think I should tell you what Dorothy has just told me.”

  “What?” Robbie was starting to feel anxious again. Was she giving him the brush off via Bernard?

  “Well, it’s hard to explain, but it’s about her headaches.”

  “Yes, I’ve been treating her for them, as you know, but she was much better – well, until tonight apparently,” Robbie said.

  “Well, that’s just it. To cut a long story short, she said she had traced the cause of them to that Christmas tree in the hall.”

  Robbie stared at him. “The Christmas tree?”

  Bernard explained to Robbie as best he could what Dorothy had told him. “She seems very worried that something bad could happen because of that tree,” he concluded.

  “But, come on, man, how can a bloody tree have such an effect?”

  “She’s supposed to be psychic, isn’t she?” Bernard grabbed him by the shoulders. “You’re not very quick on the uptake tonight. I thought you’d cott
on on, like I did. Quicker than I did, actually.”

  Robbie didn’t seem to be getting his drift. “Think back to Norway...” Bernard prompted.

  A light dawned in Robbie’s eyes at last. “You mean – you think that Christmas tree in the hall is the one where I saw those children?”

  “Well, I don’t know for sure. But it seems highly likely, don’t you think?”

  “But, surely, it’s too much of a coincidence.” Robbie wasn’t convinced.

  “It is a coincidence. But, then, coincidences do happen sometimes. That’s why they’re called ‘coincidences’.”

  Robbie had to admit that it all fitted. Maybe the tree had been brought to the church hall by an outside agency. It wasn’t only God who moved in a mysterious way, it seemed.

  “My God, Bernie, do you know what this means?”

  Bernard shrugged. “It’s all too much for me,” he said. “I wish we’d never gone to Norway in the first place.”

  “It’s a second chance,” he said, ignoring his friend’s unenthusiastic response. “Maybe those children have come with the tree. Maybe I can still help them.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Even if you see the children again, you can’t speak Norwegian.”

  “Minor detail. I’ll write down what they say as phonetically as possible, then get it translated.”

  “But won’t you need someone to question the children as well?”

  “It would be best, but I’m the only one who can communicate with them, unless I’m lucky enough to find someone who speaks Norwegian and is psychic.”

  “A bit of tall order,” grinned Bernard. “Anyway, I think we’re jumping the gun, don’t you? I mean, you haven’t seen any sign of these children yet, have you?”

  “No, not yet – hang on, actually, I think I have.”

  “You have? When?” Bernard looked excited.

  “I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I just thought someone had brought their child to the dance because they couldn’t get a babysitter...”