by Miss Read
‘There!’ said Ella, coming back from the vestry and wiping her hands down the sides of her trousers. ‘Whoever had the audacity to put those dreadful figures in our crib can collect them from the vestry. Now, let’s go. I am dying for a ciggy.’
‘Jenny will have the kettle on for us,’ said Winnie. It was a tradition that the crib party went back to Winnie’s house for tea.
When the three of them were comfortably ensconced in Winnie’s sitting-room, cups of tea at their elbows and plates of cherry cake on their knees, they returned to the events of the afternoon.
‘The church is always open,’ said Dimity, ‘so it could have been anyone really.’
Winnie was the most methodical of the three, and liked to tackle such conundrums head-on. ‘It must have been a regular church-goer. Why would they bother otherwise?’
This met with general agreement.
‘Well, I can’t believe it would be Isobel - she knows we three do the crib. And certainly not Harold. He reckons it’s women’s work. What about Phil?’ Winnie asked.
Ella shook her head. ‘I think she’s much too busy with the Nativity play, and of course their party afterwards. No, it won’t have been Phil.’
‘Charles was going to Rectory Cottages this morning,’ said Dimity. ‘I’ll ask him if he knows anything when I get home.’
‘Surely no one from there would have put those dreadful figures there?’ said Winnie. The offending impostors were now referred to as ‘those dreadful figures’ by all three.
‘Charles said that Mrs Bates was going in to do the brasses today,’ Dimity said, ‘but she’s so small she’d never have been able to carry across those boxes of figures. And she’d never have done such a thing anyway.’
‘What about Muriel Fuller and her team of flower girls?’ asked Ella, stretching forward to help herself to another slice of cake. ‘Damn good cake, this, Winnie!’
‘Thank you, Ella. I made it especially since I know it is one of your favourites and one gets so much fruit cake at this time of year.’ Winnie then cocked her silvery head on one side, thinking, considering. ‘Perhaps we could ask Muriel if the figures were there when they went in to do the flowers. If they weren’t, we could find out what time they left the church so we shall know that the dreadful figures were put there between then and when I arrived just before two.’
‘Quite the Sherlock Holmes, Winnie!’ laughed Dimity.
‘Almost as good as doing a difficult crossword,’ she replied - and there the matter was left.
As arranged, Alan Lester arrived at Tullivers shortly before lunch and he and Phil sat at the kitchen table, with Phil’s pad of paper in front of them. Names were arrowed and then crossed out, new names added, and then arrowed. It looked like a crazy game of snakes and ladders.
‘And Frank didn’t have any ideas?’ Alan asked, leaning back in his chair and running his hands through his hair.
‘No, we did much as we’ve done now,’ replied Phil. ‘Then he took himself off to The Two Pheasants - for inspiration, he said.’
‘Well, I think we’ll have to go with just the two shepherds, Patrick and little Tom, and move Harry up to being a king. I just hope his stammer doesn’t get the better of him when he has to say his lines.’
‘Perhaps we can have some sheep to make up for the lack of shepherds,’ mused Phil, doodling a woolly ball on four legs on the notepad.
‘Sheep? Real sheep?’ asked Alan in some alarm.
‘No, not real sheep. I’ve got an idea that might work. It should detract from there being only two shepherds.’
At that moment, there were noises outside the back door and Frank and Jeremy both came in.
‘Is lunch ready?’ asked young Jeremy. ‘I’m starving!’
Phil laughed and ruffled her son’s head. ‘When have I heard that before? Yes, it will be about ten minutes.’
Alan got to his feet. ‘I’ll leave you making sheep then,’ he said with a smile. ‘And I’ll phone Harry’s parents and give them the news that he’s been elevated to a king.’
Frank turned round from the sink where he was washing his hands. ‘Is that a replacement for Jimmy Todd?’
‘Yes,’ Phil replied. ‘It’s the best we can do.’
‘Hold that call, Alan,’ Frank said. He had a great grin on his face. ‘I have The Solution - it’s going to be good. No, it’s going to be better than that. It’s going to be brilliant!’ And he proceeded to tell Phil and Alan his plan.
CHAPTER NINE
A Nativity Play with a Difference
‘What a nerve!’ Joan Young exclaimed. ‘Poor Winnie, you must have been horrified to find someone else had set up the crib.’ She continued to listen for some minutes, the telephone receiver tucked under her chin while she attempted to spread butter on her toast.
Across the table, Edward and their son Paul listened to Joan’s side of the conversation with interest.
‘Well, anyway,’ Joan said, ‘the right figures are in place. Thank heavens for that. And if that awful woman comes to the Nativity tonight, I shall cut her dead!’
There were words from the other end, and Joan laughed and said, ‘All right, but I won’t go out of my way to speak to her. I’m glad it’s ended up all right. I’ll see you there - five-thirty! Bye.’
Having replaced the receiver, she exhaled noisily. ‘We-ell! What about that then!’
‘So?’ asked Edward. ‘Go on, tell us!’
Joan relayed what Winnie had told her, how she’d gone into St Andrew’s to set up the crib the previous afternoon and had found ‘those dreadful figures’ already there.
‘And have they discovered who did it?’ asked Paul.
‘Indeed they have. Mrs Burwell!’ replied Joan.
Edward’s reaction was like a mini-explosion. ‘That bl—that wretched woman, that ghastly burbling Burwell woman! It would be her, wouldn’t it?’ He got to his feet and paced round the kitchen table like a tiger in a cage. ‘Why can’t she keep her blithering nose out of every damn thing in the village?’
‘Calm down, dear,’ said Joan, worried about her husband’s blood pressure. She knew that anything to do with the Burwells was apt to send him into orbit.
‘I’ve only met her once or twice,’ said Paul. ‘I didn’t think she was that bad.’
Edward swung round to face his son, and gave him two minutes’ worth of his opinion of Mr and Mrs Burwell and their house. Joan just sighed and finished off her breakfast.
When Edward had run out of steam, Paul asked his mother, ‘How did Mrs Bailey discover it was her who did it?’
‘Dimity talked to Muriel Fuller who had done the flowers in the church earlier that morning. A group of them do the flowers for Christmas, and Mrs Burwell was one of them. Apparently she suggested a large arrangement should be set just where the crib goes, and was told why space had to be left there. Muriel saw her peer into the boxes holding the Nativity figures, and apparently she remarked to one of the other flower women that she thought they were very tatty and she had better ones at home. So Winnie and Dimity put two and two together.’
‘Have they had it out with the wretched woman?’ asked Edward.
‘Dimity thought it would be better if Charles rang her.’
‘Poor Charles! He’s always draws the short straw. Do we know what the ghastly woman said?’
‘You really don’t like her, do you, Pa?’ Paul said, laughing.
‘No, I don’t. She and her dreadful husband are total menaces.’
‘Well,’ Joan said, ‘she didn’t apologize, if that’s what you were hoping for. She went all high and mighty apparently, and said she thought her figures were much better, more modern.’
‘We don’t want modern figures,’ scowled Edward. ‘We want our traditional figures.’
‘We’ve got the right figures now, that’s the main thing.’ Joan looked at the kitchen clock. ‘What time are you due at St Andrew’s for the dress rehearsal, Paul?’
‘Mrs Hurst said we should be th
ere at eleven, that we would be about an hour, then everyone connected with the Nativity are wanted back again at four-thirty.’
‘Before you disappear now,’ Joan said, ‘let’s go upstairs and just check that you’ve got clean trousers and shirt for this evening.’
‘And make sure your shoes are clean,’ added Edward.
‘But my feet won’t be seen,’ the boy protested.
‘That makes no difference at all,’ responded his father, ‘as you well know,’ and he ruffled Paul’s hair affectionately.
At Tullivers, preparations were under way for the party after the performance. On either side of the morning’s dress rehearsal, Phil hoovered, dusted and polished the sitting-room and hall, and Frank set up the table for the bar just inside his study that led off the hall. They had decided this would be the best place since it would give more room for people to circulate. It did mean, however, that whenever Frank wanted to get something from his study, he had to crawl under the table.
By mid-afternoon, the glasses had been taken out of their boxes and set out on the table. Orange juice had been decanted into jugs and was waiting in the fridge. Frank had been down to Lulling to collect some ice, and the white wine was now residing among it in a plastic dustbin that was resting on a sheet of plastic in the study.
In the kitchen, there were trays of sausage rolls, vol-au-vents and mince pies ready to go into the oven to warm. Jeremy had been set to spreading garlicky cream cheese down the middle of sticks of celery and then cutting them into bite-sized pieces. ‘Now sprinkle a little - just a little - paprika over the cheese to make it look more interesting,’ directed Phil.
She had kept the smoked salmon squares to do herself. She knew if she asked Frank to help, he would eat half of the smoked salmon pieces that she had bought. Anyway, having set up the drinks table, he had gone out, saying he would meet them at St Andrew’s later.
As Phil buttered the brown bread, cut off the crusts, then laid on the smoked salmon, she ran through the Nativity for the enth time. The morning’s final rehearsal had gone as well as could be expected considering the changes to the cast. But would the Plan work that evening? Oh goodness, she hoped so.
‘I’m off now,’ Harold Shoosmith called up the stairs to Isobel who was still changing. ‘I’ll see you there.’
Since he was standing in for Charles Henstock, Harold felt he should be at St Andrew’s in good time to welcome those who came to see the Nativity play. As he walked down the garden path, he sniffed the air appreciatively. There was a delicious smell of wood smoke in the air. As he exhaled, his breath plumed out in front of him. There was going to be a frost tonight for sure.
Just as he reached the church, Bert Nobbs pulled up in his taxi and Harold, knowing who the passengers would be, gallantly opened the passenger door and helped out Miss Ada Lovelock. He made sure she was steady on the pavement before turning to give his hand to Miss Bertha. Miss Violet was checking with Bert Nobbs that he knew when he was to return to take them home.
‘Dear Charles would have brought us,’ twittered Miss Ada, ‘but of course he is committed to the Christingle service in St John’s this evening.’
Harold gently ushered the three old ladies into the church and saw they were settled in a pew. It seemed that Albert Piggott had done as requested and turned on the heating soon after lunch to ensure the church was really warm. It was not only the thin old bones of the Lovelock sisters that felt the cold so terribly but also most of the residents of Rectory Cottages who were the next to arrive, ushered in by the ever vigilant Jane and Bill Cartwright, the wardens at the retirement homes. Mrs Jenner arrived and sat with the Cartwrights; Jane was her daughter.
The level of chatter increased as more people turned up, and leaned backwards and forwards in their seats to talk to friends around them. The Thrush Green Nativity was always a highlight of the year.
‘It’s the beginning of Christmas proper,’ said Mrs Jenner to her daughter, and waved to Nelly Piggott who was seated close by.
As Winnie walked to her usual pew near the front, she was pleased to see that Gladys Hodge, a chapel-goer, had come with Percy; they were sitting with Nelly and Albert. When Connie arrived with Ella, they joined Winnie. Ella, it seemed, had been regaling Connie with the story of the crib and, before sitting down, Connie went to look at the Christmas scene.
‘It’s as lovely as ever, Winnie,’ she said a moment later as she settled herself in the pew.
And so the church filled up, although of the Burwells there was no sign. Latecomers found they weren’t able to sit together as a family, and had to squeeze in where they could. Mrs Biddle found herself in with the Misses Lovelock and the parents of one of the angels, while her two elder children were in the pew in front with the Hodges and the Piggotts.
Molly Curdle arrived, carrying fourteen-month-old Billy under her arm, and went to a seat at the far end of the choir stalls. These were already almost full with congregation, but Molly squeezed in and placed the young child on the floor beside her.
Shortly after five-thirty, Harold Shoosmith made his way to the chancel steps and then turned to face the congregation. The chatter faded away. The last to be quiet were the performers who were out of sight in the vestry at the back of the church but after some loud hushes, they too fell silent.
‘Good evening, everyone, and welcome to St Andrew’s church for this year’s Nativity. I am standing in for Charles Henstock since, as most of you know, he has the Christingle service at St John’s. He has asked me to say that he hopes to see as many of you as possible at the Christmas morning service here at eleven-fifteen. Now, before I hand over to Phil Hurst, I would like to open the proceedings with a short prayer.’
There was a rustle as people leaned forward in their seats, and lowered their heads.
‘Lord, may we be like the Wise Men who were guided to You by a star. Give us the wisdom to seek You, light to guide us to You, courage to search until we find You, graciousness to worship You and generosity to lay our gifts before You, who are our King and our God for ever and ever.’
‘Amen’ resounded round the church, and the congregation sat back in their pews.
‘Harold has such a lovely voice,’ whispered Joan Young who was sitting next to Isobel, who nodded her agreement.
‘Now, Phil, if everyone is ready, let the Nativity begin,’ and Harold walked back down the aisle to take his place next to his wife.
The church lights dimmed, and finally the congregation fell silent. A small figure who had been sitting quietly on the pulpit steps now made his way up into the pulpit and switched on the reading light there. It was Paul Young, his usually unruly hair wetted and smoothed down.
‘ “And in the sixth month, the angel Gabriel was sent from God unto a city of Galilee, named Naz’reth. To a virgin espoused to a man whose name was Joseph of the house of David, and the virgin’s name was Mary.” ’ Paul paused, and then continued. ‘Well, you all know the official version, so Mrs Hurst decided to write some of the words a little differently. She’s asked me to say that she hopes it won’t give offence to anyone. I don’t think it will, cos I think it’s much more fun.’ He then switched off the reading light and receded into darkness.
As he did so, a light towards the back of the church came on, and the congregation all turned round in their seats to look down the main aisle. There stood little Annie Curdle, in a long blue dress with a gold cord round her waist. She wore a simple white headdress. In front of her stood a taller girl, dressed in white, a pair of cardboard wings attached to her back, and a wobbling halo on a stick above her head.
‘Who’s playing Gabriel?’ whispered Joan to Isobel.
‘I think it’s the Hooper girl.’
In the gallery that stretched across the back of the church, another light came on, illuminating Jeremy Prior.
‘The Archangel Gabriel visited Mary, and told her . . .’
‘ ’Ello, Mary. I’m Gabri’l. I’ve come to tell you that you’re goin’ to ’
ave a baby.’
‘What?’ cried little Annie Curdle in a rather squeaky voice. ‘You’re ’avin’ me on!’
Isobel nudged Joan. ‘Adorable!’ she whispered.
‘Do you know anything about this, Joseph?’ cried Annie, turning to her brother, George.
‘Nope, news to me.’
‘You’ve got to get to Beth’lem - quick-fast,’ said the Archangel, one wing tipping dangerously sideways.
‘Who says?’ demanded Joseph.
‘Er . . . er . . .’ The Archangel turned desperately to where Phil was standing nearby.
‘Cæsar Augustus,’ she prompted in a stage whisper.
‘Ah, yes. Cæsar Gustus,’ gabbled the Archangel.
The reading light in the pulpit came on. ‘ “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Cæsar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed,” ’ read Paul. ‘ “And Joseph went from Galilee, out of the city of Naz’reth, into Judæa, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem.” ’
As he switched off the reading light, so Mrs Hope - who was seated at the old upright piano in the side aisle - played the opening line of ‘Once in Royal David’s City’, and from the gallery alongside Jeremy, the infant choir began to sing, not very evenly, the first two verses of the carol.
As they began, so the main lights were turned on, illuminating the slow procession down the aisle of Mary and Joseph hand in hand. They were preceded by a small child holding his arms stiffly out in front, and from the arms hung a notice proclaiming: ‘Bethlehem this way’.
Baby Billy Curdle, who had shuffled on his bottom away from the choir stalls and had been sitting quietly in the middle of the chancel floor, now saw his brother and sister approaching. With a gurgle of pleasure, he bumped his way surprisingly fast towards the chancel steps.
Winnie caught sight of him, and nudged Connie. ‘Just look at the darling!’