“True. I figured that out when Theola Faith told me. Mother, I never guessed you felt guilty about dumping me on Uncle Merlin, to the point where you would talk of it to a virtual stranger.”
“Darling, I do love seeing you. But I can’t devote all eternity to the visit. One only gets so much time off for good behaviour. What did you say in the message you sent by pigeon?”
“Three words. The baby moved. The psychic Chantal had told the Misses Tramwell that I would find the answer within myself, and when I felt that flicker … of butterfly wings, I … just knew that Theola Faith had never had a child. She had likened the quickening experience to a cat pawing a door. And she told me later, before Ben and I left Mendenhall, that she had been swept away by what she considered her acting triumph. I think she minded not having been a mother …”
“Speaking of objects d’amore”—Mother shook out a sleeve—“Ben certainly exercised maturity in relinquishing his Mangé ambitions.”
“Oh, but didn’t you know?” Sitting down on the stair directly above her, I tried to rub away the ache in my back. “My darling was admitted to membership after all. Rather in the manner of the comte pulling a rabbit out of a hat, Ben, at the final hour, produced the Tramwells’ herbal tea recipe from his pocket and in tremulous accents declared himself convinced that it was in truth the centuries’ lost Queen’s Jaffy, invented by the monks of Cloisters, and served to such as Anne Boleyn to ensure a walk to the block with head held high.”
“My congratulations to Ben.” Mother raised her arms and the gauzy sleeves fluttered into wings. “Darling, this can only be a flying visit.”
The pain in my back took a huge bite out of my spine as I stood up. “Don’t you want to hear about the missing candidates? The man who delivered drinking water to Mendenhall each day at the crack of dawn revealed that Jim Grogg and the vampiric Divonne, and later the comte and Solange had paid him handsomely to ferry them away from the island rather than face ignominious farewells from the Mangés. By the way, Mother, there is an interesting postscript concerning Mud Creek. Theola Faith has decided to purchase Old Josiah Mendenhall’s abandoned brewery and turn it into a bottling plant for the world’s finest Adam’s Ale. Watch out Perrier!”
“I love it!” Mother’s lips curved in a dreamy smile. “I do hope the long arm of the law does not reach out for her to spoil everything, although I rather suspect that if the sheriff is patient …”
“You’re such a romantic!” I said. “You should be pleased about the Browns. Marjorie Rumpson was correct in her suspicions. Henderson, driven to desperation, read his wife’s copy of The Captive Bride, and was hit by the blinding realization that to save Lois from the Mangés, he must sweep her off her feet. In the middle of the night. Any screams would be blamed on Jeffries. It was he who purloined the inflatable Nell Gwynn … Mother! Where are you going? Anyone would think you had a train to catch!”
Remembering how she had died, I could have bitten off my tongue, but she laughed and slid her silken arms around me. “Darling, I don’t know why you bother with me! I wasn’t the best mother in the world.”
“You were the best mother I ever had.” I could feel her slipping through my fingers. “Don’t go!”
“Hush!” Her voice was a soft breeze blowing around me. “I’m not the one you came for. And Child Ellie isn’t hiding from Uncle Merlin. She’s hiding from you, because—to be blunt, darling, you did turn a little self-righteous after you lost all that weight.” The air became still. And when I turned around, the child, wearing the blue-and-gold striped blazer and bows like giant moths in her hair, was sitting halfway up the stairs.
“Hello,” I said. “How about splitting an ice-cream sundae? And Mother, if you are listening, I want you to know I have decided to name the baby after you. I’m certain I am going to have a girl and …”
“Darling,” her voice floated high above me, “you know I always detested my name. How about Abigail? Now there’s a name with an arabesque to it! And Grantham is a name fit for any boy. Such resonance! Ellie, don’t wrinkle your nose at Mother. I always strove not to be an interfering parent, but surely death confers some privileges.…”
I awoke to find myself lying on the sofa in the sitting room. A fire crackled in the hearth and painted rosy shadows on the wall where hung the portrait of Abigail, Uncle Merlin’s mother. Not the Cat Cadaver. This was not the Red Room. The curtains and sofas were ivory damask. The style Queen Anne not Victorian. On either side of the mantel clock stood Chinese yellow vases and the carpet was of a bird-of-paradise design in shades of turquoise and rose. I was alone with my cat Tobias and concern was spread all over his furry face. Had I cried out in my sleep?
Sitting up was a major accomplishment. I was as unwieldly as the inflatable orange boat; for the last month I had been afraid to go anywhere near a pin in case I popped. I watched uneasily as Tobias prowled toward the mound of green-and-gold foil packages I had wrapped before succumbing to an afternoon snooze. We were barely into December, but with the baby due in a month, I was making an effort to be beforehand with as many responsibilities as possible. Several naked boxes, rolls of paper and an assortment of scissors testified to a job half done. The clock chimed five. A dark crack of sky showed above the snow crusted window panes. Reindeer weather. Ben, unlike the Tramwell sisters’ late papa, continued to go gadding off to work, but he planned on being home early this evening, leaving Freddy to oversee Abigail’s. A husband in a hundred! He had already iced the Christmas cake and lined the pantry shelves with enough pots of mincemeat and brandied oranges to stave off a famine. Must he come home to wrap presents too? Did we want a repeat of last year when Jonas received the handbag intended for Dorcas and she men’s underwear?
I tried to remove a ball of red twine from Tobias but he was fleeter of paw than I. Peering out from a wrapping paper tent, he was having a great time fighting for the mastery, until I cheated by squealing.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Cautiously I leaned back against the cushions. “Just a twinge of backache. Remember now … came and went during my dream.” Why was that wretched clock staring at me that way? Why the smirk on its stupid face? With every tsk! tsk! tsk! I grew more aware that Jonas was off on his daily constitutional and Dorcas not yet returned from the village school. A heavy wheezing from somewhere outside the room had me gripping the sofa arm. Must be the wind, I told myself, until I remembered. Mrs. Malloy, Faithful Household Helper, hadn’t left at four-thirty as she usually did. She was putting in extra time giving the nursery the once over, including a shove round with the Hoover. I really should head for the kitchen and fix her a cup of hot cocoa for the road. Dorcas and Jonas would welcome some too.…
Fifteen minutes later I hadn’t budged an inch. But I had rearranged my thinking on certain man/woman relationships. The sitting room door swung open and there stood the dark browed villain of the piece. He who had gotten me with child while retaining his own sylphlike figure. Damn his eyes. His raven hair was frosted at the temples and he was shaking off his coat and stomping his snowy shoes on the good carpet.
“Sweetheart, I got the most incredible inspiration this afternoon for an addition to my repertoire of gourmet baby foods. How does Codled Codfish avec Cornflour Custard grab you?”
“Lipsmacking.” I mopped up my brow with the back of my hand.
“Ellie, I believe there’s a Kiddie Kookery Book inside me trying to get out; can’t leave Monster Mommy languishing on the bestseller list without any competition.” He tossed his coat on a nice clean chair. “Want to tell hubby what you’ve been up to all day?”
“Back … hurts.”
“Poor baby!” He bent to land a kiss on my head, and I shrank away as though from Bluebeard’s son and heir.
“Ben, there’s no way to break this gently. I’m in labor.”
“No!” Hands clenched to his chest, he backed away from me, stomping on a couple of rolls of wrapping paper, and missing Tobias’ tail by inches in the process.
“You can’t be. It’s way too early.” Grabbing the copy of Special Delivery off a table he thumbed wildly through it. The sparks from his eyes almost set the pages alight; within seconds he dropped the book as if it were, indeed, red hot. “How close together …?”
“Every four minutes.”
“Oh, my God!” He fell to his knees, eyes raised to the ceiling. “Have you forgotten …” I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or the Almighty. “… I took the car apart in readiness for the Big Event. It’s in more pieces than a jigsaw puzzle. Freddy drove me to work and brought me home.”
“Then he’s done more than his share … can’t ask him to take me to the hospital on his motorbike.”
“He’s already turned tail lights about and roared back to Abigail’s.”
“That’s nice,” I soothed. “I now have a handle on these contractions (pain is a four letter word). Probably a false alarm. Have you ever known me be early for anything? I was late for our wedding, remember?”
“Ellie!” Ben was racing toward me on his knees. “All the books say that it is undeniably the real thing whenever one thinks it is false labor.” He gripped my hands as the pai … contraction swamped me. “Think Lamaze, my sweet!” He panted encouragement, while I relived the experience of inflating the Nell Gwynn. Our man of action was back on his feet once again. “You’re doing splendidly, my sweet, for a beginner. Hold tight while I dash out to the hall and phone for an ambulance …”
Panic clamped its prongs into me. The phone had been out of order all afternoon. Not an unusual occurrence—probably some rodent snacking on the wires; I tried to stand up, but couldn’t find my feet. Ben was at the door when it cracked inward. Enter Jonas in his World War I bomber’s jacket and fisherman’s cap and Dorcas in her egg yellow jogging suit. They were lugging a Christmas tree between them. Here I went again, spoiling everyone’s fun.
Upon hearing the medical bulletin, Jonas’ face turned grey as his moustache which, incidentally, was going like an electric toothbrush. Dorcas cried, “Good show!” but mercifully did not clap me on the back. “Everyone on their marks. Remember the team’s the thing!” An earsplitting shrill of the whistle strung around D’s neck brought Mrs. Malloy on the scene. She wore the fur coat which looked as though it had been washed in hot water instead of cold, and smelled strongly of her favourite perfume, Booth’s Dry Gin.
“Mrs. H,” eyes snapping under neon painted lids, “I’ve told you dunno-many times—I don’t do outside windows, I don’t do drains and I don’t do confinements. But what I will do is have my gentleman friend, what’s just come to pick me up in his late model Ford, nip over with me to the Vicarage. Reverend’s got a nice young doctor staying with him, so I’ve heard from Mrs. Wood who does over there. Ain’t no good crying for Dr. Melrose because word is he’s down with tonsillitis. Now let’s not go having that baby before I get him back here with the stand-in, Mrs. H, or I’ll look a right fool …”
Ben and Jonas exchanged glances of male outrage, while Dorcas gave another inadvertent blast of the whistle.
“Please!” I cried. “Everyone calm down! Isn’t this supposed to be My Moment? All I ask is to be able to sit back and enjoy my contractions while a dear one holds my hand and tells me stories about women delivering in rice paddies …”
The doctor didn’t look old enough to shave. His name was Smith, which immediately made me suspect him of working under an alias. Certainly he nipped in and out of the room rather a lot. I pictured him having quickie cribs of his Beginner’s Manual. But he was very pleasant. He admired the pheasant wallpaper, the four poster bed and said that the log fire added a delightful Victorian touch; whereupon Ben, pacing by the door, said we were great believers in twentieth-century health care.
Doctor Smith clearly regarded husbands as a modern inconvenience but he told me with great kindness to feel free to scream all I wished.
“Thank you, Doctor.” Pause to pant. “But we have neighbours on both sides within half a mile.” Besides which I didn’t feel I could add to the noise taking place outside the room. Footsteps pounded up and down the stairs. The telephone kept ringing and once I thought I heard the front door bell. Seconds later a rapping came at the door. Ben opened up and Dorcas informed him the Misses Hyacinth and Primrose Tram well were below stairs, having brought tidings of vital importance from the clairvoyant Chantal.
“Tell the ladies my wife is not presently receiving visitors.” Ben’s voice was muffled by his mask. “Coming, sweetheart!” Barely had he stumbled back to the bed when our daughter was born. All I wanted was to hold her. I never thought to ask if she had a nice figure, but I did wonder, in passing, why I didn’t feel noticeably thinner …
“Abigail!” I clung to Ben’s hand, glorying in that newborn cry … the glimpse of an exquisitely wrinkled face and spiky black hair. “Mother picked the name. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Whatever you want, my love.”
Starry-eyed we gazed upon Dr. Smith, who held our five-pound, two-ounce miracle in his noble hands. He was in the process of congratulating us, when I pressed a hand to my damp brow and rudely interrupted him.
“Doctor, I know I am a novice at all this, but I have the strangest feeling …”
“Nerves, Mrs. Haskell!” But suddenly it was the man of medicine who was all of a twitch. He bundled the baby into Ben’s arms and … five seconds later her brother was born. No wonder I had gained so much weight. I’d been eating for three! But Dr. Melrose couldn’t say I had been twice the work, because he had never suggested I was expecting twins! Not bad for a beginner, I thought smugly even as tears stung my eyes. Mother had known, I was sure.
“Did she pick a name for him too?” Ben asked gently.
“Grantham,” I whispered.
Hours later I woke to find Dr. Smith gone, the cradle rocking gently in the firelight and Ben reading beside me. The door was open a crack and I glimpsed the prideful faces of Dorcas and Jonas and the Tramwell sisters before they tiptoed away. No need to ask what Chantal had predicted. My happiness was so magical, so fragile that I was afraid to take deep breaths in case it shattered into a thousand multicoloured pieces and vanished into the night. Blast him, Ben chose that moment to press a butterfly kiss on my brow and I began to tremble.
“I’m not up to the job,” I cried. “I feel like an apprentice and I’ve got this deep down certainty that I’ll remain this way until my babies are eighty. I’ll never get mothering down pat, I’ll never get it quite right!”
“No one ever does,” my husband said with all the newfound wisdom of fatherhood.
Waves of relief flowed over me. Twisting my hair into a no-nonsense braid, I sat up—ready and eager to begin. “Ben, take my hand while I swear to be the best imperfect mother I can be. And one thing you have to promise me: no more How To manuals.”
Squeezing my fingers, he hedged. “We won’t need this one again.” Handsome as fathers come, in his velvet smoking jacket, he strode over to the fireplace and tossed Pregnancy for Beginners into the flames. As for me … as soon as I had fed the children and got them to bed I would write to Theola Faith and ask if we could visit her one day soon. Abby and Tam must meet the fascinating woman who had known their grandmother and discover that very special community, Mud Creek.
Lesson one, my darlings, never judge a town by its name. Or a book by its cover.
To my sister Margaret,
for all the times she said,
“Put on the kettle and read me another chapter.”
OTHER BANTAM BOOKS BY DOROTHY CANNELL
God Save the Queen!
The Widows Club
Mum’s the Word
Femmes Fatal
How to Murder Your Mother-in-Law
How to Murder the Man of Your Dreams
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dorothy Cannell is the author of seven mysteries, including The Thin Woman, The Widows Club, which was nominated for an Agatha Award as Best Novel of the Year, Mum’s the Word, Femmes Fatal, How
to Murder Your Mother-in-Law, God Save the Queen!, and How to Murder the Man of Your Dreams. She is also the author of Down the Garden Path. She was born in Nottingham, England, and currently resides in Peoria, Illinois.
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