James took the letter from him. For the most part, it was the same as the other letters, with updates and experiences. However, he thought that he may as well read the one part that had caught Stephen’s eye.
‘“Boyd, I am not being true to myself. Perhaps the Camerons are cursed. It certainly seems that way. I cannot live a lie, though. It’s surprising how powerful love is.”’
He folded the letter and replaced it in the box. ‘You think this is to do with love?’
‘L-love, acceptance, support, th-the respect of your e-elders,’ replied Stephen. ‘Perhaps an inappropriate affair? He’s married a respectable girl. I-I can’t imagine his father disapproving of that. But has he married that girl for his f-father? Was he in love with someone else?’
‘Actually, I believe he may have been. Beth seems to think Lucy was in love with him. So you think Calvin married for convenience to gain the love of his father?’
‘D-don’t you? It w-wouldn’t be the first time such a thing has happened.’
James flicked through the envelopes and retrieved those with photographs in. ‘You know, he sent over snapshots of his wife, but none of them together.’ He turned to Stephen. ‘I wonder if he ever did marry?’
‘O-only one way to find out.’
James agreed, but suggested it would be a difficult conversation and that he was far too distant from the family to ask it. ‘Calvin seems an easygoing chap, but I think even he would draw the line at me questioning his marriage.’
A light-bulb moment appeared to give Stephen a lift. ‘W-what about your friend at Somerset House? Will he have contacts in India who can find out for you? Y-you have approximate dates and a city. Th-there can’t be th-that many Calvin Camerons getting married in Bombay.’
‘You’re certainly on the ball, Merryweather.’ James leapt up and opened the bureau in the corner of the room to retrieve his address book. ‘Ah yes, here we are. Gerald Crabtree.’
Gerald Crabtree had access to records of births, marriages and deaths at Somerset House. He’d helped James in the past when trying to sort out GJ’s little mystery. James dashed out to the telephone in the hall and, five minutes later, returned with a smile on his face.
‘Merryweather, you are a genius. He does have contacts in Bombay. He’s going to see what he can rustle up.’
Beth and Anne joined them and James updated the pair on their interpretation of the letters and the phone call to London. Beth clasped her hands together. ‘How exciting.’
‘And intriguing,’ said Anne.
James shut the lid on the shoebox and offered to refill the teapot. In the kitchen, a doubt crossed his mind. Even if Calvin was living a lie, how would this have affected the events here in Cavendish? Had Christie and Jeannie discovered Calvin’s secret? He agitated the tea leaves in the pot.
That would certainly create a motive for murder, he thought to himself. That, and the fact that Calvin would inherit a considerable sum of money.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The sun cast a pale light across Cavendish as villagers made their way toward St Nicholas’ church. It was a still day and the autumnal chill was a refreshing one.
James pulled up a short distance from the village green and leapt out to open the car door for Beth. He wore a grey suit, a Crombie coat and a trilby. Beth had opted for a gold tweed skirt with a matching jacket. She’d chosen a petite feather and lace hat and court shoes. He opened the boot and brought out a wooden box full of parsnips, onions, potatoes and flowers. They made their way across the village green and toward the church. The bells pealed a welcome to all.
Stephen, in his Sunday robes, greeted his congregation like long-lost friends as they filed past to take their place in the pews, each adult and child laden with harvest gifts. Flowers, vegetables and fruit were predominantly held by the adults, while tins of soup and packets of flour and cereal were carried in by the children.
James and Beth exchanged greetings with Stephen before making their way inside. At the front, Anne guided each individual to a particular area to lay their offering down.
‘Oh, goodness, everyone has been so generous,’ she said as she manoeuvred them toward a side wall. ‘I think we’ll put your things there.’
They took a second to admire the church. The harvest gifts themselves were placed with care to ensure they could all be seen. Seasonal sprays were carefully interspersed with root vegetables and larder foods. The display appeared busy and vibrant – much like a thriving market. Above, Anne had hung sprays of ferns from the beams along the length of the nave and, around the pulpit were beautiful golden roses.
‘I say, Anne, it looks wonderful,’ said James.
‘You’ve worked so hard to make this a celebration,’ Beth added admiringly. ‘I find the whole place inspiring.’
Anne flushed at the praise, explaining that she’d kept the roses in the fridge to keep them fresh. She excused herself to help the next villager in line. James steered Beth to the pews, where Charlie Hawkins pushed his children along to allow some room. Young Tommy Hawkins leant across his father.
‘Me and Susan brought apples and some tins of tomato soup.’
Susan peeked over her brother. ‘And a loaf of bread.’
‘Splendid,’ said James. ‘You’ve certainly entered into the spirit of things.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Charlie to his children. ‘You’re supposed to be getting ready to sing. Go and sit with Mr Chrichton.’
They made their way along the pew and raced to the choir stalls.
James swung round to see the church filling up. Everyone, it seemed, had made a real effort. Graham Porter and his family waved from the opposite side. Messrs Chapman and Bateson, bank manager and solicitor respectively, sat alongside each other at the back. The Snoop Sisters, Rose and Lilac Crumb, whispered together, no doubt discussing their neighbours in rather negative terms. Dorothy Forbes and her husband slotted in immediately behind him and waved a hello.
Local farmers and their wives were, of course, the focus during harvest time and the villagers were keen to make room for them and treat them with much respect. Time spent away from their land and animals was normally time wasted, but they all took part in the harvest festivities and gave generously.
Donovan and Kate Delaney sat with their children between them. James suppressed a grin as Donovan squeezed a finger under his collar to loosen the restriction round his throat. Kate reached across and slapped his hand. He grimaced and tilted his chin out to alleviate the tightness.
Philip and Helen Jackson came down the aisle with their daughter, Natasha, and handed Anne a selection of fruit and vegetables. James squeezed up to allow them a seat.
‘Thank you,’ said Helen. ‘What a wonderful turnout.’
‘Isn’t it?’ James said as he saw Bert scurry down, hand Anne a bag of fruit and dash to a rear pew. Their cleaner, Mrs Jepson, followed him, nagging her husband to select a seat before they all went. The orchard grower, Pete Mitchell, shuffled to the rear of the church with his young wife.
Mr Bennett, James’ boyhood fishing tutor, slowly walked toward Anne with a selection of wares from his allotment. His faithful dog, Blackie, ambled alongside him.
‘Ow!’
The cry of anguish elicited a smile between James and Mr Chrichton, who had just clipped a young lad round the ear for misbehaving. The junior school choir were more used to school assemblies than formal church festivals and he felt Chrichton had his work cut out with this motley bunch, the bulk of the children being under twelve. They fidgeted, scratched and pushed one another until Chrichton drew himself up and quietly growled. The children stiffened. James tilted his head in wonder. He couldn’t see Chrichton’s face, but the growl certainly had the desired effect.
GJ and Catherine caught his eye as they waved. The stragglers, including George, skipped inside and took their places at the back.
Charlie leant close. ‘Did you get your invite to Cory House?’
‘Yes,’ said James, ‘S
tephen called late last night.’
The call was unexpected but, he felt, a wonderful gesture. Calvin had insisted on an informal drinks party after the Harvest Festival for those villagers who had been so kind to Boyd.
Charlie whispered. ‘Do you know who’s been invited?’
‘Just a handful of people,’ said Beth ‘Us, the Merryweathers, you, the Jacksons and DCI Lane.’
‘DCI Lane?’
‘Apparently they were impressed with his softly, softly approach to Boyd.’
A hush spread through the church. James turned to see Stephen leading Boyd, Calvin, Suzie and Lucy down the aisle. After handing Anne their flowers and fruit, they took their places in the front pew that had been especially reserved for them. Before sitting they acknowledge James and Beth with a smile.
Stephen, who always preferred to be amongst his congregation rather than up in the pulpit, stood between the first pews and spread his arms open.
‘Father God, we th-thank you for the gift of life and the abundance you provide; the flowers and fruits, the minerals and water, the living creatures and the g-grace and beauty of this land. At harvest time, the seeds we have sown reach their fruitfulness. Let us praise you for the harvest you supply each year.’ He gave a nod to Mr Chrichton, who rapped the wooden rail between him and his pupils. They stood up. ‘The ch-children of Cavendish Junior h-have rehearsed our most popular harvest hymn. P-please stand and join with them.’
And, as the congregation launched into ‘We Plough the Fields and Scatter’, so began the Harvest Festival service, a service that James particularly enjoyed because of its heritage and songs.
Stephen, as was his style, wandered up and down the aisle, engaging with villagers, weaving his biblical stories into riveting tales of lessons learnt, with the knack of gaining everyone’s appreciation of the land and how precious the harvest was.
Bob Tanner stood to lead the first verse of ‘Come, Ye Thankful People Come’. His voice was deep, rasping and mesmeric and the words and their meaning echoed through the church.
‘Come, ye thankful people, come,
Raise the song of harvest home;
All is safely gathered in,
’ere the winter storms begin.
God our Maker doth provide,
For our wants to be supplied.
Come to God’s own temple, come,
Raise the song of harvest home.’
The organ joined in during the second verse and the congregation was in full voice by the end. Stephen then invited James to speak. He slipped out of his seat.
Standing at the front, he smiled at the villagers and began his talk.
‘When I was a small boy, my father made a point of taking me to see the farmers; to see how they toiled and worked the fields. I watched the heavy horses plough the land, vegetables planted, seeds sown and animals nurtured and cared for as if they were family. I stood in awe of the lone farmer trudging through snow to rescue his livestock. I felt humble, and continue to feel humble, when I’m among the farming community. Without them, we would not have the food we eat.’ He unfolded a sheet of paper. ‘I’m no singer, but I wanted to share a couple of verses of a song that many a farmer has sung since the last century. We hear it in the folk club and the pub and its words are particularly significant at this time of the year.’
He cleared his throat and recited the words:
‘Let the wealthy and great roll in splendour and state,
I envy them not, I declare it.
For I eat my own ham, my own chicken and lamb
I shear my own fleece and I wear it.
‘By ploughing and sowing, by reaping and mowing
King Nature affords me aplenty
I've a cellar well stored and a plentiful board
And a garden affords every dainty.
‘I have lawns, I have bowers, I have fruit, I have flowers
And the lark is my morning alarmer
So jolly boys now here's good luck to the plough
Long life and success to the farmer.’
The farmers were eager to show their appreciation of James’ speech and he gave them a bashful smile as applause rippled through the church. He took his place next to Beth as Stephen continued.
‘Before I end the harvest festivities and move on to a short r-remembrance, I-I would like to pass on something that I recently heard a farmer saying on the wireless.’ He raised his voice and delivered the quote with full conviction. ‘We must look after the trees, the rivers, the oceans and the fields. When we lose sight of nature, it is then that we will realise that we have nothing. Man cannot live on money alone.’
A murmur went through the congregation and James sat back in full admiration of his friend. In a few words, he had highlighted how important the land was and refocused everyone’s minds on the simple things in life. He returned his attention to Stephen, who was now standing in front of the Cameron family.
‘As you know, the newcomers to our community, Christie and Jeannie Cameron, both suffered p-particularly unpleasant deaths. Their denomination, although different to ours, s-still upheld the love of God and the duty we have in serving our God. Christie’s sons and nieces are here to join our community today in remembrance. Please b-bow your heads in prayer.’
As Stephen went through a selection of prayers, James’ thoughts returned to the quote. So many lives lost or damaged in disputes over fortunes, property and possessions. The mysteries he’d been involved with so often had their root causes in greed. Would this be the same for the Camerons? Were the deaths of Christie and Jeannie to do with the vulgarity of money and inheritance? Or was Stephen right – was this something to do with the power of love?
Beth rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Come on, daydreamer. It’s time to go.’
Cory House had taken on a brighter look of late. Work was still ongoing and there were more visible signs of a tired house coming to life. The ivy was now clear from the frontage and the stonework bright and clean. The weeds that had commandeered the gravel drive had been cleared. When the large front door opened, James was delighted by the warm welcome given to him and Beth; a far cry from the chilly reception on their first visit. What a breath of fresh air the nieces and the Cameron brothers were in comparison to Christie and his sister.
Lucy showed them into the front room where the Jacksons and the Merryweathers were already tucking into cheese and pickle sandwiches. Luke and Mark Merryweather raced from room to room as Radley yelped and chased after them. Philip and Helen Jackson arrived with Natasha. Calvin, Lucy and Suzie buzzed back and forth from the kitchen with drinks and nibbles. Charlie sat cross-legged on the floor with his children, Tommy and Susan, getting them acquainted with Boyd, whose pink eyes were alive with anticipation.
Beth leant into James. ‘What a shame Christie couldn’t see Boyd as a wonderful human being.’
‘Yes, I don’t think there were any winners in that game,’ replied James. ‘At least Boyd can start living again.’
Suzie approached them with a jug and two glasses. ‘Lucy made a non-alcoholic punch.’ She screwed her face up in disgust. ‘I don’t see the point of it, really. It’s only orange juice and lemonade. Why she couldn’t put a bit of rum in there, I don’t know.’
James accepted the glasses and watched as she filled them. ‘It’s a little early for rum punch, Suzie, and you’re a little young to be drinking it.’
She pouted. ‘I’m nearly sixteen.’
‘Exactly.’
She turned on her heels and stomped off, much to their amusement. As Anne approached them, Beth asked James where George was.
‘He made his excuses at the church and went back to the station.’
‘Oh,’ said Anne. ‘Does that mean he’s leaving you to investigate?’
She and Beth chuckled and James allowed them their fun. He scanned the room. ‘Where’s Stephen?’
‘Outside. He was admiring the architecture so he’s wandering around taking it all in.’ She tutted. �
��He was also intrigued by your searching for a secret passage.’
‘Unfortunately, there isn’t one – not as far as I could make out. Calvin looked, too.’
Anne shrugged and moved on to the subject of the harvest season. ‘Well, those were our first scarecrow and Harvest Festivals in Cavendish and I’ve loved every minute of them. Are you all prepared for the supper?’
‘Absolutely, old thing.’ He’d already spoken with Graham Porter and the farmers about the food for the night and they’d decided on who would be supplying the geese, stuffing, gammon and vegetables. ‘The junior school kitchen is supplying plates and cutlery and we’re borrowing tables from the village hall.’
‘How many are coming?’
Beth took over. ‘Most of the villagers come, so we tend to seat the elderly first and the more able-bodied clamber onto the hay bales. James is Lord of the Harvest.’
Anne turned. ‘I keep meaning to ask, but what does the Lord of the Harvest do?’
James explained that, traditionally, at the end of the harvest, farmers prepared a supper for those who helped bring the harvest home. Once the last of the corn was stored, the harvesters would elect a Lord of the Harvest.
‘The Lord of the Harvest officially brings in the last sheaf of corn to announce that the harvest is in. In Cavendish, we have this community supper. All of the farmers gather and everyone helps prepare the food. My job is to distribute harvest bread to everyone. Elsie Taylor’s making loaves in the shape of a wheatsheaf. A caraway cake is also a traditional part of the meal.’
‘And what’s the significance of a caraway cake?’
‘I believe that caraway seeds were symbolic of wheat grains,’ said James. ‘It appears to be a Sussex tradition so we’ve carried it on. It’s normally eaten with ale, so Donovan is providing everyone with a tot of seasonal ale to accompany it.’
Anne had a satisfied smile on her face. ‘I’m so pleased that Stephen is here as your vicar. It’s lovely to be part of a village that keeps these traditions alive.’
James agreed and left the ladies to chat. He checked his watch. Stephen had been an awfully long time studying the outside of the house. What on earth had he found that was so interesting? He wandered through to the hall and down the front steps. The gravel crunched beneath his feet. He reached the corner and peered along the side.
Lord James Harrington and the Autumn Mystery Page 15