Anne Perry s Christmas Mysteries Page 0,51

and new, but not disturbing? That was nonsense. He needed to make up his mind, decide between the safe and the daring. Was Christmas supposed to be safe, comfortable? Nothing more than the restating of old beliefs?

"Yes?" Boscombe prompted.

Dominic smiled self-consciously. "Appropriate." This short time in Cottisham mattered so much, and he was making a mess of it, being trite.

Boscombe seemed to relax. "Of course. Anything I can tell you. But I haven't been...in the vicar's confidence for the last few months. At least, not as closely as I used to be. But I'm sure I can help. What advice did Mrs. Wellbeloved give you? I'll see what I can add. I've been here awhile, and Genevieve was born here."

And indeed he did, giving Dominic the color and flavor of the village life, and in particular those who might have a need-or the reverse: be willing and able to help. He spoke of them all with kindness, but a clear-eyed view of their vulnerabilities. He also summarized several of the vicar's more notable sermons.

But when Dominic sat beside his own fire with Clarice that evening, hearing the wind moan in the eaves, rising shrill and more insistent, and Harry snoring gently next to the hearth, it was Boscombe's anxiety that came to his mind. He tried to explain it to her, but put into words it sounded so insubstantial-a matter of hesitations that could as easily have been shyness, or even a matter of discretion-that he felt foolish to have remembered it at all.

He asked after her day: how she was finding the house, and if the work was onerous. He knew she would say it was not, whatever the truth of it. He admired her for that, and was grateful, but it only increased his sense of guilt that he could not give her the standard of comfort she had been used to before they were married.

"Oh, very good," she said wearily. "It's a lovely house." She drew in her breath to add something, then changed her mind. He knew what she had been going to say-that she wished they could stay there. It was far nicer than the grim accommodation they had in London. Of course Spindlewood and his wife had the vicarage. In the back of Dominic's mind he was always aware of how callous he had been to his first wife in the long past. He had not thought of it as a betrayal at the time, but it had been, deeply and bitterly so. Perhaps if he had been loyal to her, with or without love, she would not have been murdered.

He did not deserve such a second chance. Looking at Clarice sitting in the chair opposite him, the cat in her lap, her face grave, he was overwhelmed with gratitude.

"Except for Harry," she said, still answering his question. "He's fine now, but he's been sulking on the back doorstep half the day."

"Perhaps he wanted to go out." He started to rise to his feet.

"No, he didn't! I know enough to let a dog out now and then," she protested. "He'd only just come in. He sat there most of the time, or wandered around the kitchen pawing at the doors, all of them, even cupboards."

"Could he have been hungry?" he suggested.

"Dominic! I fed him. He tries the hall cupboard and the cellar, not just the cupboards with food in. I think he really misses the vicar."

He sat back in his chair again. "I suppose so. I expect he'll settle. The cat's certainly happy."

She gave him a quick smile, stroking Etta, who needled her lap happily with her claws then went back to sleep.

Dominic leaned forward and poked the fire, sending sparks up the chimney. Clarice was right-it was a lovely house. There was almost a familiarity about it, as if at some far distant time he had lived here before and he would know instinctively where everything was. It was like coming home to some origin so far back, he had forgotten he belonged here.

***

The third morning it was even colder. Clarice could see the village pond from the front door when Dominic went out to begin his visiting. The surface was icing over, and a dusting of white snow made most of it indistinguishable from the banks. Harry went charging out into it and had to be brought back, his chest and tummy caked with snow, and then dried off in front of the kitchen stove, loving the attention.

Clarice did not expect Mrs.