Anne Perry s Christmas Mysteries Page 0,54

knot garden. I bet there's a maze somewhere to the back, she thought, beyond the old cedars at the side, and the oaks.

She felt a little presumptuous walking up and knocking on the front door uninvited, but her reason was compelling. The Reverend Wynter would need his Bible: his own copy, not something lent to him by a stranger-something with his passions, his dreams, and his understandings written in over the years.

She knocked and waited. The purple cloud banners were a pall over the embers of the setting sun. Nothing happened. Then in the fast-fading light she noticed a gryphon's head to one side and realized it was an elaborate bellpull. She tried it, and a few moments later a butler appeared. He was an elderly gentleman with white hair and a thin, ascetic face with a surprising flash of humor in it. "Yes, ma'am? May I help you?"

She stood on the step shivering. "I am Clarice Corde, wife of the vicar who is taking the Reverend Wynter's place this Christmas," she began.

"Indeed, ma'am. Sir Peter spoke of you. Would you care to come in? It's a distinctly chilly evening."

"Distinctly," she agreed through chattering teeth. "Yes. I need to ask Sir Peter's advice, if I may?"

"Of course." The butler stepped back, took her cloak and shawl, and conducted her into the withdrawing room, which was paneled in oak with a coffered ceiling. A magnificent arras hung on the wall, and the fire burning in the hearth was big enough to have roasted a pig on a spit above the flames. Sir Peter was sitting in a huge leather armchair by the blaze, and he stood up the moment she came in.

The butler offered her tea, which she accepted. She took the seat opposite Sir Peter.

"What may I do to help?" he asked her.

She told him of finding the Bible, and then the address that she knew could not be correct. "I wondered if you know where he had really gone," she finished. "I think he will miss his own scriptures, and I would like to send them to him."

"Indeed," he said, frowning now. "How odd that he should forget to pack such a thing. No doubt it was an oversight. He will be searching for it already. But I am afraid I don't know where he went. In fact I did not even know he was going. It was a surprise to me. I would have wished him a good journey. I am sorry I didn't." There was gentleness in his voice and a softness of genuine regret in his eyes.

Looking at him, Clarice was suddenly aware of how deeply fond of the Reverend Wynter he must have been, and that perhaps he was more hurt by the rift between them than he admitted.

Chapter Ten

"You have no idea where else he goes?" she pressed. "I could at least write a letter; if he writes back, I shall know where to send the Bible. I must not risk losing it."

"No!" He leaned forward. "You must keep it safely. Please, don't risk it unless you are absolutely certain where he is. Family Bibles matter intensely. So many memories. Could you not be mistaken about this hotel?"

"No." She had no doubt about it. She had been sorry and inconvenienced to find it changed herself. She told him of her experience. She did not mention that it had been the vicar's personal Bible, not a family one.

A shadow flickered across his face with its delicate lines.

"I see. No, there seems to be no room for error. I'm sorry; I really don't know where else he might have gone. I wish I could offer help."

The branch of the tree burning in the grate settled a little, and a shower of sparks flew up the vast chimney. She looked around at the age and beauty of the room and wondered how many generations of Connaughts had sat here, hearing the stories of the village, helping, protecting, disciplining, governing, and probably using and taxing as well. Walls like these had seen England 's history unfolding since before the Spanish Armada had sailed in the time of Queen Elizabeth. Perhaps even Henry VIII had visited here with one of his six wives. Or Walsingham had sent out his spies. There would be a priest hole behind that fireplace for fugitive Catholics when they were hunted and burned. Which side had the Connaughts been on in the Civil War? Or the Bloodless Revolution?

Sir Peter was smiling at her,