Anne Perry s Christmas Mysteries Page 0,57

to them that will be anything more than an echo of what he has already said?" he asked her. "Any one of them could stand up in the pulpit and tell the Christmas story as well as I can. Clarice, what can I say to make it new?"

She saw the spark of fear in his eyes, the knowledge that he might not be equal to the task that mattered to him so much. This village was old, comfortable, and secure in its habits. It was not conscious of any hunger that needed filling, any ignorance or darkness waiting for light. The townspeople wanted to stay as they were and be reassured that all was well. Anyone could do that: pass and leave no mark at all, like wind over water.

She ached to be able to help him. She was seeing for the first time the need in him: not desire to do a job or fulfill a duty, but a hunger to succeed that would not let him rest or leave him free from pain if he failed.

"What's the best thing about Christmas?" she asked, trying to strip away the trite, all the things that had already been said. "What does it really mean to us? What...what is it for? It's not goodwill, a brief time of peace or generosity. It has to be more than that."

"It's the beginning of our faith," he replied. "Christ coming into the world." He said it as if it were obvious.

"I know." She felt crushed. "But what for?" she insisted. "Why was everything different afterward?"

The fire was scorching him, and he stepped away from it. "I'm not exactly sure how to answer that," he replied. "It sounds...it sounds too much like an academic answer, and that's not what they need, Clarice. I need a spiritual answer, a joy in the soul."

She could think of nothing better to add. She was failing him, and, feeling empty, she turned and went into the kitchen.

***

Clarice woke to find a white world, silent, deep in snow. The air was motionless, and when she opened the back door into the garden to let Harry out, the bitter cold of it was sharp in her lungs. She drew in her breath in amazement at the beauty of it. The old apple tree was laden like an extravagant blossom. Other trees, soaring upward, were naked, too thin to hold the snow, shining against an enamel sky.

But it was a dangerous beauty, a cold that paralyzed, a depth of snow that soaked heavy skirts and exhausted old or fragile limbs. The low winter sun was almost blinding.

She closed the door and turned to find Dominic standing behind her, a rueful smile on his face.

"You're going out," she said, more as a statement than a question. She wished he did not have to, but if he had found excuses to stay at home she would have been even more deeply disappointed. What use was preaching or praying if one was not willing to act?

"I'll try not to be long," he answered. "But there'll be people who shouldn't go out in this, even to fetch wood, never mind to get bread or milk."

"I know." She gave him a quick kiss, hugging him tightly for a moment, then going back to the kitchen to tidy up. It was warm in there and she had hot water, which made her more fortunate than many.

However, in the middle of the morning she found with surprise that the coal bucket beside the stove was empty, and the coke scuttle as well. She would have to go down to the cellar to fetch more. What was left would not last her until Dominic returned.

She picked up the scuttle and went to the hall. The cellar door was locked, but she had the key on the big household ring, and it opened with ease. A rush of chilled air engulfed her immediately, making her shiver and step back. There was a swish past her ankles, and Etta disappeared down the steps into the darkness.

"Mice!" Clarice said in disgust. "I suppose it's your job, but you really are a nuisance. Well, I'm not taking a candle down there. It'll blow out and then I'll not even find my way back." She put down the coke scuttle and went to look for a lantern. She knew there was one in the scullery by the back door. She found it, lit it, settled the glass to protect the flame, and then returned. Etta