Anne Perry s Christmas Mysteries Page 0,65

his own money.

But why? Would it not have been the right thing to do to find out who was the thief-if that was not too serious a word for such petty amounts? Might it be a child? Perhaps he did not want to have such an accusation made if it could become uglier than a simple question of family discipline.

Whom could she ask? Perhaps William Frazer, who had taken over the bookkeeping, would know, or have an idea? He lived next to the village store, and even in this weather she could walk there quite easily. Of course she would not go across the green. One could barely see where the pond was, never mind avoid treading on the ice beneath the snow, and perhaps falling in.

But Frazer had no idea. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Corde," he said earnestly as she sat in the small, crowded room by his parlor fire, still shivering from her journey in the snow. The wind seemed to find its way through even the thickest cloak, and a hat was useless to protect the neck or ears. Now she was almost singeing at the front, and her back was still cold from the draft behind her.

"Your records are immaculate," she said as flatteringly as she could. "At the end of the day the money is always correct, but somewhere along the way a few pennies disappear, and then turn up again. It looks as if the Reverend Wynter made up the difference himself."

Frazer looked startled, his thin, bony face pale with anxiety. "Why on earth would he do such a thing?" he demanded. "John Boscombe never said anything to me, and he's as honest as the day. Ask anyone. If there'd been any irregularities, he'd have told me."

"Perhaps if the Reverend Wynter knew who it was, he might have asked Mr. Boscombe not to say anything," she suggested, puzzled herself.

"Why would he do that?" Frazer's voice was sharp, his big hands were clenched in his lap. "More like the old gentleman lost a few pence here and there." He nodded. "Can happen to anyone. Got the wrong change by mistake, p'raps. Or dropped it in the street and couldn't find it. Done that myself. Only pennies, you said?"

"Yes."

"Don't worry about it. Daresay you'll keep better books yourself, being younger and seeing a good bit clearer. Should have had spectacles, maybe."

"Perhaps." But she did not agree. She thanked him and went out into the bitter wind to walk all the way to John Boscombe's house. In the summer there was a shortcut through the woods, when the stream was low and the stepping-stones clear. But the current was strong and deep now, and would pull a person under its dark surface like greedy hands.

It was a long walk, but she found the man at home, kept from his work in the fields by the smothering snow.

"Come in, come in!" he said warmly as he almost pulled her into the hallway and slammed the door against the wind behind her. "What a day! It's going to be a hard Christmas if it goes on like this. You must be frozen. Let's dust the snow off you before it thaws and gets you wet." He suited the action to the word without waiting for her to agree, sending snow flying all over the hallway. Fortunately the floor was polished stone, so it would mop up well enough. "Come into the kitchen," he invited, satisfied with his work and turning to lead the way. "Have some soup. Always keep a stockpot on the simmer this time of year. The children are out playing. They've built a snowman bigger than I am. Genny! New vicar's wife is here!"

Genevieve Boscombe stood in the middle of the kitchen with her hands in a big bowl of flour and pastry. She was smiling, but she did not make any move to stop what she was doing. "Welcome," she said cheerfully. "I'll not shake your hand or I'll have you covered. John'll get you a dish of soup. It's just barley and bones, but it's hot." There was a faint flush of defiance in her cheeks, from more than just the exertion of rolling the pastry.

One was not defensive unless one was vulnerable. Clarice knew that from experience. She was conscious of her own clumsiness, where her sisters and her mother had been graceful. The comparison, even made in what was intended as humor, had sometimes hurt her sharply. Once or twice when she