Mrs. Malory and Any Man's Death by HAZEL HOLT Read Free Book Online

always used them—much better than field mushrooms, more flavor. My mother, now, she was a proper countrywoman. She taught us all about things like that—not just these, but herbs and remedies. They used to say in the village she was better than any doctor and, before the war, cheaper too!”
    “Do you ever make up remedies?” I asked.
    “Well, no, it wouldn’t have been proper, seeing as I was a health service practitioner, as you might say. Though I suppose it’s what you’d call alternative medicine now—better than some of that stuff you get in health shops. But I do occasionally make up something for colds and suchlike, just for myself and people who ask me.”
    “How splendid,” I said. “I’ll know where to come next time I have a cold!”
     
    “I always said,” Rosemary declared, when I told her about it, “that Annie is a witch.”
    “A sort of wise woman,” I suggested.
    “Well, I don’t know about wise. But fancy all that going on at Mere Barton nowadays! Are you going to put it in the Book?”
    I smiled. “I don’t think so. I fancy Annie—although she’s quite proud of her peculiar talents—doesn’t really want them publicized.”
    “I wonder if that’s how she makes people do what she wants?” Rosemary said. “Perhaps she casts spells over them.”
    “You never know.”
    “Anyway,” Rosemary went on, “how about Father William? What’s his house like?”
    “Bungalow—as he is quick to inform one, with some distaste. Apparently he feels he should be living in more dignified surroundings. Though I must say he’s done his best to create a splendidly elegant ambience. He has what you might call beautiful things —pictures, objets and so forth.”
    “Goodness!”
    “I sometimes wonder,” I said thoughtfully, “what he’s really like underneath that affected manner.”
    “About the same, I should think.”
    “Maybe. He gave me a copy of a booklet he’s written about the church, and it’s a really scholarly piece of work. He’s obviously put a lot of thought and research into it.”
    “Oh well,” Rosemary said, “I suppose you can be affected and a scholar as well; look at all those television arts presenters!”
    When I put the phone down I found the booklet and looked at it again. As well as meticulous research there was a real feeling of involvement, and I suddenly thought of how he must have stood many times looking at the list of rectors on the board in the church porch and thinking of all those past incumbents from 1292 (when the living was valued at seven marks, three shillings and four pence) down to himself in the present day.
    As I was cutting up some mushrooms to go in the omelette I was making for supper, and thinking about Annie’s expertise with fungi, the phone rang. It was Rachel asking if Rosemary and I would like to go with them to the Mere Barton Harvest Supper the following week.
    “Do come,” she said. “We’re each of us allowed to bring a guest. It’s quite fun really and the food is always good. Everyone in the village contributes something—Phyll’s been in the kitchen for days now, cooking up little delicacies. I can’t really compete, but I’ve done a few boring things like quiches and sausage rolls.”
    “I’d love to come,” I said, “and I’m sure Rosemary would too.”
    “Oh, good. Anyway, what with the Book and everything, you’re practically part of the village yourself.”
    “Does that mean I should contribute something too?”
    “No, no, you and Rosemary are guests, though I do have happy memories of your lemon drizzle cake and I know that would go down very well!”
    As I went back to my omelette I smiled when I thought about how well Rachel seemed to be settling down and taking part in village life. I wondered if she could resist trying to take over some of Annie’s activities and, if she did, what Annie would do about that.

Chapter Five
     
     
     
    The village hall looked very nice. There were proper