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

of material,” he said, “political and otherwise, but I do have a special feeling for this part of the world; after all, as I was saying just now, I’m a countryman at heart.”
    “I suppose that’s why,” Annie said sharply, “you have a London constituency.”
    The smile again. “Ah, we politicians have to take what we can get.”
    “The best of both worlds,” I said, feeling obliged to break up what seemed like a tense moment. “Aren’t you lucky!”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t want to live in London,” Rosemary said. “I did when I was young. I thought it would be lovely to live where the really important things were happening. But now everything’s changed and changed for the worse.”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Toby said. “London’s still an exciting place to be, though, of course, I’m fortunate to be at the center of things, as it were.”
    “None of you lot are ever there,” Annie said. “When I watch that Parliament channel on my Sky TV—I like to keep up—the place is always half empty. No, not even that, just someone speaking and one or two people round him, and then a lot of empty seats. I don’t call that a job of work!”
    “A lot of the work is done in committee,” Toby said, with an air of controlled patience. “As I was explaining earlier, I’m serving on a rather important one, on public transport . . .”
    “Will it give us a better bus service to Bridgwater?” Annie demanded. “No, I didn’t think so. Well, I can’t stand here chatting; I’ve got to get back and see what they’re up to in the kitchen.”
    “Well,” Rosemary said when Annie had gone, “she doesn’t mince her words, does she?”
    Toby laughed. “Oh, Annie and I understand each other; we more or less grew up together. In fact, I do believe that, apart from Fred and Ellen Tucker, we are the last original inhabitants still living in the village.”
    “The last of the aboriginals,” I said. “Ellen was talking about it just the other day.”
    “Of course,” Toby said, “rural depopulation is a serious matter. I hope to bring a private Member’s Bill on that very subject.”
    Since Toby was now embarked on what appeared to be a rerun of one of his parliamentary speeches, I was relieved when Rachel came up.
    “Oh, Toby, sorry to interrupt, but everything’s ready now, so if you could gather people together and say a few words. Just introduce the entertainment—they’re all ready—and then after that Father William will say a prayer and we’ll all get on with the eating and drinking, which is the main thing, really!”
    Certainly the food was marvelous. When the entertainment was over Rosemary and I, who’d been getting hungrier by the minute, filled our plates (rather greedily) and sat down at one of the tables. We’d just settled when we were joined by Jim and Mary Fletcher—not the people I would have chosen to spend the evening with, but they chatted amiably enough about the food and the entertainment we were promised.
    “Weren’t those handbell ringers from Lower Barton wonderful?” Jim said. “They’re really quite remarkable.”
    “Such an old tradition,” Mary said. “And of course we have a very fine peal in the church here; I expect you’ve heard them. In the olden days they used to muffle the bells on New Year ’s Eve to alternate the six normal rings for the New Year with six almost inaudible for the old. Isn’t that interesting—perhaps you could put it in the Book.”
    “How fascinating,” I said, with what conviction I could muster.
    “Oh, Mary will put you right,” Jim said. “Very interested in things like that—always has been. When we were living in Farnborough she was very involved with the local history society. Working in the library, you see, she was able to look up all sorts of things for them. I’m sure she could do the same for you here—she’s struck up quite a friendship with the chief librarian in Taviscombe, haven’t you, Mary?”
    “Well,