Pagan Spring: A Mystery (A Max Tudor Novel) by G.M. Malliet Read Free Book Online Page A

Claude Chaux ([email protected])
    Date: Friday, March 23, 2012 6:30 P.M.
     
    Claude—You asked about the people in my new village. I suppose I’ll start with the Reverend Max Tudor, one of the most appealing men I’ve ever come across. He’s an Anglican vicar, but he’s not one of the preachy sorts of vicars, if you follow. He is in love with the woman who runs the local New Age shop, and she with him—they fondly believe no one notices this, which is rather sweet of them, we all think. They are a charming couple, and made for each other, so no one can help but wish them well. Watch this space for an announcement of a wedding, or so we all hope. What a celebration that will be! We—the villagers, and I have quickly come to count myself as one of them, you see—we have rather banded together to try to ensure Max’s bishop doesn’t get wind of this news before Max and Awena are ready to announce the banns. Awena is … well, she’s rather a spiritual person and goes her own way in the religion department. There may be trouble if the purple-robed brigade learns of this too soon. They’d be worried about what the press may make of it, of course. Otherwise, I am not sure they’d care, although some people will, of course. Some people always care too much about others’ business, as we well know.
    I did tell you I’ve been invited to join the local writers’ group? I gather the standards for membership are minimal, simply a pen and a notebook and a desire to write. “We let Frank join” is how Suzanna Winship, the doctor’s sister, puts it. The desire to write is there inside me; I suppose it always has been. They say it’s never too late. But what could I write about? I’ve lived a life of little incident. I’m too shy to read aloud my little scraps of poetry (I suppose people would call it poetry, for lack of a better term), and I gather reading aloud is another requirement of joining the group. Maybe it’s time to outgrow that reluctance.
    I have to run now—tonight is Lucie’s dinner party. I am happy, keeping busy. I hope you are happy, too.
    Your ever-loving, Gabby

CHAPTER 4
Dinner Party
    Friday, March 23, 7:00 P.M.
    Lucie and Frank Cuthbert lived embraced by peaceful woods in an old Georgian house at the west end of the village, on the road to Chipping Monkslip. They recently had moved there from the cramped quarters over their shop.
    Rather than take the Land Rover, Max had slogged his way over on foot, passing St. Edwold’s graveyard with its enormous Plague Tree, dodging puddles, and using his umbrella as a windshield. The weather, which had threatened rain for most of March, had seldom delivered, and parts of the South West were officially facing a serious drought. But when it did rain, it tended to pour, as now, chucking it down, with high winds added to stir the River Puddmill’s waters into a froth, and to rattle shutters and windows. Oddly, there was never quite enough water to alleviate drought, but enough to disrupt the various trade routes to and from Nether Monkslip, and, on occasion, to swell the normally placid river into a surging torrent.
    Max arrived at the house to effusive greetings and cluckings from Lucie Cuthbert, who helped him peel off his wet raincoat and hat and divested him of his umbrella in the entry hall. The other dinner party guests were already gathered in the Cuthberts’ living room, for Max was last to arrive: He’d been held up by a last-minute phone call from a parishioner asking about available wedding dates at St. Edwold’s. As he rang off, Max thought placidly how nice it was that when the time came, he would be able to pick and choose practically whatever date he and Awena liked.
    Max, joining the others, counted off the eight for dinner. Representing the men’s team were himself, Thaddeus Bottle, Dr. Bruce Winship, and Frank Cuthbert; for the women, Melinda Bottle, estate agent Bernadina Steed, and Gabby Crew, in addition to their hostess,