The Wrong Rite by Charlotte MacLeod Read Free Book Online Page A

the wiser?
    It was hard to envision a bona fide warlock in rubber gloves and fuzzy slippers and nothing in between. The cap and pipe suggested less a primeval ceremony than a vicious act of spite or vandalism trying to pass itself off as a practical joke, but one never knew. Madoc was still looking when Huw came back on the dead run with a bucket of sawdust and a shovel and a big canvas sheet.
    “Mist’s beginning to rise,” he panted. “Folk will be stirring, we’d best work fast.”
    They did. In a matter of minutes the ram and the sweepings were down the well and the cover back on. Huw went to see how Padarn was doing. Madoc sluiced a few bucketfuls of water over the chapel floor and altar, made sure he hadn’t collected any telltale stains, took the bucket back to the barn, went back to the manor, and swarmed up the ivy. The window he’d been so careful to close behind him wouldn’t open. Janet had to get up and let him in, laughing fit to kill.
    “Hi, Tarzan. Me Jane. What in the world have you been up to?”
    “Just taking a little morning climb. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
    “Not really. What time is it?”
    “Getting on toward six, I expect. Why don’t you go back to bed for a bit? I’m going to shave.”
    Madoc took his time in the bathroom, he felt the need of a cleansing soak. Like as not, the gloves and slippers would turn up in the pond if anyone ever got around to dragging it. The knife or cleaver used for that rather competent beheading might well be there also. He didn’t suppose any of the things would help much, but a start had to be made somewhere.
    He might as well quit champing at the bit. Uncle Huw wasn’t going to budge, and Madoc couldn’t really blame him. Not with so many being gathered together for so momentous an occasion. Not with the Rhyses all working their heads off to get ready.
    He wished he could forget about heads off, at least for now. He wished he could tell Janet, he might feel better. And make her feel worse. The day after tomorrow would be time enough. It would have to be. He heaved himself out of the tub at last and picked up his razor. He was doing the fussy bit under his nose when Janet tapped at the door.
    “Were you planning to spend the day in there? I’m getting up.”
    Getting themselves and the baby put together took a while, but they were down in the kitchen not long after seven. Betty had tea in front of them before they’d even sat themselves down.
    “Is it up so early you are, then? We thought you’d be sleeping till noon.”
    “And waste a day like this?” said Janet. “Just one piece of toast for me please, Betty. I ate far too much last night. Oh, and thanks for making me that special trifle. I practically licked the dish. Are we the first ones down?”
    “Oh no, Master will be along. It is his eggs I am cooking now. He just stepped out to be taking a look at the weather. Will you have eggs, Madoc?”
    While they were settling the question of Madoc’s breakfast, Sir Caradoc came in through the back entry. Dorothy, already conversant with the Welsh tradition of hospitality, offered him a bite of the rusk Betty had given her to try out her tooth on. After a while, he got around to noticing her parents.
    “And what are your plans for this beautiful day?”
    “I’d like to go up to the farm for a while,” said Janet. “We’d like Aunt Elen and Uncle Huw to see the baby, and we thought we might help out a bit with the party.”
    “Such a fuss because an old man has grown a year older.” Sir Caradoc looked pretty smug about the fuss. “There is to be a Maypole, Mary tells me.”
    “How nice, I’ve never seen one. What happens? Do the children dance around it?”
    “Probably not, but it is pretty to see. Dorothy shall be our Queen of the May, with a crown of daisies around her sweet head.”
    “She’s a bit young to be crowned,” Madoc protested. “Why don’t we just pin a couple of leeks to her nappy?”
    “Daddy’s making fun