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

of you, Dorothy,” said Janet. “What about the Beltane fire, Uncle Caradoc? Will there be one?”
    “I suppose so.” The old man didn’t sound particularly elated by that part of the program. “It is always a worry to me. There will have been drink taken by then, you see. Some of the young fellows may get silly. And some of the girls also.”
    “Well, I expect we girls here will be in bed by then. What do you say, Madoc? Do you suppose we’d be too early if we went to the farm right after you’ve finished your breakfast?”
    “Oh no, they’ll have been up before us. Unless you’d like me to put the sickle into the niche for you, Uncle Caradoc.”
    “There is no hurry about that. We can do it at dinnertime. Maybe the ghost will come and watch.”
    “Then Bob can tell for sure whether he’s a monk or a Druid,” said Janet, “though I personally can’t see what difference it makes.”
    “Oh, it would make a difference. The Druids were not such gentle creatures as those folklore chaps make them out.”
    Betty was setting a huge plateful of bacon, eggs, fried bread, and home-cured sausage in front of Sir Caradoc. “There you are then, Master, and may the food lie easy in your stomach.”
    “Thank you, Betty. Your food always agrees with me, you know that.”
    If a man Uncle Caradoc’s age could down a meal the size of that one every morning, he was probably good for another decade or two, Janet thought. While Madoc finished his paltry single egg and sausage, she tied on Dorothy’s white bonnet and buttoned up the pink sweater with bunnies on it that Silvestrine had knitted while Sir Emlyn was conducting rehearsals in Edinburgh. The day would surely be warm once the sun got high, but the thermometer still had a way to go, and God forbid that the Queen of the May should come down with a sniffle.
    The mist was dissipated by now; the tits and the finches were making merry in the hedgerows; the sun was offering a handsome apology for yesterday’s sullen streak. Madoc took Dorothy on one arm and Janet on the other, just to feel them safe with him.
    Uncle Huw couldn’t have told Aunt Elen about Padarn. She was all smiles when she met them at the farmhouse door. “Come in! Oh, what a love! Come, Dorothy, give Auntie a kiss. Have you eaten breakfast?”
    “We had something with Uncle Caradoc,” Janet temporized. They’d had quite enough, but there was no way they were going to get out of having more. She sat down at the long table and looked expectant, as courtesy demanded, while Elen whipped fresh buns out of the oven and poured boiling water into the teapot. “Where’s all the family, Aunt Elen?”
    “Owain’s off to the sheep. The kids are still asleep, the lazy creatures. Huw’s around somewhere, he’ll be in for his tea. Mavis is out at the high barn, dusting off about a hundred ugly old plates Huw’s grandmother bought at a sale years ago. I suppose they’re antiques by now. We store them away in one of the grain bins; they come in handy every so often for a major bash.”
    “Can we help?”
    “Not on your life! You sit right here and talk to me. Have you finished your house? Were the icebergs bad in the river this year? Is Dorothy teething yet? Did you bring any snaps?”
    Janet had expected just such questions. She was showing Elen a view of the lovely St. John River with not a floe in sight and Sir Emlyn in waders and an old felt hat stuck all over with dry flies, reeling in a salmon, when Huw came in. He put on a decent show of surprise and pleasure. “Ah, Madoc, welcome home. Jenny, it’s good to see you again. And this is your little one! Would she have a hug for her uncle Huw, do you think?”
    She would. Huw kept her on his knee while he drank two cups of tea and ate one of Elen’s buns. His wife was all for showing him Janet’s snapshots, but he shook his head.
    “Let’s save them for when I’ve time to enjoy them. Madoc, I was thinking you and I might clean up the chapel. Give