Free The Twelve Clues of Christmas by Rhys Bowen Page A

were planning to kill somebody, young lady, I’d wait until he came down from his tree. If he was up a tree with a rifle, I’d feel rather vulnerable as I approached him.”
    This was, of course, a valid comment and I nodded.
    “Are you also staying at the cottage, miss?” he asked.
    “This is Lady Georgiana Rannoch, the king’s cousin,” Bunty said grandly, “and she’s staying with us at the hall.”
    “Well, I never,” Inspector Newcombe said. “No offense, I hope, my lady. Honored to make your acquaintance, but I suggest you go back to the hall and have a nice Christmas celebration and you leave the detective work to the police.”
    * * *
    “ O BNOXIOUS LITTLE MAN, isn’t he?” Bunty muttered as we retraced our steps to the hall. As we turned onto the village street the door of the general store opened and a strange-looking figure came out. He was so bulky that he almost filled the narrow door to the shop and he was dressed in bright motley clothing with a shapeless red hat on his head and a mop of unruly curls. He set off with a strange lumbering gait, like a giant in a children’s pantomime.
    “Who on earth is that?” I turned to Bunty.
    “Oh, that’s only Willum. He’s the village idiot. Every village has to have one, don’t they?” She laughed. “Actually, he’s the son of Mrs. Davey at the shop. He’s a bit simple, but quite harmless. Just wanders around, helping people for the odd coin occasionally. “Morning, Willum,” she called out.
    He turned his innocent child’s face to us and touched his cap. “Morning, Miss Hawse-Gorzley. Did you hear the news? They are saying that Ted Grover from over Five Corners way fell into Lovey Brook last night. What were he doing walking across the fields in the dark, that’s what I’d like to know.”
    “Returning home from the Hag and Hounds,” Bunty said.
    Willum frowned. “That’s what comes of drinking, don’t it? He should have been safely home with his mum like I am of an evening.”
    “Quite right, Willum.” She chuckled. “Rather sweet, actually,” she added to me as we moved away. “Oh, and you’ll probably meet Sal at some stage. She’s our wild woman.”
    “You’re making it up.” I laughed.
    “I am not. We have our idiot and a wild woman to boot. Sal is one of those strange untamed creatures you find sometimes in the country. She lives up on the moor in a stone hovel, picks herbs, dances around barefoot in the moonlight. The locals swear she has magic powers—in fact, there is a rumor that she is a direct descendant of our witch. She’s tough, I’ll tell you that much. You’ll see her out in the foulest weather running around barefoot in a flimsy dress.” She glanced across at me. “Oh, dear, I hope I haven’t scared you off. Mummy says I mustn’t mention her or Willum or the unfortunate events to the guests or they’ll all want their money back.”
    “I gather the first ones are arriving tomorrow,” I said.
    “Yes, and Mummy’s not happy about it. She wanted everyone to arrive at the same time for the grand welcome, but the Americans insisted on coming a day early. Mr. Wexler cabled from the ship that they’d be arriving on the twenty-second to give them plenty of time to settle in, and that they were bringing their son as well, because he refused to be left behind.”
    “Oh, dear, I hope they are not going to be difficult,” I said. “I’m afraid people with lots of money do seem to be rather arrogant.”
    “Let’s hope that the presence of one who is related to the royal family will awe them into submission.” Bunty gave me a wicked grin. “Oh, Lord, I’m afraid you’ll have to meet Mr. Barclay now.”
    A small man with hair neatly parted in the middle and a perfect little mustache was coming out of the church.
    “Morning, Mr. Barclay,” Bunty called merrily.
    “It is not a good morning, Miss Hawse-Gorzley. Not at all. That dreadful Prendergast woman has absolutely no taste. You should see