Free Lucia Triumphant by Tom Holt

the chalk with which he had been marking out the cloth had considerably marked him. But an hour and a quarter seemed a long time for a wash.
    â€˜ Of course,’ she sighed, ‘but please be quick.’
    â€˜ The Lord’s work canna be hurried, Mistress Pillson,’ said the Padre emphatically. ‘I dinna think you would see a newborn babe’s soul put in jeopardy for want of a few minutes.’
    â€˜ Yes, yes, but we must get on. We won’t be stopping for lunch until half-past one, and we’ll have to resume at quarter to two. I have instructed cook to prepare chicken broth and sandwiches.’
    The Padre fled with a groan and was intercepted by Elizabeth as he turned the corner. She had sent Major Benjy home, but could not bear to return herself until some explanation had been elicited. Therefore she had spent ten minutes on an obdurate shoelace in the hope that someone might come out. It was some time before the Padre was sufficiently coherent to be understood, and when his powers of speech were returned to him he spoke pure Birmingham; the Highland dialect did not contain words capable of expressing the emotions he felt. At first his narrative was all of chicken broth and only fifteen minutes for lunch, but a sharp word from Elizabeth brought him back to the point, and he unfolded the whole history of the Tapestry.
    â€˜ Poor, dear Padre,’ she cooed, and her heart sang in her bosom like a nightingale. ‘After you have concluded your christening, you must come over to Grebe and have a proper lunch with us. You can tell Lucia that the godparents were late! I can’t wait to hear the full story.’
    And so she did. After a long and leisurely lunch had been eaten and properly digested, and coffee lingered over to an extent unusual even in Tilling, the Padre went sorrowing away for what he termed the afternoon shift, while Elizabeth sat and devised in her mind the overthrow of the Tapestry.
    She could declare a war of mockery and derision on the project and be sure that the oppressed workers would rise up and defect at her call. Yet to do so would be an overt act of hostility, and Lucia (so vindictive!) would blame her for the collapse of her precious hobby. A harder but better course of action would be to subvert it from within, smiling and smiling and being a villain, so to speak. And it so happened that she had within her luggage a secret weapon of unbounded potential, brought back from Southampton for just such a purpose. But now this mine could be exploded within the enemy’s citadel, rather than simply laid under her walls.
    She rose and went to the telephone. A number was demanded; she was put through. Foljambe’s voice answered at the other end.
    â€˜ Mrs. Mapp-Flint wishes to speak to Mrs. Pillson,’ she said, and soon Lucia’s voice, shrill and sharp as ever, came through the receiver.
    â€˜ Lucia, darling, it’s your Elizabeth here. Yes, dear, a simply lovely time, I must tell you all about it when we meet. But, first, I have just heard from the Padre about your marvellous Tapestry; such vision, dear Worship, so full of praise for your clever idea. Lucia, you naughty one, how could you bring yourself to be so unkind to your old friend as to let her go away on holiday and start work without her? Hello?’ She’s dropped the receiver again, thought Elizabeth. ‘Do be sweet and reassure me that there’s still something left for me to do—that’s if you think that I’ll be up to it, of course!’
    Lucia reassured her that there was plenty for her to do; only too delighted.
    â€˜ Splendid! Shall I bring my own needles? No? How thoughtful. And thread? That too! Such organisation. But, of course, I forgot, I am speaking to the Mayor of Tilling, after all. Very well, then, I shall run all the way to Mallards.’
    Curiously enough, Lucia entirely failed to catch the significance of Elizabeth’s promise to run all