A Christmas Guest by Anne Perry

was all in the growingly desperate cause of detection. Very definite ideas were crystallizing in her mind, but she needed more time!
    Christmas was supposed to be a time of forgiveness, but surely there could be no healing without honor, no real peace without change of heart? And no change without truth.
    â€œIt is not a lack of materials,” Bedelia told her. “I have not the time, and I doubt the maids have the skill.”
    â€œI should be happy to help you, if I may?” Grandmama offered. She had not been so courteous in years, and in spite of her amusement at herself, she was rather enjoying it. It was like a step outside her own life, a curious freedom from the expectations of others, or the chains of past failure.
    â€œI should be delighted to contribute something to such a glorious tree,” she continued eagerly. “And also a sort of family tradition. The Barringtons have been in this village for so many generations there are bound to be scores of people who will call in to wish you season’s greetings and share your hospitality.” That was certain. Tradesmen always paid their respects this time of year and partook of mince pies, candied fruit and nuts, and of course a cup of punch.
    Bedelia accepted, and half an hour later they were sitting in the sewing room at opposite sides of the table cannibalizing an old evening gown, cutting off beads, braid, fine silk and velvet pieces, and the paler ribbons and lace from two old petticoats that had also been found.
    â€œThere is too much dark red,” Bedelia said critically. “All of the silk and velvet is the same shade.”
    â€œThat is true,” Grandmama agreed. “What we really need is something else bright in a completely different tone.” She looked at Bedelia with a frown. “I have a very daring idea. Perhaps you would find it offensive, but I have to ask. If it grieves you, I apologize in advance.”
    â€œGood gracious!” Bedelia was intrigued. “I am not easily shocked. What is this idea?”
    â€œMaude said that she traveled in many strange and exotic places.”
    A faint distaste flashed in Bedelia’s eyes but she masked it. “Is that helpful?”
    â€œNo doubt she wore some … strange clothes,” Grandmama said tentatively. “Possibly of colors we would not choose.”
    Bedelia understood instantly and her face lit with pleasure.
    â€œOh! But of course! How clever of you. Yes, certainly, some of them might be cut up for the most excellent Christmas ornaments.”
    Grandmama felt a chill at the thought of cutting up any of Maude’s clothes, things she had worn in the places that she had obviously loved so far from home. She might have stood in the sunset in some Persian garden and smelled the perfume of strange trees and the wind off the desert and looked up to unimaginable stars. Or perhaps there would be scarves of silk she had bought at a noisy, multitudinous bazaar in Marrakech, or some such city. They should all be treated with tenderness, folded to keep in the odor of spices and strange fruit, oils and leathers, and the smoke from the campfires.
    â€œYou are so clever, Mrs. Ellison,” Bedelia was saying. “Of course most of her things are here and we have only to unpack them. And it is unlikely that any of them are things that anyone else would wear. I really do not care to offer them, even to the poor. It would be …”
    â€œDisrespectful,” Grandmama filled in, meaning it, and enjoying forcing Bedelia to agree. She hated herself for doing it, but truth required some strange sacrifices. “This way they will be totally anonymous, and give pleasure for years to come.” Forgive me, Maude, she thought to herself. Detection is not easy, and I refuse to fail. She stood up. “I suppose we should begin. See what we can find.” That was crass. She had not been invited to look into Maude’s effects, but she