A Christmas Secret by Anne Perry Page B

she could think of was that something had prevented it. The obvious thing would be that one of them was already married. If it were Genevieve, the whole village would probably know; therefore, it must be John.
    Had the Reverend Wynter somehow found that out?
    She closed the book and replaced it, locking the cupboard door. She walked back through the icy vestry and outside into the freezing world again. It glittered sharp on daggers of water from the earlier thaw, now hanging from every black branch.
    Her feet crunched on the surface. There were gray clouds looming in from the west, fat-bellied with more snow. Little shivers of wind stirred the topmost branches.

    When Dominic returned at lunchtime, she told him what she had found.
    â€œShe could have been married somewhere else,” he said, taking a fresh piece of bread and another slice of cold mutton. “Perhaps in his village. He might have had elderly parents who couldn’t travel, for example.”
    She passed him the rich, sharp pickle. “Possibly. But the Boscombes are in some kind of hardship. There are lots of small signs of it, if you look.”
    He smiled with a touch of sadness, and she saw the mounting pain in his eyes. They were not in that situation themselves, but it was not too far ahead of them if he remained a curate much longer. She regretted having said it, yet she could not deny the evidence she had seen in the Boscombes’ house. Perhaps avoiding the subject of poverty was in a way making it worse, as if it were a secret too shameful to acknowledge.
    â€œPeople do fall on harder times without there being a dark secret,” he pointed out ruefully.
    â€œI know.” She poured him more tea although he had not asked for it. One of her pleasures was to notice his needs and meet them before he said anything. “It’s just a little piece of information. But I think it fits in with the missing pennies in the ledgers, the fact that John Boscombe suddenly resigned from his position in the church, and that they are both afraid of something. None of which would matter if the Reverend Wynter were not dead. But he is, and at least for now, this is your village.” Then she corrected herself. “Our village.”
    He frowned. “Why would their not being married, and the vicar knowing that, have anything to do with financial hard times or the petty thefts from the collection? That doesn’t make any sense.”
    She struggled through the confusion in her own mind. “I think he knew about the petty thefts before giving up his job keeping the books. He was close enough to the vicar that they trusted each other. Then something happened, and John Boscombe left. They still go to church, as everyone does, but that’s all. Could mean their sudden tightening of circumstances dates from that time, too. With children you can go through sheets quickly. You’ll wash them every other week, perhaps give them a little rubbing. Middles can wear thin. Best to trim them before they actually tear.”
    â€œAnd what caused the hardship?” he asked. “The Reverend Wynter was blackmailing them, so they paid for half a year, and then they killed him?”
    She blinked. “No! No, I don’t believe that. But maybe if the Reverend Wynter found out, so did someone else. That’s possible, isn’t it?”
    He considered for a moment, staring at his cup, but without reaching for it. “Yes,” he said finally. “Who would that be?”
    â€œHis first wife,” she said without hesitation. “Or, really, his only wife.”
    â€œWhy didn’t she come forward and accuse him openly, if he deserted her?”
    â€œOh, Dominic!” she said in exasperation. “Don’t be so otherworldly. Much better to ask him for money to keep quiet about it than admit to everyone that he ran away from her to be with someone else. Except that if Genevieve doesn’t know, or didn’t at the