the village—which I’m nowhere near finished typing out of course—but by the time I got our guests settled into their rooms I was too tired. And, of course, now there’s no light and no time. Good thing we have the old wood-burning Aga or it would be a cold breakfast for everyone on a cold day and no Sunday lunch! I’m doing French toast for the girls, which I can stretch out for the extra guests and for Mr. Christmas who usually only has a bite of toast before rushing out of here for 8:15 Communion at Pennycross, which surely will be cancelled. But what will happen to the refrigerator with no electricity? I hope this is only temporary. At least we have lots of food in stock as who knows how long folk will be staying? We must keep Ariel with us until either her mother or her brother can fetch her. Poor child, losing a parent at such an age, and we don’t dare tell her ourselves. It wouldn’t be right. I can tell, though, that Miranda thinks something is wrong. She gave Mr. Christmas a sort of “look” when he returned last night. She is such a clever girl and she and Mr. Christmas seem to be able to read each other’s moods. Anyway, the sun won’t be up for another hour so I must see what we have in the way of candles. And I wonder if we’ll have enough hot water? I hope you don’t have as much snow as we seem to have! The cats aren’t at all fussy about going out of doors. They’ve never seen snow before! I don’t think Bumble has, either, but he loves it. He tries to get out and roll in it any chance he gets. Love to Aunt Gwen. Hope you have a glorious day in beautiful Cornwall!
Much love,
Madrun
P.S. I don’t usually cook roast beef two Sundays in a row, but Mr. C says I should get back up on that horse as regards my Yorkshire, so fingers crossed, Mum!
P.P.S. I just had a terrible thought! What if this weather means Karla and I can’t get to Tenerife this year? We’re to leave in 10 days
.
P.P.P.S. Have you thought any more about getting one of those mobility scooters? Mum, I really think they might be the thing as long as you mind how you go on the hills!
CHAPTER SIX
S orry to be so early, I’m missing my Becca,” Molly said in a rush when Tom opened the door to her, her anxious eyes lightening at the sight of him.
“Come in,” he responded unnecessarily as she slipped into the vestibule, a whisper of the cold clinging to her jacket trailing into the small space as she passed. Tom glanced into the front garden at the pure sweep of white, broken only by the hieroglyphic of Molly’s footsteps from gate to stoop.
“The sight of all this snow is … stunning, isn’t it?” He closed the door and waited as Molly unzipped her jacket. “Everyone’s in the kitchen. Have you eaten? Mrs. Prowse has plenty.”
“I had a little something earlier, thanks.”
“Your cooker is working, then?”
“Yes.”
“So is ours.” Tom received the coat from her—noting how thin she was out of her cook’s uniform of the previous evening—andplaced it on a crowded hook over the deacon’s bench. “Come through to the kitchen. It’s warmest there.”
“Perhaps I best wait here.” Molly pulled off a black crocheted cap and shook her head to release an abundance of carefully crimped spiralling hair, which fell down the back of the olive-coloured cashmere sweater she was wearing over rust jeans.
Tom wondered if he should take her choice of apparel as a hopeful sign of better mental health. Molly’s pedigree was pure Anglo-Celt, expressed in her fair skin, fox-red hair, and dusting of freckles across her nose, but she had long been gossiped about in the village for wearing dresses over trousers in the Indian style, for the multiplicity of gold bracelets along her arm, the embellishment of a sari on festive occasions, and even, sometimes, a caste mark on her forehead, which she really had no business wearing. She reminded Tom when he first arrived in Thornford of a religious convert who took on
Much love,
Madrun
P.S. I don’t usually cook roast beef two Sundays in a row, but Mr. C says I should get back up on that horse as regards my Yorkshire, so fingers crossed, Mum!
P.P.S. I just had a terrible thought! What if this weather means Karla and I can’t get to Tenerife this year? We’re to leave in 10 days
.
P.P.P.S. Have you thought any more about getting one of those mobility scooters? Mum, I really think they might be the thing as long as you mind how you go on the hills!
CHAPTER SIX
S orry to be so early, I’m missing my Becca,” Molly said in a rush when Tom opened the door to her, her anxious eyes lightening at the sight of him.
“Come in,” he responded unnecessarily as she slipped into the vestibule, a whisper of the cold clinging to her jacket trailing into the small space as she passed. Tom glanced into the front garden at the pure sweep of white, broken only by the hieroglyphic of Molly’s footsteps from gate to stoop.
“The sight of all this snow is … stunning, isn’t it?” He closed the door and waited as Molly unzipped her jacket. “Everyone’s in the kitchen. Have you eaten? Mrs. Prowse has plenty.”
“I had a little something earlier, thanks.”
“Your cooker is working, then?”
“Yes.”
“So is ours.” Tom received the coat from her—noting how thin she was out of her cook’s uniform of the previous evening—andplaced it on a crowded hook over the deacon’s bench. “Come through to the kitchen. It’s warmest there.”
“Perhaps I best wait here.” Molly pulled off a black crocheted cap and shook her head to release an abundance of carefully crimped spiralling hair, which fell down the back of the olive-coloured cashmere sweater she was wearing over rust jeans.
Tom wondered if he should take her choice of apparel as a hopeful sign of better mental health. Molly’s pedigree was pure Anglo-Celt, expressed in her fair skin, fox-red hair, and dusting of freckles across her nose, but she had long been gossiped about in the village for wearing dresses over trousers in the Indian style, for the multiplicity of gold bracelets along her arm, the embellishment of a sari on festive occasions, and even, sometimes, a caste mark on her forehead, which she really had no business wearing. She reminded Tom when he first arrived in Thornford of a religious convert who took on
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