family?” I inquired.
“That’s one I can’t answer.” Mr. Babcock scratched his ear. “To tell the truth, I got the wind up thinking about how she might react to Cliffy here, so when I finished my rounds I decided to take him on a bit of a walk. And believe you me, he was walking to heel as nice as you please, when all of a sudden like he went all to pieces. It happened just when we came up to that house back there—the one that looks like it’s haunted. And spooked he was all right. The poor lad!” Mr. Babcock’s beefy face looked the worse for worry as he puffed across the grass towards the tablecloth that was chasing its tail in increasingly frenzied circles.
“Heathcliff was Miss Bunch’s dog,” I reminded Ben. “Surely, my love, that must make even a skeptic like you stop and think that there may be more to Tall Chimneys and the Rigglesworth legend than meets the mortal eye.…”
Chapter
6
When Ben dropped me off at the vicarage some ten minutes later, I experienced the rapturous relief of being returned to the sanity of the everyday world after journeying to the dark on the other side. Whether Ben was in equally good spirits was questionable. But I hoped that his soul would be restored when he entered the kitchen at Abigail’s and saw the last of the picnic basket.
As I entered the churchyard gates I made a vow to unearth my lacy sea-green nightie when I got home, and to brush my hair a hundred strokes before getting into bed for the night. A husband deserved to be pampered, and I would not succumb to the temptation of sitting up till the small hours to finish reading
Her Master’s Voice
. My aunt Astrid, Vanessa’s mother, was known to say grimly that she had never once refused her husband. I could only imagine what she would think of my slipshod approach to marital duty.
I had to laugh at myself as I wended my way down the mossy path that angled left towards the Norman church with its narrow stained glass windows, and right towards the early Victorian vicarage. Making love with Ben could never seriously be viewed as a duty—it was just that I was always hoping for the perfect moment, when I would be several pounds thinner, and the children would be olderand less likely to interrupt at the crucial moment, and I would finally he caught up with the ironing.
Perhaps, I thought, nipping along faster so that the wind wouldn’t catch hold of me and spin me around like a top, perhaps I would have a word with Eudora and see if she thought my fondness for romance novels bordered on an addiction that might have a negative impact on my marriage, and whether I should attempt to quit cold turkey or just try to cut back.
What I didn’t think about was Miss Bunch’s freshly dug grave, lying in the dark green shade of the weeping willow.
“Hello, Ellie!” Eudora opened the front door as I mounted the last of the stone steps which the wear of countless footsteps had scooped out to resemble a headsman’s block. “I saw you from the sitting room window and thought I’d save you ringing the bell. Gladstone is in the study working on the
Clarion Call
, otherwise known as the parish bulletin, and you know how men are,” Eudora laughed fondly, “it doesn’t take much to break their concentration.”
“I certainly wouldn’t want to disturb him!” Smiling my understanding, I tiptoed into the hall with its dark brown varnish and pictures of various Archbishops of Canterbury on the walls, and closed the door as silently as I could behind me. “Gladstone has done a marvelous job since he took over the bulletin. Quite honestly,” I whispered, “before his day I never got much further than the first paragraph, but he has made it into a real page-turner. His reporting of the Babcock wedding in last week’s issue brought tears to my eyes. The description of Sylvia wafting down the aisle on a rose-scented cloud, with the sun framing her radiant face like a golden halo …”
“Yes, well, I did think
“That’s one I can’t answer.” Mr. Babcock scratched his ear. “To tell the truth, I got the wind up thinking about how she might react to Cliffy here, so when I finished my rounds I decided to take him on a bit of a walk. And believe you me, he was walking to heel as nice as you please, when all of a sudden like he went all to pieces. It happened just when we came up to that house back there—the one that looks like it’s haunted. And spooked he was all right. The poor lad!” Mr. Babcock’s beefy face looked the worse for worry as he puffed across the grass towards the tablecloth that was chasing its tail in increasingly frenzied circles.
“Heathcliff was Miss Bunch’s dog,” I reminded Ben. “Surely, my love, that must make even a skeptic like you stop and think that there may be more to Tall Chimneys and the Rigglesworth legend than meets the mortal eye.…”
Chapter
6
When Ben dropped me off at the vicarage some ten minutes later, I experienced the rapturous relief of being returned to the sanity of the everyday world after journeying to the dark on the other side. Whether Ben was in equally good spirits was questionable. But I hoped that his soul would be restored when he entered the kitchen at Abigail’s and saw the last of the picnic basket.
As I entered the churchyard gates I made a vow to unearth my lacy sea-green nightie when I got home, and to brush my hair a hundred strokes before getting into bed for the night. A husband deserved to be pampered, and I would not succumb to the temptation of sitting up till the small hours to finish reading
Her Master’s Voice
. My aunt Astrid, Vanessa’s mother, was known to say grimly that she had never once refused her husband. I could only imagine what she would think of my slipshod approach to marital duty.
I had to laugh at myself as I wended my way down the mossy path that angled left towards the Norman church with its narrow stained glass windows, and right towards the early Victorian vicarage. Making love with Ben could never seriously be viewed as a duty—it was just that I was always hoping for the perfect moment, when I would be several pounds thinner, and the children would be olderand less likely to interrupt at the crucial moment, and I would finally he caught up with the ironing.
Perhaps, I thought, nipping along faster so that the wind wouldn’t catch hold of me and spin me around like a top, perhaps I would have a word with Eudora and see if she thought my fondness for romance novels bordered on an addiction that might have a negative impact on my marriage, and whether I should attempt to quit cold turkey or just try to cut back.
What I didn’t think about was Miss Bunch’s freshly dug grave, lying in the dark green shade of the weeping willow.
“Hello, Ellie!” Eudora opened the front door as I mounted the last of the stone steps which the wear of countless footsteps had scooped out to resemble a headsman’s block. “I saw you from the sitting room window and thought I’d save you ringing the bell. Gladstone is in the study working on the
Clarion Call
, otherwise known as the parish bulletin, and you know how men are,” Eudora laughed fondly, “it doesn’t take much to break their concentration.”
“I certainly wouldn’t want to disturb him!” Smiling my understanding, I tiptoed into the hall with its dark brown varnish and pictures of various Archbishops of Canterbury on the walls, and closed the door as silently as I could behind me. “Gladstone has done a marvelous job since he took over the bulletin. Quite honestly,” I whispered, “before his day I never got much further than the first paragraph, but he has made it into a real page-turner. His reporting of the Babcock wedding in last week’s issue brought tears to my eyes. The description of Sylvia wafting down the aisle on a rose-scented cloud, with the sun framing her radiant face like a golden halo …”
“Yes, well, I did think
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