A Christmas Secret Read Online Free PDF

get it set and relit in time for breakfast.
    She was still thinking about it with dislike when the doorbell jangled and she went out into the hall to answer it.
    A woman was standing on the step. She was muffled in a heavy, well-cut cloak and had a shawl over her head, but from what Clarice could see of her, she was about forty. She had a handsome face with wide brown eyes, a short upper lip, and a round, rather heavy chin.
    â€œMrs. Corde?” she inquired. She had a pleasant voice, but not the local accent.
    â€œYes. May I help you?”
    â€œI rather thought I might help you,” the woman replied. “My name is Mrs. Paget. I know the Reverend Wynter, and I know the village quite well. I imagine many people are willing to do all they can, especially at Christmas, but you might not know who is good at which things—flowers, baking, and so on.”
    â€œOh, thank you,” Clarice said gratefully. “Please come in. I would be most obliged for any advice at all.” She held the door open wide.
    Mrs. Paget stepped in as if it was all very familiar, and Clarice had the sudden feeling that perhaps she had been here many times. Possibly since John Boscombe had withdrawn from his church duties, she had in some practical ways taken over.
    Clarice led the way to the kitchen, explaining that she had not lit the sitting room fire yet, and offered a cup of tea. Etta bristled at the intrusion and shot past Clarice and up the stairs. Mrs. Paget gave a little cry of surprise.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Clarice apologized. “She’s a very odd cat. I think both animals miss the Reverend Wynter. The dog is in and out like a fiddler’s elbow, and nothing seems to satisfy the cat. I’ve fed her, given her milk, set up a warm place to lie, but she just sits there like an owl.”
    â€œI’m afraid I don’t know animals very well.” Mrs. Paget took off her cloak and shawl and arranged herself on one of the hard-backed chairs by the table, adjusting her skirts. “I can’t offer any advice. I expect you are correct and they are missing the Reverend Wynter. He is a wonderful man, very charming and utterly trustworthy. He knows everybody’s secrets, all their private doubts and griefs, and never whispered a word to anyone. I was happy to help him in any way I could, but even to me he never gave so much as a hint of what needed to remain unsaid.”
    â€œAdmirable,” Clarice agreed, filling the kettle and setting it on the hob. “And absolutely necessary. All I really would like to know is who is gifted at what practical skill—and of course who is not!” She gave Mrs. Paget a quick smile.
    â€œOh, quite!” Mrs. Paget eased quickly, smiling back with a flash of understanding. “That can be every bit as much a disaster. At all costs avoid Mrs. Lampeter’s baking and Mrs. Porter’s soup! Never give Mrs. Unsworth the flowers. She only has to touch lilies and they go brown.”
    They both laughed, then settled in to discuss matters of skill, tact, need, and general usefulness.
    â€œI imagine you’ll want to have a celebration for the whole village ’round about Christmas itself, Boxing Day perhaps?” Mrs. Paget said firmly.
    Clarice understood immediately. “Of course,” she agreed. “It would be the best possible thing. I would appreciate your guidance as to how it has been done here in the past, and what people like. Not every place is the same.”
    Mrs. Paget smiled with satisfaction. “I’d be delighted. Mince pies, naturally, with plenty of raisins, sultanas, and candied peel, plum pudding and cream, best be discreet with the brandy, but a bit is always nice, gives a good flame when you light it. And cake, naturally.”
    Clarice’s heart sank at the prospect of so much cooking. In the home she had grown up in, her mother had enjoyed a full kitchen staff to attend to such things.
    Mrs.