Missing Joseph Read Online Free PDF Page A

side, surrounded by two tin pails, a coil of rope, a shovel, a broom, and a pile of rags. An old Hoover leaned against a stack of cartons near her, and she carefully hung her own bouquet from the metal hook that would otherwise have been used to accommodate its cord. She lifted her velvet dress from the floor. The air was fusty in the space beneath the bells, and one couldn’t move in any direction without touching something absolutely black with grime. But at least it was warm.
    â€œI
knew
something like this would happen.” Rebecca’s hands strangled her bridal flowers. “It’s not going to come off. And they’re laughing at me, aren’t they? I can
hear
them laughing.”
    Mrs. Townley-Young made a quarter turn as Rebecca did the same, bunching more of the satin train and the bottom of the gown into her arms. “No one’s laughing,” she said. “Don’t worry yourself, darling. There’s simply been some sort of unfortunate mistake. A misunderstanding. Your father will put things right straightaway.”
    â€œHow could there be a mistake? We
saw
Mr. Sage yesterday afternoon. The last thing he said was, ‘See you in the morning.’ And then he forgot? He went off somewhere?”
    â€œPerhaps there’s been an emergency. Someone could be dying. Someone wishing to see—”
    â€œBut Brendan held back.” Rebecca stopped pacing. Eyes narrowing, she looked thoughtfully at the west wall of the bell tower, as if she could see through it to the vicarage across the street. “I’d gone to the car and he said he’d forgotten one last thing he’d wanted to ask Mr. Sage. He went back. He went inside. I waited for a minute. Two or three. And—” She whirled, began her pacing again. “He wasn’t talking to Mr. Sage at all. It’s that bitch. That witch! And she’s behind this, Mother. You know she is. By God, I’ll get her.”
    Cecily found this an interesting twist in the morning’s events. It held out the tantalising promise of diversion. If she had to endure this day somehow in the name of the family and with one eye fixed on her uncle’s will, she decided she might as well do something to enjoy her act of sufferance. So she said, “Who?”
    Mrs. Townley-Young said, “Cecily,” in a pleasant but determined-to-discipline voice.
    But Cecily’s question had been enough. “Polly Yarkin.” Rebecca said the name through her teeth. “That miserable little sow at the vicarage.”
    â€œVicar’s housekeeper?” Cecily asked. This was a twist to be explored at length. Another woman already? All things considered, she couldn’t blame poor old Brendan, but she did think he might have set his sights a bit low. She continued the game. “Gosh, what’s she got to do with anything, Becky?”
    â€œCecily, dear.” Mrs. Townley-Young’s voice had a less pleasant ring.
    â€œShe pushes those dugs into every man’s face and just waits for him to react to the sight,” Rebecca said. “And he wants her. He does. He can’t hide it from me.”
    â€œBrendan loves you, darling,” Mrs. Townley-Young said. “He’s marrying you.”
    â€œHe had a drink with her at Crofters Inn last week. Just a quick stop before he headed back to Clitheroe, he said. He didn’t even know she’d be there, he said. He couldn’t exactly pretend he didn’t recognise her, he said. It’s a village, after all. He couldn’t act like she was a stranger.”
    â€œDarling, you’re working yourself up over nothing at all.”
    â€œYou think he’s in love with the vicar’s housekeeper?” Cecily asked, widening her eyes to wear the guise of naiveté. “But, Becky, then why is he marrying you?”
    â€œCecily!” her aunt hissed.
    â€œHe isn’t marrying me!” Rebecca cried out. “He