by J. D. Oswald
As she turned onto Kingsgate Street, her nervousness increased. Would Canon Strange expect her to bring a gift? She had cast an eye over the shops for suitable items but everything offered by eager assistants – loudly patterned scarf, silver-plated hip flask, inlaid cigarette case, wooden pipe stand – seemed at the same time too impersonal, and too intimate. She reached number 61B and knocked.
Mrs Stevens answered. ‘You’re the last of ‘em Miss. Better follow me.’ She wiped sweat droplets from her top lip with the edge of her apron. ‘The Canon’s asked me to serve the drinks. What’d yer like Miss? Wine, whisky, sherry?’
Philippa asked for sherry. Mrs Stevens nodded sagely. ‘Only you and the old Canon drinking that,’ she said with a sigh, and waddled towards the kitchen.
Philippa hesitated by the half open door to the front room. The self-confident rumble of men’s voices came from inside. Then the door was flung wide and Creswell Strange faced her.
‘I thought I heard a knock. Come in Miss Lambert. Has Mrs Stevens offered you some refreshment? Excellent. Now let’s see, who do you not know?’
Philippa let herself be propelled gently forward. The room had been transformed since she had first set foot in it. Lamps illuminated every corner, a log fire burned vigorously in the grate and the shrivelled holly berries had been replaced by swags of ivy and fir interlaced with gold ribbon. Two plump church candles burned either side of the mantelpiece. The one on the right cast its light upon the photograph of Strange’s dead wife. There was no sign of the sinister African mask.
‘You know Councillor Wing-Smyth, Doctor Godwin and Mr Pipe of course.’ Dorothy, Thomas and Harry smiled knowingly at her, like fellow conspirators in a secret plot.
‘Is your wife here this afternoon Mr Pipe?’ Philippa asked.
‘Unfortunately not. She felt a little tired so decided to rest instead. We don’t want to take any chances. And it’s a big day for us tomorrow,’ Harry flashed his charming, boyish grin. ‘We have special guests sharing our turkey.’
‘Why who’s that?’
‘The Canon and his South African friend of course.’
‘Oh, yes.’ She could tell that Harry thought that she should have known. She felt strangely deflated by the thought of Canon Strange enjoying his Christmas dinner around Harry’s table. It was not as if she had nowhere to go on Christmas Day. Dorothy had invited her to lunch after Mattins. Her sister and nieces would be there, she had explained, and Christopher had promised to pop in for a drink later. If he could.
She followed Strange towards the bookcase where an elderly cleric with kindly face and military bearing stood browsing the volumes happily, wreathed in pipe smoke.
‘Miss Lambert, I don’t think you know Canon Braithwaite. He is my one ally on the Chapter.’
Canon Braithwaite smiled remotely and then returned to his sherry and chosen book.
‘And this is the Reverend Boskoop,’ Strange continued, ‘visiting from the Diocese of Natal.’
A serious young man with striking blue eyes took her hand and bent over it. ‘The Canon has told me something of your recent adventures. Normal life must be something of – how should I say – a descent, no?’
It was a surprise to realise that Boskoop had spoken without a trace of condescension.
‘A come-down? Yes, I suppose it has been.’
Boskoop smiled and stretched both arms heavenward. ‘What will you do to raise yourself up again?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘I think she does,’ Dorothy had come to stand by Philippa’s side, ‘and she should not hesitate, whatever disapproval she may encounter.’
‘Most mysterious,’ Boskoop said. ‘What is it you plan to do?’
‘I had thought…I haven’t quite made up my mind…I’m almost certain that I wish to study medicine.’
‘You wish to be a doctor?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Come now Philippa, why so hesitant?’ Dorothy said. ‘It’s all you’ve talked of since I’ve known you.’
‘Well not quite all.’
‘She’d be a wonderful doctor, wouldn’t you agree gentlemen?’ Dorothy glanced pointedly at Creswell Strange and Thomas Godwin.
‘I have no doubt,’ Thomas replied, ‘although…’ He stopped himself.
‘Yes?’ Dorothy asked.
‘I was about to say that a medical degree is an exacting challenge for anyone. I wouldn’t want to see Philippa take on too much, after everything she has been through.’
‘So women are too delicate for hard work?’ Dorothy said folding her arms.
‘I think I can decide for…’ Philippa began.
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Thomas interrupted. ‘Philippa might prefer to settle here for a while, now that certain things have resolved themselves. A medical degree is not something to be rushed into.’
‘She’s not rushing into anything!’ Dorothy barked. Even Canon Braithwaite looked up from his book. ‘Men never understand. Everything’s handed to them on a plate.’
Creswell Strange had been listening to the exchange with an expression of amusement on his face. He caught Philippa’s eye and seemed to detect her discomfort. He moved to stand behind Dorothy and Thomas.
‘That’s quite enough, lady and gentleman,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘I’m sure Miss Lambert is capable of making up her own mind. As of course she should.’
Dorothy and Thomas, poised for another battle, fell silent. Strange’s words reminded Philippa of her father – whenever he had disagreed with her choices, he would end the conversation with ‘of course, you will do as you wish.’ She would almost always back down.
‘Mrs Stevens,’ Strange called out and the char’s head appeared around the door. ‘Refills all round please. Harry, carry on with your story about the C.O.s would you? Before you arrived Miss Lambert, Harry was telling us about his latest exciting piece for the Chronicle.’
‘I wouldn’t say “exciting” exactly,’ Harry said, his eyes widening mischievously, ‘but it makes a change from the petty thieving and drunkenness this time of year. Mind if I sit down though.’
Strange swivelled one of the fireside chairs to face into the room and Harry flopped into it, stretching out his deformed leg. He rubbed the scar on his forehead.
‘Where was I? Oh yes, the conchies in Winchester prison. The remaining ones are due to be released later this evening. All in secret of course, because the Governor doesn’t want a “welcoming” committee outside the gate. I’ll be there though.’ He chuckled. ‘Not much gets past Harry Pipe. I want to get at least one of them to talk to me. Are they sorry for what they did, or rather didn’t do? I doubt it though. I got hold of a copy of their secret newspaper – the Winchester Whisperer – written on toilet paper of all things. They came across as a pretty fanatic lot. No signs of any remorse. I heard that there’d been some sort of falling-out in prison. A schism in the conchie camp. One of the “leaders” had got himself stabbed. Must find out why…No, he didn’t die. So much for pacifists! Any official comment on the release, Councillor?’
‘No,’ Dorothy said.
‘Fair enough. Always worth asking!’
As the conversation moved on, Philippa drew Canon Strange aside and thanked him for intervening.
‘Don’t mention it,’ he mumbled. ‘Try not to be too hard on them. They both care for you a great deal I believe.’ He paused and then waved his hands rather ridiculously about his head. ‘Your hair – very modern – most…err…becoming.’ He carried on hastily, ‘I should get back to the fray. I’m sure whatever you choose to do Philippa, it will be a great success.’ He made to move away. ‘Oh, one more thing…I should have said this a long time ago…please call me Creswell.’
THE END
Table of Contents
Prologue
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2
3
4
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12
13
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