Consequently, when Henry drove up the winding drive to the Grange at a quarter past nine on Thursday morning, he was surprised and not over-pleased to see that he was not the first visitor. Several cars were parked in the drive, and he was able to identify Dr. Thompson’s among them. Henry felt a twinge of worry. What had happened? Had somebody else at the Grange been taken ill? Or even…
He parked his car quickly and got out. The front door stood open and before Henry could reach it, the Doctor came hurrying out. He looked anxious.
“What…?” Henry began.
“Sorry. Can’t stop. Urgent.” The Doctor opened the door of his car and took out what appeared to be an old pillowcase stuffed with bulky objects. Carrying this in his arms — it seemed to be heavy — he hurried into the house again. Henry followed him, only to collide in the doorway with a stout lady whom he identified as Mrs. Richards, proprietress of the General Stores.
“Pardon,” said Mrs. Richards. “Didn’t see you. Have you come about the lemonade?”
“In a way,” said Henry.
“Poisonous stuff,” said Mrs. Richards severely. “We don’t want that again.”
“I quite agree,” said Henry.
“Well, I hope you’ll see to it. Several people were sick last time.” Mrs. Richards bustled out into the drive and got into one of the cars. From the depths of the house Violet Manciple’s voice called, “Jumble in the study!”
A figure loomed up in the doorway behind Henry. He turned to see Sir John Adamson framed against the sunshine outside. He was carrying a large box and he called out, on a note of interrogation, “Jams and jellies?”
Like a jack-in-the-box Maud appeared at a run from the cloak room.
“Dining room bottled fruit, drawing room jams and jellies, jumble in the study,” she said, and then to Henry, “Hello. What do you want?”
She had gone before Henry could reply, and her place was taken by Edwin Manciple, who came out of the drawing room saying, “Harry Penfold wants to know what to do with the Lucky Dip.”
“Excuse me, Tibbett,” said Sir John, pushing past Henry. “Got six more boxes in the car.” He disappeared into the drawing room.
Violet Manciple appeared at the kitchen door. “Lucky Dip in the garage, Hoop-la in the morning room,” she said briskly, and retreated into the kitchen again.
Dr. Thompson came out of the study empty-handed. “One more lot,” he remarked cheerfully as he made his way out to his car.
Behind Henry, Julian Manning-Richards came into the hall carrying a large, fully-charged sack. “Lucky Dip?” he asked.
“In the garage,” said Henry.
“Thanks,” said Julian. He went out through the back door.
Mabel and Alfred from The Viking arrived together, each carrying a bulky load. “Home-made jam?” Mabel asked.
“Drawing room,” said Henry.
“Ta.”
“Jumble?” queried Alfred.
“In the study.” Henry began to feel as though he were on point duty.
“And get a move on, Alfred,” remarked Dr. Thompson. He had come in from the car with another pillowcase full. “This is my last lot.” To Henry, he said, “Tell Violet that Isobel will be along later with the bottled fruit.”
Behind Henry a throat was cleared noisily, and Frank Mason said, “I’ve brought some jumble. Do you know where…?”
Maud came down the stairs. “Jumble in the study.” she said.
“Oh, Miss Manciple — I wondered…”
“In the study,” said Maud heartlessly. “Anybody seen the Vicar?”
“He rang up,” Violet called from the kitchen. “His car’s broken down.”
“Would you like me to go and fetch him?” asked Frank Mason eagerly.
“Have you got a car?” Maud showed a glimmer of interest for the first time.
“Yes, of course. Outside in the drive. I mean…”
“Well, dump your jumble in the study and then you can drive me to the vicarage.”
“Oh, yes, Miss Manciple.”
“Why on earth don’t you call me Maud? Everyone else does.”
“Well, I…”
Maud winked at Henry. To Frank she said, “Queen Victoria is dead, you know. And so is Karl Marx. The world goes on.”
“Panta rei,” said Henry. He felt it was rather unkind, but he could not resist it.
Violet Manciple came out of the kitchen with Julian. “But he promised to let me have the bran for the tub,” she was saying. “And the Hoop-la rings.”
“He says his wife isn’t well,” said Julian.
“That has nothing to do with it. Oh, it’s too provoking. Where’s George?”
As if in answer a series of shots rang out from the range.
“Really,” said Violet Manciple, “at a time like this the least he could do — oh, dear, I wish Claud and Ramona were here…”
“Sir Claud said they’d be arriving about lunchtime,” said Julian.
“As if that helped,” said Violet. She sounded as nearly bad-tempered as Henry could imagine, for a person of her singularly sweet disposition. “Two more mouths to feed and the worst will be over by then. Now, Julian dear, will you please go and find Maud and ask her to bring me the list of booths and helpers. I’ll be in the kitchen.”
“Right you are, Mrs. Manciple.”
“I think,” said Henry, “that Miss Manciple has gone to the vicarage.”
“Oh, no, she can’t have,” said Julian easily. “It’s too far to walk and her car’s in the garage. I’ve just been unloading it.”
Oh, well, thought Henry, it’s none of my business. Aloud, he said, “Frank Mason gave her a lift in his car.”
For a moment it looked as though Julian were going to be really angry; or, rather, as though he were going to show it, for Henry had no doubt about the reality of the fury that flashed into his blue eyes. However, the dangerous moment passed. In a split second Julian had his anger under control, and he managed an apparently unforced smile as he said, “Oh, well, I dare say she won’t be long. I’ll go and give the Bishop a hand with the Lucky Dip.”
“Thank you, Julian,” said Violet. “And tell Harry Penfold that the tub is no use without the bran. He must see that.”
“I’ll tell him,” said Julian. He went out into the back yard.
Violet Manciple looked seriously at Henry for a moment, and then said, “You must forgive me, Mr. Tibbett, but just for the moment I can’t remember why I asked you to come up here this morning.”
“You didn’t,” said Henry.
“Ah, that would account for it. But — yes, I did!”
“Really, you didn’t, Mrs. Manciple. It was I…”
“Your charming wife,” said Violet Manciple firmly. There was a note in her voice that Henry recognized and feared: the voice of an organizing woman in the process of organizing. “Guessing the Vicar’s weight.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The Vicar’s weight. Sixpence a guess, and one of Miss Whitehead’s home-made cakes as a prize for the person who comes closest.”
“But…”
Violet Manciple laid a hand on Henry’s arm, “I was at my wit’s end this morning,” she said, “when Harry Penfold told me that Elizabeth had come down with flu. I couldn’t imagine who would be able to look after the Vicar’s weight, all my helpers are fully booked-up you see. And then, suddenly, I said to myself, Mrs. Tibbett! Mrs. Tibbett is the answer!”
“You mean that…?”