A Lot Like Christmas by Connie Willis

Author:Connie Willis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2017-10-10T04:00:00+00:00

“Come, Bridlings,” Touffét said impatiently as soon as I arrived. “Go home and pack your bags. We’re going to Suffolk for a jolly country Christmas.”

“I thought you hated country Christmases,” I said. I had invited him only the week before down to my sister’s and gotten a violent rejection of the idea. “Country Christmases! Dreadful occasions!” he had said. “Holly and mistletoe and vile games—blindman’s bluff and that ridiculous game where people grab at burning raisins, and even viler food. Plum pudding!” he shuddered. “And wassail!”

I protested that my sister was an excellent cook and that she never made wassail, she made eggnog. “I think you’d have an excellent time,” I said. “Everyone’s very pleasant.”

“I can imagine,” he said. “No one drinks, everyone is faithful to his wife, the inheritance is equally and fairly divided, and none of your relatives would ever think of murdering anyone.”

“Of course not!” I said, bristling.

“Then I would rather spend Christmas here alone,” Touffét said. “At least then I shall not be subjected to roast goose and Dumb Crambo.”

“We do not play Dumb Crambo,” I replied with dignity. “We play charades.”

And now, scarcely a week later, Touffét was eagerly proposing going to the country.

“I have just received a letter from Lady Charlotte Valladay,” he said, brandishing a sheet of pale pink notepaper, “asking me to come to Marwaite Manor. She wishes me to solve a mystery for her.” He examined the letter through his monocle. “What could be more delightful than murder in a country house at Christmas?”

Actually, I could think of a number of things. I scanned the letter. “You must come,” she had written. “This is a mystery only you, the world’s greatest detective, can solve.” Lady Charlotte Valladay. And Marwaite Manor. Where had I heard those names before? Lady Charlotte.

“It doesn’t say there’s been a murder,” I said. “It says a mystery.”

Touffét was not listening. “We must hurry if we are to catch the 3:00 train from Euston. There won’t be time for you to go home and pack and come back here. You must meet me at the station. Come, don’t stand there looking foolish.”

“The letter doesn’t say anything about my being invited,” I said. “It only mentions you. And I’ve already told my sister I’m spending Christmas with her.”

“She does not mention you because it is of course assumed that I will bring my assistant.”

“Hardly your assistant, Touffét. You never let me do anything.”

“That is because you have not the mind of a detective. Always you see the facade. Never do you see what lies behind it.”

“Then you obviously won’t need me,” I said.

“But I do, Bridlings,” he said. “Who will record my exploits if you are not there? And who will point out the obvious and the incorrect, so that I may reject them and find the true solution?”

“I would rather play charades,” I said, and picked up my hat. “I hope Lady Charlotte feeds you wassail and plum pudding. And makes you play Dumb Crambo.”

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