Amanda Cadabra and The Flawless Plan by Holly Bell

Author:Holly Bell [Bell, Holly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Heypressto
Published: 2019-05-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 31

Festive Spirit

‘Hello,’ said The Reverend Waygood brightly, entering from the vestry in splendid robes of red and green.

‘Rector, this —’ began Amanda.

‘Oh yes, Inspector Trelawney,’ said Jane shaking him warmly by the hand. ‘How very kind of you to join us.’

‘My pleasure, Rector. Miss Cadabra has just been explaining the origins of the Feast.’

‘Wonderful, isn’t it?’ remarked Jane happily. ‘Probably total fiddle-faddle, but I fell in love with the story at first sight, I promise you. Did Amanda tell you about The Appel Songe?’

‘Er, no … is it some kind of hymn?’

‘Not one that you’ll find in any book. It was discovered in the bowels of our very odd library stacks, written in medieval English, although we sing a modern version, together with a melody composed by one of the rectors in the sixteenth century or whatever, to what he claimed were the original verses. Fortunately, we have an able pianist in our midst who has kindly learned to play the organ in her spare time. Ah Neeta, here you are.’

‘Hello, Inspector,’ called the newcomer recognising Trelawney.

‘Hello, Dr Patel.’

Amanda and Trelawney left them to their pre-service conference.

‘Is Sunken Madley listed in the Domesday Book?’ asked Trelawney.

‘No, but the priory is listed in Holy Houses of Hertfordshire by Nonius written 1171, only 31 years later, so we’re pretty much up there with the longest pedigree villages.'

The congregation was filing in, one or two in high spirits, one or two in other spirits, having made a start on the cider, every one with smiles and anticipation of the entertainments to come. They were all, including Amanda and Trelawney, chatting away so merrily that they failed to notice the sight that now confronted the rector who stopped abruptly half-way up the pulpit steps.

Tempest had seated himself upon the lectern and, with benevolent satisfaction, was gazing down upon, what he regarded as, his worshipers,. His witch’s first hint of the incursion was an urgent whisper from Jane, who had rapidly descended the stairs.

‘Amanda!’

She looked up to see the rector’s finger pointing upwards. Amanda gasped, rose guiltily and hurriedly mounted the pulpit, gathered her unrepentant feline in her arms, and, blushing, returned to her pew. Some of the congregation were consumed by fits of giggles.

‘Honestly!’ Amanda addressed him quietly but emphatically. ‘You are the limit!’ Tempest wriggled himself into the space between his human and the end of the pew, forcing her and Trelawney to move up. There he sat, regarding the rector with interest, as though he had written her speech himself.

The guffaws and chortles died away and the service began. Sure enough, the rector told the tale, and the audience rose to sing The Appel Songe. To Trelawney’s ears it was startlingly pagan, with praise for the spirits of the apple trees, the apples, the apple blossoms, the apple peel and the apple pips, the sun, rain, drizzle, wind, mist and fog, earth, earthworms and a species of bird of which Trelawney had never heard. Then came the final rousing chorus,

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