The Ghost of Christmas Paws by Mandy Morton

Author:Mandy Morton [Mandy Morton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780749019112
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2016-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

The driveway of the house seemed much longer with the added burden of a heavy suitcase and the shopper, which Tilly had to carry as the wheels kept getting stuck in the mud from yesterday’s storm. But at least they were walking away from the manor, and that in itself made them joyful enough to give Marlon Brandish a wave as he passed them on the road in his van. It was hard to tell that he had responded by applying his brakes, as they did take some time to work, but it was eventually clear that he had stopped and was waiting for them to catch up.

‘Want a lift into the village?’ he asked, brushing a pile of bottles and sandwich wrappers off his passenger seat.

Hettie adopted what she liked to think of as her most winning smile. ‘That would be very kind.’

Marlon threw himself out of the van and took charge of the luggage, tossing it into the back with very little ceremony. ‘Not staying long at the manor then?’ he said, as Hettie and Tilly squeezed themselves in beside him. ‘Not that I blame you – odd things goin’ on, an’ they say that ghost’s back again. No wonder ’Er Ladyship’s actin’ strange.’

‘In what way?’ Hettie enquired as Marlon coaxed the van through a deep puddle of water.

‘Well, I always used to pop in for a chat with ’er. She liked writing ’er letters, an’ some days she had six or seven ready for me to take, but I’ve ’ardly seen ’er these last few months, not till last week, an’ that was a rum business.’ Hettie waited for Marlon to continue, but instead he brought the van to a standstill and jumped out. They’d reached a clutch of small cottages and the cat who had been holding court with the cliff walkers the day before was again in full sail in her capacity as unofficial tourist information officer. Marlon exchanged a small sack with her for one of a similar size and returned to the van. ‘Saves my poor old legs, she does – collects up the letters from all them cottages as she’s in an’ out of ’em all the day long, then I gives ’er the letters for delivery an’ she takes ’em round. Unofficial, like.’

Hettie was still baffled by the Cornish postal system, but was too keen to find out more about Lady Crabstock and the ‘rum business’ to worry about it. ‘You were telling us about Lady Crabstock and what happened last week?’ she coaxed.

‘Ah yes. I’d got a parcel for Saffron, see, so I was takin’ it round the back to the kitchen door when I saw ’Er Ladyship come to ’er upstairs window. She was wavin’ at me like a bit of a mad cat, really, an’ I’ll tell you this – she was as pale an’ wasted as any corpse. I was quite shocked to see ’er like that. Anyway, she opens ’er window an’ chucks a letter out. By the time I’d got me paws on it, she’d gone from the window and that was that.

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