A Murderous Game (Hippolyta Napier Book 3) by Lexie Conyngham

Author:Lexie Conyngham [Conyngham, Lexie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Kellas Cat Press
Published: 2017-11-30T05:00:00+00:00

The innkeeper, whose business was not particularly brisk at present, readily agreed to allow a parlour to be made available for anyone who could travel to the Episcopal service. A thin morning sunlight allowed Patrick and Hippolyta to carry a few books down to the inn without harm. Hippolyta wondered if it might be possible to have the services in the inn more often: each week they had to rearrange their parlour for the purpose, and the strain of keeping the cats from invading the more solemn moments kept her on tenterhooks throughout.

The usual time for the service was almost upon them, and Patrick had even turned to Morning Prayer in the prayerbook, when a greyish blond young man rushed in through the door, waving his case in front of him.

‘Made it!’ he cried.

‘Mr. Whittling! Allow me to fetch you a glass of brandy before you begin!’ said Hippolyta in alarm. The young man looked exhausted, if triumphant.

‘That would certainly not go amiss, Mrs. Napier,’ he said in his peculiar Oxford tones. ‘I had to leave my horse behind and came here mostly walking on the tops of hedges, I believe – it was hard to distinguish!’

Hippolyta called for the brandy, which came hot. Mr. Whittling gulped it down gratefully, then turned his attention to donning his surplice and arranging the communion equipment on the table they had set out for the purpose. Hippolyta watched him anxiously, hoping he was not overdoing it. Too many young clergy came north to attend to the needs of the Episcopal Church only to wear themselves out in the harsher climes that they were not used to, and have to retire south again to recuperate their health.

A few families had gathered for the service, but no one from far outside the village. To Hippolyta’s surprise the maid Clara, Lady Pinner’s attendant, was amongst them, as sour-faced as ever. She must not be a dissenter like her mistress. The Pinners themselves were certainly not in evidence. Mr. Worthy, trailing a scent of pomade, came in just in time, face pink from a brisk walk. After they had sung the first hymn, to Patrick’s accompaniment, Hippolyta heard the door of the parlour open and shut quietly. When she had the chance to look round, she saw Mr. Elphick perched on a seat at the very back of the room, fumbling through the prayers as if he had known them once. She wondered if he were there to try to impress Mrs. Broughton, then reprimanded herself for such a thought – and in church, too! In any case, Mrs. Broughton, attendant on her husband’s body, was not at the service, but the parlour was the nearest to the dead room and Hippolyta had noticed when she fetched the brandy that the dead room door was ajar, no doubt so that she could hear the service from her post.

Mr. Whittling, in no rush now he was warm and dry, gave the final blessing and processed, insofar as he could in such a small room, to the door to greet the congregation on their way out.

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