Mary Christmas

PART ONE
The Red Fox

Chapter 1


'Blast and double blast!' Mary exclaimed to herself.

Her breath curled in plumes through the cold morning air as she pushed back her wayward hair and bent down to peer at the broken bike chain. How on earth it had managed to slip and sag in the first place, let alone wedge itself inside the spokes of the back wheel, she’d never know. Anyone would think it was cursed, this part of the forest track. Emily certainly did.

Mary frowned, unwilling to let her mind wander down such superstitious paths. As much as she adored her younger sister, Mary had to ignore some of her more fanciful ideas. Emily believed every ghost story in the village and her wild imagination was a force to be reckoned with. In general, she was far too romantic and theatrical, and her recent engage­ment to David had only made her more so. Said engagement was all Emily talked of since their whirlwind courtship in London, and her constant litany had been nearing on unbear­able this week with David’s impending arrival in town.

Mary didn’t need her sister’s penchant for wide-eyed drama to take root now and threaten to cloud her own judge­ment as well. The track is not cursed, it never was, she told herself firmly, dragging the brand new, if now useless bike over to the nearest tree. She stared at it, placing her hands on the hips of her trousers.

‘Oh well, no use crying over spilt bike,’ she said out loud, as if the ridiculous looking thing could answer. Emily had won the coin toss as to what colour their father should paint their new shared bicycle and yellow had been her immedi­ate choice. It was her sister’s favourite hue, although it was hardly Mary’s. Perhaps arriving in town sans bike today wouldn’t be too bad an eventuation after all, if only she wasn’t going to be late.

Mary squinted up at the sky, glad to see there was no sign of rain because there was nothing else for it: she’d have to walk. A schoolroom of thirty-odd children wouldn’t stay sit­ting idle for long and God only knew what the board would have to say if she were forced to explain herself yet again this month. At least she was wearing her trousers today. The board frowned upon those too, of course. However, they made riding a bike far easier. Walking too.

Mary set off at a brisk pace, estimating that if she really hurried, she’d only arrive five minutes or so past the bell. Ten at most. That bolstered her somewhat, as did the beauty of the day. It was mid-November and bitingly cool, but the last of the burnished leaves still clung to the tree boughs and the frosted deep green of the shadowed gullies lent an enchanted air to the place. It wouldn’t be long until the snows came, but Mary didn’t mind that. There was nothing prettier than her village when they did.

She found herself smiling, shifting her gaze to the lan­guid journey of the slow-moving River Coln keeping her company alongside. She supposed such things may have escaped her notice had she not been on foot. May as well enjoy it.

Mary began to whistle. Whistling always made every­thing better too, although her mother would chastise her for such boyish behaviour. Mary shrugged and whistled louder, figuring there was no one out here to listen. The tune was an old sea shanty she’d often heard her father singing down by the sheds. Mary broke into song, for there was no one around to chide her for that either.

We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true British sailors

We’ll rant and we’ll roar along the salt seas

It was immediately cheering and she smiled. Oh well, if she was late, she was late. Mary looked up towards the sky again, watching the sunshine dance in and out of the can­opy as the cool breeze played. The dappled light twinkled at her as if in amusement, and she closed her eyes. But at the sudden crack of a twig, they flew open once more.

Mary swung about, the hair on her neck rising in prick­ling alarm. Yet no one was there. There was only the brown dirt of the empty track, the tree-lined river and fields beyond. Likely it was just a bird, or perhaps a fox. Mary found them shy and fascinating creatures, so that thought didn’t trou­ble her. Still, she was alert to every sound now, realising that the breeze was causing an eerie wail to stir through the trees. Mary thought of Emily once more, saying this place was haunted. Surely not. Surely it was only the . . .

Crack. There it was again. Mary swung to the right and was confronted by the terrifying sight of teeth and fur, then a sudden glimpse of the whites of eyes. The giant beast launched itself upon her and Mary fell, screaming.

‘No!’

It landed hard, pinning her even as she fought desper­ately to fend it off. This was no fox! She felt pain where its paws dug into her stomach and thighs, and its teeth were snapping in close range . . . but then . . . then it was licking her. The stench of its breath was something horrendous but yes, it was a dog.

‘Sherlock!’

Mary squinted up with one eye, still trying to push away the dog who couldn’t seem to stop its licking, slathering her face with that foul stench. Her gaze landed on the sight of a tall man running towards her.

‘Get off now, come on!’ he ordered, dragging the dog away by the collar and leaning over. ‘My deepest apologies, Miss . . . I . . .’ He stared at her, and Mary stared back, struck by his handsomeness amid the shock of what was transpir­ing. ‘My deepest apologies,’ he said again, only this time with amusement underscoring his words, and he dipped his hat in gentlemanly admiration. That stoked her ire.

‘You don’t seem very sorry,’ she said haughtily as she struggled to collect herself. He offered his hand but she shook it off, standing to her feet unsteadily, yet gratifyingly, unas­sisted.

‘I assure you I most sincerely am. Sherlock here gets a bit over-excited, I’m afraid. He thinks everyone will adore him on sight like Penny but . . . anyway, I’m sorry,’ he finished.

His blue-eyed gaze was earnest as he took off his hat, and Mary found herself momentarily taken aback at just how handsome he really was. Ridiculously so, in his morning suit in the middle of the forest. She blinked at the inappropriate­ness of such a thought, looking from the contrite master to his dog, who stood with tail wagging, hoping for forgive­ness too, brown eyes equally beguiling. Several questions sprang to mind at once: who was he, why was his dog called Sherlock . . . and who exactly was Penny?

‘Sherlock?’ she said, choosing the safest question and firmly ignoring the last.

‘Sherlock Bones,’ he said with a flourish and a grin, his expression transforming from one of concern to pure charm. The effect quite took her breath away. ‘My niece named him. Penny,’ he explained. Two questions answered at once. Mary tried not to feel pleased that the connection to the young lady wasn’t a romantic one. ‘Quite the imagination that girl,’ he went on. ‘She wanted to call him Droolius Caesar but we had to draw the line somewhere.’

It was so amusing and so appropriate – the large labrador stood with his tongue lolling about and was, indeed, drool­ing – that she couldn’t help but smile too.

‘Sherlock suits him, curious fella that he is,’ the man went on, encouraged. ‘He’s always looking for food rather than investigating crime, though. I caught him eating from the pigs’ trough this morning.’ That explained the dog’s breath. ‘I er . . . must apologise again,’ he said, reading Mary’s mind as she touched her glove to her face. She pulled it away to find a grimy smear.

Mary looked down in dismay to find her entire outfit was ruined. Her white blouse was covered in track dirt and paw­marks, as were her trousers. Whatever would the board say if they saw her now? Mary blanched. The board!

‘Oh . . . oh, dear Lord. I have to go! She rushed off, half jogging at the realisation that being just ten minutes late would have been a blessing. She’d arrive at least twenty minutes past bell time now.

‘Why the rush?’ he said, following her.

‘Because I’m late!’

‘Well, I guessed that much. I mean, not that it’s any of my business, Miss, but I’m assuming that yellow bike with the busted chain back there is yours. Riding is one thing but walking alone out here is a bit dangerous, I suspect, even if you are dressed to run.’ He had that amused and admiring look in his eye again as he took in her trousers.

Mary glared at him. ‘I wasn’t in any danger at all until you turned up and your hound accosted me.’

‘True enough I suppose, although I can assure you neither of us are any threat. Apologies again, however,’ he added, striding alongside, ‘and you must allow me to escort you. Please. It’s the very least I can do.’ He matched her pace easily, and he remained annoyingly immaculate, from his expensive derby hat to his polished boots. Even Sherlock seemed quite unperturbed by the incident and the impromptu run. In fact, he looked rather ecstatic about it all as he loped beside them, tongue still lolling.

Mary could only imagine the sight she made as she trot­ted along, covered in dirt, her hair escaping all over the place. She grabbed onto her straw boater firmly with one hand, her annoyance growing. ‘I’m perfectly fine, thank you very much.’

‘Nevertheless. It would make me feel so much better con­sidering this er, haste of yours is entirely my fault.’

Haste. Spectacle, more like. Mary lifted her chin. ‘Not entirely. Anyway, I haven’t time to discuss it.’

‘Of course,’ he said. He continued to walk with her, however, and she gave up trying to dissuade him, espe­cially now that he was dipping his hat again. ‘My name is Johnathon, by the way. Johnathon Christmas.’

Mary was so shocked by that introduction she stumbled to a halt. ‘Christmas? You mean your niece Penny is . . . is Penelope Christmas?’

He frowned in confusion. ‘Well, yes, although I’m surprised you’ve heard of her. She only arrived in town yes­terday, as did I.’ Mary continued to stare and he seemed to see a need for further explanation, talking to her as if she were a little dim-witted. ‘We’re here for the winter – the whole family. My brother is getting married but he isn’t arriving until tomorrow and Penny couldn’t wait to start school. That’s where I’m headed actually, to see her settled in today . . .’

Mary’s eyes widened. ‘Oh blast!’

Then she was off once more, at a run this time, for not only was she late, but a brand new student stood outside the schoolroom without a friend in town. Lord only knew what was going on, especially with Charlie Parsons no doubt up to his usual tricks. If that wasn’t bad enough, she was about to greet the poor child looking like she’d been rolling in a pig­sty. Smelling like she’d been rolling in a pigsty.

‘I take it that isn’t welcome information for some reason?’ Johnathon said, catching up with her.

‘No, it’s just that I’m late for her . . . only I wasn’t expect­ing her until Monday . . .’ Mary tried to explain, panting. She sent him a rueful glance. ‘I’m Mary. Mary Richards. Penelope’s teacher.’

Realisation dawned on Johnathon, and it was his turn to appear astonished as they rushed along. ‘So that means you’re also . . . ?’

‘Yes. About to be your sister-in-law. Of sorts. My sister Emily is about to marry your brother David.’

‘Well, blow me down,’ he muttered. ‘You mean you’re the clever and accomplished Miss Mary Richards?’

‘Not so clever today . . . and not so accomplished,’ she said, glancing ruefully down at her attire. ‘More like some­thing the cat dragged in. Or the dog.’ She grimaced. ‘Or the pig.’

She looked over at him and he appeared taken aback, but then he did something unexpected. He started to laugh. Mary found it impossible not to join in. It made it difficult to keep running, as breathless as they were, but neither seemed capable of stopping. It really was funny, especially with Sherlock barking along, joining in on the joke with his big doggy smile.

‘Well,’ he said finally, as they neared the stone footbridge into town, ‘this promises to be a first day she won’t be for­getting in a hurry. What a way to meet, eh?’

He looked over, grinning in that ridiculously handsome way of his once more, and Mary couldn’t help but grin back. What a way indeed. Yet the school was in sight now and she collected herself, slowing down to maintain some level of decorum as they approached, Sherlock Bones in tow. It was only then that she reflected – it was just as well her sister Emily hadn’t been born first and called Mary. Johnathon’s family – especially his niece – seemed to have a fine sense of humour when it came to names, but surely no one would wish for a daughter-in-law named Mary Christmas.