Mistletoe Mystery by Sally Quilford

work
out.”
    “I wonder,” said Mrs. Cunningham, “if I may be cheeky and
ask if I can play the person I really was at the time. I was the English
teacher at Bedlington Hall.”
    Everyone looked towards Mrs. Cunningham with interest.
Philly got the distinct feeling the vicar’s wife had just become a real suspect
in their eyes. Mrs. Cunningham either did not notice or chose not to worry
about it.
    Matt glanced across to Philly who nodded back. “Sure,” he
said to Mrs. Cunningham. “If that’s what you prefer.”
    “Can I play the R.E. teacher who is hopelessly in love with
the English teacher?” asked Reverend Cunningham to a chorus of ‘aws’. “Just
joking. I’m happy to go along with whatever the card says. Either way I’ll be
hopelessly in love with the English teacher.”
    “I can see why, Reverend,” said Matt.
    “Ooh, you young charmer!” Mrs. Cunningham laughed. “Careful,
Drew, he’ll be stealing me from you.”
    “Then they’ll be investigating the disappearance of Mr.
Cassell,” said the vicar, light-heartedly.
    “Can we get on?” said a voice from the crowd. Everyone
turned to see an elderly man wearing a flat cap.
    “You’re Mr. Scattergood, right?” said Matt.
    “That’s right, Stan Scattergood and I’d really like to get
my dinner.”
    “But we are just getting to know each other,” said another
man. He spoke with an attractive French accent. He was in his late sixties, yet
could easily pass for someone younger. He looked very suave and sophisticated,
reminding Philly of Sasha Distell.
    “As you say, Monsieur,” said Matt. “We’re just getting to know
each other here.”
    The Frenchman bowed. “I am Armand De Lacey.” Philly vaguely
remembered the name from the list of guests.
    “Oh, that’s just what we need,” said Mrs. Cunningham. “A
charming French master.”
    Monsieur De Lacey smiled at Mrs. Cunningham and bowed again.
“Madame, I am the one who is charmed.”
    It seemed to Philly that Matt had a sudden rival for the
female affections as all the women’s heads had turned to look at Monsieur De
Lacey. Despite his age, he had no shortage of admirers. He was the sort of man
who retained his sex appeal, regardless of age, like Sean Connery.
    Stan Scattergood folded his arms and harrumphed. No one was
looking at him.
    “Don’t worry, mate,” said Frank Bennett. “I’m like you. I
just want my dinner. I only come on these things because the wife drags me
out.”
    “Ooh, you liar,” said Mrs. Bennett. “I wanted to go to
Majorca for a week, but you said this was cheaper.”
    “Well…” Matt raised a hand. “I think it is about time we let
you go to your rooms and unpack. Dinner will be at seven thirty, but there are
tea making facilities in your rooms so you’ll just have time to get what you
English call a nice cuppa. As you pass me on the stairs, I’ll hand you your
roles.” Matt walked to the bottom step, and did just that as everyone filed
past.
    When they had all gone he looked at Philly and said, “How
did I do?”
    “You did great. Really.”
    “You sound surprised.”
    “No, I’m not surprised at all. I knew you could charm the
birds off the trees.”
    “Yet I don’t seem to be having that affect on you at the
moment.”
    “Matt, it’s like I said when you arrived, I need things to
slow down a bit, that’s all.”
    “I understand that. What I don’t understand is why you’ve
done your best to avoid me.”
    “I haven’t avoided you. I’ve been really busy, getting
everything ready.” It was half the truth, except that she had used being busy
as an excuse to avoid him.
    In the weeks leading up to the weekend, Philly, Puck and Meg
had spent every waking hour going through the attic, trying to find out what
was in there that fascinated Matt. There had been more pictures, but they were
tiny in comparison to Robespierre’s painting of the tower. They were mostly of
Madonnas and the baby Jesus. The friends guessed that they were