No Graves as Yet_ A Novel - Anne Perry [128]
“If yer lookin’ for the Taylors, they moved six months back, an’ Oi dunno where to,” she said abruptly. “An’ if it’s anyone else, ask Porky Andrews at the shop. He knows everythin’ an’ll likely tell you, whether you care or not.” She ignored Judith and looked Joseph up and down curiously.
“Mrs. Channery?” he asked. His days as a parish priest came back to his mind with cutting clarity. How often he had called on resentful people who were raw-tongued from pride, guilt, or the need to guard some pain they could neither accommodate nor share. “I’m Joseph Reavley, and this is my sister Judith. I believe you were a great friend of our mother’s.” He did not make it a question.
“Oh!” She was taken by surprise. The tart remark she had been going to make died on her lips. Something inside her softened. “Yes . . . well . . . well Oi suppose Oi were. Terrible thin’. Oi’m rale sorry. We’ll all miss her. Not much point in tellin’ you my sympathies. Won’t do no good.”
“I’d be glad to accept a cup of tea.” Joseph was not going to be put off.
“Then you’d better come on in,” Mrs. Channery responded. “Oi don’t serve on the doorstep.” And she turned around and led the way into a remarkably pleasant sitting room, beyond which lay a small, overcrowded garden backing onto the churchyard. He could clearly see a pale carved angel above the hedge, neatly outlined against the dark mass of yew trees.
Mrs. Channery followed his glance. “Humph!” she snorted. “On good days Oi think he’s watching over me . . . most times Oi say as he’s just snoopin’!” She pointed to the couch and another chair. “If you want tea, Oi et to put the kettle on, so you’d best sit down whoile Oi do. Oi’ve got biscuits. Oi’m not cuttin’ cake at this toime in the mornin’.”
Judith swallowed her temper with an effort that was visible, at least to Joseph. “Thank you,” she said meekly. “May I help you carry anything?”
“Great heavens, choild!” Mrs. Channery exclaimed. “What d’you think Oi’m bringin’? It’s only elevenses.”
Anger flushed up Judith’s face, but she bit back her response.
Mrs. Channery swiveled on her heel and disappeared into the kitchen.
Judith looked at Joseph. “Mother deserves to be canonized for putting up with her!” she said in a savage whisper.
“I can see why Father loathed her,” he agreed. “I wonder why he came.”
“With a sword, in case it was necessary, I should think!” Judith retorted. “Or a packet of rat poison!”
Joseph’s mind worried at the question. Why had John Reavley come here? Judith could quite easily have driven Alys, and Alys would consider it a useful lesson for her in charitable duty. John tended to avoid unpleasant people, and his tolerance of rudeness was low. He admired his wife’s patience, but he had no intention of emulating it.
Mrs. Channery returned, staggering a little under the weight of a large and very well set tea tray. She had kept her word that there was no cake, but there were three different kinds of biscuits, and homemade raisin scones with plenty of butter.
Joseph leaped to his feet to help her, taking the tray before she dropped it, and setting it down on the small table next to a floral jug filled with sweet williams. The ritual of pouring, accepting, passing around the food and making appropriate remarks was all observed to the letter. It was several minutes before Joseph could broach the subject for which they had come. He had given it some thought, but now it seemed foolish. The only thing to be gained by this visit was the time spent with Judith. On the way over they had spoken of odd, unimportant things, but she had seemed to be easier, and once or twice she had actually laughed.
“You have a lovely garden,” Joseph remarked.