Star over Bethlehem - Agatha Christie [12]
He sat up and rubbed his eyes, not quite believing what he saw. He staggered to his feet and shambled off in the direction of his cottage, made uneasy by the trick his eyes had played him. At the crossroads he met George Palk, the village constable, on his beat.
“You’m late getting home, Jacob. Or should I say early?” Palk grinned.
Jacob groaned, and rocked his head in his hands.
“Government’s been and done something to the beer,” he affirmed. “Meddling again. I never used to feel like this.”
“What’ll your Missus say when she sees you rolling home at this hour?”
“Won’t say anything. She’s away to her sister’s.”
“So you took the opportunity to see the New Year in?”
Jacob grunted. Then he said uneasily: “You seen a lot of people just now, George? Coming along the road?”
“No. What sort of people?”
“Funny people. Dressed odd.”
“You mean Beats?”
“Nah, not Beats. Sort of old-fashioned like. Carrying things, some of ’em was.”
“What sort of things?”
“Ruddy great wheel, one had—a woman. And there was a man with a gridiron. And one rather nice looking wench, dressed very rich and fancy with a great big basket of roses.”
“Roses? This time of year? Was it a sort of procession?”
“That’s right. Lights on their heads they had, too.”
“Aw, get on, Jacob! Seeing things—that’s what’s the matter with you. Get on home, put your head under the tap, and sleep it off.”
“Funny thing is, I feel I’ve seen ’em before somewhere—but for the life of me I can’t think where.”
“Ban the bomb marchers, maybe.”
“I tell you they was dressed all rich and funny. Fourteen of them there was. I counted. Walking in pairs mostly.”
“Oh well, some New Year’s Eve party coming home maybe: but if you ask me, I’d say you did yourself too well at the Bel and Dragon, and that accounts for it all.”
“Saw the New Year in proper, we did,” agreed Jacob. “Had to celebrate special, seeing as it wasn’t only ‘Out with the Old Year, and in with the New.’ It’s out with the old Century and in with the New one. January 1st, A.D. 2000, that’s what today is.”
“Ought to mean something,” said Constable Palk.
“More compulsory evacuation, I suppose,” grumbled Jacob. “A man’s home’s not his castle nowadays. It’s out with him, and off to one of these ruddy new towns. Or bundle him off to New Zealand or Australia. Can’t even have children now unless the Government says you may. Can’t even dump things in your back garden without the ruddy Council coming round and saying its got to go to the village dump. What do they think a back garden’s for? What it’s come to is, nobody treats you like you were human any more …”
His voice rumbled away …
“Happy New Year,” Constable Palk called after him …
The Fourteen proceeded on their way.
St. Catherine was trundling her Wheel in a disconsolate manner. She turned her head and spoke to St. Lawrence who was examining his Gridiron.
“What can I do with this thing?” she asked.
“I suppose a wheel always comes in useful,” said St. Lawrence doubtfully.
“What for?”
“I see what you mean—it was meant for torture—for breaking a man’s body.”
“Broken on the wheel.” St. Catherine gave a little shudder. “What are you going to do with your gridiron?”
“I thought perhaps I might use it for cooking something.”
“Pfui,” said St. Cristina as they passed a dead stoat.
St. Elizabeth of Hungary handed her one of her roses.
St. Cristina sniffed it gratefully. St. Elizabeth fell back beside St. Peter.
“I wonder why we all seem to have paired up,” she said thoughtfully.
“Those do, perhaps, who have something in common,” suggested Peter.
“Have we something in common?”
“Well, we’re both of us liars,” said Peter cheerfully.
In spite of a lie that would never be forgotten, Peter was a very honest man. He accepted the truth of himself.
“I know. I know!” Elizabeth cried. “I can’t bear to remember. How could I have been so cowardly—so weak, that day? Why didn’t I stand there bravely and say, “I am taking bread to the hungry?” Instead, my husband shouts at me, “What have you got in that basket?” And I shiver and stammer out