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As Father Brown strolled through Kembleford it occurred to him that the place was as perfect as a watercolor painting. The blue sky, blooming flowers, and neatly kept houses made one wish for the talent of painting, so that such a lovely scene could be preserved. As it was he made do with walking down the main street thinking on how kind the Lord was to create such a place. The children laughed, the birds sang, a woman yelled in Polish…
That last part didn’t quite fit the scenario. Especially since the yelling came from the direction of the rectory. Father Brown cut through a couple of yards to arrive at St. Mary’s. Running along the church, two things caught his notice: the first was Mrs. McCarthy and Lady Felicia leaning along the wall, just out of sight of the rectory; the second that there were two voices coming from his nest.
“What on earth…?”
Both ladies turned around to shush him.
“This is eavesdropping!” Which wasn’t a deadly sin, but it was still rather rude.
Lady Felicia looked annoyed. “The radio is broken, and there is no festival, party of any kind, or fundraiser scheduled today.”
“Nor any dead bodies,” Mrs. McCarthy chimed in.
“And boredom is enough for us to tolerate yelling that can be heard in York, and for us to listen in on private conversations?”
The ladies looked at each other, then at him, then back at each other. “Yes,” Lady Felicia finally said. “Besides, if it was a private conversation they wouldn’t be yelling.”
That made a certain amount of sense. Father Brown leaned in closer to catch the tail end of the argument.
“You are a vulgar man, Sid Carter!” Suzy sounded close to tears.
“C’mon, don’t be like that. I’m sorry you’re upset, really. Suzy, c’mon. Suzy!”
“Vulgar!” The rectory door slammed shut. Sid banged on it.
“Suzy, I’m sorry. Lemme take you out to dinner.” Now he sounded close to tears himself. After a few moments the banging stopped, and Mrs. McCarthy peeked around the corner.
“He’s gone.”
“Oh.” Lady Felicia pouted. “I was hoping they’d kiss and make-up. This is a bit of a cliffhanger.”
“And we don’t even know why they were fighting. Father, what do you think? Father Brown!”
Standing straight, Father Brown turned the corner and made his way towards the rectory. Two of his flock were hurting, and that was something he did not like to see. It would not do at all. He would go in the rectory, ask for a nice cup of tea, suggest Suzy make one for herself, they’d talk it out, he would offer sympathy and advice, and then go see Sid, who was probably down at the pub. He’d go down there, ask for the usual, suggest Sid get one for himself, they’d talk it out, he would offer sympathy and advice, and Sid would come see Suzy. Then everything would be alright in Kembleford. Unless a body turned up in the midst of all this, which was perfectly possible.
His hand was just on the door knob when the door pulled inward. Suzy’s eyes were red and her lower lip was quivering like pudding. The moment they stared at one another didn’t last long enough for him to ask her what was wrong, in fact he didn’t have the time to ask anything. She whispered a plea for him to excuse her, and ran past. Behind him, Mrs. McCarthy and Lady Felicia tried to engage her, but she kept running until she was down the lane and out of sight.
Well. That didn’t go the way it ought.
“Perhaps,” Father Brown said when Mrs. McCarthy and Lady Felicia approached him, both looking less curious and more worried now that there was evidence something was seriously wrong. “Perhaps before we pester them with questions, we should let the wounds scab over a bit.”
The wounds were still fresh the next morning. Suzy’s chores were done in a banging, clattering fashion, and she ignored all attempts at conversation.
Until Sid stopped by. Taking off his hat, he presented her with a bouquet of flowers wrapped in newspaper and a hesitant smile that seemed to ask if he was forgiven.
Nope. Amidst Polish yelling the flowers ended up in a bucket full of dirty water that had been used to scrub the floor. After Suzy stormed out, Father Brown rescued them and shook them off to see if any could be saved.
“Are those….yellow roses?” Mrs. McCarthy asked.
“Yeah.” Sid rubbed his head and looked exhausted. Faint heart never won fair lady, but he looked like his heart was less faint and more broken. “Why?”
“Lady Felicia’s garden has yellow roses.”
The heartbroken look was gone and replaced with one of exasperation at getting caught. Father Brown fixed him with a look. It was a look he usually used on misbehaving parishioners, the one he hoped conveyed the appropriate mix of ‘you’re-not-supposed-to-be-doing-that’ and ‘God-will-forgive-you-and-you-are-loved.’
Sid stormed out of the rectory. Drat. Perhaps the look needed refining.
Lady Felicia popped in just as Mrs. McCarthy poured the tea. “Hello! Have either of you seen our resident scoundrel? I told Sid to idle the car outside the shop, but when I came out he was gone.”
“How did you know to come to the church?” Mrs. McCarthy asked.
The response was prefaced by a very charming wide-eyed blink and shrug. “He wasn’t at the pub or the police station. This was the only other place I could think of. Are those yellow roses?”
Cups of fragrant, soothing tea were poured to soften the blow of the roses’ fate, and the morning’s scene was related.
“And we still don’t know why they’re upset with each other?”
“I haven’t a blessed idea. I’m not one for gossip, but he must’ve said something horrid.”
“She did call him vulgar.” Both ladies wrinkled their noses at the idea that a man said something inappropriate.
“Hmm.” Father Brown adjusted his glasses. “Or he said something she thought was horrid. Well, in times such as this the best course of action is obvious.” He stood and plucked hat and umbrella from their respective resting places by the door.
Evidently the best course of action wasn’t obvious because Lady Felicia and Mrs. McCarthy looked at him without the faintest hint of comprehension. They followed him outside where his bicycle was stored.
“Father, where on earth are you going?”
“Towards the best course of action, Mrs. M!”
“But what are you going to do?”
“Talk to them!”
He found Suzy in the Kembleford library. It had once been a house owned by a one-time literary hero who, inexplicably, willed his run down, shabby little hut to the village. Initially unsure of what to do with it, the residents ended up collecting their old, cast-off books in the place as a way of paying tribute and giving thanks, and also because doing so cut down on the clutter in their houses. The librarians tended to be widows who needed extra money. This was considered a winning solution for all involved, and in the hundred years since the house was willed to the county several hundred books had been added to the collection. Including a few old textbooks of English literature and language.
There were several enormous tables meant for studying and reading, and Suzy sat at one of them with a book in front of her. Instead of reading she looked out the window. In contrast to yesterday’s bright sunshine and blue sky, the current day was a dreary one. Weather was a tool the devil used to spread hopelessness and depression, and this was a day made for being depressed.
“Hello Father,” she said when he sat across from her at the table. Her voice was tinged with misery.
“Hello Suzy.” He adjusted his cassock, and pulled out a bag of sweets. Caramel. Her favorite. “I had a suspicion that something is wrong, and desert always cheers me up when things are hard.”
Suzy sniffled. “Mrs. McCarthy would say you have to eat your dinner before sweets. Before eating sweets, I mean.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Ah, there was her smile. It was a small one, and it only lasted a second, but it was there. They munched on caramels for a bit, eating in silence and enjoying the ability to focus only on the sweets. In a world where there was always another chore to be done, or a parishioner to be visited, or a murder mystery to be solved, being able to enjoy caramels was a little luxury.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Suzy said after finishing her first caramel.
“Talk about what?”
“Sid.”
“We don’t have to talk about him. We can talk about whatever you like.”
“Can we talk about Poland?”
Father Brown nodded. She rarely talked about her homeland, and after a few minutes he understood why. Being separated from a place she loved, the place of her happiest memories, hurt. Those memories of her family were bittersweet since she would never make new ones. Eventually the stories of picnics and ghost stories around a fire became stories of hunger and the ghosts of those lost in the war.
“There were women with children who got so hungry.” She broke off and the next few sentences were muttered in Polish before she switched back to English. “They were so hungry the women never left their beds.” She looked at him to see if he understood.
“Ah.” That there were men out there who would take advantage of war-ravaged women trying to feed their children was sickening. Lord forgive us for allowing such things to happen.
“My mother, before she die, she tell me not to do those things. To be careful, and not allow a man to disrespect me.”
He nodded. “And Sid said something disrespectful.”
“I don’t want to repeat what he said.”
“I won’t ask. The only thing I ask is that you consider forgiving him.”
“I want to,” she said softly. “I have almost forgiven him already.”
Ah, that was what Father Brown wanted to hear. “Perhaps some award-winning strawberry scones would help take you the rest of the way.”
Her smile was bigger this time, and stayed for a longer visit. “Where would Kembleford be without those scones?”
“Goodness, I should think the church tower would crumble without them. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s someone I have to see.” Father Brown smiled back, picked up his umbrella and hat, squeezed her hand, and left.
The Lord never asked for sobriety, which was lucky for the citizens of Kembleford. The pub was filled with people, all of whom had pints. Father Brown asked for, and received, his usual drink, then took a seat by a card game.
Things immediately got awkward. Three of the four players cut their losses or took their wins rather than continue to cheat each other in front a priest. That left him alone with an exasperated and tipsy Sid.
“I had them, Father. All of ‘em.”
“The chap in the shabby hat was cheating you.” Father Brown sipped his beer.
“Tim? Bloody Tim, he wasn’t cheating me anymore than I was cheating him.”
“And yet he left with a pocketful of money, whereas you…” Father Brown peered at the tiny lump of change left on the table. Sid’s winnings. Or more likely, the portion of his money he had been allowed to keep.
“It’ll cover my tab.” Sid took a draught of his beer. “Besides, I already got what I wanted.”
“And what is that?”
The younger man pulled a pink box out of his pocket and thumped it on the table. “For Suzy. Got it from the general store. Girls like perfume, yeah? That’s what my old man always said.”
Father Brown doubted Sid’s old man ever said any such thing, at least not to his son who had been all of eight during the Battle of Normandy where the elder Carter fell. “I wouldn’t know. But am I right to guess this is a plea for forgiveness?”
Sid nodded. “I’ll tell her I’m sorry she’s upset, give her the perfume, and we’ll be alright.”
Ah. “It’s not a bad plan, but that might not be the best way to give your apologies.”
Sid finished his beer and stuffed the perfume in his pocket. “I’ll think up something poetic. I was going to give it a few days, let her cool down some. She’ll be cleaning the church Wednesday morning, right?”
“Probably.” There was something odd about the perfume. Something not right. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Right then. I’ll see you in a bit Father. Wish me luck.”
“Prayers will be said.”
The prayers went unanswered. Wednesday rolled around sooner rather than later. After visiting the police to see if a body had turned up without his being aware of it (no such luck. It was a slow week), Father Brown rode his bicycle back to St. Mary’s. He rode up just in time to hear yelling. It was in English this time, but with a Polish accent. No, no, scratch that. There were two accents. One Polish, one Irish.
Lady Felicia chose that moment to arrive. She was barefoot and carrying a pair of heels in her hand.
“I don’t employ a chauffeur so I can walk barefoot for all the world to see.” She might have had a soft spot for the young man she employed, but Lady Felicia had her limits and they were aching feet. ‘Borrowing’ the car was one thing, but making her walk? Sid would get an earful for that. “Is he here?”
Suzy burst out of the rectory and stormed down the lane. Father Brown saw his chance. “Ah, Suzy?”
She yelled in Polish, then switched to English. “I’m not forgiving him.”
“But…”
“He’s ‘sorry I’m upset.’ That is not apology!”
“No. It’s not.”
“And neither is stolen perfume!” She ran off.
“Well,” Lady Felicia said. “There go my feelings of justified indignation. I can’t be mad at Sid now, not when he’s facing that.”
“Perhaps we should make sure our wayward scoundrel hasn’t been torn to pieces.” Before they could move, Mrs. McCarthy came out. She sighed when she saw them.
“He’s still alive, if you’re wondering.”
“I was curious,” Father Brown admitted.
“I left him at the kitchen table, although he’ll probably pinch the silverware if given half a chance. He stole this, y’know.” She held up the pink box. “Like a common thief.”
Father Brown snapped his fingers as his earlier confusion was cleared up. “If he had purchased it from the general store, Allen would have wrapped it.”
“Allen Hollen?” Lady Felicia took the perfume. “I know him. I know him quite well, in fact.”
“And are you going to go to bat for a common thief then?”
Lady Felicia pursed her red lips. “Father Brown, didn’t the Lord promise a thief he would be in Paradise?”
“Yes, that’s quite true.”
Mrs. McCarthy bristled. “Father Brown, didn’t the Lord make that promise only after the thief had confessed his sin?”
“Also quite true.” Father Brown thought for a moment, then leaned a bit closer to the ladies. Instinctually, they leaned in as well, creating a circle of conspiracy. “Lady Felicia, you talk to Allen Hollen and clear up that mess. Mrs. McCarthy, you talk to Suzy and calm her down a bit…”
“Calm her down!” Mrs. McCarthy huffed. “She was ready to tear his eyes out. If she was any younger, I’d put her to bed until she was ready to talk like a normal person. In English!”
“And if he was any younger, I’d give him a spanking,” Lady Felicia said.
Both options sounded tempting, Father Brown could admit that. “Still, the fact remains that they are not any younger. So if you two saints will help me soothe the savage beasts, I’ll speak to Sid.”
The two ladies looked at each other, looked at him, then back at each other. Then they nodded.
Sid was not in the house. The back door swung open because the latch hadn’t been replaced, and raindrops sprinkled the floor.
It was raining when Lady Felicia entered the general store with a swish and a sigh. Pouting ever-so-prettily, she cat-walked her way to the front desk where Mr. Allen Hollen watched appreciatively. Their relationship had been a whirlwind of passion. It had been blustery and wild, and left her with leaves in her hair, and a rumpled dress. It hadn’t lasted, none of her romances ever did, but they left the hotel room as friends.
“Allen, darling, I’ve done a very silly thing.” She held up the perfume. “I was looking at it the last time I was in here, and got distracted when I saw an old school chum. I accidentally walked out with it in my hands and didn’t pay. Forgive me?” She batted her eyes and held up her purse. “I’ll pay for it now if you promise me you won’t ruin my reputation. It would awful if the world thought I was thief.”
Allen picked the box and looked at it. “Last time you were in here was last Friday. We only got this in on Monday. New product. Millie thought we should appeal to a wider spectrum of customers. Said we had too much fishing tackle and not enough feminine…” he waved his hand around, trying to think of the appropriate word. “Stuff. There’s no way you could’ve pinched it. By accident, or on purpose.”
“Well, I…”
“But I do know your chauffer was in here on Monday morning. And everybody in Kembleford knows he helps himself to a five fingered discount.”
She pursed her lips. “He’s reformed.”
“Hmm. So what brought on this relapse? Give me a reason to let it slip, Felicia.”
“He’s got girl trouble.”
“Girl trouble.” Allen looked at the perfume. “Catholic or Prod, as long as any two men keep their conversation on the subject of the difficulties women bring them they will always get along. Y’know I’m having a son, right?”
She blinked, perturbed by the sudden non-sequitur. “I heard Millie was in a delicate condition.”
“It’s going to be a son, I know it in my bones. And if my son were to pinch something from a shop because he’s having girl trouble, I’d want the shop owner to be the forgiving type. You promise to scorch his ears for me, and I’ll not mention it to the coppers.”
“You really are a dear, Allen.”
“Just don’t tell Millie. Then I’ll have girl trouble.”
On the outskirts of Kembleford, the Polish camp was muddy. The lack of grass meant that every time there was a good rainstorm everybody caught outside ended up needing to clean their boots. Mrs. McCarthy bit her tongue so she wouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain, but she was thinking very un-Christian words about the rain when she knocked on Suzy’s door.
Those words and the feelings associated with them evaporated when the girl answered the door. There was no attempt to hide her misery; every piece of hurt had been cried out. Her eyes were raw and red, and her cheeks were flushed. She stepped back to let the older woman inside, and waited until the door was closed behind them before bursting into fresh tears.
All her usual harshness melted away. Mrs. McCarthy wrapped the girl in a hug. “Men are such stupid creatures.”
“Why.” Suzy hiccupped. “Why do we love them then?”
“I think because they need us too. Now, why don’t I make you a cup of tea and you can tell me why you love Sid Carter?”
Tea was the national drink for a reason. It steamed away tears and made everything look more civilized. Suzy eventually stopped hiccupping and confessed a few dalliances and what Mrs. M. described as ‘youthful indiscretions.’
“You talk to Father Brown about that,” she said, keeping her face straight and her voice as kindly as possible. She might admit that she was a bit of a busybody, but the girl needed kindness, not judgement. To say what she really thought would be cruel. “A few recitations of the Lord’s Prayer, and you’ll think twice before letting a man get that much out of you again.”
“I have to be sorry about it to confess it, yes? And I am not sorry for what we did. But I am sorry I let it get so far that he thinks he can say…things to me. Especially.” She stopped.
“Especially?”
“I miss Poland,” Suzy said after a few quiet moments. “I miss hearing my own language. I miss my streets, and my food, and my clothes. I miss my home and that is why.” She stopped again, and this time her tears were silent.
“And that is why you bought a ticket to Poland,” Mrs. McCarthy said. It was a good guess, and it was confirmed when Suzy nodded.
“Oh, my dear girl. There’s nothing in the Bible that says you must stay in England forever. You’re very young yet, and going out with a man doesn’t obligate you to wear a ring on your finger. Even doing what you did doesn’t obligate you to him.”
“But if I leave he’ll be hurt.”
“Yes. But you’re not responsible for his happiness. Only for your own. If going to Poland will make you happy, then you ought to go.” Mrs. McCarthy had a spare handkerchief in her purse and she used it to dry Suzy’s face. “And if you were to come back, then St. Mary’s will always welcome you.”
It was a bit surprising, although perhaps she should have expected it, when the girl embraced her. Mrs. McCarthy allowed it. There was no point in standing in the place of a mother who ought to still be alive if you weren’t going to let a girl to cry on your shoulder.
The weather kept most of Kembleford’s residents at home, but the pub was still open. The bartender tilted his head toward a corner where Father Brown saw two men. Separately, they were cats he was herding towards the Lord. Together they were a combination that gave him heartburn.
“Inspector Valentine.” He smiled, then turned to the other end of the table. “Sid.”
Sid drunkenly waved and knocked over what little beer remained in his mug. Valentine rolled his eyes. “No need to worry, Father. There’s no bodies that’ve been through the morgue this week so I’m not arresting anybody right now. I just happened to stop by after work and find this one drowning his sorrows.”
“Not drowning,” Sid muttered. “Can’t even swim.”
“Allen Hollen notified us about stolen merchandise last week. Today he says it turned up and was just misplaced. I figured I should stick around to make sure nothing else gets misplaced.”
“It was me. I misplaced the perfume. Meant it for Suzy.”
“Shut up, Sid. You didn’t touch the perfume.” Valentine sipped his beer.
Father Brown’s head was too full of prayers of thanks for Lady Felicia and for policemen who were feeling gentle that night to answer. When he did, all he said was simple, “Thank you.”
Valentine shrugged it off. “Just protecting the populace from the drunken escapades of the village idiot.”
“I am an idiot too.”
Father Brown put a hand on Sid’s shoulder and squeezed. “No, you’re not. But we can talk about that later.”
“You want me in the confession box?”
“It’s not a box.”
“It’s a box where decent people go to talk and be decent again. ‘M not decent, Father. He’ll tell you.”
“You’re pointing to the wall, Sid.”
Sid swung his arm to point at Valentine. The motion sent him reeling and he fell out of the chair.
“Right.” Father Brown adjusted his glasses. “Perhaps it’s time to go home.”
“His shack’s a bit of a walk, Father,” the Inspector said.
“I was thinking of something a little closer.”
“The church?”
“Yes. And I was hoping you would be so kind as to help me get him there.”
Inspector Valentine closed his eyes, counted to ten, and tried very hard to work his tongue around the word no. He was unsuccessful and a few minutes later he and Father Brown were stumbling through the drizzle with a drunken Sid between them.
“Singing in the rain, just singing in the raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaain!”
“If I hit him, d’you think that’ll shut him up?” The Inspector struggled to keep the younger man from slipping.
“Right now it would probably just knock him out,” Father Brown said, struggling to keep himself from slipping.
“What a wonderful feeling, I’m…I’m…I’m gonna be sick.” Sid jerked away from them to stumble his way to the side of the road. Both Father Brown and Inspector Valentine winced at the sound of retching.
“How long until we get to the church, Father?”
“Oh, about another mile.”
The sky chose that moment to open up and the drizzle turned into a downpour.
It was a long, long mile, but they made it to the church eventually. Sid collapsed on the floor when the three of them stumbled in the front door. Valentine shook his head and looked out the window.
Lightening. And thunder, which mixed with Sid’s groans.
“Inspector, there is a guest room. It’s for visiting priests and scholars, but it’s clean and comfortable.” Father Brown tried, with very little success, to pull Sid up from the floor. “I was going to let him sleep in the bathtub.”
“And you want my help getting him there, right?”
“That would be very kind, yes. Good of you to offer.”
Somehow or another they made it to the bathroom. By the time Sid was lying in the tub, Father Brown’s famous patience was near its end. “Serves you right if you wake up with a stiff neck,” he told the sleeping man. “Teach you to waste your mind, money, and time getting drunk!” He bustled out of the room, leaving Valentine behind.
The Inspector counted backwards from ten. He hadn’t reached six when the priest returned carrying a blanket and a pillow. Valentine almost laughed when the good father slid the pillow between Sid’s head and wall, and tucked the blanket around his shoulders.
“It’s not funny. I shouldn’t have said that. One should be patient with the young when they are having difficulties. Life is hard to figure out when you’re in your early twenties and have no parents.”
“Like you and your hens haven’t adopted this one and the Polish girl.”
Father Brown didn’t bother to deny it. “Come along, Inspector. I have some spare pajamas around here somewhere, and we’ll get you dried off.”
It was not a peaceful night. Hangovers come too quickly to let the drunk enjoy sleep. Sid was emptying his stomach before the clock tower struck five, and when six rolled around he was groaning. Memories from the few times he had over-indulged in his youth told Father Brown the room was probably spinning even when Sid lay still.
“I made you some coffee, and you’ll need to drink water. Dehydration is a serious threat after a night of heavy inebriation.” Easing himself onto the bathroom floor, he passed the coffee mug over. “It might be a little strong.”
‘Little’ was possibly an understatement. Sid chocked and sputtered. “Strong, yeah. It’s a little strong.”
The mug balanced on the edge of the tub and neither of them spoke for a very long time. Silence made a lot of people uncomfortable, but not Father Brown. To him, silence was an opportunity to pray for the right words to come when the quiet ended. And it always ended; a listening ear was in short supply and people rarely missed an opportunity to let it go to waste.
Lord, please guide my tongue to understanding and kindness. Please don’t let me fail those who need someone to show them love.
“I mucked everything up. Not just with Suzy, but with Lady M.”
One problem at a time. “What did you say to Suzy?”
A pause. “I was learning some Polish. Thought it might make her happy. Thought I could learn a few phrases to make her laugh.” He said something in Polish.
“What does that mean?”
Sid repeated it in English, and Father Brown came very, very close to taking the Lord’s name in vain. He sputtered for a few moments before regaining his composure.
“What. Possessed you to say that?”
A shrug. “I was hoping she would laugh. Smile. Go out to dinner with me. She doesn’t laugh much these days. Not since that business with Kalon.”
“Be that as it may, I don’t think saying that to her would incentivize her, or any other young lady, into joining you for dinner!” The urge to smack the younger man upside the head was strong, but Father Brown settled for squeezing his shoulder. “You should apologize to her.”
“Tried. Mucked that up too.”
“Perhaps instead of saying you’re ‘sorry she’s upset,’ you should say you’re sorry you said such an awful thing, she might be more forgiving.”
“You think so?”
“I think it might go a long way.”
“I still mucked up. The flowers, the perfume. Lady M’s probably got plans to sack me.”
Speaking of the devil. She knocked on the door, looking like she stepped out of the pages of a Harrod’s catalogue. “Is this a private party, or can anyone join?”
“Ah, Lady Felicia! What an early morning surprise.” Father Brown struggled to his feet, surreptitiously checking his watch. It wasn’t yet seven.
“I came over with Mrs. McCarthy. She seemed to think the morning would go more smoothly if we were all here. She’s downstairs with Suzy.”
“Suzy’s here?” Sid started to pull off the blanket but stopped when Lady Felicia put a hand on his chest.
“Why don’t you let Father Brown soften her up a bit first? Besides.” She fixed him with a mock-stern look. “You and I should talk.”
It was time to go. Father Brown patted Sid’s shoulder again. “Best of luck.”
“Oy! You’re just abandoning me?”
“God will protect you.” Father Brown smiled and closed the door behind him. He shook his head at a sleepy Inspector Valentine, who had roused himself and was doubtless looking for a toilet or a hot shower. “You don’t want to go in there.”
The Inspector looked at the door of the bathroom, then at Father Brown, then at his watch. “You think the station will collapse if I’m late?”
“No. And if you wait for a bit I’m sure we can send you off with a breakfast of award winning strawberry scones.”
“I’m going back to bed for another hour.”
“Good idea,” Father Brown said, and went to the kitchen. The award winning scones were on full display, and he had to admit they smelled good. He commented on this fact and was rewarded with big smiles from both Mrs. McCarthy and Suzy.
“I taught her the recipe.” Never before had he heard such pride in the Irish woman’s voice, at least not directed at Suzy. That was odd. Something was going on. “We stayed up all night talking. Well, and this.” She showed off brightly colored fingernails. “My mother always said such things were reserved for tarts and whores, but I rather like it.”
She wanted his approval. Rather, the church’s approval. Knowing of no canon law prohibiting nail polish, he told her it was a very nice color and matched the tulips currently decorating the alter.
“We talked about a lot of things,” Suzy said, once the question of nail polish had been resolved. Her voice was hesitant. Yes, something was definitely going on. Father Brown patiently waited for an explanation.
Upstairs, Lady Felicia and Sid were still talking.
“For what it’s worth, I’m not proud of stealing your roses. Or your car.”
She nodded. “And the perfume?”
“God.” He thumped his head against the wall. “I got the whole world to apologize to. I’m not proud of that either. It’s just…” He trailed off and looked away from her.
It was just that being a chauffeur and part time handyman didn’t pay much, and a girl like Suzy deserved flowers and perfume and rides in rolls royces. All things he couldn’t afford, and would never be able to afford. Felicia knew that, just as she knew she had to restrain her maternal instincts and keep her help to advances in pay, keep her advice harmless, tinge her looks less with understanding and more with unspoken reminders of who employed him. Both of them had weathered whispers and dirty looks and came away with less than sterling reputations. Any hint of closeness wouldn’t be interpreted as filial, but as something carnal. And that would be the last nail in the coffin for both of them. They would be well and truly ruined.
But here and now there was nobody to judge her when she smoothed his hair back. “I returned the perfume. Allen Hollen isn’t going to the police.”
“You…?”
“You’re not the only one to make mistakes. Allen’s one of mine and he’s an understanding sort. I promised him I’d scorch your ears.” She tugged one such appendage. “And he said he’d let it go. And once you’ve sobered up and stopped feeling sorry for yourself, you can help my gardener repair the damage.”
He nodded.
“And if you ever make me walk through Kembleford in my Burberry heels again, even Father Brown won’t be able to find enough of you to bury.”
“So when you wear the Chanel heels I can steal the car?” he asked, and she knew they would be alright.
Mrs. McCarthy was coming to that conclusion herself. Father Brown had been wise enough to say what she had spent the night explaining to Suzy: that if she thought she would be happier in Poland then that was where she should go. After all, he said, every form of transportation from horse to airplane worked in both directions. If she found herself missing England then St. Mary’s would always welcome her back.
But just because you knew everything would work out didn’t mean it had yet. There were several weeks of dreading Suzy’s departure ahead. Despite her frequent criticism, Mrs. McCarthy didn’t want to see Suzy go. Who would she share recipes with then? Certainly not her highness. Who would she gossip with (ahem, talk to) about Father Brown? Not Sidney Carter, that was for certain. No, Suzy held a special place in her heart, although it was a place very few people visited. When you had gotten used to being alone, when you had accepted the lack of a decent husband and children and grandchildren to go along with him, it was hard to visit that place and let someone in. Harder still to accept them into your heart and then watch them leave.
“Mrs. McCarthy?” Suzy’s hand fell on hers, and Father Brown gave her one of his famous understanding looks.
She was crying. “Pardon me. I have to…freshen up.” She left the kitchen in went in search of the bathroom. Out in the hall she met the only other person who could understand her.
“Did you go through with the early bedtime?” Lady Felicia asked.
“No. Did you deliver a spanking?”
“No.” Lady Felicia wrapped an arm around Mrs. McCarthy’s shoulders and held her for a few moments. “What’s the matter?”
“Suzy’s going back to Poland.” She couldn’t say it without a sob. By the time Father Brown and Suzy joined them it was mostly under control. By the time Inspector Valentine joined them it was completely under control.
“Inspector? What on earth are you doing here? You should be at the station. What if there’s a murder!”
Sid chose that moment to open the door. He saw all of them, but his eyes only met Suzy’s. Without saying a word, she pushed him back inside the bathroom. The door shut behind them.
“I’m never getting my shower, am I?” Inspector Valentine asked.
“Ah, perhaps we could give them some privacy?” Father Brown said. Neither Mrs. McCarthy nor Lady Felicia moved from where their ears were plastered to the door. “Ladies?”
“Sorry, what was that, Father?”
Inside the bathroom, Suzy waited until she heard the clip-clop of heels returning to the kitchen. “They’re gone.”
“Thank God. Thought I would have to tell you what a jackass I am in front of an audience.”
“You don’t have to say things everybody already knows, Sid Carter.” She had too much pride to let him off easy. He had insulted her. Even God made you ask for forgiveness; Father Brown said so, and she considered Father Brown to be the next best thing to the Almighty.
“Right.” He slumped back down in the bathtub. A blanket hung off the edge and she saw the fringes of a pillow by the drain. “Do you know that I’m sorry? That I’m sorry I said what I said, I’m sorry you’re not happy, I’m sorry I’m a fool. Most of all, I’m sorry I’m not what you deserve.”
“What do you think I deserve?”
“Someone who doesn’t know what the inside of the jail looks like. Someone who will take you on picnics and look away when the wind blows your skirt up. Someone who can learn a few words of Polish and not make an ass of himself.”
She smiled and ran her fingers over his hand. Sid wasn’t what anyone would call adorable, but sometimes, when his eyes got wide or that mischievous smile came to visit, he looked like a little boy. She found it endearing and knew it was one reason she would miss him terribly. Her heart was in her throat when she told him she had bought a ticket to Poland.
“Because of me?”
“No,” she said. “Because I miss home. Because while I’m very glad I didn’t get what I deserved.” She paused to squeeze his hand. “I’m not sure I love you. But I am sure that I need to see my homeland.”
He squeezed her hand back even as he bit his lip to stop the quiver.
The next few weeks passed quietly. Lady Felicia found some dresses in the back of her closet that she gave to Suzy because, “We can’t send you home without a proper wardrobe!” They fit perfectly and she carefully folded them into her trunk in the days before the journey. At the train station, Father Brown gave her a Bible with a personal message written inside, and a hug.
Mrs. McCarthy gave her a book filled with handwritten recipes, for award-winning scones and other things.
Sid gave her a box wrapped in brown paper. “Bought it this time,” he said. “You can ask Allen.”
“How…?”
“Been on a dry spell for the last few weeks. Turns beer money into perfume money.” There was a brief pause. “Also I won a few card games.”
Suzy smiled and kissed his cheek just as the call for “All aboard” went out. From her seat by the window she saw Lady Felicia pat Sid’s arm, and Father Brown put his arm around Mrs. McCarthy. Softly smiling, she waved.
The clouds were grey, but Father Brown saw a few patches of blue peeking through. The whistle of the train faded into the background as the foursome left the train station and headed for the car. Mrs. McCarthy and Lady Felicia spent the ride back to St. Mary’s making plans for the Women’s Institute’s guest lectures. It was a half-hearted conversation. Words were uttered primarily for the purpose of chasing away the silence.
When they returned to St. Mary’s, tea and scones were brought out, and Sid excused himself.
After a few moments Father Brown found himself under the knowing stare of Lady Felicia. “If I go after him,” she said, “it’ll just embarrass him. Sometimes a young man needs advice from a masculine quarter.”
A masculine quarter. What an odd way to put it, Father Brown thought, as he made his way down the hall. It was strange, the rules people invented to keep themselves from showing affection.
Can’t be gentle, she’s a foreigner.
Can’t show too much affection, people will think we’re having an affair.
I’m not her mother.
I’m not his mother.
I’m the wrong person for the particular brand of kindness that needs to be shown.
He rapped his knuckles on the door of the bathroom. The water was running, and Sid’s eyes were red and raw when he opened the door.
Father Brown had a very gentle idea of masculinity. He wrapped the younger man in a hug and held him. It wasn’t a big moment, or a long one, but it was much needed.
“Bloody hell,” Sid said, when they broke apart. “Just making a fool of myself all over Kembleford.” He wiped his eyes on his sleeve.
“No,” Father Brown said firmly. “You are not a fool for loving someone. It’s a very natural thing, to love another. A good thing.” He rubbed the back of Sid’s head paternally. “And one day you will find someone who will love you back.”
“Yeah, one day. What about today?”
“Now there are strawberry scones downstairs. And since it’s a nice day, I thought we might eat outside.”
Eat outside they did. While there was an empty space between Mrs. McCarthy and Sid, and lulls in the conversation where another voice would interjected, it was still a nice day. And there would be plenty more nice days to come in Kembleford’s future.