Brandon family tree

As I just published the first book of the second lot of Brandon Scandals, Col. Brandon's Quest,  I have been asked to re-post the family tree of the first series.

Chapter 7 thou shalt not steal

Yesterday was a scorcher; got to over 100F and I wilted.  Not sure how much I will manage to write over the weekend before my holiday, but I am open to suggestions on themes to explore.

Chapter 7 – Thou Shalt Not Steal

“You don’t belong to the W.I., ladies?” said Chaz, over shortbread with Lucy Grey and Lyndsey Grayling. Lindsey had come to check how Zeb and Rachel were settling, and Lucy had come with her.  Lucy had Zeb on her lap, purring up a storm, and Rachel was ecstatically empting Lyndsey’s handbag in order to settle down in it.  Chaz had apologised, but Lyndsey had waved his apology aside and removed her mobile phone with the comment that Rachel had a bad habit of phoning people on it.

“We don’t feel welcome at the W.I.,” Lucy answered Chaz’s question. 

“It’s about those who toil not, neither do they spin,” said Lyndsey dryly.  “Not entirely true, but many of them are older women and most of them have independent means, not the world’s workers.”

“That isn’t true of W.I.s in other places,” said Chaz.

“No, but it is of a club run by Mrs. Hadley,” said Lyndsey. “Nobody else dares stand against her as president.”

“Well, as the W.I. elect their officers in September after the big AGM, there’s time for both of you to join.  I did recognise Summer’s hand in the pond and water lilies didn’t I?” said Chaz.

“Yes, but what has the flower club to do with it?” asked Lucy, mystified.

“Mrs. Hadley was laying into Mrs. Beales publicly over the flower club offerings in church and I  ... intervened,” said Chaz.  “I expect you will hear all about it on Friday.  What I want you two ladies to do is to get all the flower club people you can to join the W.I. and canvas for Mrs. Beales to be president next year.  It is a secret ballot after all, and I wager if anyone else was prepared to stand, the other members would like a breath of fresh air.”

“Oh!” said Lucy.

“You Bolshevik!” said Lyndsey, admiringly.  “All right, Rev Chaz, we will work your felonious little plans for you.  We can always leave if it doesn’t work.”

“Gilbert and Sullivan,” said Chaz.  “Thank you.  Now, tell me how much mayhem you wrought in your youth having names so similar.”

They looked at each other and laughed, and Chaz reflected how pretty Lucy was when she was looking happy.

“We sat next to each other at school,” said Lucy

“And we swapped seats regularly,” said Lyndsey.

“Until Mrs. Pearson caught on,” said Lucy. “Her daughter teaches in the school now and is a favourite of Summer’s.”

“Oh, the shame!” laughed Lyndsey. “She made us each sit with a boy!”

“And I was lucky because mine was the newcomer, Adrian Dempsey,” said Lucy, softly.

“But I was sitting next to a real tearaway called Wendel Whitely!” laughed Lyndsey.  “I never realised I’d end up working for him or that he would be a pillar of the community.  In our young day he was always in trouble with the police for disrupting the hunt, and squaring up to people he thought were mistreating animals, and having a sit-in to stop old oaks being cut down.”

“I knew I liked Wendel,” said Chaz, cheerfully. “My sort of chap.”

“One doesn’t usually tag a vicar as an anarchist,” said Lyndsey.

“Oh, I’m not an anarchist; I believe in the rule of law, and you need government for that,” said Chaz.  “Actually, a funny story I heard about Prince  Kropotkin, a Russian anarchist of the early 20^th century, who bombed an anarchist meeting on the grounds that they were too organised and insufficiently anarchic.  I’m a rabble-rouser.”

“Oh, fair enough,” laughed Lyndsey.  “So what is your next mission beyond launching us at the W.I.?”

“I’m not sure,” said Chaz. “I was guided to deal with the village pervert, by the hand of a little child; Lucy, I am sure that God’s hand drew Summer to bring Claire to me.  And I hope I might help Amos Crow with his gambling addiction.  Tony strikes me as the sort of man who is strict over not selling more to those already drunk so any alcoholism will be private and behind closed doors, I fancy.”

“Petty theft,” said Lucy.  “Someone in the village is an opportunistic thief, who wanders in back doors, picks up a couple of things and wanders out again.   I got Summer a mobile phone to use when she was away on a school trip in case of emergencies, and she left it on the kitchen table.  It walked while we were in the front room watching TV.  But people are in and out the kitchen door all day, and you can’t have the police fingerprinting everyone who has been in and out – Summer’s friends, you two, a couple of other people who don’t consider my house to be one of ill-repute.  Other people have missed similar things, as well as food items.”

“I will keep my ears to the ground,” said Chaz. 

Chaz heard about the thefts again when an agitated and tearful Patty Raikes came to see him.

“Mrs. Hadley has fired me!” she said.  “She had some knick-knacks stolen, and she accused me.  Me!  My boyfriend is a copper, is it likely I’d be stealing?  And suddenly, after having worked for her for nearly seven years?”

“Why should she suspect you?” asked Chaz, making tea and getting out shortbread.

“Because I’m the domestic, and therefore of the criminal classes,” said Patty, bitterly.  “I hope it turns out to be one of her set!”

“As I understand it the thief is bold and comes in during broad daylight through open back doors,” said Chaz.  “Well, she can’t expect you to work out your notice, so perhaps I can employ you on the same hours to do for me?  I will be glad of someone to keep me tidy, it’s a vice of mine.  I don’t check the tops of doors, and I usually wipe my own cooking surfaces.”

“Vicar, I’d love to,” said Patty.  “And when the thief is caught, I won’t go back to her, even if she begs on her knees, which she won’t.  She’ll have trouble getting the same level of service, and what’s more I’ll warn anyone who comes for the job.”

“What ye sow, so shall ye reap,” murmured Chaz.

Chaz found the petty thief sooner than he might have expected.

He was writing, rather desultorily, a sermon when he was surprised that Rachel slithered off his shoulder and padded determinedly towards the kitchen.

“It isn’t your tea-time yet,” said Chaz, absently.

He was about to resume writing when there was a feline yowl, and a human scream.

He put the pen down and went hurriedly into the kitchen.  Rachel had launched herself at the face of an intruder, whose bulging pockets contained a number of food items and, by the trailing wire, Chaz’s CD player which he listened to as he cooked.

The human screams had outlasted the hunter’s yowl.

“Rachel, please put him down,” said Chaz.

Hearing her human’s voice, here to sort things out, Rachel dropped off the well-lacerated face of a young man.

“Dear me, Artie Denham, isn’t it?” said Chaz.  “You had better sit down; I’ll treat those lacerations, then you can give me back all my things, and I’ll make a nice cup of tea while you tell me why you feel a need to steal.”

The thief let himself be guided into a chair without protest.

“If you know who I am, ain’t no use fleeing,” he said, defeated.

Chaz got out antiseptic wipes and cream, and cleaned up the scratches, and anointed them well with the cream.  Then he made tea and retrieved the tin of biscuits from under Denham’s jacket, as well as his CD player from the man’s pocket.  He put some biscuits and cakes on a plate, and sat himself down opposite the lacerated thief.

“Now, Artie, you are a man with a young wife and beautiful twin daughters; why are you risking being sent to jail by stealing so clumsily from your neighbours, even those who can ill-afford it like the Greys?” asked Chaz.

“I only took a mobile phone and a can of beans; mobiles are luxuries.”

“Not to a mother of a little girl who is worried about her when she is away with a school trip,” said Chaz. 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Artie, dully. “To me it was a red rag, here she is supposedly struggling but she buys her kid an expensive toy.”

“I wonder if she had to miss a meal to buy it?” said Chaz.  “I know she makes some income by writing children’s books, but it’s not a certain income, but she wants to be at home for her daughter, as the child’s father is dead.”

Artie flushed.

“I suppose you’ll say it’s wrong to let what people say about her as an unwed mother influence me.”

“Well, as you already know that it is, I don’t need to do so, do I?  Are you telling me that you and your good lady were celibate before tying the knot?  Miss Grey was just unable to tie the knot by reason of being widowed before marriage.”

“I hadn’t looked at it this way.  That old bugger Sir Tarleton would have it that she makes a mint with expensive clients.”

“Well, that’s to assuage his own guilt in trying to force himself on her.  But this isn’t about Miss Grey, who is the only one of two victims I know of so far, though I am told there have been a number of petty thefts.  It’s about you, and what you are up to.  I thought you had a good job over in Withymere St Andrews,  at the builder’s yard there? Your wife was saying so at the W.I. meeting.”

Artie Denham flushed.

“I lost my job, three weeks ago,” he muttered. “I haven’t dared tell the wife.  She expects the good things in life, y’know?  And now I’m out of a job and can’t sign on yet, there’s no income.  So I’ve been selling the bits I steal to give her money and living on cans of beans, telling her I eat in the works restaurant.”

“Well, that’s not going to be a sustainable lifestyle, you know, Artie,” said Chaz.  “And it’s also a betrayal of the trust of your neighbours to steal from them.  Why did you lose your job?”

“They’re downsizing, and I was late twice because I had to feed the twins, when Marianne was feeling rough,” said Artie.

“So what skills do you have?  Are you a qualified builder, or are you a box-shifter?”

“I can drive a forklift.  I wanted to learn building, but I never got to go to college because Marianne got pregnant and I had to do the right thing.  She’s a cut above me, see.”

“We are all equal in the eyes of the Lord,” said Chaz, severely.  “Well, Artie, if I can get you a job, will you stick with it?  And please, tell your wife the truth.  It’s always better to be honest in marriage.”

“I will, if you can get me a job. Doing what?”

“I have a cousin-in-law over in Collingham, he’s a builder and he needs an apprentice while his son is growing up,” said Chaz.  “If I put in a good word for you, you are putting my reputation on the line, if I tell him you are naturally honest, so no pilfering from the houses where you work, however much you resent them, you understand?”

“You know it’s the ones I resent that I pilfered from?” gasped Artie.

“I guessed,” said Chaz.  “And I’m thinking that’s Sir Tarleton, Mrs. Hadley and your wife’s extended family.  And you got the wrong idea about Miss Grey and resented her living without apparent means of support, unaware that she works very hard to write books.  Summer tells me that her mum works about sixteen hours a day.”

“Gawd!” said Artie.

“He is very good, but when it is said ‘the Lord helps those who help themselves’ it does not refer to helping themselves to unconsidered trifles from other people,” said Chaz.  “Now I’d like you to give me anything you have stashed that you have not yet sold, and I’ll see it gets to the right people.  And while you collect it, I’ll have a word with my cousin Fred, and talk him into taking you on.  Then you will go over and meet him, and do what he asks you to.  Pay won’t be huge at first, but on the other hand, he’ll teach you the trade and you won’t have to pay for it.”

“Vicar, you’re a marvel!” Artie had hope in his rather battered face.  “I ... I won’t let you down.”

“It’s this ruddy village,” said Chaz. “Everything has to look perfect.  And the village failed you.  I want to make sure we have enough community spirit here to avoid that happening again.”

The text on Sunday was “Thou Shalt Not Steal”.

“The Ten Commandments are simple, even simplistic, and can be summed up in one phrase,” said Chaz. “Show respect to other people.  And stealing from people is a lack of respect.  Indeed, it can be said to be the key commandment, as the other commandments can be described in terms of theft.   Some are more obvious than others.” He paused.  “Of course coveting other people’s goods is a first step to planning theft or possibly destruction of property, so they do not have such goods either; and adultery is the theft of honour, in the breaking of the vow of marriage.  To murder is to steal the life of someone else, perhaps to steal a breadwinner from a family, or a mother from children, and happiness from all the relatives of the dead person. To fail to acknowledge God and to set up false gods like pop stars is to steal respect from him; to fail to honour your father and mother is to steal the acknowledgement of what they have given you.  Though the failure of some parents means that this can be a difficult one.  The commandment assumes one’s parents do not betray their sacred trust of being parents,” he added.  “To keep the Lord’s Day holy is a way, too, of making sure that everyone got one day off.  It kept employers from stealing the little bit of leisure their workers had. And finally but not least, bearing false witness is a theft of character of another, perhaps almost as wrong as depriving someone of life.  Labelling someone falsely is an attack upon their life.”  He looked hard at Mrs. Hadley.  “Some people have made an accusation regarding the petty thefts.  The accusation was wrong, and the firing of the person accused was bearing false witness.  I hope the person who bore such false witness is thoroughly ashamed, for I’d hate to think that someone with so much on their conscience was a member of my congregation without repentence.”  He looked around. “Now, it so happens that the village’s petty thief has repented of his misdeeds, and has returned such goods as have not yet been sold.  If, after the service, you would like to go into the vestry, if you have missed anything, it may be that what was stolen is there.  The thief does not have the means at his disposal to make restitution, but if anything of strong sentimental value was taken, let me know and I will see if I can find a way to get it back.   He is now determined to go straight, however, so I will not be answering any questions about who it is, or why he has repented.  It is sufficient that he has, and the Good Lord is aware of that.  He has suffered from his conscience; ‘Vengeance is mine, Saith the Lord, I will repay’ and leave it to the Good Lord to let his conscience tell him what to do.  It is sufficient.”  

chapter 6 consider the lilies of the fields

yes, ok, I have a cameo appearance in this one as the speaker at the WI.

Chapter 6 – Consider the Lilies of the Fields.

Chaz studied the village hall notice board very carefully next day. He was not surprised to find that Mrs. Hadley was president of the W. I., which met every third Tuesday of the month.  As this happened to be the third Tuesday, Chaz thought he should drop in, to show an interest.  Zumba was on Monday afternoons and evenings, which argued someone very fit and enthusiastic running it. Flower-arranging was on Friday afternoons, and now Chaz understood why the church had flowers in many disparate pots and a mix of floral offerings; they were from the Friday flower-arranging efforts. Flower-arranging was run by a Mrs. Beales, and Chaz wondered if she had managed to stand up to Mrs. Hadley, who struck him as the sort of person who would have liked uniform pots and bought flowers all co-ordinating.  He must make an effort to pop in on Friday, and say how much he liked to see the individual efforts.

Chaz walked around the village, stopping to talk to people as they walked dogs, did some gardening or went to the shops.  He started to memorise names and discovered that whilst Tony was friendly with Agit Patel who ran the convenience store – Amos Crow’s boss – Agit’s labradoodle, Silly-mid-off did not get on with Tony’s Fang, and care had to be taken if they walked together.

The village was blooming, and Chaz started formulating a sermon around ‘Consider the Lilies of the Field.’  He could manage to both praise the beauty of flowers and how they bring pleasure and manage a dig at those who ‘toil not, neither do they spin’, if they did not bring pleasure to others in other ways. He admired flowers which he was shown, without having either the inclination or the likelihood of remembering their names, and took as much pleasure in the wild garden of old Mrs. Hubbard as in the carefully manicured lawn and regimented French Marigolds, Salvias and Pelargoniums of Mrs. Cheston next door to Mrs. Hubbard.  He would have been genuinely amazed that Mrs. Cheston considered Mrs. Hubbard’s garden to be full of weeds.  Had Chaz been forced to choose, he would have chosen Mrs. Hubbard’s overgrown and shady nook, where he had accepted a cup of strong tea and a malted milk biscuit and sat, listening to the birdsong, and enjoying watching the goldfinches on Mrs. Hubbard’s teazles.

Summer and Claire popped into the vicarage on their way home from school.

“Oh, Rev Chaz, thank you so much!” said Claire, who was positively glowing.  “Mummy says Granddad can’t do anything to me again.  She and Daddy had an awful row while I was at Summer’s Mummy’s house, but they’ve made up again, and Daddy said he was sorry he did not realise.  Auntie Cath came over, and she said Granddad did it to her too, and he was her Daddy!  Isn’t that horrid?”

“It is horrid, Claire, but perhaps one day you will grow up to be a policewoman or social worker and help other people it has happened to,” said Chaz.  “It is hard for some grownups to accept that someone they think they know behaves badly to other people, and you are lucky to have a good Mummy who listened to me, and didn’t hesitate to believe your word when I told her what you told me.”  She had quibbled a little but less than some parents of abused children he had heard of. “Daddy didn’t want to think badly of his Daddy, I expect.”

“No, but Mummy rang Auntie Cath and she came and told Daddy and threatened to give him what-for if he didn’t believe me,” said Claire.   “Had you baked any more of those coconut things with jam at the bottom?” she added, hopefully. “Only if you have, Summer and me thought we might make you tea.”

“How kind of you!” said Chaz. “Yes, as it happens, I have made some more maids of honour, which is what they are called.”

“You ought to run a cookery class,” said Summer. “Trisha Thorpe says you will run a self defence class; we want to sign up for it.  Trisha is the daughter of Mr. Thorpe who runs the garage.  She can hot-wire cars!”

“Goodness, I hope only with the owners’ permission,” said Chaz.  “A cookery class?  Well it’s a thought.”

“If more people could cook, Miss Pearson says, there’d be less food poverty,” said Claire. “Miss Pearson says we should all understand the value of good food and eat properly.  She teaches us at school.”

“A sensible lady,” said Chaz. 

Chaz quietly entered the hall behind the last lady of a bunch who had turned up for their W. I. Meeting.

Mrs. Hadley was addressing a portly woman with short hair and florid complexion which was becoming gradually redder and upset and angry.

“You might have managed to make poor old Reverend Shaw sorry for you and your flower arrangers, Dolly, but I almost died in shame to see their shambolic efforts in those mis-matched vases on the vicar’s first Sunday!” Mrs. Hadley was saying in her rather carrying voice.  The other members were busying themselves sorting out the urn, setting up a table of books for sale, and arranging some greetings cards on a little table.  They could not, however, drown out the president’s loud voice, even the three who were twittering over setting out chairs.  Mrs. Hadley went on, “I saw the vicar looking around at the flowers; and he’s a new broom, a protégé of the Bishop himself, so I don’t know what he thought!”

Chaz was over there in two soft strides.

“Ah, you will be Mrs. Beales,” he said to the portly woman. “I understand your class are responsible for the church flowers; a charming and excellent custom!  I reflected on Sunday how nice it was to have real love put into the flowers, not have the church look like a perfect, but soulless display.  Do we have a flower festival in the village at all?  Mrs. Hadley, do you belong to the flower arranging group?”

“You ... you liked the flowers?” Mrs. Hadley sagged. “But they all came from gardens, not one from shops.”

“Ah, yes, the produce of the toil of the village given to God in an act of love,” said Chaz, expansively. “I was so struck that I will be taking ‘Consider the Lilies of the Field’ for my text on Sunday.  Mrs. Beales, is it too late to ask if your arrangements could include some lilies if any members have them?  I saw some in the village and those tall aggressive blue things which have a name like lions, which my mother called African Lilies.”

“I fancy you mean Agapanthus,” said Mrs. Beales, beaming on him. “Yes we have a number of members who have lilies, though Lindsey Grayling tried to make us give them up as they are poisonous to cats;  some of the people who get cats through their gardens snip off the stamens to oblige her. Agapanthus are not, as far as I know, poisonous.”

“Goodness, I never knew that,” said Chaz.  “I must snip the stamens out of the lilies in the vicarage garden before Rachel or Zeb investigate them. And please, feel free any time to take flowers or greenery from the vicarage garden, I’ll let you know if I am keeping particular buds to take to my mother.  Mrs. Hadley! I am sorry, enthusiasm for the flowers led me to usurp your meeting a little.  I hoped you would let me sit in so I know something of what goes on.”

Mrs. Hadley mentally resumed her presidential crown.

“Certainly, vicar,” she said.  “We read the minutes for a vote on signing them, then deal with correspondence and matters arising, and then we have a speaker.  Tonight it is a lady talking about making greetings cards from encaustic wax painting.”

“What on earth is encaustic wax painting?” asked Chaz.

Mrs. Hadley’s smile became a trifle glassy.

“I am not entirely sure,” she said. “But the events secretary attended an open day and assures me it is fascinating and something everyone can have a go at.”

“Splendid!” said Chaz.  “It would be nice to have a craft club, don’t you think?  Members could make things according to their skills, and perhaps we could set up a little shop with half the profits to the maker and half to a fund for necessary parish projects.”

“I ... er ... it sounds fascinating,” said Mrs. Hadley. “What sort of necessary parish projects?”

“I am not entirely certain yet;  I’ve had a few people mention that cookery lessons might not go amiss, but without cookers and all the dreary paperwork of health and safety, and health and hygiene certificates that isn’t possible.  And Girl Guides folded; is there a Scout company? In this day and age there’s nothing to stop girls joining Scouting endeavours, and they are often in need of equipment like tents.  What about a minibus for the village teams, the cricket team and the darts team to travel to other venues?”

“My goodness, vicar, you have been busy!” said Mrs. Hadley. “Oh, here is our speaker!  Do come in, Mrs. ... this is our vicar you know, he is visiting tonight.”

“And do direct me to do anything useful,” said Chaz.

“Can you help me please with the electric points and any extension leads?” asked the speaker.  “And a couple of large tables.”

Chaz got large folding chairs, earning murmurs of approval as he set them up without shutting his fingers in any part of the heavy, spring-loaded clips for the legs.

The meeting itself was as interesting as any meeting, which is to say not very; but Mrs. Hadley seemed to have run out of matters arising before she started, and very rapidly announced the speaker, who answered resignedly to ‘Mrs., er....”

The speaker introduced her subject, explaining that painting with hot wax was a skill used by the Romans to paint portraits, including copying the Egyptian mummy boxes by painting wax portraits on the outside of coffins.  She showed how to melt the waxes onto the bottom of a small iron, and then apply them to shiny paper, swiftly making a blended sky, then making interlocking hills with green and brown wax mixed.  By holding the paper against the iron having turned it down a little and lifting it off straight instead of rubbing across it, she made ferny patterns in the mix of colours.

“Anyone can create a pleasing picture on their first try,” she said, before showing more complex skills making birds in the sky or reeds with the tip of the iron, and with a special fine tool.  Chaz was fascinated, and when the demonstration was over, he queued with those ladies volunteering to have a go, admiring the paintings of scenery, and fantastic castles and dragons flying above them which the speaker had brought.

She was right; once one had the way of holding the iron it was possible for someone who was not artistic to make a greetings-card sized picture which looked quite creditable.

“I think I’m going to frame this,” said Chaz, admiring his landscape of a coppery sunset and a stream between reed beds.

“I hope it inspires you,” said the speaker.

“I don’t know but I hope it inspires some of the artistic ladies here,” said Chaz. “Thank you; and I must thank the ladies for having me.”

“You’re welcome, vicar,” said Mrs. Beales, gruffly.

Chaz spent some of the next morning snipping the stamens out of the lilies in the rectory garden.  Wendel, on his pushbike, stopped and watched the vicar’s industry.

“I see you heard the gospel according to Lindsey,” he said.

“Yes, and why should I risk the cats for something so simple,” said Chaz. “I’m going to mention it in my sermon as well, as I am taking the Lilies of the Field as my text.”

“Now I’m wondering how you plan to make that into a hell-raising sermon,” said Wendel.

“Oh, you’d have to be there to hear it,” said Chaz.

Wendel laughed.

“If all vicars were as entertaining as you, there’d probably be more Christians,” he said. “I see you posted a notice to have a meeting for a village club and education committee and put me on it along with Barnie, Dolly Beales and yourself.”

“There will be room for more on the committee but I thought I’d co-opt the ones who have the initiative to volunteer services,” said Chaz.  “The Zumba teacher is hired and comes from outside, so I am not having her on the committee. There’s a lot of potential here, all shut away behind closed doors like sin and vice.”

“Ah, a bit like the weather people in those clocks which have Mrs. Fairweather and Mr. Rainstorm according to the barometer which works them,” said Wendel.   “Vice and talent, hiding behind the same door but not necessarily on display at the same time.”

“I think if people got together more, there would be fewer problems,” said Chaz.

“I don’t say you’re wrong, Chaz,” said Wendel.  

The church on Sunday was packed, and Chaz beamed to see a lovely selection of arrangements featuring lilies.  One was even water lilies on a low table, mossy stones concealing the plastic washing-up bowl in which they were displayed. There had been a small frog accidentally transported with the plants, but Rachel had her own views on which of God’s creatures were permitted in church and had presented the ex-frog to Chaz with a happy ‘ppprrrrr’p!’.

It was a shame she lacked an ecumenical spirit, thought Chaz, but then, some of the ladies would also have been a trifle disruptive if the frog had hopped it during the service.

He mentioned how pleased he was to see all the stamens snipped out of the lilies because of their toxic nature to cats, and launched into how even beautiful flowers can hide deadly secrets.

“The serpent in the garden is an old analogy of the sins within us,” he said, “But perhaps a better analogy is to consider the beautiful flowers in the garden.  All flowers are beautiful, whether they are large and vivid like these lilies, or shy and retiring like the tiny scarlet pimpernel, which  opens when the weather is going to be fine and closes when it is going to rain. Then we have plants like the foxglove; a pretty flower, beloved of bees, but concealing in itself digitalis.  Now digitalis can save lives; it is a heart medicine, but for someone who does not need that particular medicine, or too much of it is deadly.  All of us have within us the potential to help – or harm.  It is important for us to consider our skills and use them wisely, and also in moderation.  Then let us consider the nightshade.  I am told by Wikipedia that it is a relative of both the potato and tomato; both edible.  And yet nightshade is deadly, though the atropine from it has uses.” He paused. “All members of Her Majesty’s armed forces carry a pressure syringe of atropine on active duty,” he said.  “It’s to combat nerve gas. And you use a downed man’s own syringe on him, not your own.  You might need your own later. The other medical use is to open the pupils to perform some ophthalmic procedures.  And this opening of the pupils used to be used by women to make themselves seem more beautiful, which is why it is called Belladonna, beautiful lady.  A dangerous use, as it can be absorbed by the mucus membrane.  So here we have useful attributes and dangerous ones, including through the sin of vanity.  I want to return to my comment about some flowers being gaudy and grabbing the attention, and others being small and shy.  Even as it would be foolish to use belladonna, the shy plants have their own beauty, and need not be painted.  As to the gaudy, why, any embellishment is too much, for we do not wish to ‘Paint the lily and gild refined gold’ as the quote properly goes.”

The sermon went down well, though Chaz did sigh when he overheard Old Tom say to Tony,

“Put me down for a fiver on Lucy Grey, she’s the shyest violet in the village.”

 

chapter 5 - and they cast lots

Chapter 5 – And they cast lots

Chaz finally got around to calling in at the Thrasher that evening for a pint. The pub was thatched, and painted pink over its timber frame, and had a painting of an old man with a flail threshing, or in the local parlance, thrashing, grain.  Chaz thought the old man looked somewhere between tipsy and dyspeptic.

He went in.

The interior was cosy, and managed to combine the look of an olde-worlde cottage with modern conveniences. A few tables in one corner constituted the restaurant, and there was a room off the main bar with a hatch through to the bar area presumably for those who wanted a bit more privacy.  Chaz hitched himself onto a stool by the bar.  The pub was not full yet, but there were a few people in, and an old oak cupboard had been opened to reveal a wide screen TV.  Chaz thought it typical of the place that it should be hidden with period furniture, and wondered if he should think himself lucky that nobody he had yet visited covered the legs of their furniture with furniture pantalettes the way the Victorans had done.  Some pretty local scenes hung on the walls, and Chaz thought them decidedly ‘chocolate box’ in look.

“What’ll you have, vicar?” asked Tony.

“A pint of old ale, if you have it,” said Chaz.  Tony drew a pint and handed it over.

“Hear you’ve been to visit Lucy Grey,” said Tony.  “That will alter the book a bit.”

Chaz drew on his pint, savouring the froth, and sank half of it before deigning to reply. It had a pleasant nutty flavour, and Chaz resolved that this would be his tipple of choice here. He lifted an eyebrow at Tony’s comment.

“And what book is that?  I should come the vicar and mention that there is only one Book which needs no title.”

Tony laughed.

“Oh, you know how people are when they don’t have enough to do; women gossip and find fault, and men lay bets.  There are odds on which woman makes a move on you first, and argument over whether Kate Rosier’s efforts count; and which ones you will find interesting.  It brings a little interest to humdrum lives.”

“I assume the doctor who married his receptionist and moved on also fulfilled this function of entertainment?” said Chaz, finishing his pint.  “Another, please; but two’s my limit. It’s been a busy day.  And if you can be discreet?”

“I’m paid to be discreet, same as you, only my customers only use the confessional at the bar when they are half cut, and their favourite litany is ‘another pint, Tony’,” said Tony. “What do you need discretion about?”

“I believe a Mrs. Brady used to run Girl Guides,” said Chaz.  “Now it has come to my attention that someone associated with the company might have acted inappropriately to some of the girls, and I just want it known that my door is open if anyone needs to talk about it.”

“Oh, you heard of Dan Brady, did you?” said Tony. “I took my girl out of Guides when I found out what he was up to. Thumped him too, when the police did not want to take it seriously because Mrs. Brady alibi’d him; couldn’t believe it of her husband.”

“So it’s common knowledge?”

“Let’s just say it’s an open secret, as so many secrets around here are,” said Tony.

“Well, if your daughter has friends who need to talk, and someone who will back them if they decide they want to prosecute, I’m available,” said Chaz.

“Not much point after all this time, I shouldn’t think,” said Tony.  “But I suppose it might be closure for some.  You want him locked up, I suppose?”

“He is; in a home which is under the impression that he is senile,” said Chaz, with grim satisfaction.

“Brace yourself, then; you just made yourself even more of a prize for the ladies,” said Tony.  “I don’t suppose anyone will speak up, they would likely be shunned by some of them as has a voice around here, and gossip being what it is, you can be sure that some people will make out that they were the ones to blame by leading him on.”

“Surely only a pervert could think that little girls were leading him on?” said Chaz, startled.

Tony shrugged.

“Well, reverend, you know and I know that he was only interested in them up to about the age of thirteen, but there are those people who would say that they must have done something to make themselves seem older.  If it had been Brownies, now ...”

“Can you be sure it wasn’t?” asked Chaz, soberly.  “He was after two nine year olds, you know.”

Tony’s eyes widened.

“I’ll ask around,” he said.  “Meanwhile, putting him out of reach will make you a lot of female friends, so be warned!”

Chaz laughed, and sipped his second pint, watching some of the men in the pub make side-bets on the sports screen.

“Is this the limit of the gambling?” he asked Tony.

Tony shot him a look.

“Oh, you’re heading into the territory of the other things we don’t talk about, are you?” he said.

“Of course; it’s my job to be a busybody,” said Chaz.

“Well, we don’t have any betting shops in the village; not quayte naice, if you take my meaning,” said Tony.

“But?” said Chaz.

“There’s a couple of betting shops in Collingham,” said Tony.  “Some of the men drop in during horse racing season, and some pool their resources on a nag of their choice, and no harm in that, they pay fifty pence each week into the pool, and share and share alike any wins.  I don’t suppose they do better than break even overall, but it’s like paying for a club.”

Chaz nodded.

“Nobody can object to a proper sweepstake club,” he said.  “And I still say,’ but?’ To you.”

Tony sighed.

“It’s Amos Crow,” he said.  “He carries the sweepstake to the betting shop for the others, and bets his own money.  There was a bit of argie-bargy last year when the boys accused him of putting their money on his choice, but he managed their pay-out somehow.  I think he steals from his workplace, which is the convenience store. And he has a temper, and has been known to slap his wife around when she gets irritable about not having any housekeeping to feed the family.”

Chaz nodded.

“Point me at Amos Crow,” he said.

“He’s the one speaking at the moment,” said Tony.  Chaz observed the rather unkempt man in an old tee and torn cargo pants.

“Looks as though he neglects himself a bit,” he said.

“Yes, and he’s on warning at work to smarten up or get out,” said Tony.  “Customers don’t like being served by someone who looks as though he will contaminate their loaf of sliced white.”

“You know, I can’t really understand why anyone would buy steamed bread in bags from large distributors when there’s a village bakery which makes bread on the premises.  It can’t be the convenience of slicing, as they have a machine,” said Chaz, diverted to another course.

“Oh, it’s what people find convenient for toasting,” said Tony.  “I like real bread myself, but I have the packet bread in for customers wanting to buy breakfast or for the ‘toast and’ option I do for lighter teas.”

“Ah, I see,” said Chaz.  “I believe I want an introduction to Mr. Crow.”

“Okay,” said Tony. “OY!  Amos!  The Rev Chaz wants to be made known to you.”

Amos Crow came over truculently.

“I suppose someone has talked out of turn and you think you can tear me off a strip,” he said, thrusting forward a pugnacious and unshaven chin.

“Oh! Not at all,” said Chaz.  “If you know you have done something to be ashamed of, then it’s the business of you and your conscience, isn’t it?  No, I heard that you were a sporting man, and I wanted to lay a bet with you.”

“Oh!” said Amos, taken aback, his eyes suddenly gleaming.  “And what bet is that, Reverend?”

Amos’ friends came over too.

“I bet you five thousand pounds that you can’t keep from gambling for a year,” said Chaz.

The room went quiet.

“That’s a lot of money, vicar,” said Wendel Whitely, the vet.

“It’s a lot of willpower to win it,” said Chaz.  “And I don’t know if Amos has enough willpower to win it.”

“We can help him win it,” said a snub-nosed, sandy haired individual. “We can talk him out of making any bets.”

“It’d mean someone else taking on the pot to deliver to the betting shop,” said Chaz, “And Amos being let off his weekly half quid.”

“I’ll take the pot,” said Wendel.  “I don’t like horse racing; I hate what it does to the horses.  So I’m not going to get tempted.  It’s as a favour to my neighbours.”

“Thanks, Wendel,” said Chaz.  “Are you up for it, Amos?”

“I ... I dunno how I’d pay off if I lost,” said Amos, licking his lips, nervously.

“Then you’d better not lose, had you?” said Chaz. “Your mates will keep you straight.”

“Hell, yes,” said the snub-nosed one.  “We’ll keep you on the straight and narrow, Amos! Your wife won’t know what’s come over you, in every evening and with money to spend.”

“I’ll take you up, reverend,” said Amos. “I know it’s a ploy to stop me gambling, but so help me, this is the first help I’ve been offered by anyone.”

His friends shuffled guiltily.

Chaz was glad that they appreciated that they had added to Amos’ problem!

“So tell me more about the stakes on my marital prospects,” he said, dryly.

“Vicar, I already laid a bet on you, does that count?” asked Amos, urgently.

“If you laid it before my wager with you, it does not count,” said Chaz.  “But I hope you lose, because I don’t want a big win tempting you again.”

“I bet on you with Lyndsey the mad cat woman,” muttered Amos.

Chaz laughed.

“Apparently I am supposed to have got about,” he said. “I wonder if anyone has anything on me with the hairdresser who comes in from Collingham once a week?”

There was a mad scramble for a big book which lived on the bar.

“Not for me, thanks,” said Amos.  “I want that five grand!”

“I believe in you, Amos,” said Chaz.  “Believe me, I’ve never wanted so much in my life to lose that amount of money!”

“Look, I won’t be causing you no hardship, will I?” asked Amos, nervously.

“I never bet what I can’t afford to lose,” said Chaz. “And that’s when betting isn’t harmful.  But betting with what you can’t afford to lose is just a mug’s game.”

“D’you think I don’t know that?” said Amos.  “But it just seems to seize me, that if I put all I can get on this nag or that machine, I will win it back.”

“I’ll tell you about how those machines are made, one day, Amos,” said Chaz. “They are designed to pay out less than you put into them.  Sure, some people get lucky; but it doesn’t happen often.  Just enough to keep the punters hungry for more.  You might just as well bet on Delaney’s Donkey.”

Amos laughed.

“Do you sing, vicar?” he asked. “I know the song, though I can’t bring it all to mind right now.”

“Only if persuaded very hard,” said Chaz.  “I’ve no brilliant voice, I’m afraid.”

“Oh we’ll have to induct you into the village choir,” said the snub nosed man, people were addressing him as Barnie.  “It ain’t the same people as the church choir, nowise, because we sing things which some of the old besoms would faint to hear, especially if any of the singers were in the church choir.”

“My great uncle was a dissenter, and he always used to say the devil comes into the church through the choir,” said Chaz.  “Well, I’ll think about it.  What sort of clubs are there here?”

“There’s the cricket club, run by Sir Tall-yarn Dickwit,” said Barnie.  “Mind he has to take anyone who’s any good.  Do you play, vicar?”

“I’m a handy bowler but a lousy bat,” said  Chaz, who had once used his bowling skill to lob a live grenade out of the position he was occupying.  “Anything else?”

“The posh types play golf out on the western side of the village,” volunteered Amos.  “We have a pub darts team, though.”

“And what goes on in that fine village hall?” asked Chaz.

“W.I., flower arranging lessons,  and zumba,” said Barnie.

“I doubt I could pass the medical for the W.I.,” said Chaz, which elicited much mirth.  “Flower arranging isn’t my thing, and I’m not sure I could manage Zumba, either.  I’ll see if I can’t get a few more lessons going for those who have a mind; why don’t you lads talk about it and make a list of skills you’d like to learn?  I don’t think I could have parachuting and hang-gliding in the village hall though.”

They laughed again.

“Some of us would like to learn how you dealt so easily with Dickwit,” said one of the others. 

“Martial arts?  I should think I might run that myself,” said Chaz.  “A mixed class though; the ladies may want to learn some self-defence.”

“I’d run a class on caring properly for your pets if I was welcome,” said Wendel.  “It’s amazing how many animals come to me with problems which could be overcome if they had been cared for correctly.”

“A good one,” said Chaz.

“I’d run basic car maintenance, but some lessons would have to be practicals at the garage,” said Barnie.  “I run the garage, and though it’s money for old rope, I’d as soon not have to do the silly little jobs people could do for themselves.”

“This is great, we are really getting some good ideas,” said Chaz.   “Ok, we’ll move towards those three in the meantime, and if you ask around  and see if there’s anything else we need, we will do it.  And if Wendel, Barny and I charge a little for the class, it can go towards hiring specialist teachers, deal?”

There were murmurs of assent.

Chaz finally went home feeling well satisfied.