The Mystery Of Macgregor’s Cove – Episode 15
The Mystery Of Macgregor's Cove by June Davies
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- 17. The Mystery Of Macgregor’s Cove – Episode 17
- 18. The Mystery Of Macgregor’s Cove – Episode 18
The York-bound coach coming apace from the direction of the Bell rattled past Kit Chesterton as he was riding along the coast towards Macgregor’s Cove.
Turning into the inn’s yard, he saw Sandy and his brother Iain, grappling with a mighty gnarled log – and from where Kit was sitting, the huge log was clearly getting the best of the contest.
Nearby, Mrs Macgregor was shaking her head in exasperation, while Betsy watched wide-eyed, perched on the corner of the stone horse trough with Flossie at her side.
Leading Patch into the stable and removing her saddle and bridle, Kit left Betsy rubbing down the piebald mare while he sprinted out into the yard and joined the fray.
When the yule log was finally manoeuvred into the Bell’s great hearth, the three men gathered round admiring their handiwork.
“We did a good job there,” Iain declared to Sandy and Kit.
“You did,” Ethel agreed crisply, coming up behind them. “But we’ve no time for standing gawping.
“You’re tall, Mr Chesterton,” she said, looking up at Kit. “You might want to lend Am a hand.”
Kit joined Amaryllis at one of the inn’s bay windows, where she was balancing precariously on a three-legged stool, assorted evergreens spilling from her arms.
“Does it sit along the top of the window?” he asked, taking the intertwined holly, ivy and laurel from her. “On this little ledge?”
“Yes, and try twisting it as you go so it makes a nice thick garland. That’s lovely!” she exclaimed. “There will be pine cones going up there, too – if Flossie leaves us any!”
Kit followed the direction of Amaryllis’s glance to the chimney corner, where Betsy was sorting through a heap of pine cones.
Even as Kit watched, Flossie rummaged amongst the cones and chose one, tossing it into the air before catching it and dashing from sight.
“She likes hiding them.” Amaryllis laughed as she and Kit moved to the next window. “This must be very different from your Christmas preparations in Jamaica, Mr Chesterton.”
“Although I do have hazy memories of Christmas at home when I was a boy, I’ve actually spent most in England.”
“How so?” She handed up another bundle of greenery.
“My brother and I went away to school when we were young,” Kit replied, stepping back to ensure the garland lay evenly. “We grew up here.”
“Does your brother live in England, too?”
Kit shook his head.
“After school, he returned to Jamaica. But I developed an interest in engineering and begged my father to allow me to stay, so here I am.”
Soon the inn was bedecked for Christmastide, fragrant with rosemary and pine, and Sandy was helping Betsy light the festive candles in their sconces when Ethel hurried through from the inn-house.
“Supper’s ready. I’m dishing up, so don’t dally!” she announced and, turning back into the passageway, looked across at Kit, who was already on the stairs to his room. “I’ve set a place for you, Mr Chesterton. You’ll join us for supper?”
“It’s kind . . .” he began, reluctant to intrude upon the family.
“Come through,” Sandy chipped in warmly, clapping Kit on the shoulder. “You’re welcome at our table!”
