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  OTHER TITLES BY REBECCA BOXALL

  Christmas at the Vicarage

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2016 Rebecca Boxall

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503940055

  ISBN-10: 1503940055

  Cover design © blacksheep-uk.com

  In memory of Connie Crouch (1895–1917)

  And for Dan

  CONTENTS

  START READING

  PART ONE

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  8.

  9.

  10.

  11.

  12.

  13.

  14.

  15.

  16.

  17.

  18.

  PART TWO

  19.

  20.

  21.

  22.

  23.

  24.

  25.

  26.

  27.

  28.

  29.

  30.

  31.

  32.

  PART THREE

  33.

  34.

  35.

  36.

  37.

  38.

  39.

  40.

  41.

  42.

  43.

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  BIBLIOGRAPHY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  And the Lord said unto Cain, where is Abel thy brother?

  And he said, I know not: am I my brother’s keeper?

  Genesis 4:9

  PART ONE

  1.

  FEBRUARY 2015

  It was the thick of winter when Serena and Will moved into the Vicarage. A cold, damp day in February. The electricity wasn’t working and as they moved carefully around the enormous old house, trying to locate the trip switch, Serena thought she’d never felt as cold in her life.

  They’d viewed the house when it was full of the warmth and clutter of a large family, but now the Vicarage seemed chill and stark. Even once the electricity had been turned on, the ceiling lights did little to brighten the house.

  ‘Lamps will transform the place,’ Serena said bravely and Will put an arm around her.

  ‘We’ll get it sorted in no time,’ he said. ‘A fresh start,’ he added, and Serena smiled, although the smile, like her laughter nowadays, no longer seemed to rise from deep within her. Both were, while not false, more habitual than anything else.

  It had been almost six months now and Will was keen for them to move on with their lives. Serena was too, although she was relying on Will’s energy and enthusiasm to drive their fresh start forward. He was the one who’d spotted the advert for the post as vicar of Cattlebridge in East Sussex, thinking it might be time to flee London and enjoy the benefits of rural life.

  Their new village was only half an hour’s drive from where Serena had grown up, close to the coastal town of Rye, and was quintessentially English. The Vicarage faced onto a street lined with beautiful, historic houses and was situated next door to the Norman church, its back garden leading through to the graveyard.

  Next to the church stood the Black Horse pub, and a little further along the lane was the high street, where a number of ancient cottages and a selection of useful shops could be found – a grocer’s, newsagent’s, chemist’s, butcher’s and hairdresser’s, as well as a florist’s, bakery and gift shop. Past all of these was a quaint bookshop, and beside this was a store Serena was eager to explore, resembling an Aladdin’s Cave full of antiques, pine and other treasures.

  That first morning, Serena had nipped to the newsagent’s to buy a pint of milk and a paper while they waited for the removal vans to arrive and she’d been intrigued to hear the proprietor and a couple of locals discussing some kind of local mystery.

  ‘Do you think they’ve heard about the place being cursed?’ the woman behind the till had asked. But as they all clocked Serena, the chatter had stopped abruptly, making her wonder if they’d been talking about the Vicarage. She sincerely hoped not.

  ‘Colonel Feltham-Jones!’ one of the customers bellowed at Serena immediately, introducing himself. He was lanky, with only one arm and rather battered-looking spectacles. He seemed kindly though, despite his brisk military diction.

  ‘Serena Meadows,’ she smiled, offering her hand. Fortunately, it was the left arm the Colonel was missing, so their handshake wasn’t too awkward. Serena introduced herself to the rest of the group and everyone seemed friendly enough, though she knew they’d instantly begin to analyse her as soon as she stepped foot over the threshold.

  Village life. Serena was no stranger to the countryside and she’d been quite content to go along with Will’s plans to move to Cattlebridge. It was just that she hadn’t been able – not yet, anyway – to throw herself into them.

  But a move required some energy at least, and Serena was interested enough to explore the house. She could barely remember visiting the month before, so while Will directed the removal men as to where their carefully labelled boxes should be deposited, Serena gave herself a guided tour of her new home – a gothic Victorian pile that really couldn’t have been more of a contrast to the modern bungalow they’d lived in last.

  She began by retracing her steps to the grand entrance hall, which housed a huge fireplace and, currently, little else. A staircase swept up from the hall, but for now Serena remained on the ground floor. To the right of the front door was a room that Mrs Pipe, the housekeeper they’d somehow acquired with the Vicarage, called the library, though Will had decided to use it as a study. Mrs Pipe was actually employed as full-time housekeeper for the occupants of an ostentatious house nearby – the Smythes – but had always spent a couple of hours a week at the Vicarage, assisting the incumbent vicar with the upkeep of the place. She was a real character, with a charming Sussex accent and a vocabulary full of provincialisms, although she wasn’t quite the cosy housekeeper Serena might have hoped for, with an unsmiling face, steely grey hair and hooded eyes. She was more than a little unnerving.

  The study was one of the cosier rooms in the house, with a fireplace, plentiful bookshelving and large sash windows looking out onto the street at the front of the building. Serena and Will’s squishy cream sofas had just been placed on either side of the hearth, while small side tables, Will’s desk and a colourful rug helped create a homely atmosphere.

  Across the hall was the drawing room. In here, an enormous chandelier hung from the corniced ceiling over an area that cried out for smart sofas and a coffee table. The room was bright, with windows to the front of the house and several more along the west wall, offering a view of the garden beyond. Aside from the chandelier and some rather riotous floral wallpaper, the space stood empty.

  Standing there, contemplating, Serena heard footsteps and turned around.

  ‘You okay?’ Will asked. He came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms round her shoulders. Serena leant her head back against his chest.

  ‘Just wondering how on earth we’re going to fill the house with furniture. The
vicarage in London was half the size of this place.’

  ‘At least!’ laughed Will. ‘But I know you and your love of second-hand bargains. It won’t take you long. It’ll be a project, just until you’re ready to start work again.’

  ‘Yes,’ Serena agreed. ‘Just what I need. Will, I think one of the chaps is after you,’ she said, spotting a removal man hovering nearby.

  Serena watched the two of them disappear, then continued with her inspection, past the wood-panelled dining room and down the stairs to the basement.

  Here, Serena felt most at home – although the kitchen was rather old and crumbling, the pale blue Rayburn was warm and cosy, lending a comforting glow to the room as well as serving as a cooker.

  Beside the stove, their own pine table and chairs had been arranged on one side, while on the other was a wall-mounted butler sink with blue and white Victorian tiles above and a teak draining board to the side. There was also a vast built-in dresser, though the item that really dominated the room was a central work table, also made of teak and with numerous drawers under the worktop, presumably for storing cutlery and other items. Serena thought it must have been around since the house had been built.

  Serena loved all the little rooms that branched off from the main kitchen. Mrs Pipe had run her through their uses earlier in the day.

  ‘This be the laundry and right here’s the scullery. Used to be the overflow kitchen back in Victorian times. That’s why there be two sinks, so some poor maid could wash the dishes in here without so much as a window to look out of.’

  There was also a walk-in larder and, Mrs Pipe had explained, a butler’s pantry, outside which hung a charming set of bells with signs beneath them indicating which room in the house was requiring servants’ services – another relic from Victorian times.

  Serena was amazed at how little the Vicarage seemed to have been updated over the years, but then the diocese was always stretched and rarely provided the resident vicar with funds for anything other than necessary plumbing and electric work or, at a push, some re-roofing. Will and Serena had decided to take out a loan and stump up themselves to make the Vicarage more habitable.

  Working her way back up the stairs, Serena bumped into Will, who planted a quick kiss on her lips before chasing down the stairs after a removal man who was about to deposit boxes of books in the kitchen rather than the study. Serena smiled briefly to herself. Will was incredibly organised, a trait that appealed to her almost as much as his enthusiasm.

  Negotiating another man bearing a heavy box, she wove her way up the sweeping staircase to the first-floor landing, brushing her hand along the banister as she climbed. On this floor, there were several bedrooms, including a magnificent master with a modern en suite and even a dressing room. There was also a nursery, with a beautiful mural on one wall, which stabbed at Serena’s heart. She closed the door quickly then gasped as she came upon Mrs Pipe standing silently on the landing, a grim expression on her face.

  ‘Give you a fright, did I?’

  ‘Sorry, it’s just . . . the room. The nursery.’ Serena couldn’t explain it, but her heart was pounding.

  ‘No need for you to be going in that room, is there? You want to stay out of there.’

  ‘Why?’ Serena asked, but Mrs Pipe had turned and disappeared down the stairs.

  Confused and a little rattled, Serena warily pushed open the next door along and found a spacious family bathroom where a cast-iron roll-top bath stood resplendent on black and white tiles. Catching sight of herself in the mirror above the washbasin, she stepped closer to consider the face peering back at her.

  She was blonde, ringlets springing from her head in the wild fashion they had since she was a young child, and her eyes were green with silver flecks. Surprisingly, her eyebrows were thick and dark – a dramatic contrast to her blonde hair. She and Luna had tried bleaching them once, when they were about fifteen, but they’d both looked so odd. Their faces had seemed too round and pale without the brows to add definition. Now Serena decided they needed a pluck, but other than that she thought she looked alright. A little tired, perhaps, but not so unlike her old self. Appearances could be deceptive, she mused. She sighed and turned from the room, continuing to the bedroom next door.

  Serena climbed at last to the attic rooms, the old servants’ quarters. She shivered, wrapping her thick cardigan around herself more tightly as she gazed out onto the desolate garden below, listening to the windows rattle disconcertingly in their frames.

  She wondered if she would ever feel like herself again.

  2.

  DECEMBER 1989

  Being an identical twin was both a blessing and a curse. It had its advantages – a ready-made best friend for one – and it was impossible to feel lonely. Tricks could always be played on friends, family and, best of all, teachers. But it was hard to establish any sort of identity when most of the time nobody dared address you by name in case they had the wrong twin. And everyone always assumed you both had the same character, just because you looked the same, when in the case of Serena and Luna this couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  Serena first realised quite how different she was from her twin two weeks before Christmas in 1989. They were nine. An excitable Luna disturbed Serena, who was playing with her dolls, and dragged her through to their parents’ room.

  ‘Guess what I’ve found in Mum’s wardrobe?’ she whispered.

  ‘What?’ Serena asked.

  ‘Our Christmas presents!’

  ‘Are they wrapped?’

  ‘Yes, but I can easily sneak a look inside the wrapping. Do you want to know what you’ve got?’ Luna asked, pulling out a present labelled with Serena’s name.

  ‘No!’ Serena replied, adamant. ‘I want it to be a surprise.’

  ‘It’s that Barbie car you wanted!’ Luna exclaimed, not listening, abuzz with the illicit nature of it all. ‘The silver one without a roof! My turn now,’ she said, arm back in the wardrobe, rummaging around, and Serena sat on her parents’ bed miserably as each and every surprise was ruined.

  On Christmas morning, Luna put on a display of wonder and gratitude that made Serena feel ill, while she couldn’t help looking underwhelmed by her presents even though she’d wanted them desperately.

  ‘You did want the Barbie Golf, didn’t you, darling?’ asked her father, later when they were alone. Serena felt tears spring to her eyes.

  ‘Yes, Dad,’ she said, nodding fiercely, but she knew she’d looked ungrateful and there was nothing she could do about it now.

  It was the worst Christmas ever, compounded by an incident the day after Boxing Day. Returning from the pantomime, Serena couldn’t find her new doll, a treasured gift from her maternal grandmother. Serena was mad about dolls in general, but this one was truly special, with her long dark hair, porcelain skin and blinking eyelids. She knew she’d left the doll on top of her bed, but arriving home it was no longer there.

  ‘Have you seen my doll?’ she asked Luna. ‘Elizabeth?’ She’d given the doll the kind of dignified name it deserved. Luna stopped spinning around their bedroom. She loved watching how her skirt spun round and round.

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Serena, don’t tell me you’ve lost that beautiful dolly. Granny will be so upset.’

  ‘I haven’t lost her,’ said Serena, messing up their room in her desperation to find her. ‘I left her right here,’ she explained, pointing at the bedcovers. Before long, the entire family was searching the house for Elizabeth.

  ‘You didn’t have it . . . her . . . at the pantomime and leave her there, did you?’ asked her father, but by now Serena was in floods of panicked tears. She felt sick at how thoughtlessly she’d managed to lose her precious doll. Serena had been certain she’d left Elizabeth on her bed, but she was doubting herself now. Eventually, she fell asleep, her tears finally drying.

  The next morning, she pulled herself up and blearily turned on the bedside light, looking over to see if Luna was awake yet. And there, snugg
led up beside her sister, was Elizabeth.

  Luna lay sleeping, her face the picture of innocence.

  3.

  FEBRUARY 2015

  Will always slept the sleep of the dead so when the doorbell rang in the middle of the night, it was Serena, the lightest of sleepers, who padded downstairs in her dressing gown with a golf club for protection. She warily opened the heavy front door and was shocked to find, standing on the doorstep and soaked through with rain, the most beautiful young woman she’d ever seen – she had exceptionally long hair, clear skin and a narrow nose from which a tiny jewel sparkled. Most striking of all, though, were her eyebrows: slim, dark and arched, they accentuated her oval face perfectly.

  ‘I’m so sorry . . . disturbing you in the middle of the night. I just didn’t know what to do, where to go . . . I’m running away from home,’ the stranger gabbled.

  ‘Come in, out of the rain!’ Serena said and the girl flung herself into Serena’s arms, sobbing.

  ‘I’m sorry . . . It’s so late . . .’ she apologised again, stepping back.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Serena soothed. ‘Now, let’s get you sorted out.’

  She was not unused to events such as this – a vicarage was quite frequently a port of call for the lost, the hungry and the grieving, most often in the middle of the night, and she wasn’t bothered about being disturbed. She liked being able to help those in trouble, and the vicarage in London had often been a temporary shelter to various waifs and strays. Nowadays she could identify with them even more. Seeing the lost and desperate look in the girl’s eyes was in some ways like looking into a mirror.

  Practicalities had to be dealt with first. Serena led the girl upstairs to the family bathroom, where she began running a hot bath. She rooted around in a removal box that had been dumped in the airing cupboard, then handed her unexpected guest a large towel and a flannel.

  ‘Have a nice bath to warm up,’ Serena said. ‘And while you’re doing that, I’ll find you something dry to wear.’