Page 28 of Christmas at the Borrow a Bookshop

Chapter Eleven

A Blessing in Disguise

‘I know I’m supposed to love all animals, but Moira really is a pain in the arse.’

Elliot observed the elderly donkey from the far side of the stable. At the first sight of her halter she’d stuck her nose firmly in the corner and parked herself there, as immovable as a caravan up on bricks.

‘You don’t have to love her,’ said Jude, only just realising what she’d got her boyfriend involved in and feeling guilty. ‘You’re not Saint Francis of Assisi, let’s just get her in her hat and up to the Big House.’

‘Her…hat?’

Jude pointed to the straw boater that Minty had left for them. It had holes for Moira’s ears and winter ivy and berries all around the brim.

Elliot’s eyes blazed. ‘Pretty sure that counts as cruelty to animals. And getting that thing on her definitely amounts to cruelty to vets. I won’t do it.’

‘OK,’ Jude conceded. ‘Shall we at least try to get Bon Jovi in his cape?’ She held up the green velvet fur-lined affair for Elliot’s approval. ‘I think he’ll look lovely in it.’

Bon Jovi, the littlest of the stable’s mules, skittered about on the cobbles knocking over their feed bucket and making the donkeys in the surrounding stalls hee-haw loudly.

One of them, Mushy Peas, generally known as the most biddable of the lot, was proudly dressed in a red festive jumper with a sprig of crocheted holly between her long spiked ears.

‘God’s sake. Give it here.’ Elliot took the cape, and so began a half hour’s muttering and cursing, accompanied by what he could have sworn were the sounds of donkey laughter.

By the time they made it to the little chapel the winds were getting up again and the sky was clear and star-spotted, Bon Jovi had lost his cape on a spiky hedge way back at the entrance to the estate, and Moira had tossed her hat onto the bridleway and trodden it into the mud. Elliot, in spite of his size and soft-heartedness, was utterly cheesed off and very tired. Jude followed up the rear with the angelic Mushy Peas plodding along beside her.

The chapel, Elliot had to admit, did look inviting, even with the light spilling out through missing tiles on the roof. There were candles at every little window.

The chapel had been a simple construction, built by Minty’s grandfather in the early nineteen-twenties for his increasingly devout French wife. Though if you listened to village lore, the holy Mrs Clove-Congreve made use of her private chapel to escape the demands of the Big House nursery and her noisy brood of children – and then, later on, her husband. As if to support the notion, when she died, a well-thumbed stash of Barbara Cartlands and hidden Turkish Delight boxes had been discovered beneath the front pew.

There was room for roughly eighteen people sitting and the same number standing around the pews and squeezed into the narrow vestibule, and tonight the chapel was full indeed, probably for the first time since Minty’s parents’ wedding day.

Minty didn’t go in much for religion, even though she enjoyed having the parish vicar at her beck and call for odd jobs such as donkey blessings or the opening of a fox and field day or a fete in the summer months.

Reverend Morgan dabbed his brow as the donkeys were led into the chapel. All the children had been given flameless candles to hold and only a few of them had been tempted to take out the double A batteries and roll them around noisily on the little shelves on the backs of the pews.

Everyone Minty invited had turned up, so naturally she was delighted.

Jowan, with Aldous under his arm and snoring loudly, took the front row alongside Bella and Finan, who didn’t look all that pleased to be dragged away from the quiet of the pub. Their only remaining inn guests, the Austens, were with them on the pew, Serena fast asleep in a sling across her dad’s chest.

The Bickleigh twins were together as usual and Tom winked at Alex when she arrived late and sneaked in at the back, though his face fell when Magnús arrived a second behind her, reverently pulling off his woollen beanie because he thought that was probably the sort of thing you should do at a Devonshire donkey blessing in a draughty chapel.

Mrs Crocombe was with her daughter and son-in-law and a gaggle of blonde children wrapped up warm and cooing over the animals as they clip-clopped up to the altar.

The rest of the village had turned out too, on pain of Minty’s disapproval, including the teaching assistant from the local primary school, Monica Burntisland, her husband, who hadn’t taken his eyes off his phone screen since they arrived – he was something big in finance – and their own three children. Anjali the vet was at the back with her parents and grandparents, smiling broadly at her colleague Elliot who had very much drawn the short straw tonight.

Leonid and Izaak had arrived early and helped Minty arrange the winter greenery in the brass vases that decorated the pew ends, half of which Bon Jovi had knocked onto the stone flags and then given a disinterested nibble before deciding it wasn’t for him. He was now snuffling at the children’s pockets and mittens looking for sweets.

Some of the busybodies who had gathered outside Jowan’s cottage the day before hoping for a glimpse at Alex were there too and making no secret of discussing her appearance at the service.

Generally there was much chatter and excitement and the poor vicar had to do his best to talk over the whole rabble until it was time for the school children to come up to the front and murder ‘Little Donkey’ on their recorders, which they did with utter solemnity while their parents caught it all on camera.

The whole time, Alex and Magnús were wedged firmly together in the crush right at the back of the crowd and every time Magnús fought to stifle a laugh, Alex felt his shoulders shaking and it set her off again. Even with the holes in the roof, their little corner of the chapel seemed to be growing warmer.

When Minty took over proceedings, announcing that each creature would now receive Holy Communion and the vicar had spluttered and looked terrified at this renegade break from their plans – not to mention every church practice in the land – Magnús had almost burst with joy. Alex had to turn away entirely to hide her face in his shoulder as Minty presented each creature with a slurp of Ribena from a silver bowl and a Jacob’s cream cracker slathered in Dairylea.

The whole affair was wonderfully bonkers, wholly unnecessary, and right up Minty’s street.

When the vicar finally regained control, he wisely took the decision to cut the Lord’s Prayer, ditch the final carol, and dismiss everyone as quickly as possible with an anxious, ‘Merry Christmas everyone, and to all God’s creatures,’ before he bustled out of the chapel, past the donkeys still licking at their fuzzy chops. No doubt he was on his way to put in a pre-emptive call to the archdeacon in case he got wind of it, to explain that the whole irreverent mess was Minty Clove-Congreve’s doing and if they’d only met her they’d understand his predicament. She really was impossible to say no to.

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