‘A real chill in the air today,’ said Clara Morrow, who had appeared at his elbow, her eyes bloodshot. ‘There’ll be frost on the pumpkins tonight.’ She managed a smile. ‘We’re having a memorial service for Jane at St Thomas’s on Sunday. A week to the day since she died. We’d like you to be there, if you don’t mind coming down again.’
Gamache didn’t mind. Looking around he realised how much he liked this place and these people. Too bad one of them was a murderer.
TEN
The memorial service for Jane Neal was short and sweet, and had it been plump it would have been an exact replica of the woman. The service was really nothing more than Jane’s friends getting up one after the other and talking about her, in French and English. The service was simple, and the message was clear. Her death was just one instant in a full and lovely life. She’d been with them for as long as she was meant to be. Not a minute longer, not a moment less. Jane Neal had known that when her time came God wouldn’t ask how many committees she’d sat on, or how much money she’d made, or what prizes she’d won. No. He’d ask how many fellow creatures she’d helped. And Jane Neal would have had an answer.
At the end of the service Ruth stood at her seat and sang, in a thin, unsure, alto, ‘What Do You Do With a Drunken Sailor?’ She sang the unlikely sea shanty at a quarter speed, like a dirge, then slowly picked up speed. Gabri joined in, as did Ben and in the end the whole church was alive with people clapping and swinging their hips and asking the musical question, ‘What do you do with a drunken sailor, err-lie in the morning?’
In the basement after the service the Anglican Church Women served up homemade casseroles and fresh apple and pumpkin pies, accompanied by the thin hum of the sea shanty heard here and there.
‘Why “Drunken Sailor”?’ Approaching the buffet, Armand Gamache found himself standing next to Ruth.
‘It was one of Jane’s favorite songs,’ said Ruth. ‘She was always singing it.’
‘You were humming it that day in the woods,’ Gamache said to Clara.
‘Wards off bears. Didn’t Jane learn it in school?’ Clara asked Ruth.
Olivier jumped in. ‘She told me she learned it for school. To teach, right, Ruth?’
‘She was expected to teach every subject, but since she couldn’t sing or play piano she didn’t know what to do about the music course for her students. This was when she first started, back fifty years ago. So I taught her the song,’ said Ruth.
‘Can’t say I’m surprised,’ mumbled Myrna.
‘It was the only song her students ever learned,’ said Ben.
‘Your Christmas pageants must have been something,’ said Gamache, imagining the Virgin Mary, Joseph, the baby Jesus and three drunken sailors.
‘They were,’ laughed Ben, remembering. ‘We sang all the carols, but they were all to the tune of “Drunken Sailor”. The looks on the parents’ faces at the Christmas concert when Miss Neal would introduce, “Silent Night”, and we’d sing!’ Ben started singing, ‘Silent Night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright’, but to the tune of the shanty. Others in the room laughed and joined in.
‘I still find it really hard to sing the carols correctly,’ said Ben.
Clara spotted Nellie and Wayne and waved at them. Nellie left Wayne and made a bee-line for Ben, beginning to talk before she was halfway across the room.
‘Ah, Mr Hadley, I was hoping to find you here. I’m going to be over to do your place next week. How’s Tuesday?’ Then she turned to Clara and said confidentially, as though passing a State secret, ‘I haven’t cleaned since before Miss Neal died, Wayne’s had me that worried.’
‘How is he now?’ asked Clara, remembering Wayne’s hacking and coughing during the public meeting a few days earlier.
‘Now he’s complaining, so there’s nothing much wrong. Well, Mr Hadley? Haven’t got all day, ya know.’
‘Tuesday’s fine.’ He turned to Clara once Nellie had gone back to her pressing job, which seemed to be eating the entire buffet. ‘The place is filthy. You won’t believe the mess an old bachelor and his dog can create.’
As the line crawled forward, Gamache spoke to Ruth. ‘When I was in the notary’s office asking about Miss Neal’s will, he mentioned your name. When he said, “née Kemp”, something twigged, but I couldn’t figure it out.’
‘How did you finally get it?’ Ruth asked.
