Christmas Pie

by Jodi Taylor

Genres: Fantasy; Historical Fantasy; Time Travel

Synopsis

Merry Christmas from Jodi Taylor. It's time for St Mary's traditional Christmas jump - even though it's only September...

St Mary's has never lacked for enemies, but danger has never been closer to home. A state of war has broken out between St Mary's and the Women's Institute - the Raffia Mafia.

Markham, Max, Peterson and Miss Sykes must jump to Restoration London in search of real Christmas pie - the honour of St Mary's is at stake.

At least that how it all begins, but this is St Mary's after all...

Readers love Jodi Taylor:

'The Chronicles of St Mary's is one of the most enjoyable series of books I have ever read'

'Jodi Taylor is a master storyteller'

'I don't think I've ever laughed out loud so much reading a book'

'I am always gutted when I finish a Jodi Taylor book as I know I will have to wait for the next one'

Release date: December 25, 2023

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 320

Sample

I was on my way to lunch with Max and Peterson when I caught the dying echoes of what would ever after be known as the Battle of Bashford and Sykes. Although not to their faces, obviously, because she’s not known as Psycho Psykes for nothing, and Bashford’s usually only conscious for half an hour on the third Thursday of every month so you have to pick your moment.

It seemed likely, given the size of the audience, that there had been a full and frank exchange of views, during which the original, and probably very minor, bone of contention had been lost in the massive fossil graveyard of irrelevance.

The collective noun for a group of historians is an argumentation and this had certainly been an argumentation of historians. I was annoyed to have arrived too late for the really good bits. You know – when both sides list the catalogue of catastrophe that has been their relationship to date. And, believe me, Sykes and Bashford’s relationship has been just one damned thing after another right from the moment she had arrived at St Mary’s and Bashford’s boots had tried to set fire to his feet. Right in front of her.

I was disappointed to have missed it – the row, I mean. I had actually been present for the flaming-boots thing – although in my experience, most rows are very disappointing. Usually the combatants just mutter furiously at each other and you can’t make out the interesting details and it’s so annoying. I always want to shout, ‘Speak up, will you? We can’t hear exactly what his mother said that time in Port Talbot and they had to call the fire brigade.’

Let me insert a Markham Top Tip here. I might once have said that out loud – the bit about speaking up, I mean – and both combatants immediately united and turned on me, would you believe? Be warned.

So, anyway – Sykes vs Bashford had run the full ninety minutes and then through extra time – and now seemed well on its way to being a no-score draw, as far as I could see – and I had only arrived in time to hear Bashford ignite the sinking flames by enquiring plaintively whether it was Angus who was the problem.

Sykes drew herself up. I don’t know why she bothered; she’s nearly as short as Max. Just as a matter of interest – has anyone else noticed how terrifying short women are? I’ve long had the theory that Hitler was actually a short woman. I think I might have mentioned that once when I was at school, and the next moment everyone was banging on about psychiatric reports and there was another window I had to climb out of. My formative years were full of similar excitements but I survived and now, here I am, Chief Security Officer at St Mary’s. I told Major Guthrie I’d been promoted and he laughed like a drain, but he was pleased. I could see it.

Anyway, back to the thing with Bashford and Sykes and Bashford’s unfortunate Angus remark. Never mind St Mary’s, the entire world held its breath – but as I said, Sykes drew herself up, threw him a scorching look, informed him that actually Angus was the only reason she’d let him hang around for so long, and stalked magnificently towards the bar. Which I think they opened especially for her. I know I would have, because she definitely did not look happy. When you’re as experienced with women as I am, you can easily spot these little signs.

Bashford hovered indecisively. He actually functions best in a kind of semi-conscious daze – his higher motor functions aren’t that high. He probably wanted to follow Sykes but had no choice other than to hang around because it was that time of day – the time Angus comes in from the stables for her afternoon nap.

He scooped her up – she can’t handle the stairs like she used to – and they crooned a greeting to each other that was actually quite touching. Then he carried her off to his room, where she would be tenderly placed on top of his wardrobe to snooze away the afternoon in a snug nest made from his old cricket sweater.

Have I mentioned Angus is a chicken?

I once asked Bashford if he covered her up during . . . you know . . . those intimate moments . . . with Sykes. Covered Angus, I mean – anyone attempting to throw a cloth over Sykes would lose his front teeth, both arms and the ability to father children, and then she’d really get stuck in – but apparently she’s a sound sleeper. Angus, I mean, not Sykes.

‘She’s very well behaved,’ he said when I’d questioned him more closely.

To this day I’m not sure which of them he was referring to.

‘Although there was that one time she made a funny noise.’

See the above comment concerning confusion over who was actually the subject of this conversation.

‘So I got up and . . .’

‘You stopped what you were doing?’

‘I thought there might be a problem.’

‘There and then? You stopped there and then?’

‘It was rather an emergency, don’t you think?’

I didn’t know what to think and said so.

‘What was the noise?’ I said, hating myself for asking, but somehow unable to resist.

‘I thought she might be laying.’

Again . . . unsure . . . etc.

‘And was she?’ I enquired cautiously.

‘No,’ he said sadly, and at that point I’d been at a loss as to how to proceed, so I’d left him looking for his other sock and pushed off to find a sentient member of the human race.

Anyway, back to Sykes vs Bashford – again. Now that the show was over, everyone went back to work and I wandered into Max’s office and threw myself into a chair.

‘Is it safe to go out there now?’ she said, clearing her desk by sweeping everything into her top drawer and locking it. It’s an old Insight habit she can’t seem to rid herself of.

I indicated that, since she would be accompanied by the Security Supremo himself, she could now proceed to the dining room in complete safety. We in Security take our job very seriously, you know.

‘Was it the eternal square again?’ she asked and I nodded.

‘Probably.’

Other people have eternal triangles – we at St Mary’s have gone one better. We have the eternal square. Bashford, Sykes, Angus and Roberts. I do occasionally feel very tempted to add in someone else just so we could have the eternal pentagon. Or the eternal rhombus. Even the eternal decagon – although I think that might be classed as an orgy. I wondered if I should mention this to Max – she loves hearing my little Fun Facts – but I decided against it. She hadn’t had lunch yet and she can be a trifle unstable when she hasn’t eaten for a while.

The Sykes/Bashford thing had been going for some years now (plus Angus, of course), and then Roberts returned from deepest, darkest Wales and I don’t know what they’d done to him there – perhaps the Druids had got hold of him or he’d slept in a bluestone circle or something – but the Roberts who came back wasn’t the same Roberts who’d left us.

He’d been invited back to St Mary’s for a second chance, and far from being the skinny, weedy, beardless boy who couldn’t hold his beer that he once was, he was now the tall, well-built, handsome, mysteriously Welsh Roberts. Even Hunter had said ‘Wow’ when she first clapped eyes on him, and I’d had to speak sternly to her. Or I would have, but she walked off laughing before I could make my views properly known.

She hadn’t been the only one. Both Max and Kalinda had been struck all of a heap and even Sykes herself had . . . well . . . expressed an interest. Fully reciprocated by Roberts, I might add, leaving Bashford – and Angus – somewhat confused as to how to respond. Let’s face it, Bash. . .