Midsomer Maiden |1| The Trials of Midsomer

4. Faithful Unto Death

A mother's love, Freddie had decided, tasted of chocolate. No doubt this was heavily influenced by her current circumstances, whereby a bite of one of Bunny Dawlish's simply incredible brownies was melting on her tongue as her mother, ever mindful of her only daughter's needs, fussed and fiddled with the flowers in her hair, but that was beside the point. A mother's love tasted of chocolate—sweet, warm, and all-encompassing.

Sometimes, when she was alone, the fact that she could never grow up to be just like her mother hurt her. Of course, she had long ago accepted their careers could never match—most people, when confronted with the idea of Freddie wielding a scalpel or a throat swab, ran for the hills. But it was the other things that mattered. The little things. The way her mother would reach across, without even thinking about it, to smooth a strand of hair back into place, the way she would be there to help her before she'd ever realised she needed help. In her mother's office at the practice over in Midsomer Market, there was always a pen with a grip attached, just in case.

Freddie was quite sure she had learned how to love directly from her mother who, like her, had never been much of a one for saying things explicitly. There was no need, when the depths of her affection could be conveyed in the touch of a hand, the warmth of a hug, the ever-comforting press of a kiss to the forehead. She hadn't inherited much from her mother—just the curl of her hair and the fullness of her lips and a few long-standing mannerisms—but she was glad she'd inherited that. Her father had always used to joke that she was her daddy's little girl for every day of her life, except for when she was her mother's daughter, and it was true. Her coordination had been a problem since she was three years old, but she had never held anything with such care and cautiousness as Katherine Bullard's heart.

"Here," she said as she came back over to join Freddie at their little table in the corner of the tea tent. "Felicity Buckley's done one of her carrot cakes again this year."

"Oh, lovely," Freddie said, her lips twitching. "You, er... you are sure it's healthy to eat every cake in the house, are you, doctor?"

"Healthy?" Kath snorted. "Good God, Winnie, of course not. But it is delicious."

"Well, in that case..." The two women grinned, digging in.

***

Meanwhile, Joyce and Cully were outside on the village green, walking arm in arm between the various stalls and marquees that had been set up for the fete. They passed a group of jingling Morris dancers, barely holding back laughter. "I think every one of them's mad," Joyce declared as soon as they were out of earshot, and Cully burst out laughing. They quickly hurried into the nearest tent before the Morris dancers could hear them.

"Hello," said the stallholder, a Ms. Sarah Lawton. On the tables all around her were lots of beautifully made pottery, jugs and dishes and vases and anything you could think of.

"Hello," Joyce returned. "Do you make all these yourself, Ms. Lawton?"

"Yes," Sarah nodded. "Do you like them?"

Cully smiled knowingly. "She does. I can tell."

"I love that one," Joyce agreed, pointing to a pale blue tea cup. "It's really nice."

"Well, why don't you get a set?" Cully suggested.

"Six of those, do you think?"

***

And on the coconut shy a few stalls over, Tom was grinning proudly. "This is a very moving moment for me, George. This is the first time in my life I've ever won anything." George handed him a coconut, shaking his head. "Thank you."

"It will be rotten inside, I guarantee."

"You are just jealous," Tom told him happily, "because I've got a coconut and you haven't."