Audrey just smiled and nodded toward the glass window.
Hugh, by now wrapped in his towel, tipped his head toward Aidan Kirkwood’s solicitor, then flashed his wondrous smile at Berdie and nodded toward the exit. “Meet you in reception, love,” was barely audible through the glass.
Berdie smiled. “I’ll be there.” As Hugh and Grayson made way from the pool, she looked at the composed Mrs. Wenn-Patton and stood. “Thank you for your hospitality. I appreciate our discussion about family life.” She then eyed Preston, who seemed none too sad that she was departing. “Perhaps I’ll see both of you in church Sunday.”
The village solicitor tipped his head.
Audrey interrupted her swig of cocktail just long enough to offer a wet, “Lovely chat.”
As Berdie made her way to reception, she marveled. The information she had just gleaned from this clever woman and solicitor was far more than she anticipated finding here, and in a completely unexpected vein. But then, it seemed it often went that way in God’s economy.
Then she considered the raspy-voiced caller. Who was he? How could he know such intimate details concerning the Mikalos fortunes? She had ‘examined the money’ and came up with a great deal of information. But as yet, she still didn’t know where Olivia Mikalos was, nor who may have secreted her away. But she felt fairly confident she now knew the why. And it was all to do with love of money.
Berdie didn’t wait long for Hugh in reception.
“Did you enjoy your paddle?” She gave a brief squeeze to Hugh’s hand. He looked refreshed and smart in his clerical collar.
“It was a bit quick, but there’s no better way to get the juices flowing.”
“Where’s Grayson?”
“He’s staying on.”
Hugh opened the door for Berdie. On the way to the car she had to work to keep step with him. “Where’s the fire?” she quipped.
“Oh, sorry, love. Am I moving too quickly? It’s just that I have an appointment.”
“You didn’t say.”
“No. As a matter of fact, Grayson just set it up. He met a fellow this week, new to the village, who’s interested in a pastoral call, and now’s a good time.”
“Who is it?”
“A Mr. Broadhouse.”
Berdie caught her breath and took a slight wobble.
“All right, love?” Hugh slowed. “We’re meeting at Barlow Gardens. I was hoping to go straight away, on our way home, if you don’t mind.”
“Mind? It’s at the top of my list of things to do on a late spring afternoon.”
Hugh laughed.
Little did he know that Berdie couldn’t be more serious, nor could he see the verbal spade she had at hand to dig into the content of the conversation Mr. Broadhouse shared with Elise Davies this morning at the bakery.
****
Barlow Gardens was situated in an area just a mile or so off the main road that ran from Timsley to Aidan Kirkwood.
Berdie couldn’t help but wonder why they were meeting in that spot. This would be her first time visiting the gardens.
They arrived at the small decorative sign that announced Barlow Gardens, parked, exited, and began to walk the garden path. It was a feast for the senses. The striking colors of the flora and fauna were highlighted by their scents.
Berdie was sure she heard the call of a nightingale among the wrens and finches who heralded the warm season amongst trees and shrubbery.
With virtually not another person in sight, there was a kind of peacefulness about the place that invited sweet thoughts and a shedding of cares.
Still, they were here on a mission of sorts.
“Why are we meeting him here?” Berdie asked Hugh.
“Apparently, he was in the area when Grayson called him about a visit. Whatever the reason, it works well schedule-wise.”
“Where exactly are we going?” Berdie puffed a bit while keeping pace with Hugh up a slight incline.
“There’s a folly,” Hugh explained.
On the path before them, Berdie spied a writhing creature. “Ahh.” Berdie grimaced. “It’s a snake. What’s wrong with it?”
Hugh gave a quiet chuckle. “It’s just a little garden helper in the midst of one of God’s everyday miracles. He’s changing his outgrown clothes. Let’s not alarm him.”
“Shouldn’t he be doing that somewhere more private?”
“I don’t believe snakes have changing rooms.”
Berdie eyed her husband. “Very droll.”
Hugh took Berdie’s hand and drew her off the path with him to delicately move through a grassy area and avoid the creature. Back on the path, Berdie and Hugh rounded an especially large hawthorn tree, populated with bright pink blooms, and spotted the folly ahead.
Appearing as a Grecian temple of sorts, it had Doric columns shadowing a lovely colonnade with benches, one of which contained a silver-gray-haired man of pleasant features, nicely dressed, and an arm in a sling: Mr. Broadhouse. He rubbed his free hand on his knee while looking across the horizon that stretched before him.
When she and Hugh arrived, the fellow stood with some apparent discomfort. Moisture formed above his brow, and a guarded smile was his greeting. “It’s wonderful of you to meet me like this,” he welcomed. “Gavin Broadhouse.”
“Reverend Hugh Elliott.” Hugh gave a responsive nod. “And this is my wife, Berdie.”
When Berdie smiled, the gentleman’s gaze clung to her. “My absolute delight.” He gave a gracious tip of his head whilst still keeping his ogle.
She wasn’t about to be taken in by his obvious charm. Something troubled her memory as it had when she saw him at the bakery. She was certain she should know the fellow. And there was something about his tie’s colorful design that looked familiar.
Mr. Broadhouse turned his attention to Hugh. “I didn’t realize your dear lady would accompany you. A wonderful spot to share together.”
Hugh cleared his throat. “This is a lovely area.”
Berdie sat down on a bench opposite the fellow.
Mr. Broadhouse returned to his seat.
Hugh wedged next to Berdie on the bijou bench.
“Some of my favorite moments have been in this garden.” Broadhouse released a slow exhale.
“We’ve passed this many times, but didn’t realize it was here.” Hugh put his arm around Berdie.
“That’s one of its most attractive features; it’s solitude. It was once part of the Barlow estate.”
That was the second time today Berdie heard of the past glories concerning the Barlow estate.
“Have you had opportunity to meet many people in Aidan Kirkwood, apart from Mr. Webb?” Hugh asked.
“No, not as such. Well, my generous and kind landlady.”
“You’re living in the garret flat at Swallow Gate,” Berdie announced.
“Are you?” Hugh wore surprise. “Miss Foxworth is our choirmaster for the church, although currently on holiday.”
“Yes, Cornwall, I believe she said.” Gavin nodded.
“Portugal,” Hugh corrected.
Mr. Broadhouse tipped his head. “Portugal? Are you sure? She told me she was visiting family in Cornwall for a few days.”
“Her plans changed,” Hugh quipped.
Gavin Broadhouse simply nodded.
“Elise Davies, you’ve met her, as well.” Berdie could hear a slight edge in her voice. She watched the fellow’s jaw make an ever-so-slight jut.
“Yes, but then, she doesn’t live in Aidan Kirkwood, Mrs. Elliott.”
“You do know where she lives, then.”
She felt Hugh’s corrective thumb pressing on her back, but she continued.
“I saw you speak with her just outside House of Helensfield Bakery earlier today. Do you know her well?”
Mr. Broadhouse took a shallow breath and shifted in his seat.
“We were there as a part of a church function.” Hugh emphasized the word church with a quick glare at Berdie.
Mr. Broadhouse l
ooked at the floor of the picturesque shelter. “Very observant, Mrs. Elliott.”
“There’s very little that escapes my scrutiny, and, quite frankly, Mrs. Davies didn’t appear to especially relish the chat.”
Hugh’s entire hand now wrapped around and gave Berdie’s shoulder a tight, admonishing squeeze. “I’m sure whatever you were doing at the bakery is entirely your own business, Mr. Broadhouse.” Hugh said it to the fellow, but Berdie knew it was meant for her as well.
The man ran a stiff thumb cross his chin as his forehead became increasingly moist.
“I can’t help but notice your unfortunate circumstances.” Hugh glanced at the man’s arm in the sling.
Something sparked in Berdie’s put-it-together mind. Mr. Broadhouse’s attractive features, the tie he wore, that house, not being truly known in the village, could he be that fellow? “There was a hit and run accident in Timsley yesterday evening.” The words tumbled out her mouth. “May I ask, were you the victim?”
Hugh’s thumb dug so deeply into Berdie’s back, she almost gave a yip.
Mr. Broadhouse reared his head back. Then a gentle smile appeared. “Yes, I read about that in the paper. If only it were something that dramatic.” He rubbed the fingers protruding from his sling. “As embarrassed as I am to speak of it in the hearing of a lovely lady, I’m afraid I came off some stairs at a building site where I’m consulting.”
“How long will you wear the sling?” Hugh quickly jumped in.
“Not long. It’s the ribs that may take some time to heal.”
“Ribs, as well.” Hugh studied the fellow. “That must have been quite a nasty tumble.”
Mr. Broadhouse glanced back out at the horizon.
Pull the other one. Berdie wanted to resume her needling for more information about his acquaintance with Elsie Davies. “How did you meet Elise Davies?”
He cast an eye toward Berdie.
She thought he had the look of a fish struggling to get out of a net.
“I met Elise Davies when I was seeing her mother, Olivia Mikalos.”
“Indeed,” Berdie said in a low voice.
“Olivia and I were,” he rubbed his hand on his knee, “keeping company together. But not for long, I’m afraid. Seven months ago, after just a short time together, we parted. It had to end.” The fellow’s voice sounded rather tentative as he turned his head once again to observe the vista of sky and garden. “I’m married, you see.”
Lillie’s words, “his wife and children live in Leeds,” toppled through Berdie’s memory. She glanced at his bare left ring finger. Why would Elise greet him with a smile if she had found him out? What prompted her display of discontent when he departed? Berdie had bucket-loads of questions for this randy fellow.
“Yes, I can see that would be problematic.” Hugh’s voice was clear.
Berdie prepared to launch into several questions, but Hugh cut her off.
“Mr. Broadhouse, I can see this is rather difficult for you.” Hugh spoke gently. “Would you consider getting together at church, or perhaps at your home in Swallow Gate, to continue this discussion where we would be unattended?”
Berdie thrust her glare toward Hugh. Unattended? Why not just say ‘Woman, go to the car so this ruinous fellow and I can speak without you putting your oar in?’ She took a deep breath and bit her tongue. Yes, this was a pastoral call. But this man could be a critical link in finding Mrs. Mikalos.
Hugh’s lips pursed. “Berdie?”
Berdie was aware that it was his professional duty to see to the confidential wellbeing of those who earnestly desired it, and Broadhouse presently resided in the parish. Plus, he did have at least the scent of an earnest truth seeker. Why else would he have wanted to meet with Hugh?
She certainly knew where to find the man. “If that suits you Mr. Broadhouse, perhaps it would be best.”
Hugh was on his feet before the gentleman could breathe out his, “Very gracious of you, Mrs. Elliott.”
Berdie felt Hugh’s hand on her elbow, raising her to a standing position more quickly than a disturbed mother hen. “We’ll continue our conversation,” Hugh assured Mr. Broadhouse. “Are you aware of Mrs. Mikalos’ present situation?”
The man rose with a labored breath and nodded. “I saw the Kirkwood paper this morning.” A glint of moisture appeared in the corner of his eye.
Berdie wasn’t sure if it was grief, or simply pain from his injuries.
His face flushed. “Despite things being as they are, I’m very fond of her.”
“Berdie, go on ahead. I’ll catch you up.” Hugh motioned toward the path.
Berdie had to force herself to step away from the folly. Though she moved forward, she glanced over her shoulder.
Hugh handed a church information card to the man.
Continuing a few steps further, she looked again.
Hugh and Mr. Broadhouse exchanged what appeared to be cordial words.
In less than a minute, Hugh was next to her and put his arm around her waist scooting her along the garden path. “Back to the car as quickly as possible,” he commanded. “We’ll talk there.” Once in the car, Hugh took to the road like a hound on the chase. “Two things of which I want you to be acutely aware, Berdie.” Hugh’s left eyebrow nearly skyrocketed off his forehead. “First, church affairs, especially a pastoral call, is not a playground for your investigative probing. Why didn’t you tell me you were familiar with the man?” Before she could answer, Hugh went on. “I was under the impression that this appointment was to be nothing more than an informational welcome to visit church. But, it was obviously much more.”
Berdie summoned her words of defense.
But Hugh didn’t stop. “And secondly, I do not want you anywhere near that fellow.”
“You felt something was off, as well.”
“I observed a man in turmoil of whatever making. Off or not, I felt pity for the fellow while you recklessly poked away with your verbal intrusions and not-so-cloaked accusations.”
Berdie took his reprimand about pastoral calls to heart. Hugh was right. “I’m sorry, Hugh, for anything that disrupted your purposes.”
His eyebrow rested at its appointed place. “Let’s just pray it hasn’t put Mr. Broadhouse off altogether.”
Berdie plunged into her justification concerning his second demand. “Broadhouse could have something to do with Mrs. Mikalos’ disappearance. I need to see him. He’s hiding something, Hugh.”
“So it would seem, his behavior gave some indication of that. But unlike you, I’m not ready to place him in a hangman’s noose just yet. He’s trying to communicate, and it’s my job to hear him out and deal with him as is fit for my profession. Is that clear?”
Berdie sighed.
“You are not to go within a mile of him.”
“In that case, I’ll have to move out of the village, won’t I? And who then would prepare your afternoon tea?” Berdie hoped to create some levity.
But, Hugh wasn’t having it. “This is non-negotiable.”
Berdie took a deep breath. “As you say.” She answered without protest, though it pained her to do so. Allow forty eight hours to lapse, let Hugh carry on, and see what comes. That was the closest she could come to a promise of nonintervention concerning this full-of-flannel Mr. Broadhouse fellow. After that, it would be all systems go.
10
Berdie seated herself at the kitchen table, not yet fully awake, cup of steaming tea in hand. Her night’s sleep had been restless after the intriguing afternoon she experienced.
Not only did she try to puzzle together the new information, but also, as was planned, she called Loren just before retiring to bed to talk about his non-responsive Lillie. The conversation had not gone especially well. “She’s on an adventure, Loren. Feeling a bit underappreciated, and on an adventure.” Berdie offered no details about an investigation.
“I had a legitimate work call, short notice, yes. But still…” Loren’s frustration-laden words were in high volum
e.
Berdie perceived Loren’s irritation as his own reckoning with a certain amount of guilt for the situation. An attempt to reassure him of Lillie’s wellbeing was difficult when she was skeptical herself. She was glad the call hadn’t lasted long.
The sound of something similar to a bleating lamb sounded in the vicarage hall.
“Oh, bother,” Berdie offered to the morning warmth of the kitchen. Sitting in her robe and slippers, she had a mind to let it ring itself out, but then, it could be someone in real need. She clumped her way down the hall. “Vicarage.” Berdie wiped an eye.
“Mrs. Elliott, it’s Billie Finch, and I just saw Mrs. Mikalos’ car.”
Berdie had to give her brain a mental shake. “Where, Billie?”
“A small distance down the road from her house. I noticed it when I went to get the morning milk delivery, just minutes ago.”
“Is the vehicle still there?”
“I’ll go look.”
Berdie wondered how Mrs. Finch knew that it was Mrs. Mikalos’ car. Had she seen anyone in it? Then Berdie remembered the number she watched Linden input on the garage door opener the first time she went to the Mikalos home.
“Not there,” a slightly breathy Billie informed.
“Did you see anyone in the car, check the registration number, scrutinize anything?”
“No.”
Berdie took a deep breath. “Billie, I need you to do me a rather large favor.”
“Oh,” came down the line hesitantly.
“You’ve been right to ring me and this is nothing dangerous. I’m going to give you the number that opens Olivia’s garage door. If her car is, indeed, in there, feel the bonnet to see if it’s warm. Close everything up when you’re done.”
“I’m not sure, Mrs. Elliott.”
“This is in aid of getting Olivia the help she may need, Mrs. Finch. Please.”
“Shouldn’t I knock first, I mean, just in case?”
“Whatever makes you feel comfortable, Billie. But please do it as soon as possible.”
“I’ve got to dress.”
“Of course. Remember it’s for a good cause.”
“If you’re sure, Mrs. Elliott.”
Into the Clouds Page 14
