Candle for a Corpse

by Marilyn Leach

  The teen returned the wadded tissue to her nose while precariously balanced on her crutch. “Is there anything else, Mrs. Elliott?”

  Berdie was jolted from her thoughts. “Oh no, no, Lila, thank you. You’ve been a great help. Now, have you tried eucalyptus oil for your congestion? And keep that foot elevated, yes?”

  Lila nodded an affirmative and trundled down the hallway.

  When Berdie came in and sat herself down in the drawing room, Hugh was reading the Sunday edition of the Timsley Beacon.

  “I hope Ivy’s not too long,” Berdie spoke to her husband. “We need to be at Graystone’s office by two o’clock.”

  “Mmm,” was Hugh’s reply. Berdie knew, after many years of being married to this man, that sound meant precisely the same thing as “be quiet.”

  She looked around the space. How could a drawing room repel so? Some bright damask pillows would add a little warmth...perhaps a cheerful painting. Then something caught her eye. She spied a small plaque on the wall near the front window. It hadn’t been there last week when they visited. She stood and stepped closer for a good look. She recognized it as the plaque Ivy had so desperately wanted from the goods at Lavender Cottage. It was very simple in design with an imprinted motto.

  Berdie read aloud, “I believe in the sun, even when it doesn’t shine. I believe in love, even when I feel it not. I believe in God, even when He is silent.”

  “World War II,” Hugh quipped, his eyes not leaving the paper.

  Berdie turned. “What?”

  “That was penned during World War II,” Hugh mumbled, “on a concentration camp wall.”

  Hugh’s response was curtailed by a horrible screeching sound out in the front road. It was akin to several hundred pairs of sharp fingernails dragging across a school blackboard.

  “I say!” Hugh was at the window with his wife.

  Butz & Sons Electric read in large blue letters on the white work lorry that pulled into the drive. It wasn’t until it came to a complete stop there that the racket subsided.

  “That’s certainly one way to announce your arrival,” Hugh remarked. “Isn’t that Jamie Donovan’s work lorry?”

  “But that’s certainly not Jamie. It’s Edsel.”

  “Right.” Hugh smiled. “And look who’s with him. Lucy.”

  The scramble of children’s feet sounded in the hallway. Before you could say, “God bless us one and all,” Milton and Martha sprinted to the vehicle with little Duncan between them. The tiny tot held on to their hands for precious life, his baby feet only occasionally hit the ground.

  “Daddy, Da’!” The excited voices carried through the window glass where Berdie and Hugh took it all in. “Lucy!” Milty squeezed his sister’s waist, and Martha hoisted Duncan into Edsel’s arms then grabbed hold of her father’s leg.

  A ragged bump-scoot moved hurriedly down the hallway, and Lila soon joined the celebration. Lucy embraced her sister so tightly Milty got caught in the hug. He squeezed his head out from between them to catch air and finally broke free.

  Another distant shuffle and the mother of the family stood next to her husband. Berdie had to look twice at Ivy. It was no longer a tearful nose and eyes that were red. It was her smart frock and the crimson silk ribbon in her hair. Mrs. Butz was radiant. Her husband gave her a peck on the cheek, his eyes admiring his beloved. Lucy, still with an arm around her sister, greeted her mother courteously. Ivy smiled nervously.

  “That relationship still needs some sorting,” Berdie pointed out.

  “In time,” Hugh assured.

  “Are we being voyeuristic, standing at the window like this?”

  Hugh pointed to houses across the road where eyes were discreetly peeking around curtains. “At least we’ve been invited in.”

  Lila’s eye caught Berdie, then Hugh. She pointed to the window where they stood and said something to her mother. Ivy Butz put her hand to her mouth and rushed for the door.

  “Let’s meet her,” Hugh suggested.

  “I’d forget to stir the Christmas pudding but not for my hinnies.” The hallway rang with Ivy’s excited words. Now her face matched the dress. “Vicar, Mrs. Elliott, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” Hugh assured her.

  “We’re just happy to see you’re doing well,” Berdie added.

  Ivy giggled. “My Edsel called right after church. He’s taking us out to tea in Timsley. And he’s invited the Raheems, a thank you, you know.” She paused. “Oh, would you like to come?”

  “Thank you, but we have a two o’clock appointment.” Hugh put his arm around Berdie’s back.

  “Of course. Well, thank you ever so for coming.” She motioned. “Outside then?”

  With the door latched and locked by Ivy’s hand, Berdie and Hugh stood in the sunny drive sharing hellos and good-byes in the same moment with the entire Butz family. The lot piled into the work lorry, waving as they drove past Berdie and Hugh, who had begun walking.

  Berdie took her husband’s hand. Even though dashing about, she cherished time with her Hugh. “The Butz family appears to be well in order.” Berdie could sense relief in her husband’s swift gait. “Yesterday’s dreadful events prompted a change of priorities with those dear ones, I would say.”

  Hugh was bright. “Ashes to beauty, my love. Literally, ashes to beauty.”

  Berdie’s stomach growled. “Down, girl,” she said, patting her tum.

  “Now there’s a declaration for lunch,” Hugh teased. “I say, let’s stop for takeaway at The Copper Kettle.”

  “Mmm, one of their tasty slivered ham sandwiches.” Berdie’s mouth watered.

  Vibrations buzzed in Hugh’s suit pocket. He pulled the mobile out and answered, “Reverend Elliott.”

  Berdie observed his left eyebrow arch. That was never a good sign.

  “Yes,”—he paused and directed his eyes to Berdie with an apologetic look—“yes, quite. Just a moment please.” Hugh put the phone to his chest. “Can you manage this afternoon without me?” he whispered.

  Berdie knew her disappointment displayed itself unashamedly across her face. “Hugh.”

  He placed his hand over the mouthpiece. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

  “I just haven’t the bottle to go head-to-head with Graystone alone today.”

  “What about Lillie? Can she join you for the meeting?”

  “Well, I suppose. If some parishioner can’t live another moment without you.” Berdie’s voice was brisk.

  “Berdie, I’m sorry, I—”

  “Oh, I’ll call Lillie.”

  Hugh spoke into the phone. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  When Berdie exited The Copper Kettle alone, sandwich in hand, the sun decided to take a hiatus behind a rather large cloud bank. One quick ring up, and within moments, her best friend met her at the Grade Two listed building that was Graystone’s office. It was small, but the old-world look and feel gave it much grace.

  Lillie, a market bag slung over her arm, greeted Berdie with a hug then pointed to a note taped to the lovely Georgian door. “Clients for the two o’clock meeting, please enter and be seated in the outer office.”

  “Is this about the Lavender Cottage clean?” Lillie adjusted the bag on her shoulder.

  “We’ll find out”—Berdie glanced at the large clock above the white window box—“in fifteen minutes.” She lifted her takeaway bag. “Meanwhile, I’m famished.”

  Once inside, it became apparent that the outer office had a former life as a sitting room. A sizable lavender and evergreen wreath that decorated the mirror above the fireplace had little white berries that matched the white marble mantel. Flames barely flickered in the hearth; a small lamp on an end table gave the only light. Lillie took her ease in a large brocade armchair while Berdie sank onto a grand dark velvet couch that echoed the drapery fabric of the only window.

  “Elegant.” Lillie whispered in deference to the quiet room.

  “Money.” Berdie ran her hand across t
he rich fabric.

  At the other end of the room, beyond the Turkish rug that set off the hardwood floors, sat a small desk. “Graystone’s?” Berdie asked in hushed tones.

  “Oh my, no. The clerk’s. Graystone’s is much more pretentious.”

  Berdie grinned. “Do you think he would refuse me a mini-picnic on this expansive couch?”

  “I’ll just tell him you never learned proper manners,” Lillie joked.

  Berdie laid her head on the back of the sofa and took in the scent of lavender and evergreen, looking forward to that first bite of slivered ham sandwich. In the quiet, she became aware of barely audible voices.

  “Oh yes, I brought—” Lillie started.

  “Shh,” Berdie interrupted. “Listen.” She pointed to a barely open door, surely Graystone’s office.

  “Cheers, ol’ boy. It’s all yours now, top to bottom,” Mr. Graystone’s baritone voice carried. “Here’s to no more bank on your back.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Graystone.” It was Mr. Raheem.

  There was a clink of glasses.

  “Hardeep Raheem is supposed to be with the Butz family in Timsley,” Berdie informed Lillie. Then her eyes flashed the same time Lillie’s widened. “It’s all yours now,” Berdie whispered.

  “Top to bottom,” Lillie breathed. “He’s not only paid off his mortgage past due, he’s paid it all.”

  Elgars’ “Nimrod”—Lillie’s mobile bell tone—broke through the reverie of the quiet room like the high note of a Christmas aria. Lillie scrambled to turn it off.

  “Someone there?” Preston Graystone marched from the office. “How long have you been here?” he demanded.

  “We just arrived. Sorry to interrupt,” Berdie responded while Lillie silenced the offending phone.

  The plunk of a glass hitting a table sounded from the office, and Mr. Raheem stepped past Mr. Graystone.

  “Mrs. Elliott, Miss Foxworth.” Mr. Raheem gave a smile and a slight bow. “Please indulge me; I’m late for an appointment with friends. I must go.” He shook Mr. Graystone’s hand. “Thank you again, sir.” A brief acknowledgement again to Berdie was followed by his quick exit.

  “I had no idea we were intruding,” Berdie explained. “The note on the door—”

  “Never mind,” Graystone interrupted, clearly peeved. “You’re early,” he barked.

  Berdie felt hunger and little rest push her capacity for politeness. She stood. “We can leave until the meeting starts if it suits you.” Her voice was crusty.

  “Please sit.” The solicitor made it sound like a command. He cleared his throat then softened his voice. “No, please, take your ease, Mrs. Elliott.” He nodded to Lillie.

  Berdie recognized his words as a polite and reasonable apology. Peckish or not, propriety dictated her response. “Thank you, Mr. Graystone.” Berdie sat squarely on the sofa.

  Graystone lifted his pointed chin. “What transpires between myself and my clients is of the highest confidence.”

  “Of course.” Berdie looked at Lillie, who agreed with a quick nod. But we can’t help what we heard… And Lillie’s eyes said the same.

  Mr. Graystone remained standing. His gray suit added no distinction to his pallid skin. His salt-and-pepper hair was decidedly more salt.

  The solicitor ran his hand over his stylish tie. “I’m afraid this business about Miss Livingston’s will has been somewhat unpleasant. That old Livingston made a right dog’s dish of it.”

  “Her will?” Berdie questioned, and Lillie lifted her brows.

  “Exactly.” Graystone relished their surprise. “Highly uncharacteristic. She had a gag on it until six days postdeath. Today’s the sixth day.” The man’s narrow eyes went pensive. “Just the daft thing that one would do. On paper, the old girl didn’t even exist, you know. No birth certificate, no christening records, no family, no accounts, cash for everything. No wonder she and Natty got on so well.”

  “Not wholly reasonable then?” Berdie mined.

  “Humph,” he said with a scowl. “She was barmy and not by halves. Nearly did in my Cara.”

  Lillie shot a glance to Berdie.

  “How’s that then?” Berdie was boring for more.

  “See here, where are my manners? Join me in my office,” the man invited.

  “Hugh had business, so Lillie has graciously accompanied me. I hope you don’t mind.”

  The man observed the coy and quiet Lillie. He shrugged. “Don’t see any harm. By the way, I’m Cara’s proxy today; she won’t be in as she’s wrestling with a flu bug.”

  Graystone's office, with three top-to-bottom walls of books and a desk that rivaled a pool table for size, was slightly intimidating. But Berdie found the large leather armchairs he offered them to be comfortable. They sat a bit apprehensively while Mr. Graystone cleared the half-full glasses and finally landed on his padded pivotal desk chair to tidy some papers on his desk.

  “I hired Livingston as nanny for my daughter when we first moved to Aidan Kirkwood, you know.” His angular nose flared as he tipped back in his fluid chair. “Had to give her the push.” The solicitor ran his fingers across a file sitting on the desk and sat upright, folding his bony hands. “She was turning my lovely girl bohemian, peddling lavender in open-air markets, running barefoot all about the village, no discipline, no proper manners.” He grabbed a pen from a handsome desk set and turned it end over end. “When it was time to send Cara to boarding school, she refused to go.”

  “Oh yes, I remember,” Lillie said.

  “Miss Livingston had long since been removed as nanny, but the dye was cast. I had to settle for five years of summer finishing school in Dublin.”

  “If memory serves me, it was the late Mrs. Graystone’s sister who owned the school.” Lillie smiled.

  Graystone nodded.

  “Cara’s a lovely girl. She seems none the worse by it,” Berdie encouraged.

  Graystone spread his hands, his eyes alight, and lifted his skinny finger toward Berdie. “None the worse?” Preston Graystone flung open a desk drawer and pulled out several papers that he held high, turning his index finger upon them, thumping as he spoke. “Durham University, accepted.” He slapped the paper down on the desk. “Cornell University in New York, accepted.” He threw the papers across his desk like seeds to the wind. “But my daughter wanted to stay here and work in lavender with that wretched woman.” When Graystone snarled, his angular features likened him to a medieval gargoyle. “Now, with her inheriting the lot, well but for a few bits, all hope of finer education is dashed.” He blew a heavy sigh. “And of course now...” He looked away and dropped his head. He brought it upright, as if remembering why they were gathered, and gazed at Berdie. “Any word on Goodnight’s whereabouts?”

  Berdie tried to adjust to the sudden change in conversation. “No, I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday.”

  “I’ll ring him up.” Graystone wobbled a bit. “Excuse me. I’ll make my call in the lounge.” He politely nodded and left the room.

  “Cara inherits?” Lillie blurted.

  “Keep your voice down, Lillie.” Berdie scooted her chair closer to Lillie. “Indeed, and what are the bits she doesn’t get, and to whom do they go, and just exactly why did he want me here?”

  “Elgar.” Lillie looked gravely at Berdie and went pink. “Preston was so adamant yesterday about not taking anything in the house.” The woman caught her breath and brought her hand to her cheek. “I’m in possession of stolen goods.”

  “What are you going on about?” Berdie watched her friend pull the market bag from her shoulder. She thrust her hand inside. “The LP I took from Lavender Cottage...I brought it with me.” Lillie zipped the album out of the bag with such exuberance that it went flying across the floor. “Oh no!” she cried. The precious record came to rest against one of the lower bookshelves, with the jacket landing astutely on a corner of Graystone’s massive desk. But it was what fluttered out of the cover that caught Berdie’s eye.

  “Oh I hope it’s
not damaged.” Lillie erupted from the chair and was on her hands and knees, rescuing the disk, whilst Berdie picked up a photo that had escaped from inside the cover. She went to Lillie’s side and knelt down.

  “Look,” she said and prodded Lillie on the shoulder. “Isn’t that...”

  Her cohort looked closely. “A young Miss Livingston? Who are the females with her?” Lillie’s love for Elgar was being challenged by her delight in intrigue.

  Berdie pointed to a wild sea background where a rugged mound topped by an ancient castle jutted upward. “Holy Island.”

  “It is,” Lillie confirmed.

  “The farm in Northumberland.” Berdie nodded. “Of course, when I told Natty that Miriam was in a place of peace, she mentioned a farm in Northumberland.” Berdie turned the picture over. There was scribbled writing.

  “Can you read it, Berdie?” Lillie squeezed her head next to Berdie, who squinted and adjusted her glasses lower on her nose. “To our cherished”—she tilted the photo so the light hit from a different angle—“sister Miri!”

  “Sister?” Lillie shouted.

  The door swung wide. “What’s going on?” Graystone’s entry into the office gave the women such a startle that Berdie dropped the picture and the women bumped heads. “Two grown women on the floor and one a vicar’s wife!”

  Graystone bent down to help them up, but Berdie sprung to her feet while Lillie rubbed the side of her head.

  “We lost an earring.” Lillie put a hand to her ear.

  “We?” Graystone asked Berdie while standing upright again.

  “That is, it’s found.” Lillie removed her hand.

  “Ah,” Graystone pronounced. “All right then, are we, ladies?”

  Lillie stood awkwardly. “Fine.”

  He espied the record in Lillie’s hand. “And what’s this?”

  “It’s Cara’s.” Lillie smiled.

  “The record is in very good condition.” Berdie nodded her head while Lillie slipped it back into the cover. Berdie eyed the floor. The photo had disappeared.

  Graystone grabbed the album from Lillie. “Something from Lavender Cottage, no doubt.”

  Berdie smiled.

  “You know not to touch anything there—nothing. Have I made myself clear?”