by P A Nash
“Where is he?”
“Thailand.”
Ella’s expression displayed her surprise. “Where?”
“Thailand. On holiday. He left about a week ago and he’ll be back at work Monday week. He goes there every year, regular as clockwork.”
“Oh, thank you.”
“No problem. Did you want to leave a message?” The receptionist held out a message pad and pen to Ella.
“No, we’ll come back when he’s here again.”
***
“That was quick!”
“Yes, and it puts him out of the picture. According to the receptionist, he left to go on holiday, two days before Anthony Buckerell died.”
“I think, being on holiday in Thailand is a very convincing alibi!”
They began walking back to the solicitor’s office and their car.
“What do we do now?”
“I think we need to find out more about the four Dudleys.”
“Well, Mrs Aylesbeare helped us with that. She filled us in on the complaints levelled against Anthony Buckerell. That was just before Dudley Widworthy arrived.
“I’m assuming you had a good chat with this Dudley Widworthy?”
“Yes, he told us a fascinating story about bankruptcy and herbal medicines. Dudley was an importer of exotic plants. When we questioned him about poisonous plants, he exploded and stormed out of the office.”
“I know, we met him on the stairs. PC Hydon suggested Dudley went back up and apologised.”
“It takes a big man to defy PC Hydon!”
“And Dudley Widworthy wasn’t that man!”
***
Frank and Ella went home, not quite knowing what to do next. Their quandary was resolved by a phone call from WPC Knowle. The body of Mr Buckerell had been released and his funeral was to be held at St Peter’s Church on the next Thursday. This was one funeral Frank and Ella were going to attend. No more loitering in the cafe on the other side of the road.
Ella phoned Mrs Aylesbeare to tell her of their intentions.
“Lovely, Mrs Raleigh. It’ll be good to see you. Come and sit by me if you wish.”
“We’d love to,” replied Ella. “Who’s been doing all the arrangements?”
“Well, actually, I’ve been trying to do them. It’s all been a little bit of a trial.” Mrs Aylesbeare seemed upset and somewhat overwhelmed. “Mr Buckerell was never blessed with a family. I never heard him speak about his parents. I assumed they’d died a long time ago. He never mentioned any brothers or sisters.”
“Has nobody come forward to offer any help?” Ella was saddened to hear Mrs Aylesbeare’s comments.
“No. Not a single soul.”
“Let me help you. Two heads are better than one.”
“Oh, that would be lovely. Thank you.”
“Have you arranged any post—funeral refreshments?”
“Well, yes. As a matter of fact, I found two envelopes in the safe. One contained Mr Buckerell’s will. I put that back into the safe. The other envelope contained his specific funeral instructions. It was all very clear. I’ve just been following his wishes.”
“Excellent.”
“Why don’t you come around tomorrow morning and we can go through all the arrangements.” Mrs Aylesbeare hesitated. Quietly she added, “I’d appreciate the help.”
“Of course. At the office?”
“Yes. About ten o’clock. We can pop into Earls for some coffee.”
“See you tomorrow!”
Ella put the phone down feeling she was doing somebody some good. Frank was not so positive.
“Be careful. A woman could administer poison as well as any man. In fact, a little old lady like Mrs Aylesbeare might easily go undetected. She may have been able to get close to Anthony Buckerell. He wouldn’t have thought twice about her bringing him a letter to sign or something.”
“Perhaps while he was being driven around Dartmoor?”
“Well…”
“I suppose she could have ambushed the police car and injected him with poison while they were stopped for a cream tea. She could have cycled there with the poison in her front basket. Perhaps she met them in Widecombe, or even better, in Princetown!” Ella laughed. Anyway, she could have killed him any number of times. Why choose to wait for him to be surrounded by police?
Frank realised he was losing the thread of his argument. “Perhaps not. But still, be careful.”
“I will. I think she’s just a lovely old lady who was doing a wonderful job of keeping Anthony Buckerell functioning as a local solicitor. “
***
Ella was right. Mrs Aylesbeare — Alice to her friends — was meticulous in her organisation but needed a companion to suggest what needed to be done. Ella considered that to be one of her strengths. Frank called it one of her many super—powers. Together, Alice and Ella made a list. When the list was completed to Ella’s satisfaction, then Alice took over. By lunchtime, they were in Earl’s enjoying a well—earned cup of coffee and slice of cake.
“Strange to think that this used to be a bank.”
“Really?”
“I think the Bank Manager’s office was just about where we are now sitting.”
“I suppose this was Mr Buckerell’s local branch back then?”
“Yes, it was. How did you know?”
“I just thought that it was probably the closest to the office.”
“Absolutely.”
They sat quietly finishing their cake and coffee.
“Thank you, Ella, for your help this morning. Without you, this funeral would not be taking place.”
“I’m not sure how to take that!”
“No, I didn’t mean you killed him. I meant… oh, you know, what I meant.”
“Yes, I do, Alice.”
They left on the best of terms.
“If you any more help, then just give me a ring. If not, I’ll see you at the church.”
***
Frank and Ella were expecting the funeral atmosphere to be sober and solemn. The church was not full but surprisingly well populated. Mrs Aylesbeare pointed out the Mayor, the Town Clerk and a few councillors.
The coffin was brought in draped in the appropriate flowers — white lilies and two red wreaths. The vicar welcomed everyone to St Peter’s. The service would be celebrating the life of a dearly departed friend and colleague.
The Day Thou Gavest, Lord, is ended was sung or mumbled. The mayor stood up, walked to the lectern and proceeded to read Psalm 23. “Yea, though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death.”
After a suitable silence, the vicar asked if anybody wished to come to the front and share any memories of Anthony Buckerell. Frank was shocked to see Dudley Widworthy shuffle down the aisle and turn and face the congregation. “This’ll be fun,” he breathed to Ella.
“I’ve known Anthony for many years. He was a good friend to me. Often times he offered me sound advice and encouragement. I will miss his solid presence around the town. The place will not seem the same without him.” Dudley turned towards the coffin. “Goodbye, old friend.”
Dudley then shuffled back to his pew with tears in his eyes. Ella whispered back to Frank, “I wasn’t expecting that!”
Another man walked to the front.
“Dudley Gosford—Feniton,” hissed Mrs Aylesbeare.
He turned towards the vicar and asked, “If I may, could I read a poem?”
“Certainly.”
“This is a poem by a priest called Henry Scott—Holland. It was actually part of a sermon he preached in 1910 at St Paul’s Cathedral when King Edward the Seventh was lying in state.”
Dudley cleared his throat and in a clear dramatic voice recited the famous poem.
“Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.
Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.”
The poem went on and the whole congregation were visibly moved.
Dudley recited the last line “How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!”
Frank was certain he could hear some sniffs and blowing of noses. He turned to look at Ella and Mrs Aylesbeare and noticed that both had tears trickling down their faces. He glanced around and was quite astonished to observe that they were not, by any means, the only ones.
Dudley Gosford—Feniton bowed his head towards the coffin and slowly walked back to his place.
There was a silence as a number of the attendees sought to recover their composure. There was a scuffling followed by murmurs of “Excuse me.” Another gentleman lumbered towards the front. He was rather scruffily dressed. His black suit was ill—fitting and, as he passed, Frank could see that his white shirttails were sticking out.
“Right. I hadn’t seen Tony for a few years, not since Vanessa moved to New Zealand. But he was a good bloke. I remember he was a bit of a laugh… on his day. I expect a lot of us will miss the old codger. God bless his soul.”
And with that, he shuffled back to his row, mumbled “Excuse me” as he pushed past several seated persons. Eventually, he sat down and bowed his head.
“Who was that?” Ella muttered to Mrs Aylesbeare.
“I think that was Dudley Weston.”
“All we need is Dudley Musbury!” Frank murmured.
“Speak of the devil!” gasped Mrs Aylesbeare, as a round—shouldered individual in a tweed suit meandered forward. “We’ll see some fireworks now,” she added.
She was wrong.
“Anthony Buckerell was a gentleman who was misunderstood by some and appreciated by others. He was the epitome of the small town solicitor. We may never see his kind again. I’m sure we will all miss his knowledge of the law and his clear, cogent and concise arguments and functional advice. He had an effect on so many of us over the years. He certainly affected my life.”
***
The service ambled to a close. The coffin and congregation shuffled out of the church. Then, the coffin was driven away in a sparkling black hearse to St Peter’s Burial Ground up near the school. A convoy of cars followed. Frank and Ella stood back to allow local attendees to pay their respects. Standing near the back of the group of mourners, they were well–positioned to hear some illuminating comments.
“Thank heavens, that’s over.”
“Good riddance to bad rubbish.”
“At least there’s eats and drinks back at the public halls.”
“Bet he didn’t pay for it.”
“What an absolute mess. First, the cat dies eating some of my special plants. And now, Anthony kicks the bucket.”
“Silver lining. More disposable income.”
“At least the good doctor gets his starring role.”
“I wonder how many of us here are glad to be rid of him?”
“Almost all of us, I expect.”
“Was he blackmailing you as well?”
“What do you think?”
Chapter 7 – A Wake, a Walk and a Talk
The wake took place back in the middle of town in one of the rooms at the Public Halls. Alice Aylesbeare and Ella had found a local couple who catered for similar occasions. When they walked in, just ahead of the other mourners, they found everything to be perfectly ready.
“Oh, how excellent. You’ve done a marvellous job,” Alice remarked with a smile to the caterers.
“I’m glad you like it, Mrs Aylesbeare.”
Any further conversation was cut short by the arrival of the main body of mourners. The atmosphere was less sombre than at the church. In fact, it veered towards the jovial. Both Frank and Ella heard some bursts of laughter. The mayor didn’t stay too long but thanked everyone for coming and wished them a safe journey home.
“We wanted to make sure he was dead and buried in the ground,” someone nearby Frank murmured.
Alice played the part of the convivial hostess making sure everyone was cared for. Frank was startled to notice WPC Knowle standing over the other side of the room, not in uniform, but still formally dressed. She was in earnest conversation with a number of dignified gentlemen. There were frequent nods and shaking of the heads.
In his meanderings around the room, Frank heard a number of further comments which were at odds with the public utterances in church.
Slowly but steadily, the mourners declined in numbers. Some people thanked Mrs Aylesbeare for her hospitality, others just walked out of the door.
Soon it was Frank, Ella and Mrs Aylesbeare helping the caterers to clear up.
“I know I shouldn’t say it, but I’m glad that’s over,” sighed Mrs Aylesbeare.
“You did a marvellous job, Alice.”
“With your indispensable help.”
At last, everyone was cleared up. The caterers bade farewell and Mrs Aylesbeare thanked them for their hard work and promised to pay them as soon as she received their invoice. “You were brilliant. I’ll recommend you to anyone who needs catering!”
Frank and Ella asked if there was anything else that needed doing.
“No, I’ll lock up and return the key to the council office.”
“Goodbye, then.”
“Are you going to continue your investigations?”
“That depends upon WPC Knowle. If she says so, then I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.”
“I do hope so.”
***
“We need a walk,” said Frank the next morning, “The weather looks set for a fine day.”
“We also need to learn a bit more about Budleigh Salterton. You know, until this past week, we’ve never spent much time there.”
“Then the obvious thing to do is to go for a walk in Budleigh Salterton!”
“You consult the oracle and I’ll check out my walking boots.”
Frank went to his computer and found the South West Coast Path website.
“I’ve found us the perfect walk. West Down Beacon.”
“Go on,” said Ella.
“It starts in Budleigh at the Public Hall and goes up to the old railway line, through woodland, over a golf course and back into Budleigh from West Down Beacon along the Coast Path.”
“How far is it?”
“Almost four miles.”
“Excellent. A couple of hours in the sunshine and sea air. We can do the walk and then wander around Budleigh and see if we can find a bite to eat.”
Frank and Ella were soon ready. They drove to Budleigh and parked in the free car park behind the Public Hall. Boots were tied. Frank had packed his rucksack with the bare essentials — a jumper each if the wind gathered strength and a couple of apples for a snack.
They set off across the park alongside Station Road and headed up Moor Lane. “This is the way to the cemetery, isn’t it?” asked Ella.
“Yes. Was it only yesterday? Strange how so many people said one thing in public and quite another in so—called private chatter.”
“Well, they didn’t seem to mind being overheard.”
Frank mused on the comments he had heard. “You know, a lot of them mentioned blackmail.”
“That’s got to be worth investigating.”
They passed the cemetery and the school and made their way up Bedlands Lane. Reaching the main road between East Budleigh and Knowle, they crossed and headed up Bear Lane. They both were highly amused by the signpost to Pooh Corner.
“And every one of the Dudleys got up to offer their condolences.” Ella continued their dissection of the funeral conversations.
“Speaking very highly of him into the bargain!”
“Most peculiar.”
“Yet again when we ask questions, it’ll be interesting to hear their reasons.”
“Do you think they’ve been collaborating?”
“Y
ou mean, they’re all in it together?”
“Once more, worth investigating.”
By this time Frank and Ella had reached the Budleigh to Exmouth Cycleway which runs along the site of the old railway line. The railway used to run from Tipton, through Newton Poppleford and Otterton before passing by Budleigh Salterton and then chugging down to Exmouth.
Frank read from his phone’s browser. “This line was built in 1899 and took four years to build. They used two steam navvies which were steam shovels to cut a path through Knowle Hill, one employed at each end of the cutting. They met in the middle.”
“Was it popular? Did it carry tons of holidaymakers?”
“I don’t think so. It says that by the 1950s it was hardly used.”
“I bet Doctor Beeching closed it down!”
“Correct. The last train ran in 1967. By 1998 it was a cycleway. Lord Clinton performed the opening ceremony. He is a relative of Lady Gertrude Rolle.”
“Who’s she?” Ella smiled.
“She was the honorary driver of the first train that ran from Tipton St John to Budleigh in 1897.”
“Small world.”
They entered the cutting that the navvies had built passing under the Budleigh road bridge. The occasional cyclist and dog walker passed them, each greeting them with a cheery “Hello!”
“I still can’t get used to people’s friendliness. They would never greet you like this when we were working back in the rat race!”
“No! Although the way we’ve joined up with the police, we might yet find ourselves working once more!”
They passed under the Castle Lane bridge before doubling back on themselves as they climbed a short path on their left back to Castle Lane.
Cars were parked at the side of the road. Dog walkers rendezvous. They turned right and walked along Castle Lane before forking left up a footpath. It led them to the golf course. They followed strict instructions — courtesy of the golf club — to stay on the path and not wander onto the fairways. The course was pleasantly active. The occasional cry of “Fore” caused both Frank and Ella to wince. Being hit by a speeding golf ball was not their idea of pleasure! They stopped under the protection of a tree and waited until the nearest players had passed them by.
