“Understood, Miss Bradbourne. Kids like to make their own decisions.”
“What does your son want to be when he grows up?”
“A ballet dancer. Got all his certificates,” she said, proudly.
Meredith excused herself and went in search of the downstairs cloakroom. But on the way through the hall, she stopped and looked at the staircase, trying to see in her mind's eye the events that led to Peg falling down the stairs.
“She's a character, isn't she?” said Drew. Meredith hadn't realised he was standing at her side.
“Miss Pendragon? Yes, she is. I like her though.”
“Yes, so do I. Are you going to take her up on the job offer?”
“I don't know. I'm already committed to Willowmead.”
“Yes, it's a really prestigious school too. You'd be a fool not to want to work there, seeing all those young women off to their Swiss finishing schools, and onto a life of absolute uselessness as the wives of diplomats. Not a brain surgeon amongst them.”
“So you approve of women brain surgeons then?”
He didn't answer. “Why are you staring at the staircase?”
Meredith looked around, then caught his arm and led him to the passageway between the hall in the kitchen, and out through the back door into the garden. Someone had placed fairy lights in those trees, giving the garden a warm and pretty glow. She told him in low tones about Peg's fall.
“And she's sure someone pushed her?”
Meredith nodded. “She wouldn't imagine it, Drew. She's not that type. I'm so afraid for her.”
“Darling, she's going to be fine. We'll both keep a watch on her.” Drew stroked her cheek.
“Will we?”
“Yes, but I want you to promise me you'll be careful too. I've a feeling we're getting close to finding our answer.”
“Yes, me too. Did you pick up on all Miss Pendragon said about her uncle? I was thinking about Jimmy, Bert and Betty, and the advice I gave her today. Arthur Patterson said something about living a lie. I wonder … do you think it's possible that Queenie was pregnant when she left Trefusis? Then passed the child off as Patterson's?”
“What? Do you think that when she got this religious mania, she told him? Confession being good for the soul and all that?”
“Exactly.”
“The thing is, darling, it gives Patterson a very good motive for killing her, and Turner seemed certain it wasn't him but the child. Why would the child murder her mother, darling?”
“Stop calling me darling. It makes it very hard for me to concentrate.”
“Then allow me to ruin your concentration completely.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Afterwards she rested her head against his shoulder.
“Now I can't think of anything sensible at all,” she whispered. She had never felt so content. For a moment at least, all her doubts about him were swept away. “Apart from the fact that I'm sure it must say in the bible that vicars shouldn't kiss like that.”
“Why do you think female parishioners keep coming back?” he said, chuckling under his breath.
She slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “So you kiss all your female parishioners, do you? I imagine your pretty young wife might have something to say about that.”
“Now why would I go out for hamburgers if I had steak at home?”
“So you liken the woman you loved to a chunk of prime beef?”
“Albeit a very pretty chunk.”
She tried to pull away but he refused to let her go. “We're getting away from what's important,” she said.
“Do you really think so? I'd have said kissing you was the most important thing in my whole life at the moment. So important, I intend to do it again.”
“No, I have to go and … powder my nose. Let me go, Drew.” Even she realised how half-hearted she sounded, and she did not put up too much of a fight when his lips found hers again.
By the time she finally escaped, her heart felt as light as a feather. He must like her, or he wouldn't be kissing her. But did he feel as strongly about her as she did about him? She had very nearly told him she loved him. Now she had relaxed enough to let him into her life, she did not want to frighten him away.
Chapter Eight
Meredith located the downstairs cloakroom. Outside stood a wooden coat rack, and she noticed Edith's coat and scarf hung on one of the pegs. Something poked out of the coat pocket – and envelope - but Meredith resisted the temptation to peak. She went into the cloakroom and tidied her hair and make up. Her cheeks were flushed from Drew's kisses, and her eyes slightly misty. This, she thought, looking in the mirror, is what a woman in love looks like. Despite her misgivings about Clarice's little woman persona, she believed that if Drew asked her in the moment to give up everything for him, she would.
But surely, her little voice said, he wouldn't ask if he loved you. “Yes, if he loves me,” she whispered to herself. Her feelings about him were new and untried. She understood for the first time why she had found it so easy to avoid other men until now. None of them had excited her in the way he did, both physically and intellectually. Men had a tendency to talk down to women, even more so if they suspected the woman was intelligent. Drew didn't do that. He might have felt she'd handled her interrogation badly earlier in the week, but he had told her so as an equal.
She thought about Peter and Clarice Mortimer. Did the Reverend speak down to his wife? Meredith didn't think so, and yet … there was something odd about their relationship. That they were in love was without a doubt, but Meredith had sensed something else. A watchfulness on Mortimer's part. All through dinner, he had cast surreptitious glances at his wife, half-listening to his guests, and half-listening to Clarice. For Clarice's part, she seemed aware of her husband's attention, and occasionally raised her voice louder, or laughed for longer than necessary, as if holding his attention. It was easily done. She was a very beautiful woman.
To what lengths would a man go to keep a woman like that? Miss Pendragon had remarked on the expense of a cruise to the Holy Land. As far as Meredith knew, vicars weren't overly well paid. Unless either Peter or Clarice had a private income.
Meredith further considered the luxury dinner they had just eaten, and the silver and crystal glass on the table. Clarice's dress, of gold silk, would not have been very cheap. Is it possible that Peter Mortimer, keen to keep his beautiful wife in luxury, had embezzled church funds? Meredith shook her head. She was getting away from the main issue, of who murdered Arthur Turner. Then again, Turner had mentioned that vicars were not averse to breaking the law, and it was at that precise moment he stopped talking. Did he have Peter Mortimer in mind when he said that?
Realising she had been gone some time, Meredith slipped out of the cloakroom, bumping into Clarice as she did so.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, laughing. “I've been much longer than I intended.”
“Don't worry. I only want to repair my make-up, otherwise I could easily have gone upstairs,” said Clarice. “It's nice to get away from the party for a few minutes, isn't it?”
“I've had a wonderful time,” said Meredith, not wanting to seem ungrateful. “Dinner was delicious.”
“Hmm, you must come again sometime, Meredith. Especially now you and Drew are...” Clarice smiled knowingly. She winked, and said, “I saw you in the garden.”
“Oh...” Meredith found herself tongue tied again.
“Don't worry, I shan't tease.” Clarice went into the cloakroom and shut the door. Meredith was just about to move away, when she noticed that the envelope in Edith's pocket was sticking out even further. She looked around, and then gently slid it upwards, without pulling it right out of the pocket.
It had been opened and was addressed to Miss M. Patterson, C/O The Vicarage, Midchester.
Meredith shoved it back into the pocket, almost in shock. She would have liked to read the letter, but dared not. Instead, she calmed herself and went back to the other guests in the drawing room.
&
nbsp; Drew was deep in conversation with Miss Pendragon, whilst Peter Mortimer sat in a chair near to the fireplace, almost apart from everyone else. He looked completely exhausted, but his expression changed quickly when he saw Meredith.
“Are you feeling unwell, Reverend?” She asked him, sitting down in the opposite chair.
“No, no, just a little tired, Meredith, that's all.”
“Perhaps we'd all be better getting home...”
“No...” His voice held a note of desperation. “No, please don't leave yet. We've arranged fireworks.” He spoke like a man who was about to be taken to the gallows, rather than someone looking forward to a pyrotechnic display. “In fact, Clarice should be ready to start now. Let's all go outside, shall we?”
“What's wrong?” Drew muttered to Meredith when everyone was standing outside on the terrace.
“Why do you ask?”
“When you came back from the cloakroom, you looked like you'd seen a ghost.”
“The ghost of Maud Patterson,” Meredith whispered, as a firework illuminated the night sky.
“What?” Drew caught her arm and spun her around to him.
“Shh, you'll have everyone looking at us.” Luckily Edith was over the other side of the terrace, handing out drinks from a table. “I'll tell you on the way home. I mean, that's if you'd like to walk me back.”
“I wouldn't trust you to anyone else.”
After the fireworks, Peter tried to persuade the guests to stay on longer, but eventually, come midnight, everyone was ready for their bed. Meredith insisted she had to get back to Peg.
“Give her our best, won't you?” said Clarice. “We feel so guilty that she was hurt in this house, don't we, Peter?”
“Yes, most certainly. A dreadful thing to happen. Tell her that we hope she's joining our dinner parties again soon, Meredith.”
“I'm worried about him,” Meredith told Drew as he walked her home. They walked along, hand in hand. “Did you notice how tired he seemed? And yet he didn't want us to leave.”
“I know. He's kept me up talking late most nights. Sometimes I've had to practically beg to be allowed to go to bed.”
“And yet he and Clarice seem happy enough, don't they?”
“Yes, besotted with each other, I'd say. As far as I can see, there's never a cross word between them.”
“Drew … You must have noticed the money spent on tonight's dinner.”
“I certainly did.”
“You don't think...”
“Of course that's what I'm thinking, Meredith. Remember, I'm a vicar too. I know how little we earn.”
“Unless Peter has a private income?” Meredith did not realise till that moment how much she wanted that to be true. If a good man like Peter Mortimer could not remain honest, what hope was there for the rest of humanity?
“No, no private income. We looked into all that, of course. Especially when we heard about the cruise. But forget Peter for a moment. Whether or not he's stealing from the church is my job to find out. What did you say about Maud Patterson?”
Meredith told him about the letter she'd found in Edith's coat pocket.
“So Edith is Maud after all?”
“It would seem so,” said Meredith. “And Bert saw her talking to Turner. So it really ties up with her being the killer, doesn't it?”
“You sound almost disappointed.”
“It’s just that tonight, when Clarice was playing Princess Grace of Monaco, I felt a bit sorry for Edith. Obviously the meal was her hard work, not Clarice's. It must be hard for her … Edith, I mean … loving Peter Mortimer so much and yet being little more than a servant.”
“That doesn't justify murder. Why didn't you confront Edith with the letter? That's what detectives are supposed to do.”
“Because I'm not convinced. It's almost as if there's too much evidence against Edith.”
Meredith was prevented from saying more on account that they had arrived at Peg's cottage.
“Drew!” Betty almost jumped out of the front door, startling them both. “I've been waiting for you.” Meredith seriously wondered if Betty lay in wait for Drew every night!
“Then why not try the vicarage?” said Drew.
“Meredith's aunty said I shouldn't go there, but to wait for you. Drew, Bert has been run over. He's in the cottage hospital.”
“What?” Meredith and Drew looked at each other.
“Meredith, I'm sorry to run out again...”
“It's okay, Drew. Go to him. I can't leave Aunty Peg again. Go on, Betty.”
“I can't,” said Betty, weeping. “I can't see him like that. It's all my fault. He said he was going away because he knew I really loved Jimmy.”
“Come on inside,” said Meredith, “and I'll make you a cup of tea. Drew, will you come back and let us know how he is?”
“Of course, darling. I'll be back soon.”
Meredith led Betty into the drawing room, and settled her in a chair. “Is it okay if Betty stays with us tonight, Aunty Peg?”
“Of course she may. She can sleep in the spare bedroom.”
“That's very kind, thank you,” said Betty, her lips quivering. “I'm such a dreadful person...”
“No, you're not,” said Meredith, sitting at her side. “Whatever happened to Bert wasn't your fault. Tell me all about it.”
“Well you know he went missing this morning. I still don't know why. I thought it was because he was mad at me for not making up my mind. Then they found him, and he'd been hit by a car. A hit and run they called it. He was lying there in the roadside for hours. People just drove past him, because he was down in a ditch and they couldn’t see him. A man walking his dog found him, around eight o'clock tonight.” Betty gulped back a sob. “The thing is now I don't know if I love him or not. I wouldn't feel this bad if I didn't, would I?”
“I think your emotions are all over the place at the moment, what with Jimmy and ...” Meredith hesitated.
“It's alright, dear,” said Peg. “Betty told me about the baby, and the good advice you gave her.”
“That's okay, then,” said Meredith. “I didn't want to speak out of turn. As I said, Betty, your emotions will be all over the place. Just wait until you're calmer, and Bert is better, then you'll be better able to decide.”
Betty nodded. “Yes, you're right. I just feel bad for him at the moment.”
“Betty, I need to ask you. About what Bert saw on the train. Drew said that Bert saw Edith Sanderson talking to Mr Turner. The man who was killed.”
“We didn't know her name. He said the woman with the scarf, and Drew said her name.”
“The head scarf?”
“No, not on her head. Bert told me it was around her neck. Like yours.” Betty pointed to Meredith's neck. “She was talking to him outside the loo.”
“Oh God,” said Meredith. She stood up.
“What is it, Meredith?” Aunty Peg asked.
“I'm afraid we've made a dreadful mistake. Aunty Peg, I have to go. Take care of Betty, will you? And when Drew comes back, tell him where I've gone.”
“Where are you going?”
“To the vicarage. I think Edith Sanderson might be in great danger.”
Chapter Nine
When Meredith reached the vicarage, it appeared to be in darkness. On closer inspection, she saw that there was a dim light coming from the drawing room. She paused near to the front door. What should she do? Knock the door and demand entrance? The worst of it was that she had no real evidence. Only a hunch that could be wrong.
What had Aunty Peg said? Don't believe or trust someone just because you liked them? And Meredith had been taken in like everyone else. No, not everyone else. Peter Mortimer may have been fooled to begin with, but his demeanour at dinner pointed to a man who had had the scales removed from his eyes.
She hesitated. Perhaps she would be better calling the police. But what could she tell them? And anyway, that would take time, and she wasn't sure if she had time. Turner was alre
ady dead, and Bert had been run over. Edith was in danger, Meredith was sure of it. She imagined the scene in her mind's eye. Edith picking up the post from the mat, and seeing the letter addressed to Miss M Patterson. She'd have known no one of that name lived there, but maybe she had her own suspicions. Albeit based more on love and envy than evidence. So she'd read it and hidden it in her coat pocket. Why? Why not tell someone about it? Perhaps because it contained some proof. Then, when Meredith had come out of the cloakroom, the letter had been sticking out of the pocket even more. Because someone else had looked at it. But why not destroy it? Because Meredith opened the cloakroom door at that very moment.
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