Up from the Grave

by Marilyn Leach

  “What goes on here?” the young man in uniform shouted trying to get his sea legs.

  It was then Berdie was sure she heard a curt whistle from the wood. Instinctively, she turned the torchlight towards the trees, but saw only a quick movement.

  Fritz gave a final nip near the constable’s shoe and raced into the woods as fast as his stubby legs would take him, like a hound on the hunt, long ears flapping.

  “Who goes there?” the constable asked, truncheon still in strike position.

  “I’m Berdie Elliott, Constable, the vicar’s wife.” Berdie pointed to the vicarage.

  “You really ought to keep your rascally dog on a lead, ma’am.” The young man somewhat sheepishly returned his weapon to its proper place.

  “Should do if he were mine.”

  “Why are you out here then?” The policeman eyed Berdie’s wellies and dressing gown that hung down below the hem of her overcoat. He suddenly clasped his hands behind his back, trying desperately to appear very awake and very aware.

  “It’s just that I brought you some tea.” Berdie smiled, and handed the former defensive tool, sloshing with hot liquid, to the guard. “Doing a double shift?”

  The young man’s face went a bit pink. “As a matter of fact, I am.” He gave a quick nod and grasped the flask. “Ta.”

  “It’s slightly sweetened. Does that suit, um, Constable…?”

  “Daren. Tom Daren.”

  “Constable Daren?”

  “Yes, thank you,” he cordially responded.

  “Well then, I’ll go and brew a fresh pot for my husband.” Berdie knew that if Hugh was not awakened by her stirring earlier, he certainly would now be.

  The constable tipped his young head.

  Berdie smiled and beamed her torch towards the vicarage. Despite the humor of it all, one menacing thought raced through her mind. What was Wilkie Gordon doing about the crime scene, and more importantly, why?

  5

  Berdie glared at the cloud dappled morning sun outside her kitchen window as if to send the possibility of showers retreating. The fact was, after the added affairs of last night, Berdie had more questions than answers concerning all sorts: Preswoods, Wilkie Gordon, coach tour run-away, and the inevitable bones.

  It was almost time to meet Lillie at the Copper Kettle, and slogging through the rain certainly didn’t sound a treat.

  “Perhaps the weather will move on,” Berdie spoke aloud at the exact same moment three watery drops hit the glass.

  The spring shower tapped erratically on Berdie’s taut umbrella as she ambled towards the High Street. By the time she spied the Copper Kettle, the dance had become a frenzied torrent. She felt the wet creep into the edges of her shoes.

  The Copper Kettle’s jingling bell sounded comfort and shelter despite the prospect of gossip flowing at high tide. Berdie shook the excess water from her umbrella and drew it closed.

  There Lillie sat, looking a bit soggy herself, at a table with an awaiting chair and a brown betty teapot, steam rising from its spout.

  “Remove your fins before sitting, please.” Lillie swept her arm to the empty chair.

  “That and all.” Berdie sat right by the teapot.

  Looking round, only one other table was occupied, unusual for this time of day. By eleven on most days, the Copper Kettle was at full throttle, but it suited her purposes that it was less populated. Suddenly, she appreciated the downpour. Very discreetly she pushed her wet shoes just off the heel, well under the table, of course.

  Lillie poured a dash of milk into the cup closest to Berdie then added the hot, brown liquid. “Now, I can see by the wee lines beneath your eyes that you didn’t sleep well last night, so lay it all out then.” Lillie’s tone had a gleeful edge to it, much like a child embarking on an Easter egg hunt. “Mustn’t let the vicar overhear. That is why we’re here.”

  “You are the impudent one.” Berdie wore a half smirk.

  “That’s why I’m your best friend,” Lillie retorted and took a sip of the hot tea in her cup. “Out with it.”

  Berdie leaned forward. “It’s not just last night’s visit with the Preswoods that’s bothering me. It’s a whole bag of peculiarities. This bones discovery seems to have unearthed, pardon the pun, a whole rash of odds and ends.” Berdie added a spoonful of sugar and held the warm teacup in her hand. “The course man from the tour group, for instance. The moment he stepped from the coach he seemed to be set on going to the church back garden. Hugh actually had to strictly redirect the man into the church. I didn’t think much of it at the time, apart from the fact he was churlish, but I dare say his desire for a soon-to-be-served tea was not a driving force. Why was he so interested in the back garden?”

  “What we’ve seen of him, he didn’t appear to be especially social.” Lillie tapped a finger on her chin. “Perhaps he just wanted a moment’s peace away from the crowd.”

  “Precisely.” Berdie took a large gulp of tea. “Now, why was someone of that makeup on a crowded coach tour to begin with?”

  Berdie heard the clip-clop of sturdy shoes on the wooden floor. Villette Horn, the owner and operator of the Copper Kettle, was rapidly approaching the table.

  Her long horseshoe shaped face made her inset eyes seem even smaller. Berdie always thought Villette’s caramel brown colored hair looked as if it had been sprinkled with muscovado sugar.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Elliott, Lillie. We’ve some lovely cakes this morning just out of the oven, also fresh treacle tart.”

  “Cakes, please,” Berdie answered with haste.

  “Right then, cakes it is,” Villette nodded. “And have you heard more about the bones?”

  “Not really,” Berdie answered but her silence for a scant moment let the hostess know that this topic would not be pursued.

  “Yes, well, cakes.” Villette spoke with a slight tone of annoyance. She was not use to being denied any topic of conversation she chose to pursue. She turned abruptly and left the table.

  “Now, continue while she’s out of earshot.”

  “And there’s our dear Wilkie Gordon,” Berdie went on.

  “Yes, poor Wilkie,” Lillie agreed. “Just in the past year he’s faced forced retirement as grounds manager at Swithy Hall and then his Mary’s illness getting worse. How is he, now?” Lillie quizzed.

  “Well, he’s not short of blood pressure tablets.”

  “What?” Lillie absently blew on the cup’s contents. “Poor Mary.” She sighed. “She barely holds her own in the best of times.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She and Wilkie were years in the waiting before she gave birth to a child. There were some kind of complications along the way and, sadly, the child had to be placed in special care. Mary was never really the same after that. No one talks of it of course.”

  “At least not openly,” Berdie corrected. She livened. “Perhaps that explains the picture of an infant I observed in their home, although Wilkie lead me to believe it was a grandchild. Yes.” Berdie knitted her brow. “The picture looked to be a boy. But what about Cherry? Wilkie and Mary are her grandparents.”

  “Wilkie, yes.” Lillie shook her dark curls. “Something about a previous marriage? No one talks about that either.”

  “Right.” Berdie ran a finger on the edge of her cup. “Something is not quite right in the Gordon household. It appears Wilkie is, well, not forthcoming. His displeasure about the garden scheme ranged from doing harm to the environment to irresponsible church finance to distaste for rich Italians.”

  “He’s grumpy.” Lillie took another sip of tea.

  “But it’s as if he’s grabbing on to any argument against the scheme that happens to pop along. At the council meeting, it was environmental. With Cherry, he argued church finances, and then he blasted the endowing contessa.”

  “Quite right.” Lillie raised her cup to Berdie as if in congratulation. “Well spotted.”

  “Which indicates that the real reason he’s against the scheme—”<
br />
  “Hasn’t truly come to light?” Lillie set her cup down. “So what is the real reason?”

  Berdie took an abbreviated swallow of tea. “I’m not sure I can answer that yet, but I can tell you that he was about the crime scene last night.”

  “Really?” Lillie seemed genuinely surprised.

  “Well, Fritz was about the crime scene, but I’m sure Wilkie was there as well.”

  “I should think.”

  “I heard his whistle beckoning his four-footed friend, and the creature responded like a child to sweeties. Think about it Lillie. Wilkie was the church gardener for several years.”

  Lillie’s eyes widened. “Oh my, you don’t think he knew about”—she barely whispered—“the bones?”

  Berdie lifted her chin.

  Then Lillie’s face lightened, as if in realization of the full impact and what it implied. “Wilkie Gordon wouldn’t be so vile.” Her whisper was more energized. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She placed her finger in the loop of the teacup and intently leaned forward, her hazel-green eyes widened. “Would he?”

  “Cakes,” Villette Horn’s brazen voice announced. Lillie let go a yip and flipped the half-held teacup sideways creating a brown stream all cross the table and onto the floor.

  “You’re a fidgety one,” Mrs. Horn all but yelled.

  Berdie tried desperately not to laugh.

  “I’m dreadfully sorry.” Lillie’s face went pink.

  Villette smacked the cakes on the tabletop making it shift just slightly and sent more tea cascading to the floor. Then the woman turned. “Shells, bells, and little fishes.”

  While Villette had her back to the dripping mess, Lillie snatched a colorful cotton serviette that sat astride her teaspoon. She made a quick dab towards the spilled tea.

  “No.” Berdie pushed the word out while still trying to smother laughter. “It will stain the serviette.” She caught Lillie’s hand just in time.

  Lillie pulled it back and bit her lip as the corners of her mouth elevated. “If you make me laugh, I’ll throw this napkin at you.”

  “Mind your feet,” Villette clipped. Having returned, she began a vigorous swathing motion with the mop across the floor and under the table. “I say!” Her face went into a scowl. The swathing came to an abrupt standstill.

  Berdie could feel the teashop operator’s hard stare shoot under the table. Apparently, Lillie did too, because she bobbed her head to take a peak.

  Quickly, Berdie scooted her heels back into the wet shoes.

  “Have we no respect for this catering establishment?” Villette trumpeted.

  Now Berdie felt the heat rise to her own cheeks. It was Lillie’s turn to smother a laugh.

  “I can assure you, Mrs. Horn, there is no disrespect intended.” Berdie spoke loudly enough for the other group of occupants, who had become completely engaged in the goings on at this table, to hear clearly. It was for Hugh’s sake, really, that she spoke for all to hear. “Absolutely no disrespect.”

  Villette tossed a terry cloth on the tabletop and it drank in the errant tea.

  The bell tones of Elgar’s Nimrod sounded from Lillie’s coat pocket, and she made a mad grab to retrieve her mobile.

  “I say, must we endure a third-party chat?” Villette’s brow knitted, and she scrubbed the table in irritation. Berdie could see the woman was even more put-off.

  “Good Morning, Loren,” Lillie said brightly, then spoke to Villette. “I’ll just step aside for a moment.” She moved into a quiet corner where she continued her conversation.

  “Mrs. Horn,” Berdie said quietly, “thank you for all you’ve done, but I do believe we need to run along now. Do you mind putting our cakes in a take-away box?”

  The hostess straightened, threw the dripping rag across her arm, and grabbed the cakes so quickly they nearly flew off their little pastel-colored plates. “Just as you say, Mrs. Elliott.” She rushed in the direction of check out.

  Berdie donned her coat, beckoned to Lillie, and made her way to pay for the treats. She opened her purse at the same moment Cherry Lawler, in her dripping yellow Macintosh, rushed into the teashop.

  “It’s cats and dogs out there.” She stopped inside the doorway. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Elliott. Vi.”

  Berdie became suddenly aware that she never really apologized to Cherry for all that had befallen at the sod turning ceremony concerning the young woman’s grandfather. “Cherry. Yes. Hello. Do you have a moment?” Berdie asked. “May I have a word with you?”

  “Your buns, Cherry,” Villette interrupted and thrust four large boxes into the arms of the petite woman who only just managed to hold them all. “Seven pounds ninety to you, Mrs. Elliott, for you and your friend,”

  “Yes.” Berdie counted out her money to the shop owner.

  “Put the buns on the account,” Cherry spoke quickly to Villette, and turned her attention to Berdie. “I must push off, Mrs. Elliott, coach tour guests stuffed into every corner, though they leave this evening.”

  “Of course.”

  “But I’m on for tomorrow. Come round, say half ten, for tea?” Cherry smiled.

  “Lovely, see you then.”

  Using her free hand to pull the hood of the McIntosh over her head, Cherry Lawler clutched the precious parcels close to her body and exited as hurriedly as she had entered.

  As she did so, Berdie caught sight through the open door of a large limousine pulling up outside Raheem’s Green Grocer just cross the street. “I say,” she barely whispered.

  “I see even Italian aristos have to eat.” Villette watched through the opened gingham-checked curtains at the shop window.

  “I thought she had to push off after the ceremony,” Berdie thought aloud.

  “Didn’t we all?” Villette dipped her chin. “She’s taken up at Swithy Lodge, you know. Decided to spring holiday here in Aidan Kirkwood.” The woman eyed Berdie as if waiting for some display.

  No matter how badly Berdie wanted to arch her brows and declare, “Holiday here? Really? Now that seems odd,” “Well,” was all she offered the hostess.

  Lillie finally joined Berdie at the counter. The best friend’s countenance made Villette’s vinegary face look positively sunny.

  “It was Loren,” Lillie growled in a voice quite unlike the sprightly tone she used previously when answering the call. Villette wiped a nearby tray on the counter in a desperate attempt to look as if she wasn’t listening.

  “Shall we go outside into the deluge, Lillie? I have our cakes.”

  Lillie tersely nodded.

  Villette sniffed. “You’re bound to get soaked through. And do watch that limousine. Think they own the road, they do.”

  “Indeed, thank you.” Berdie actually sensed sincerity in Villette’s warning.

  As she and Lillie stepped to the door threshold, the other occupants approached the counter to peer out the window at the large vehicle and join the tittle-tattle.

  Berdie heard a rather high-pitched muted voice. “...hobnobbing, really. Exposed feet and whispered twitters with spilt tea. And she being a vicar’s wife and all.”

  Berdie would have loved to put a flea in the ear of the woman speaking but instead bolted out the door with Lillie who seemed to be in need of her attention.

  The rain poured so violently it nearly called for shouting in order to be heard. “Lillie, what’s happening? Your face looks like a wet weekend.”

  “And I should think so, too, with the news I just received.”

  “And what’s that?” Berdie leaned forward to hear Lillie respond and rammed her umbrella into Lillie’s with such force it sent Lillie’s vital rain protection skidding on the walk, accompanied by a gust of wind.

  Lillie hopped-to like a mad rabbit chasing after the silly brolly, but the usual sparkle and humor Lillie displayed appeared as damp and wet as her whole being.

  “I’m drenched,” Lillie roared, repositioning the umbrella over her head.

  Berdie heard a loud beep from cross the road.
Hugh, in the church’s people-carrier, had pulled in front of the limousine. He rolled down the window and beckoned. “My lovely ladies, do you wish to swim home, or may I offer you a ride?”

  “Yes, please,” Berdie shouted and dashed cross the road, Lillie behind. In a matter of seconds, umbrellas were down and automobile doors flung open.

  Once seated, Berdie safely positioned the cake box and realized how truly wet she was. Then she ogled the dripping Lillie, who, once inside, slammed the vehicle’s rear door with such force it sounded like a holiday firework.

  “Sorry about the bump, Lillie,” Berdie said carefully.

  Hugh grinned. “I was passing. Just in time, too, I should say. You look utterly drenched. Actually, I’m off to Timsley.”

  “Are you now?” Lillie grumbled and ran her fingers through dripping curls. “Of course you would be.”

  “Interested?” Hugh asked somewhat hesitantly.

  “Not so much interested as a calculated need.” Lillie huffed.

  Hugh glanced at Berdie who offered a quick shrug.

  “Is that a yes?” Hugh asked Lillie.

  “No.” Lillie scowled. “Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “Berdie, are you coming as well?” Hugh looked at her and gave a gentle tip of the head towards the seat behind where Lillie sat wiping water from her chin.

  Whatever was bothering Lillie, Berdie felt a compulsion to help her friend even though she wanted nothing more than to go home and get dry, feet first. Her glasses fogged, she pulled them down her nose. But still, she could clearly see Hugh’s facial plea for her not to abandon him to a half hour ride with the off-color Lillie.

  “I do need to stop at Sainsbury's,” Berdie offered in an economical use of the truth. The moment she said it, the sunshine of relief showed itself on Hugh’s face like a May afternoon.

  Berdie turned to an unexpected tapping on her window. A water-logged Jamie Donovan was knocking. Berdie opened it just enough to make out the young man’s voice.

  “Sorry to bother, Mrs. Elliott.” He was breathing hard. “Have you, by chance, seen Snowdrop?”

  Snowdrop, Cara Graystone Donovan’s white Highland Terrier, now Jamie’s charge as well, was a bit too fussed over Berdie often thought.