All Hallows Dead (Berdie Elliott Mysteries)

by Marilyn Leach

“Edward was a fellow journalism student at our university,” Berdie told Lillie. “Perhaps you remember him?”

  “Journalism?” Lillie tipped her head. “I’m afraid we music students were too busy in the practice hall to get out much.”

  “And, to my surprise,” Berdie went on, “as my career in investigative journalism developed, Edward became my boss, editor-in-chief at the Daily Standard.”

  He uttered a soft chuckle. “I don’t know of anyone who’s truly Berdie’s boss.”

  “That’s quite right. Well spotted.” Lillie laughed.

  Berdie went a bit pink. “Fancy meeting you in a Northumbrian church garden.”

  “I dare say there aren’t too many newspaper editors hanging about church grounds anywhere,” Lillie said, “even gardens as lovely as these.”

  “Not an editor anymore.” Edward dipped his chin. “Owner.”

  “You own the Daily Standard?” Berdie couldn’t contain her surprise.

  “And the Evening Financial. I lost patience with the leadership’s lack of bottle, and my constant butting of heads with the managing board, so I bought the brand, fired the lot, and brought in people I trust.”

  “You never have done things by halves.” Berdie shook her head. “When was this? I know I’m out of the loop, but I should have thought I would have heard.”

  “I can still be admirably discreet.” Edward wore a hint of a smirk on his lips. “When I choose to be.”

  “Your family was from around this area if I remember correctly.”

  He waved his hand cross the grounds. “Welcome to my home.”

  “You own the church?” Lillie’s eyes grew round.

  “In a manner of speaking. The former abbey grounds are owned by my family. So, yes, it includes the estate church.”

  “You own all this?” Lillie glanced from church, to the gardens, to the abbey ruins, and to the large manor house.

  “The pub as well. Frightful, isn’t it?” Edward sounded almost serious.

  Berdie had no idea Edward was well off when they were students together, he never flaunted it. As her editor, she got a whiff of his moneyed family. But all this? She would have never dreamed.

  “Listen, my illustrious family, apart from my wife who’s on holiday in Cypress, is gathering this evening at Marthrad House for dinner.” He pointed to an ancient three-story dwelling. It’s the manor house just there. Cook’s doing something wonderful with pheasant I believe. Why don’t you join us?”

  “My husband is…” Berdie began.

  “Bring him too, and Miss Foxworth of course.” Before Lillie could get a word out he added, “And her significant other?”

  Berdie glanced at Lillie who was all go by the excitement in her eyes.

  “Dr. Loren Meredith,” Lillie answered. “I’m sure he’ll want to join us.”

  “How kind, Edward,” Berdie said in an affirmative tone. “I must first….”

  “Good, see you at seven on the nose. Wilhelmina, my eldest sister, can’t abide late guests.” Mr. Edward Cavendish turned on his heel and made haste away from the church.

  Both Ms. Snappish and the verger had departed as well.

  “We’re going to dine at Marthrad House.” It was as if Lillie already wore a tiara. “Can you imagine?”

  “Let’s not dish the soup before it’s boiled. I’m not sure Hugh and Loren will be terribly thrilled to go out after sitting through a day of ecclesiastical history seminars. After all, the church conference is why we’re here.”

  “What are you going to wear, Berdie?”

  “Hello.” Berdie knit her brows. “Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

  “I brought that blue boat-necked dress, but it may be too casual. Is there a boutique anywhere near?” Lillie took a deep breath. “What kind of edible heaven do you suppose cook will create with pheasant?”

  “Something grand, I’m sure, but….”

  “Fancy taking our evening repast at Marthrad House with the landed Cavendish family. I can’t wait.”

  ****

  Berdie minded her steps up the graveled drive, Marthrad House looming ahead. Her dress shoes had a heel that was much higher than her confidence when wearing them. They rarely found their way out of the back of her wardrobe. And her black dress, worn with a short and smart evening coat, was rather form fitting, giving little room for going bum-over-backside with any grace at all.

  “I was really looking forward to an early night,” Hugh groused. “But never mind, here we are.”

  Berdie’s husband of thirty something years seldom grumbled about spending time with people. That’s how she knew he must be quite tired. His thick silver hair and brilliant blue eyes were complimented by the white clerical collar he wore. He held his six-foot frame with military bearing, a remnant from his armed service days. And all that despite being weary.

  “Oh, come now, Hugh. It will be a bit of a giggle.” Lillie wrapped her manicured fingers around Dr. Loren Meredith’s hand. “Loren’s ready for an evening of fun, aren’t you, love?”

  The pathologist directed his smoky brown eyes to Lillie, drank in her energy, and smiled. “I do appreciate a well-prepared pheasant,” he teased. His shoulder length hair was pulled back and fastened at the nape of his neck, baring the greying temples that framed his classically handsome face, a face that couldn’t hide his delight in the woman he loved.

  “Did I say we’re having pheasant?” Lillie teased. “No, it will be some wild creature, road kill no doubt. But, I understand it goes down nicely with a chilled sparkling white.”

  Loren’s smile grew, and he squeezed Lillie’s hand.

  Just on the bottom step at the front entrance of the house, Berdie felt her ankle give a wobble. Hugh caught her elbow.

  “You all right?” He held her steady.

  “I should have worn my old clogs if I thought the Cavendish family could bear it.”

  “Can you imagine?” Lillie did a kind of twirl. “And here we have Mrs. Elliott in her designer evening dress and hob-nail boots.”

  “Take my arm,” Hugh urged Berdie. “I’ll hold you steady, but once at table, you’re on your own.”

  “I knew I married you for some reason.” Berdie wrapped her arm around Hugh’s. He had been a steadying influence since they met at university, and she loved him for it.

  At the door, Berdie glanced up at the three stories of the expansive manor home. “This used to be the guest quarters for high ranking visitors to Criswell Abbey, later converted into a home, if memory serves. We learned that on our tour today.”

  “You were listening?” Lillie grinned.

  Hugh jerked the erstwhile door pull that clattered with the sound of a bell deep in the house, just barely audible outside. “It was probably converted after the dissolution of the monasteries and passed on to a favorite royal cousin or such. I must say, fancy living in the shadow of such regal ruins.”

  Promptly, the door opened.

  “Good evening. The family has gathered at the private drawing room in welcome. Please deposit your coats on the hall tree and follow me up the stairs.” The words tumbled from somewhat thin lips that belonged to a woman Berdie guessed to be in her late forties. Just as rapidly as she spoke, the female began to ascend the staircase. “Come along, then.”

  Berdie stepped carefully into the hall, Hugh still holding her close, where she and the others did as instructed then fairly galloped to keep pace with their guide.

  “Not even a ‘welcome to this home,’ offered,” Lillie whispered.

  Up the grand stairs decorated with portraits, down a majestic interior hall, and finally, they arrived at the gracious door Berdie assumed would open into the private drawing room. She was pressed to catch her breath, let alone stay upright. Lillie seemed a bit breathless as well. Berdie leaned her shoulder against Hugh.

  The guide threw open the door without announcement.

  Edward Cavendish arose from a large overstuffed chair. “Turner’s had you run the track I see. Please c
ome in.”

  Turner frowned, swiveled without comment, and departed.

  “I’m Edward Cavendish,” he said to Hugh. “I believe we met previously at a newspaper exposition some years ago.”

  “Yes,” Hugh responded.

  “Let me make introductions whilst you gasp for air,” he joked. He wore his dinner jacket almost as if it were double starched, a requirement for the occasion perhaps, as opposed to really being comfortable in it. Berdie remembered him being at ease in jeans and his favorite grey wooly jumper at university.

  “This is my eldest sister, Miss Wilhelmina Cavendish.”

  The seated woman, who seemed quite comfortable with considerable space between her and the invited hordes, placed a kind smile on her aged lips. Her stiff posture and single strand of pearls announced her patrician status even before words escaped her mouth. “Please forgive Turner. She’s quite set in her ways, but a wonderfully loyal retainer.” Wilhelmina spoke in most eloquently refined English.

  Berdie now understood who had certainly prodded Edward into his dinner jacket.

  All nodded toward Wilhelmina whilst a young man, with a drink glass in hand, stood up from the chair by her.

  “And this,” Edward continued, “is my nephew, Philip Horsham.”

  Despite his childish face with eyes that seemed to glow with mischief, Berdie guessed him to be late twenties. His hair was fashionable, his appearance a bit like a film star. And unlike his aunt, Phillip seemed more than eager to mingle. “Welcome to Marthrad House. Can I get you a cordial?”

  Before anyone could answer, a large figure with a veritable presence entered the room.

  “Ah, my youngest sister has arrived,” Edward announced.

  Berdie caught sight of Lillie, who dipped her chin and appeared to stare at the floor, which was not at all like Lillie.

  Berdie took in Edward’s sibling. She felt her face warm, and she swallowed a gulp of air as she beheld the short black page boy hair and the girth of her. But there was no high-necked camel-colored cardigan this time round. No wonder Lillie stared at the floor. Edward’s younger sister was the rakish woman whom she and Lillie encountered on the church tour, Ms. Snappish. Yes, I’ve been on the end of that woman’s tongue, Edward’s first words in the garden raced through Berdie’s mind. His sister. Maybe she won’t remember me or anything to do with Norman style. Berdie slipped a somewhat weak, “Hello,” from her tongue.

  “Good evening,” Edward’s sister almost barked but set her gaze upon Hugh.

  Berdie felt her stomach give a twitch.

  “If you please,” Edward continued, “this is my sister Dr. Margaret Rhys-Kendrick.”

  Wilhelmina released a prolonged sigh whilst Margaret thrust her hand in Hugh’s direction. “Please, just Meg.”

  Another dissatisfied sigh sounded from the eldest sister accompanied by a tightening of her folded hands.

  Hugh shook Meg’s hand, and his tired eyes took on a bit of a life.

  The well-educated woman tipped her head to one side. “You were in my class this afternoon at the church conference,” she quipped.

  “Reverend Hugh Elliott,” Hugh introduced himself. “Yes, I was in your class. Thoroughly enjoyed it.” He glanced at Loren. “And this is Dr. Loren Meredith who was there as well.”

  “Yes.” She eyed Loren who nodded and offered a weak grin.

  He must have slept through part of the lecture, Berdie guessed by Loren’s lack-luster response.

  Hugh patted Berdie’s hand that still clutched his arm. “And this is my wife, Berdie.”

  Berdie wondered if her increased grip might impair the circulation in Hugh’s arm. She smiled and nodded.

  Doctor Margaret Rhys-Kendrick’s keen eyes reflected a spot of memory. She lifted her chin, and formed smug upturned corners at her mouth. “Berdie, yes, this afternoon at the estate church.”

  Berdie felt another flush. “Of course. Meg.” Berdie hoped with all she possessed that her shoes would hold steady as she felt her sense of awkwardness reel. Not wanting to be alone in this, she nodded toward Lillie. “And perhaps you remember my friend as well. This is Lillie Foxworth.”

  Gone red, Lillie actually did a feigned curtsy. Berdie could tell that Meg worked at not laughing out loud.

  Berdie wanted to shrink into her highly fashionable shoes for both her and Lillie’s sake.

  “Welcome to our home,” Meg said in the most congenial tone. “We’ve a grand evening of getting to know one another ahead.”

  Those gracious words gave Berdie the space she needed to breathe evenly, and Lillie’s face wore an obvious reprieve.

  “Shall we sit?” Edward invited.

  Berdie was never so pleased to hear those words, and she didn’t let go of Hugh as they sat upon a lavishly textured, but slippery, sateen couch. Loren and Lillie sat on another of the same fabric.

  “What class did you attend that my sister taught?” Edward asked Hugh.

  “Early Northern England Church History,” Hugh answered. “Your sister gave a knowledgeable and interesting presentation in hagiology.”

  Berdie and Lillie exchanged glances. Berdie had to swallow. Hagiology indeed.

  “Ah, yes,” Edward responded. “The study of Christian saints and their contributions to the faith is her forte. Meg was reading the Venerable Bede at a tender age whilst her peers read The Secret Garden.

  “Not that The Secret Garden wasn’t in my personal library, I just enjoyed historical non-fiction to a degree many others didn’t.” Meg unbuttoned her black suit coat.

  “Aunt Meg’s in the process of writing a book, The History of Northumbrian Saints,” Phillip spoke up, “in collaboration with her husband who should be arriving later this evening.”

  “Your husband’s a cleric like mine?” Berdie asked.

  “Yes. As I’m a Doctor in Divinity, our careers call us to opposite ends of the country, but we try to spend weekends together as much as possible.”

  “Sounds difficult,” Lillie said with sympathy.

  “Not really. Actually, it suits my husband and me very well. Our work is fulfilling,” she paused, “and you come to appreciate time with your spouse in a fresh and gratifying way.”

  “Weekends,” Hugh repeated. “So your husband doesn’t serve in a parish?”

  “Our pursuits are scholarly, though my dear Davis has always dabbled with the possibility of doing a pastorate.”

  “Are you all prepared for a sleepless night?” Wilhelmina interrupted. “Once Margaret gets going on clerical matters, our dinner will soon be cold, and the midnight hour will be approaching before she draws a breath.”

  Meg glared at her sister.

  “But I shall escape all that, with any luck. I’ll be excusing myself a bit early, just after dinner, as I’ve a train to catch this evening.” Wilhelmina gave a polite nod.

  Edward seemed to be waiting for more from his elder sister.

  She sat in silence.

  “My sister’s visiting an old friend, Lady Hemmet, in Edinburgh,” Edward explained.

  “No, Edward. I’m calling on a dear companion that I’ve had in my circle of friends since I was a young woman,” Wilhelmina corrected.

  “Right, an old friend.” Meg preened as if having won a momentary skirmish.

  As Wilhelmina lifted her posh chin, Phillip raised his drinks glass to her. “Oh yes, I will be taking you to the station, Aunt Willy.”

  Aunt Willy. Berdie watched carefully. Surely, the young man would be soundly put down by his very proper aunt.

  But Wilhelmina simply smiled. “Oh, thank you, Pip. I appreciate it. But you will drive cautiously, won’t you? No unnecessary chances. I’d like to think my time teaching you road skills still holds some merits.”

  “Not a chance to be taken, Aunt Willy.” The lad turned his gaze to Loren. “You look like a man who could use a drink. I make a mean White Russian.”

  “Perhaps later,” Loren declined.

  “I say, Dr. Meredith,” Phillip went on, �
��you play golf?”

  “I enjoy the green sometimes, though I’m not really…”

  “Uncle Edward and I are in discussion about how to use the estate to its best advantage. What would you say to the idea of the back meadows of Criswell Abbey becoming a golf club?”

  “Pip,” Edward blurted with a frown, “let’s not draw our guests into family business.”

  “Why not?” The young man grinned at Loren. “It would make a lovely links course. We’d build a fine clubhouse, and only respectable clientele would be on board, people like yourself. What do you think?”

  “Pip, that’s quite enough,” Edward barked.

  “The boy’s got a point,” Aunt Willy rammed into the conversation, “and you need to listen to your nephew, Edward.”

  “I can’t imagine that you’d support the idea, Wilhelmina. A golf course? You’re just coddling him.”

  “This estate will be his one day,” she flared.

  “But, it isn’t yet,” Edward briskly reminded her.

  Meg smirked and caught Berdie and Hugh’s eye. “What a colorful family we are, to be sure.”

  Berdie tried to work out a descent appropriate response when Turner showed herself in the doorway. “Dinner’s ready. Come along now.”

  No one moved as if the drama had yet to have a final curtain.

  Turner batted her hand toward the door. “Come along now,” she repeated pointedly. “Dinner’s served.”

  Edward stood. “We’ll save our guests the rest of this conversation. The dining room then.” He moved toward the door. The rest of the family followed, mumbling to themselves as they went.

  Berdie tried to rise gracefully from the slippery couch, Hugh holding her with both hands now. “Wouldn’t that put the cherry on the cake?” he whispered, “you going bottom over top?”

  “With all that’s going on, I’m not sure anyone would even notice,” Berdie whispered back. With that, she and Hugh carefully made their way to join the rest of the group.

  After Hugh was invited by Edward to give the blessing at the dining table, the meal itself was delicious and well presented. Thank heaven, the clan seemed quite hungry, and the calm that ensues when hungry people tuck into their food reigned. It was a blessed relief as far as Berdie was concerned. There were a few pleasantries exchanged between Hugh, Edward, and Meg, but overall, everyone behaved. Then, at the very end, Edward placed his napkin at the side of his plate and stood.