All Hallows Dead (Berdie Elliott Mysteries)

by Marilyn Leach

  Berdie pulled a St. Aidan’s Church card from her pocket and handed it to Kit. “You’re very brave, Kit. You’ll be on your feet again in no time.”

  He eyed the card.

  “My mobile number. Any time that I can help, please ring me.”

  “Now they’ve finished the inquest, there’s a bit of a rush on for Neville’s memorial service. Will you come?”

  “I should hope.”

  The young man appeared pleased. “You’ll be there too, Gus, the memorial?”

  “Wouldn’t miss.”

  Kit straightened. “Well, until then. Cheers.”

  “God go with you,” Berdie commended.

  The young fellow made his way down the High Street.

  “Looks like his step’s a bit lighter.” Gus watched Kit.

  “He’s a good boy who’s just had a terrible shock. He simply needed an ear.”

  Gus stepped to the pub entrance and opened the door. “May I?”

  “Thanks.” Berdie stepped through the door. “And thank you for introducing me to Kit, Gus.”

  “You were kind to offer your ear.”

  “Can I ask? Is it usual that the inquest be done and dusted so quickly?”

  Gus shrugged. “Accidental death was what they determined. Must not have taken long.”

  “Yes.” The speed of it didn’t sit well with Berdie. “Gus, if it’s not too great an imposition, could I leave my carrier bag of goods here whilst Lillie and I take a walk?”

  “No problem at all. Bring it to the counter.” Gus smiled.

  “Thank you.”

  Berdie went straightaway to the table where Lillie nibbled a piece of toast.

  “Lillie, we must get on.”

  “So soon? How did it go with the lad?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it on the way to Marthrad House.”

  Lillie’s eyes grew wide. “Marthrad?”

  “Mind you, stay clear of the cigars this time.”

  If stares could be deadly, Berdie would be on the slab at the morgue.

  An empty plate sat on the table by Berdie’s former chair. “Glad to see my toast didn’t get cold.”

  5

  “Miss Cavendish is in, but she’s not feeling well.” Turner’s words were clipped, her slender face determined, as she stood in the open doorway of Marthrad House.

  “Is it an autumn chill?” Lillie asked.

  Turner was firm. “No guests I’m afraid.”

  Berdie’s stance was ramrod straight. “We had hoped to see Miss Cavendish because we’re aware she had a very difficult, albeit heroic, day yesterday. Perhaps you would ask her if we may just have five minutes.”

  “She’s not in the house.” Turner stepped forward.

  “So she’s somewhere on the grounds,” Berdie reasoned aloud. “You just said she was in.”

  There was no response.

  “Isolation is not always the best choice when people are upset, and we know you want only what’s best for Miss Cavendish. I am a vicar’s wife. I deal with these kinds of things often. And I do know how to be discreet,” Berdie persuaded. “My friend as well.”

  The household manager lifted her chin in a stoic fashion, as if considering this information. “There’s a sheltered place she often visits when she’s—” Turner halted briefly. “—not her usual self. It’s beyond the back garden, and I’ll say no more than that.”

  “Thank you, madam.”

  A terse nod and a closed door were the only replies given to Berdie and Lillie.

  Getting to the back garden was simple, but the garden itself was at least a quarter mile long, and once past the end of it, the grassy lea became a bit uneven. Sheep dotted the landscape, the sacred ruins now behind them.

  “It’s just as well I’ve been attending Cara Donovan’s “Keep Fit” class at church the past few months. We could be in for more than a stroll.” Berdie watched her step. “Looks as if it’s open grazing round here. I hope Wilhelmina treads carefully if she’s about.”

  “How far do you think this adventure will take us? I’m supposed to meet Loren for an early lunch.”

  “Where, when?”

  “He’s found some quaint inn with a restaurant near the River Tweed. I’m meeting him back at the Bell Tower Inn, and we’re driving up there. Spectacular view he says.”

  “Does he?” Berdie felt a definite edge of excitement. She sniffed the possibility of an engagement ring in the mix. “That sounds like a perfect place.”

  Lillie stepped over a dip in the ground. “Perfect?”

  “I mean it sounds perfect for lunch.” Berdie had to bite her tongue.

  “Well, frankly, I do enjoy the Watergate, but he insisted on a restaurant miles away.”

  “Oh, but this inn will be special.”

  “Will it?”

  “Special in the sense that it’s a nice get away for you both,” Berdie covered.

  “Yes, I s’pose.”

  Lillie didn’t sound especially convinced.

  “What are we looking for, Berdie?” Lillie scanned the horizon. “A sheltered place could be anything.”

  “A bench by a hedge, a summer house, a walled garden, a pool amongst trees, some abbey out building. Just keep a watchful eye.”

  Lillie pointed. “There’re a few trees that way.”

  Berdie looked into the distance and saw a tiny grove of Rowan trees.

  “And a large copper beech tree just beyond.” Lillie took another step, still pointing.

  Berdie spotted the copper beech just when she heard a rather large thump and a dreadful screech.

  She looked down to see Lillie, splayed out on the ground like a Polar bear skin rug: hands forward, face first. “Lillie, are you all right?”

  The startled casualty caught her breath. “Do I look all right?”

  Berdie’s first impulse was to laugh. But with difficulty she held it back.

  Lillie got to her knees. “Oh no,” she wailed.

  Berdie bent down to take Lillie’s arm and help her to her feet. There on Lillie’s pretty pink cashmere jumper was the telltale splotch of what sheep leave behind them in a meadow. And it wasn’t a tail.

  “Oh bother.” Berdie worked to bury her giggle. The odor, however, was off putting.

  “Don’t you dare laugh,” Lillie spurted. “Don’t you dare. And help me up, if you don’t mind.”

  “I am trying to help you up.” Berdie pulled Lillie’s arm, and her foot slipped just slightly causing her to nearly lose her balance.

  “Really!” Lillie clamored. “We don’t need two of us mired in sheep dung.”

  “No.” Berdie couldn’t choke it back any longer. She covered her mouth, but chuckles escaped.

  “I hear that, Bernadine Elliott.” Lillie pulled a knee forward and tried to stand using Berdie as a leaning post inching up little by little. “Ouch, my ankle.”

  “Careful.” Berdie could barely get the word out for fear of laughter tumbling out with it.

  Finally upright on her feet, Lillie brushed grass off her skirt. She stared at Berdie and her green-brown eyes suddenly took on a twinkle. Laughter tumbled from Lillie’s lips.

  Berdie hooted, her shoulders heaving up and down. She could feel wet come to her eyes. “Thank God we’re in a deserted field.”

  “Deserted?” Lillie jibed. “There’s been at least one sheep about, and she must be smirking to herself somewhere.” She eyed the splotch on her jumper, wrinkled her nose, and sniffed. “Dreadful stink.”

  Once Berdie collected herself, she bent down and pulled a handful of grass up, then gave it to Lillie. “Nature’s mop?”

  Her dearest friend rubbed the spot with the grass. “Yuck.” She threw it down.

  Berdie eyed the green streak that now accompanied the dark smudge on the designer cashmere. Perhaps the grass wasn’t the best idea. “Are you OK to carry on?”

  Lillie flashed her eyes at Berdie. “After coming this far and all this? Wild dogs couldn’t stop me.”

  �
�There’s the spirit.”

  Proceeding with caution, Berdie and Lillie arrived where the trees stood to find no one there.

  “My leg feels tender.” Lillie rubbed it and glowered. “If all this was for naught, I’ll be seriously annoyed.”

  That’s when Berdie spotted it. “No need to be grumpy. You can be quite happy, Lillie.” Up in the nearby beech was a children’s tree house, complete with windows and shutters, a window box, and carved adornments. “There,” she breathed.

  “Where?” Lillie spied it. “Oh, really, Berdie. Wishful thinking. A woman as old and proper as Wilhelmina wouldn’t go near something like that.”

  “Protected place, indeed.” Berdie took determined steps toward the stiff rope ladder that hung from the closed doorway. “Sweet childhood memories perhaps? A comfort for some, especially when troubled.”

  “You first.”

  Berdie began the rope climb, taking care that it would take her weight.

  “I’ve lost four pounds since starting Cara’s class you know, Lillie.” She ascended slowly and gripped the rope handles tightly. Lord have mercy. She puffed with each rung, using her arms to help stabilize and lift as she traced the wooden slats. “Miss Cavendish must be agile for her age.” Finally, she arrived at the little platform that anchored the miniature dwelling to the tree.

  “Hello?” a startled voice shouted from inside the tree house. “Who’s there?”

  “Hello,” Berdie responded with volume. “Don’t be alarmed, Miss Cavendish. It’s Berdie Elliott, vicar’s wife, come to visit. I was a guest at your table two nights ago.”

  A pair of window shutters thrust open, and the disenchanted face of Wilhelmina Cavendish appeared. Though a scowl only added more wrinkles to her aging features, every hair was in its appropriate place. “What are you doing here?”

  Berdie smiled and dusted her hands against one another. “I hope we’re not disturbing.”

  “Of course you are.” She waggled her head, and then sighed. “Just a moment, I’ll get the door.”

  “Thank you, Miss Cavendish.”

  The senior eased the door open.

  Berdie motioned Lillie to begin climbing.

  “Lillie’s here as well,” Berdie informed. “You remember Lillie. She was at dinner, also.”

  Berdie stepped inside, crouching a bit.

  Miss Cavendish already sat upon a well-worn adult size Georgian chair placed against the far wall, her back straight, ankles crossed, and hands folded. A pattern of little pink roses danced across the vintage wall paper behind her. Apart from an open book that lay on the floor, she could have been royalty ready to receive guests.

  “You found me out.” Wilhelmina was solemn. “Was it Turner told you? I suppose you think me rather silly.”

  “It’s charming, truly charming.”

  Berdie took in the space. The wooden floor was painted lightest blue. Doll’s furniture lived in corners and nooks along with vestiges of bow and arrow games. A carved wall shelf bulged with books. A child’s loveseat, small round table, and a tiny high loft with bedding gave the ambiance of a much loved childhood escape.

  Berdie eyed the small loveseat. “May I?”

  The woman nodded.

  As Berdie squeezed into a corner of the cushioned piece of furniture, Lillie arrived and stepped inside.

  “Hello, Miss Cavendish.” Her eyes danced. “I had one of these when I was a girl. It’s gone now, more’s the pity.” She took in the entire space. “You must adore this place.”

  “It’s not what it once was, but nonetheless, most peaceful. Usually.”

  Berdie worked to turn her body a bit sideways. Though the loveseat wasn’t made for adults, Lillie jammed onto the area next Berdie, bringing the odor of sheep muck as well. Sharing the crowded space with Lillie put Berdie in mind of a smelly sardine tin. She was keen to converse with Wilhelmina though, and she hoped Wilhelmina was up to it.

  “We were concerned for you, Miss Cavendish.”

  “How kind.” Her tone was quite insincere.

  The hostess took a modest sniff of the air, and blinked her eyelids rapidly after.

  “A bit of a mishap in the field coming,” Berdie explained. “We won’t be with you but a minute, Miss Cavendish.” Berdie was suddenly grateful that the old dear was of that generation not prone to discuss offensive odors. “Did you enjoy your time in Scotland?”

  “Scotland. Oh, yes, my visit to Lady Hemmett. As a matter of fact, Edward telephoned early yesterday morning to say he was needed in London, so I cut my stay short and returned home to stand in for him in his absence.”

  “Loyal. Duty before pleasure,” Lillie complimented. “A regal quality.”

  “Why regal?” Wilhelmina snapped. “It’s the backbone of our English way of life for everyone. Or at least it used to be.”

  A trace of pink crept into Lillie’s cheeks. “Yes.”

  “But you didn’t come here to talk about my visit to Edinburgh, I dare say.”

  Berdie tried to sit more upright, but her knee bumped into Lillie’s. “We understand you applied lifesaving efforts in the horrible incident at the church yesterday.”

  The woman’s lips turned downward. “Morbid curiosity?”

  “Concern, Miss Cavendish.” Berdie was firm but kind. “It must have been an ordeal for you.”

  Wilhelmina ran a hand over the bodice of her thick cardigan. “It was not exactly pleasurable, no.”

  “Are you trained in first aid?” Lillie asked.

  The elder woman returned her hand to its proper folded place. “In the past, I was a member of St. John’s Ambulance Brigade.”

  “Fortunately, you were just passing at the right time.” Berdie smiled.

  “Fortunately?” She looked toward the opened window. “I was unable to revive the man.”

  “Nonetheless, you tried.”

  Wilhelmina glanced at the floor. “Yes.”

  “If I lived here,” Berdie excavated more than stated, “I know I’d stroll the beautiful church gardens often myself.”

  “I wasn’t strolling, actually.” The eldest Cavendish looked directly at Berdie. “I went to check on the work being done in the church and thought to take the workers some refreshment. I entered the church, and the older fellow lay there on the floor, not breathing. Quite taken by surprise, as you can imagine, I dropped the tray and set to.”

  The woman sniffed, but this time not to test the rotten air. She brought a finger to her nose. Berdie saw tears gather in Wilhelmina’s eyes.

  Lillie’s eyes, however, appeared to be taking in all her surroundings with child-like enthusiasm.

  “Neville Oakes was good at what he did, I understand, in restoring vintage properties,” Berdie watched Miss Cavendish judiciously. .

  The staid woman swallowed and nodded. “He came highly recommended. It’s such a loss to restoration services.”

  “Oh, look.” Lillie directed attention to a doll at home on top of a classic travel bag by Wilhelmina’s chair. “I had one very nearly like her. Curly hair, little starched pinafore. Isn’t she lovely, Berdie?”

  “What?”

  Lillie looked wistful. “The number of times I fed her, told her stories, rocked her to sleep in my own playhouse much like this one.”

  For the first time, Wilhelmina wore a thin smile. “That’s Victoria. She was my favorite playmate.”

  Berdie sent an unquestionable you’re-off-the-subject eye message to Lillie who gave it no heed.

  Wilhelmina picked the doll up and smoothed its hair. “Victoria was wrapped in bright red paper, under the tree on my eighth Christmas.”

  “I got my Polly at Christmas as well, all wrapped up in white tissue.”

  Berdie now plowed her knee into Lillie’s leg.

  “Ouch.” Lillie grimaced but went on. “And I couldn’t help but notice the painting of the home in the woods just there above your chair. It’s lovely. It beckons one, doesn’t it? Much like this place.”

  “Lillie,” Berd
ie whispered roughly.

  Wilhelmina stood and held the doll close. She ran the index finger of her free hand over the painting. “It’s somewhat faded, but that was our summer home, Dunaglen Lodge, in Argyll.”

  “It’s an actual place? Lovely,” Lillie purred.

  “That’s when life was as it should be: peaceful, bright night stars, backgammon, and ginger beer on a summer’s evening.”

  The old woman was a young child again, standing in the midst of her Scottish home.

  “Mother, father, and nanny, of course, all took turns reading to us. Frederica, James, and I were in rapt attention, but then we were the older children. Edward and Margaret were born later. They fidgeted about, making silly faces at one another. Father would pretend he didn’t see them doing it.”

  She stopped momentarily to drink in the memories of her precious past. “Family, trust, and honor; that’s what it was all about. Everyone knew their place. Life was well carved. It all seemed so simple then.” Her reverie dwindled. “Of course Dunaglen is gone now, as are mother, James, and Frederica. We had to sell the lodge after Daddy died.”

  “That’s quite sad,” Lillie empathized. “Still, you have a treasured portrait in this special spot.”

  Wilhelmina’s eyes traced the walls of the little tree house, slight consolation apparent. “It’s not Dunaglen, but it’s built well. We all played here, and then it was Pip’s turn and he loved it as well.”

  Berdie found the thrust of her investigative inquiry now completely diluted, but her nose was still paying attention to every telling detail. “Pip enjoyed it. So Marthrad House is Pip’s home?”

  “Frederica, our sister, never truly recovered after giving birth to Pip. When she died, his father eased the pain of his loss with far more than an occasional gin. That’s when Pip came to us, and it has been home for him since.”

  Wilhelmina returned to her chair.

  “Pip said he was going to live in this little house forever. And now someday, when he marries and settles, his children will enjoy it as well.”

  “A wonderful heritage,” Lillie agreed. “Does Pip have a young woman in mind?”

  Wilhelmina sighed. “Not as yet.”

  Berdie eyed the bookshelf. “Your books on the shelf there,” she redirected. “I see The Tale of Peter Rabbit and Beowulf next it. Rather wide ranging choices.”