All Hallows Dead (Berdie Elliott Mysteries)

by Marilyn Leach

  Wilhelmina put Victoria down, and grasped the book from the floor. When she thumbed the pages, The Works of Chaucer was clearly visible on the front cover. “My father was archaic in some of his thinking, but he made sure all his children, even the girls, had excellent educations.” She closed the book and left it in her lap.

  “Quite an ambitious read,” Berdie noted.

  Wilhelmina lifted her chin. “I read in poetry and classical languages at university.”

  “Well done, Miss Cavendish.” Lillie had admiration in her voice.

  With the smell of sheep droppings so near, to say nothing of rubbing thighs with Lillie, Berdie was beginning to feel well done herself. And without warning, Wilhelmina took Chaucer in hand, stood, and cleared her throat. It was a polite, but precise, signal that she was done conversing.

  “Well, we’ve taken enough of your time, Miss Cavendish. We’ll leave you to your peace.” Berdie attempted to rise and felt a slight cramp in her back. She tried not to grunt.

  “Thank you for sharing your charming little home with us.” Lillie stood and emitted a slight squeal. “My leg,” she proclaimed, and rubbed it.

  “I trust you’ve given up the cigar smoking,” Miss Cavendish grumped. She apparently caught a lung-full of Lillie’s “Eau de Sheep.” “I’ll let you see yourselves out.”

  Berdie wondered if Wilhelmina expected her to walk backwards to the door, as if departing a royal visit.

  “As you said,” Wilhelmina cautioned, “you’ve now shared in my private space. I trust, as one connected to the church, you’re not going to gossip about it.”

  “Of course not,” Berdie assured the woman. “And if there’s any way I or my husband can be of any help, do let us know.”

  Wilhelmina gave a starchy, “Thank you.”

  Berdie and Lillie crept onto the treehouse platform, and the little door was promptly closed. Berdie moved as rapidly down the rope ladder as backache allowed, but Lillie was slower than water going uphill.

  “It’s my knee and ankle.” Lillie moaned and rubbed her leg.

  “You’ll be all right. Let’s just hope we won’t be watching the sun set when you reach your last rung.”

  “I don’t relish your humor right now, Bernadine. My leg hurts.”

  At last, Lillie touched terra firma.

  “Am I going to have to call the fire brigade?” Berdie asked.

  “Just lend me a shoulder.” Lillie wrapped her arm round Berdie’s neck in a near strangle hold.

  “Steady on, I can’t carry you.”

  “Well, let me get comfortable.” Lillie pulled back and balanced a bit better.

  Berdie put her arm round Lillie’s waist. “That’s better. Off we go.”

  Only a few yards on and Berdie struggled to keep Lillie moving forward. Chatting seemed to help.

  “We’ve had quite the episode: crossing fields with a tumble, and finding Wilhelmina in a vintage playhouse among the trees.”

  “I would have never imagined that a child’s dwelling, up in a tree, would be Miss Cavendish’s protected place,” was punctuated by Lillie’s gasps and grunts.

  “Right. Who’d imagine finding such a stiff upper lip in a place designed to be playful. But you know, it’s said the English love eccentrics. I should think the Cavendish family is absolutely adored.”

  “Ouch.” Lillie grimaced. “Hang about. Let me catch my breath.”

  Berdie welcomed the pause, but she was also concerned. “This could take a while, Lillie, and you’re to lunch with Loren.”

  “That will have to wait until another time.”

  “It can’t,” Berdie blurted.

  “It certainly can if I can’t go on any faster than this.”

  “Loren will be so disappointed.”

  “Oh for goodness sake, Berdie, he’s a grown man. He’ll get over it.”

  “Will he?” The peal of Loren and Lillie’s wedding bells came to an abrupt halt in Berdie’s head. “Yes, I suppose he’ll have to wait.”

  Lillie straightened. “OK, I think I can go on.”

  Berdie, with Lillie using her as a crutch, tried to stay true as they plodded forward. Although Berdie’s back cramp subsided, she was sure her nose would go on strike for such cruel and unusual punishment. It became abundantly clear that returning to Marthrad House, and the hotel, was going to be an arduous effort.

  “I hope this outing was all worth it.” Lillie flinched.

  “Indeed, Lillie.” Berdie listed what she had actually garnered. “Wilhelmina was a witness to the aftermath of Neville’s passing, and her account is critical.” Berdie considered her discussion with Kit as well. “Kit and Wilhelmina’s account of events essentially line up with one another. Still, something’s off and my nosing round must go deeper.”

  “I can tell you what’s off.” Lillie waved her free hand in front of her nostrils.

  “Very droll.”

  Lillie hedged forward. “Fancy Wilhelmina climbing that rope ladder.”

  “She strikes me as a very capable woman, even though getting on in years.”

  “I feel like I’m getting on in years myself, right now.”

  Berdie thought to encourage her stalwart friend. “We’ve only been on this investigation for a few hours and look what’s come up with the spade.”

  “Not much that I can see.”

  “We’ve interviewed two people, both witnesses, and had an eye opening chat with Meg.”

  “You have.”

  “And how fortuitous it is that you didn’t hurt your wrist or arm when you fell.”

  “My wrist?”

  “We can prop up your leg, and it won’t affect your sketching in the church at all.”

  “You are joking.” The words were a banging meat cleaver at the butcher’s bench. Lillie halted. “I’m in pain and you’re thinking about my drawing?”

  “I don’t mean drawing right this minute.”

  Lillie shook her head. “Really, Berdie, you are like a dog with his bone when you’re investigating.”

  ****

  After getting Lillie sorted, and all that happened earlier, Berdie purposely left her evening free to spend it with Hugh, as she said she would.

  Now her hope was that the pleasant Bell Tower Inn bedroom she and Hugh shared might rub a bit of its charm onto her husband. In their conversation so far, however, it didn’t seem to do so. Not an iota.

  “Berdie, I know you get right in it when solving a case.” His left eyebrow arched and pink danced at the edges of his shirt collar as he paced before her. “And I know I asked you not to push Lillie along in Loren’s plans for her. But I didn’t expect you to sabotage them.”

  “Sabotage? That’s a bit extreme, Hugh.”

  His footsteps were firm.

  “I tried my best in the situation, honestly, Hugh. I wanted her to make that lunch with Loren, too. You know that.” Berdie worked to keep her voice calm. “You never know when injuries can happen. Lillie could have simply crossed the High Street and turned her ankle.”

  “But, she wasn’t in the High Street.” Hugh huffed. “Sheep meadow, indeed.”

  “Let’s not go through all this again. What’s done is done.” Berdie did feel a slight twinge of guilt, especially the more Hugh banged on.

  “Loren waited here, full of worry, no idea what was going on.”

  “Hugh, I told you we rang him but his mobile phone was turned off. It’s certainly not my fault that his voicemail was full.”

  “Of course, he was in classes. I can’t speak to his voicemail.”

  “It was just unfortunate circumstances, and now we all need to do our best to go on from here.”

  “Well,”–Hugh sounded calmer—“I suppose you did get Lillie straight in to see the doctor.”

  “Yes. And when we arrived back to the inn, we were able to reassure Loren that nothing was broken or completely rearranged.” Berdie worked at sounding optimistic. “It’s just a strain with bad bruising.”

  Hugh paused. “
A bit more than that, Berdie. The woman’s on crutches.” He sat down in the leather chair. That was a good sign.

  But he went on. “Who should have thought a tumble in a sheep field could keep Loren’s marriage proposal at bay? He’s extremely disappointed and so am I.”

  “We all are, love. Except Lillie, of course, who has no idea what’s going on.”

  Hugh became pensive. “Perhaps we could set something up for Loren and Lillie, not that Loren isn’t capable. Some classic opportunity.” Hugh ran a finger over his upper lip. “Yes. Maybe Lillie would make more effort if she was aware something special was arranged.”

  “And I could nudge her along a bit without having to explain my interest,” Berdie concurred.

  Hugh nodded. He slapped his hand on the chair’s arm. “Nethpool House,” he said with volume. “We could give them a gift card to the restaurant at Nethpool House where they first really met.”

  “Brilliant.”

  Hugh’s forehead furrowed. “Oh dear.”

  “Oh dear what?”

  “You usually give someone a gift card for a celebration of some kind, birthdays and such like.”

  Berdie perked. “How about a get well offering? We could make it a kind of sorry-all-this-happened, go-enjoy-yourself gift.”

  Hugh brightened. “I like it. But will Lillie be well enough to travel that far?”

  “It’s no more than an hour’s drive, if that. We can make arrangements for it to happen one of the last few days of our stay here. And if she rests the lion’s share of the time, which by the way, I’ve drawn up a plan for that to happen, it should work beautifully. I think she’d lap it up.”

  “Right. I’ll call Mr. Peach at Nethpool House and start working on it right away. Least we can do, really.”

  “Oh, they’ll have a great time, Hugh. Nethpool House is the perfect place for a marriage proposal.”

  Hugh finally smiled. “It is. Maybe this whole thing can be salvaged.”

  A rapid knocking at the door filled the room.

  “Heavens.” Hugh got up and paused before answering. He eyed Berdie. “Now who do you suppose this could this be?”

  6

  “It’s me.” Loren’s distressed shout sounded from the hall.

  Hugh opened the door.

  His shirt sleeves rolled up, hair a bit ruffled, and moisture on his brow, Loren shook his head and came inside.

  “What is it?” Hugh asked.

  “How long has she been in her room?” He glanced at the mantel clock. “Three hours?”

  Hugh looked at Berdie who looked at Loren.

  “I’ve read with her. An easy start, but that didn’t last long.” Loren took a rapid breath. “We played Snap until she lost four hands in a row.” He wiped his palm cross his forehead.

  “I even had a pointless conversation about why silk pillowcases are better for your hair or some such thing.” He held up three fingers. “She’s had me rearrange the room, not once,” he wiggled the fingers, “not twice, but three times.” He looked at Hugh and threw his hands in the air. “I mean dressers, chairs, even the bed. No, she didn’t like it that way, she wasn’t comfortable. It had to be changed. So, I rearranged it. And that didn’t suit.” He set his smoky brown eyes on Berdie. “Now she’s insisting she feels boxed in and wants to go to the pub.”

  “And that’s when you told her, ‘No, there would be no pub because she needs to keep her leg up and rest as the doctor prescribed,’” Berdie filled in. “And she got piqued.”

  “Why will she not see sense?” He shook his head again. “I need reinforcements and a padlock.”

  Berdie eyed Hugh who winked. “Perfect timing, Loren.” Berdie joined the frustrated carer and squeezed his hand. “Hugh wants to chat with you, anyway. I’ll go calm the caged tiger.”

  “I appreciate it, Berdie, I really do. And that’s fine for tonight, but what about tomorrow and the next day?”

  “Don’t worry, Loren. I’ve got a perfect plan that will get Lillie out of her room for most the day, but still keep her in a resting position. It’s a Leonardo thing that I’ll explain later.” Berdie pointed to the chair she had occupied. “Now, take a deep breath, sit down, and relax. It’s all going to work out.”

  Whilst Loren dropped into the chair, Berdie left and walked towards Lillie’s room absolutely amazed that what seemed a bit of a dog’s dinner ten minutes ago had turned around altogether. And so quickly. Her husband was happy, Loren was in for a delightful surprise, and Lillie was her captive artist now. “Thank you, Lord.” Perhaps an opportunity would arise to speak with Keith, the verger, as well. Then it struck her. There was an issue. What was plan B if the police investigation was ongoing and that forbidding tape was still around the church tomorrow morning?

  ****

  The morning air had a frosty bite to it as Berdie waved the taxi up close to the Bell Tower Inn where it stopped and idled.

  “Come on Hop-Along,” she coaxed Lillie. “Taxi’s here.”

  “Taxi? To go to St. Baldred’s? You can practically see it from here.” Lillie hobbled down the inn’s walk on her crutches. “How do you navigate with these pieces of wood, anyway? They dig into your armpits.”

  “Lillie, I hope you’re not going to grumble all day.” Berdie opened the taxi door. “Your warm chariot awaits, Leonardo.”

  “I believe chariots and Leonardo were centuries apart.” Lillie threw the crutches on the far side of the backseat and tottered her way into the cab.

  Berdie closed the door.

  Lillie opened the window. “You’ll ride up front?”

  “I’m walking,” Berdie informed. “I need to stop at the pub.”

  “Oh, do get me some toast.”

  “I’m getting our art supplies that we left there in Gus’s care. Do you remember? But, I’ll get toast and tea, too.”

  With the taxi on its way, Berdie stepped lively to reach the pub. Her thoughts turned to Neville Oakes. This afternoon was his memorial according to the village paper she’d seen in reception this morning. The inquest, and all involved, was completed by local officials extraordinarily quickly. The coroner ruled Neville Oakes’s death accidental. She could barely take it in. Still, if nothing else, it probably meant the police tape would be removed from St. Baldred’s.

  Lillie had reasoned earlier that the lion’s share of Neville’s memorial would require sitting, so she decided to accompany Berdie. It would be nice to have her Watson along. She knew Kit expected her, but apart from that, people’s behaviors at funerals could be very telling.

  When she reached the Watergate, Berdie saw Lillie hobbling into the church. As correctly surmised, there was no police tape to forbid entry. “Well that’s of benefit,” she whispered.

  The pub’s breakfast crowd was thin today. Berdie went to the counter straight way and asked Gus for two orders of take away toast and tea.

  “And your bag of art supplies, mind,” Gus prompted.

  “Yes, thank you. Sorry we didn’t get them yesterday, but Lillie had a mishap not long after we left the pub. So, we had to go directly back to the inn.”

  “Right.” Gus bent down behind the counter and stood again, bag in hand. “Tell her I hope her ankle heals quickly.”

  Berdie took the supplies. It seemed Criswell gossip hadn’t missed a beat, much like her own Aidan Kirkwood, and every small village for that matter. “And on that note, may I ask if you have a cardboard box going spare? Lillie needs one.”

  “A box? I’ve got buckets of them. I can fetch one for you from the back.” Gus grinned. “You an artist, then?”

  Berdie felt herself flush a bit. “Lillie is,” she clipped.

  “Have her enter the finished work in the art auction. It’s happening right here.” Gus wore cheery cheeks. “Toast and cardboard coming right up. And please don’t confuse the two,” he joked.

  Whilst Berdie waited, it seemed Sailor was in full voice. She could just make out the word “barrel” in his musical ditty. Who knew what that could m
ean when his home was in a pub? There was more muffled singing, and then “heart’s desire” croaked from the bird’s mouth. That’s when a table of young women, seated by the window next the bird, laughed.

  “Two toasts with tea,” Gus offered on arrival and gave the carrier bag to Berdie. “And a cardboard box.”

  Berdie placed the money for her order on the counter, and fumbled to get hold of the box.

  “Thanks, Gus.”

  “Enjoy your sketching.”

  On her way to the church, Berdie flew past a rather winsome young man seated on the bench outside the pub, ear buds in place.

  But someone came into view from the corner of her eye.

  “Hello, Mrs. Elliott.”

  “Well, hello, Kit. How are you faring?”

  “Much better, thank you.”

  Yes, she could see that. His hair was brushed, his cheeks no longer pale, and his shirt looked fresh.

  “What are you up to, then?” he asked as he arrived.

  “Just going to St. Baldred’s.”

  “Oh.” His voice lost a bit of its buoyancy.

  “To do some drawing,” Berdie added. “Well, my friend’s doing the drawing. I’m looking and learning.”

  He nodded.

  “For all that’s happened, Kit, and despite wild tales, St. Baldred’s is still quite a lovely church, you know.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “What’s your friend going to draw?”

  Berdie rummaged her brain and drew from her tour of the church. “I believe it’s the beautiful Norman lancet window in the side chapel.”

  “Oh.” Kit’s voice was subdued.

  Berdie caught her breath. “Oh, Kit. I didn’t think. The side chapel. That’s where you last saw….”

  Kit looked down.

  “Oh dear,” Berdie hesitated. “I should have thought.”

  “No, it’s OK. We worked in the chapel, but that’s not where….” Kit shook his head. “He was in the bell tower.” He stared into her eyes. “The last time I saw Neville was when I found him in the bell tower.”

  “Bell tower?” Why would Neville be in there? “But you were doing work on the side chapel.”