“Hey, Kit. Hungry?” a cheerful voice interrupted. It was the young man who had been seated at the bench. Apart from a bit more height, and darker hair, he seemed very like Kit.
“Yeah.” Kit perked. “Hey Danny, this is Mrs. Elliott. Mrs. Elliott, this is my best mate, Danny.”
The lad removed the ear buds. “Hi.”
“Hello, Danny.”
The lad gave Kit a nudge and waggled his head toward the pub. “There’s a table by the window, looks like fun,” he said under his breath with lifted brows. He wore a cat-who-got-the-cream smile.
Ah, Berdie thought back to the laughing young women at the window table by the parrot.
“Kit, I hope our conversation hasn’t put you off. I certainly didn’t intend it to.”
“I know, Mrs. Elliott.” He worked at a smile. “It’s OK, honestly.”
“I can hear that fry up calling my name.” Danny’s intent to move on had no subtlety at all.
“Well, that’s us off, then,” Kit announced.
“I’ll see you later today,” Berdie assured. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
Kit nodded.
In a flash, she crossed the church garden and entered the unlocked St. Baldred’s. She noted another discreet security camera at the door. Lillie sat in a pew.
“You didn’t have trouble getting in?” Berdie asked. She dropped the box down near Lillie’s foot, and put the toast and tea next her on the pew.
“Door was open.”
“That means the verger’s about I should think. Probably hoping to air the place out, with the recent rain and persistent musty odors.”
“I’ve not seen him, but I saw that little owl on the roof again.” Lillie opened the bag and drew out a boat-shaped carton that held the toast. “I thought I heard something moving about here inside. I swear I heard footsteps. But when I called out, there was no answer. As a matter of fact, I’m glad you’ve arrived.”
“Yes?”
“All this dreadful business going on here, I couldn’t help but wonder about, you know.”
“Lillie. Really.” Berdie had an edge of denunciation. “Certainly you don’t take those silly Trustyn tales seriously.”
“Well, no,” she said a bit doubtfully and bit into her toast.
Berdie picked up the cardboard box and folded it so that it was properly closed. “There.” She placed it so Lillie could rest her leg on it. “Put your pin here.”
Lillie grimaced as she placed her swollen leg on the box.
“Perfect,” Berdie chirped. She gave Lillie the bag of art materials. “Now you can get to work.”
“When I’m done eating.” Lillie baulked. “Never muzzle the ox that grinds the wheat.”
“Oh, yes?” Berdie chuckled. “Eat up, then.”
Berdie eyed the bell tower. “I can tell you one thing, Lillie. The Trustyn thing is absolute rubbish, but there’s something odd about that tower, sure enough.”
“Now, don’t you start.” Lillie frowned.
“By odd, I mean the first fellow who worked on restoration here was working in the bell tower when he fell. Edward said so. And I just found out that’s where Kit found Neville Oakes.”
Lillie shivered. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“I’m going to go have a quick look see.”
“Berdie, don’t.” Lillie sounded almost panicked. “I know it’s daft, but I don’t fancy being by myself. Everything feels so…eerie.”
“Eerie? Now, look, Lillie. The entrance to the church is welcoming. Light’s flooding through the windows. The tower door is completely open. For goodness sake, you’re a grown woman in a house of worship.”
“You just be careful,” she cautioned. “And don’t take forever.”
Berdie’s steps sounded on the stone floor, even though she tried to walk lightly to the tower entrance where yet another security camera was unobtrusively cradled.
Inside, it was dank and dark with no apparent working electrics. It needed an airing out as well. And if she were honest, it was a bit frightening somehow. Her eyes wandered up to the top. It possessed no bell. A shaft of light from an apparent breech in the wall near the roof was just visible. Two small windows in the upper part were grey with grime that allowed only a hint of sun to filter through. Separate areas looked as if they had been worked on as best she could see: near the roof at the breech, and midway up a wall where a puncture was just noticeable.
“What drew Neville Oakes in here?” she said in low voice. “Electrics, new sconce lighting, needed dry gloves, but why here?” Whilst her thoughts tumbled, she realized it was no good looking the tower over without a torch, and a powerful one at that.
“Berdie,” Lillie called in full volume. “I can’t see you.”
Berdie shook her head. “What now?” She moved back to the tower entrance.
“I knocked the box over,” Lillie informed rather straight faced. “Can you fix it?”
She sighed. “Yes, I’m coming.” When she left the tower, despite the sound of her own clip-clops on the stone floor, Berdie heard the box toppling. The silly woman. Oh well, she needed a torch to do a proper look-see in the tower anyway.
“Lillie, you’re just being ridiculous.” Berdie reached her friend and propped the box back in place.
“I’m not.” Lillie lifted her chin.
At least she had art supplies out of the bag, seemed to doodle on the paper, and was well into her second piece of toast.
“I’m not especially comfortable, that’s all.” Lillie sounded hesitant. She handed a cup of tea to Berdie as she sipped her own.
“Ta.” Berdie blew on the hot brew.
Lillie didn’t respond, but glanced about until her eyes settled on the cornice of a pillar. She sighed.
Berdie could see that Lillie needed a large infusion of truth. “Look at all the beauty that’s here, Lillie.” Berdie waved round. “Take the polished kneeling rail. Just imagine the choir voices singing. People, through hundreds of years, stepped their way to the altar on these ancient stones and knelt at that rail to receive the bread and wine. They prayed and affirmed their Christian faith. It’s awe-inspiring. It’s not right that a dreadful event or some brutish legend should devalue that.”
“Well said,” thundered through the old edifice.
Berdie started and Lillie half jumped spilling drops of tea.
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” the familiar church verger announced from the front entrance. “If only more people could see all St. Baldred’s has to offer.”
“What are you doing here?” Lillie demanded.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” His strides echoed whilst approaching Berdie and Lillie.
“Of course,” Berdie agreed. “We’re sketching the lovely interior of the church, Mr. Cavendish has given us the OK.”
The fellow hesitated. “I see. He should have informed me.”
“We won’t be a bother.”
The verger arrived. His sleeves were pushed up, although he wore his usual black garb with a coat over, plus a garden hat and work gloves. A garden trowel dangled from his hand.
“As a matter of fact, I’m working outside. Weeding.” Silver-framed glasses perched precariously upon his thin red nose. “Mornings I usually garden, well, until the deep cold sets in.”
“The church gardens are beautiful, especially for this time of year,” Berdie applauded verbally.
“I’m Keith,” he introduced and removed one glove and his hat. He extended his bare hand toward her.
Berdie shook it. “I’m Berdie, and this is my friend, Lillie.”
Lillie nodded.
“It’s very encouraging to know there is someone who sees the true value of St. Baldred’s.” Keith smiled.
“Oh.” Berdie worked to sound nonchalant. “Not everyone appreciates this lovely church?”
“There was a time it bustled: alive with music, children’s classes, a daily liturgy, but then it all changed.” He looked toward the bel
l tower. “A crumble here, a crack there, and suddenly the council of the larger nearby market town decided they wanted a new parish church in their city.”
“And when was that?” Berdie asked.
“Oh, years ago. In fact, I was the last to be christened at St. Baldred’s when it was a parish church. Seems fitting I should look after it now.”
“Quite. Is the new church as lovely as this?”
“It’s ghastly.” His eyes narrowed. “It’s done in the architectural design known as modernist. It looks a bit more like a winged spacecraft, set to take off, than a church.”
“Heaven bound perhaps?” It was Lillie’s attempt at levity whilst she actually sketched.
Keith scowled.
“With all that, it must be quite a task to keep St. Baldred’s viable,” Berdie said.
Keith looked round. “Despite the fact that the nave and side chapel are original from abbey times, keeping it from the graveyard has been a constant concern.”
“But it’s an estate church now.” Lillie flourished a chalk. “Surely that helps?”
“If the family had renovated forty years ago, it could still be a parish church.” Keith shook his trowel as he spoke. “Utter neglect, that’s what it is. All but abandoned.”
“But new plans are being made. The renovations are being done now,” Berdie prompted.
“Were.” Keith spit the word. “Were being done. Now with this most recent tragedy, who knows when or even if repairs will ever be finished.”
“Were you here in the church when the accident happened?” Berdie pushed.
“No. I teach a computer course at the county library. I was out. Being a verger here is wonderful. I love my work, but it hardly covers every expense.”
“Is St. Baldred’s open to the public every day?”
“Almost always. I try to keep the church available for whoever would like to see it. I book tours and the like. Some even come to pray, but few sadly.”
“You seem to have a comprehensive security system.”
Keith waggled the trowel. “Yes. Unfortunately, we had a theft some years back. It was put into place then.”
“It must have been helpful to the police, reviewing the tapes when…”
“They didn’t bother,” he interrupted, then lowered his voice. “Please, don’t let it out, but the system’s not all that reliable. Often goes on the blink. Still, it’s a deterrent of sorts.”
“Oh. It’s unfortunate it doesn’t work properly.” It wasn’t just unfortunate; it was careless. “Do you open the church on days you’re teaching, like day before yesterday?”
“Generally. But, no, not that day. Someone from the big house opened up. Perhaps Mr. Slade, or Mr. Cavendish?”
“There’s more than one key?”
Keith looked at Berdie as if she were short a couple bricks of a load. “Well, of course. The family owns the place. Slade is their workman. Then there’s my set.”
“Set?”
He impatiently thrust his trowel toward the far end of the church. “There’s a back entry, out buildings, the sacristy, the church tower. Of course there are several keys.” He paused and gave her a hard stare. “Why should it make any difference to you?”
“Oh, no. It’s just that with the sketching, I wondered if perhaps I should trouble Dr. Rhys-Kendrick, Meg that is, about….”
“Me,” Keith boomed as he straightened. “You ask me about anything concerning St. Baldred’s.”
Berdie saw her opportunity right there to probe some more. “Well then, as a matter of fact, Lillie and I were wondering what all this talk about some Trustyn is about. Will you tell us?”
Keith didn’t say a word.
“It’s just that Mr. Cavendish said we should ask you about it.”
“Me?” Keith’s grip on his hat faltered. “Why on earth should he tell you to ask me?”
“Because you’re the verger, I should think,” Lillie returned.
His brows rose above his silver rim glasses. “Oh yes. Yes, that’s reasonable I suppose.”
“And so?” Berdie sweetly goaded.
“I do have work to do, but I’ll give an edited version.” He took on an academic air. “In the mid-sixteenth century, there was a Brother Trustyn, once active at Longly Abbey, who was dispatched on an important errand to Criswell. He came on behalf of someone we believe to be Sir Thomas of Hindston. That’s what old records indicate. It seems Trustyn arrived here, but never returned to Sir Thomas or Longly Abbey. This we know as fact.”
Keith pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Then there are the aged accounts passed down through word of mouth. For instance, many say he was the bearer of some kind of royal treasure, and when an attempt was made on his life to steal it, he buried it somewhere near Flaxen Hill, north of here. There’s been all sorts digging around up there since. Flaxen Hill is now Flaxen Hole.”
Lillie giggled.
Keith’s lips clenched. “My dear lady, an area of outstanding beauty has become a muddy cavity.
“Sorry,” Lillie cooed with little repentance.
“Back to Brother Trustyn,” Berdie prompted.
“Yes. Some say he was simply a guest of the family here on business. As such, he tasted the worldly offerings and decided to quietly abandon his vocation and disappear. The most prevalent view seems to be that his religious practices were out of favor, leading to an untimely death. It’s said that Brother Trustyn’s last prayer was made here in this church just before he was martyred.”
“Which puts St. Baldred’s right in the middle of superstitious prattle. The avenging one getting his own back. Yes?” Berdie had fire in her voice as she considered this duplicity. “Yes?” She waited for a response.
Keith faltered. “For the most part. Yes. Now, in light of that, there have been some unexplainable incidents here in the church.”
“Such as?” Berdie pressed.
“Well, there have been sightings of a shadowy figure in a monk’s robe lurking in the dark.”
“Really?” Lillie looked nervously toward the far corner.
“Then, there are the usual things associated with classic strange phenomena: coldness, odd sounds, a sense of touches, flashing lights.”
“Flashing lights?” Berdie frowned and crossed her arms, nearly spilling her tea.
“Oh no, I don’t mean…no, it’s not to do with what’s happened to the workman.”
Berdie tipped her head. “Who said anything about the workman?”
The verger lifted his chin.
“All this phenomena, as you call it, can be easily explained away. Smoke and mirrors. But why would anyone want to perpetrate such a ghastly fabrication?” Berdie’s volume was rising. “What can’t be explained is why two men have met their end in that bell tower.”
Keith backed away and fingered his hat. “Those events were absolutely dreadful. I’m sure I have no idea. I have nothing to do with that.”
“I didn’t say you did, Keith.”
His jaw tightened. The man tapped the trowel against his thigh, placed his hat on his head, and shoved his bare hand back into the gardening glove. “The tone of your voice is off-putting, Berdie. And, I find that this conversation has turned completely disagreeable. As I have work to do, I’ll get on with it.”
Keith turned on his heel and rushed down the aisle. “And mind your food and drink,” he called over his shoulder. “Put it in a proper rubbish bin at the earliest possible moment.” With that, he was out the door.
“Now that was odd.” Lillie pointed her chalk in Keith’s direction.
Berdie stared after the verger. “He just told us a great deal about the goings on at St. Baldred’s, and I don’t mean just the tale of Trustyn.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Our dear verger is hiding something. It’s what he hasn’t said that interests me, more than what he did say.”
Lillie shuddered. “I’m not interested in any of it quite honestly, spo
ken or not.” She peered into the tower.
“Just keep drawing, Lillie. I’m going to the side chapel.”
As Lillie toiled, Berdie took her time to make a detailed study of the small chapel, checking the floor, unfinished sconce light, and ceiling. Various family crests decorated the space.
She examined a fine line of demarcation in the plastered wall, over which she ran her fingertips. She felt an occasional bump. Did she feel heat? “Yes,” she whispered. A reasoned opinion about how this side chapel space could relate to the bell tower was developing.
Berdie observed the placement of light fixtures throughout the building and came to recognize that Neville Oakes must have been in the bell tower to work on the wiring that fed into the space where he was installing the sconce. “I do believe that’s it.”
Everything kept drawing her back to the tower, and that exploration could only be done later when she had proper lighting at her disposal.
Have to be done later. The words spun in her head when she got an idea. Deftly, she went to the entrance of the bell tower, took off her earring and dropped it on the floor. Clink. It was just inside to the left. Berdie smiled.
“Berdie?” Lillie sounded enthused.
“Lillie,” –Berdie stepped into the central isle—“anywhere near done? It’s getting close to time for Neville’s memorial.”
Lillie’s tongue danced out the side of her mouth to touch her lip. With a flourish, she lifted the chalk from the page into the air. “Voila.”
Excited to view what Lillie had created, Berdie scooped up all the supplies, left Lillie to gather herself for departing the church, tossed food remnants in the rubbish bin, and made way for the door. “Meet you outside.”
Berdie stood in the front church garden, held the sketchbook, and eyed Lillie’s finished masterpiece. For the life of her, she couldn’t make heads or tails of the design. Berdie squinted and drew the sketch closer.
Lillie hobbled up next to her and spied over Berdie’s shoulder. “Really, Berdie.” She grabbed the tablet from Berdie’s hands, trying to keep balance on her crutches, and turned it round. She thrust it back into Berdie’s hands once again. “There. The picture is right side up, now.”
All Hallows Dead (Berdie Elliott Mysteries) Page 9
