All Hallows Dead (Berdie Elliott Mysteries)

by Marilyn Leach

  “Well, Sailor good or bad, I’m ready to eat.” Loren opened the door enthusiastically.

  But not as enthusiastically as Berdie went about connecting bits and pieces in her mind to form an emerging picture of the puzzle. She still had some practical aligning to do. Her plan from that point could require extreme stealth, daring, and buckets of cunning. If it all came together as she hoped it would, she must call Edward Cavendish, even though he was still in London, and at the earliest possible moment. Well, the earliest possible moment that there was no one else around.

  11

  Waiting for Lillie, since her injury, had become a way of life for Berdie. They had just finished afternoon tea and toast at the Watergate, and Lillie needed the facilities. But having to wait for St. Baldred’s locked door to be opened seemed an eternity, despite the beauty of nearby sacred ruins.

  “Bother.” Berdie read the hastily handwritten note, taped to the church entry, again. Will open this afternoon. No time given. She only hoped it was of Edward’s doing, per last night’s telephone call, that St. Baldred was temporarily closed.

  She turned and leaned her back against the door. Last night’s events filtered through her mind.

  After dinner at the pub yesterday, Berdie spent the rest of the evening in the room making a comparative list, twining various strands of the case to align facts. First, Hugh reviewed all the historical specifics from his classes that he had referred to when conversing with Berdie the past week. She had paid precious little attention previously, apart from the vicar pele discussion in the bell tower. She wrote them down in one column. The next column contained all the physical information she and Hugh garnered from that tower. Lastly, she wrote the lyrics of Sailor’s song. After sifting, aligning, and poring over it all, puzzle pieces were fitting together to form an amazing possibility. In fact, it was more a likelihood. It all resulted in a call to Edward, whilst Hugh and Loren had an evening cuppa in the inn’s sitting room. Edward supported her scheme and promised very discreet special arrangements for her immediately.

  All that putting-together made Berdie anxious to get into the bell tower.

  “When will someone open the church? And, what is taking Lillie so long?” Berdie shivered against the cool afternoon wind, glared toward the pub, and smoothed her denim jeans.

  She went on with her mental perusal, considering all the people who could be in the case’s picture at this point. “Gus, Keith, and yes, Aggie perhaps,” she mumbled to herself, “all dishonored by Fitch Dennison.” Jack and Carol Slade had the same kind of family shame. Or would it be anger? “And even Ruby seems a possibility.”

  Berdie clicked her tongue. “Meg and her in-your-face attitudes.” Was her piety just a cover-up for more sinister purposes? “Pip boy.” Could his lack of real direction have a darker edge? And then there was Wilhelmina and her stiff upper lip. “She’s decidedly loyal.” But, might it be her loyalty was misdirected?

  Berdie tapped her chin. “Dear Edward? I shouldn’t think so. Still, cunning doesn’t seem short in the Cavendish family.”

  She looked to the horizon. “Is there anyone I have yet to consider?” Motives were as considerable as families disgraced, and as trivial as wanting a golf club on the property. And, all at St. Baldred’s expense. Why? How did St. Baldred fit into the whole scheme? The next few hours would be critical in discovering the answer. “This will either make my investigation or blast it into tiny bits.”

  Edward was one hundred percent in. Hugh, on the other hand, had no idea what she was about to do

  Berdie blew out a prolonged sigh. “But that’s OK,” she reasoned to herself. Over dinner this evening she’d tell him all about it when things would all be done and dusted, and Loren and Lillie were off to Nethpool House. “He’ll understand that it was the right thing to do.”

  Berdie’s thought process was broken when Jack Slade pulled to the road’s edge and alighted from his worn vehicle. The foreman sported his cloth cap and wore clothes fit for outdoor labor.

  “Sorry. Have you been waiting long?” He jangled some keys as if they were music to go with his jaunty steps.

  “Just a bit.” Berdie moved aside.

  “I know Keith is jolly good at opening St. Baldred’s early, but he attended a workshop today at the church conference in Bridgeford,” Mr. Slade explained. “Mr. Cavendish just rang me up to come and unlock the church.”

  So it was Edward’s doing that it was closed. Good. “That’s all right, Mr. Slade. Lillie’s on her way just now with her art things. We appreciate you doing this.”

  “When the big house gives instruction, we follow to a T as best we can.”

  Ah. Yes.

  Mr. Slade removed the taped paper from the door and stuck the key into the keyhole of the grand church door, jiggling it to engage the old lock.

  Berdie saw Lillie leave the pub with all her artistic gear.

  “Did you get Tony’s gift to him yesterday?” Mr. Slade asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How is the lad?”

  Berdie hesitated. What should she say? He’s angry, wounded, confrontational, rude?

  “Oh.” Mr. Slade gave a weak smile. “Well, even on a good day our Tony wouldn’t win prizes for congeniality. But we love him all the same.” He opened wide the church door.

  “Of course you love him.” Berdie chose her words carefully. “I can imagine you’d do anything for him.”

  “What are uncles for?” He kicked a small stone out of the way. “As a matter of fact, Carol and I are popping up to see him this evening. He wants to show us his new vehicle.”

  “He wants your approval.”

  “He wants to show off,” Jack Slade corrected and chuckled. “Anyway, must get on. Enjoy doing your sketches.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Slade.”

  He slipped the keys back in his trouser pocket, strode to his vehicle, and drove away just as Lillie arrived at Berdie’s side.

  “Perfect timing.” Lillie lifted a carrier bag. “I got some chocolate bars, crisps, and a couple fizzy pops to keep our stamina going.”

  Berdie wasn’t interested in food at the moment. “Right.” She was off like a shot to the bell tower.

  “Oh not that frightening place.” Lillie hobbled after Berdie.

  Despite the clearly displayed DO NOT ENTER sign, Berdie pulled on the tower’s door handle and it easily opened. “It’s not frightening, Lillie. At least not yet.”

  “Not yet?”

  “It could be frightening by the time I’ve done some hard graft.” She knew she was in for some difficult physical toil. The dark space was barely lit from the breach in the roof. Still, it was enough to see that Edward had come through as he promised. Berdie stepped inside the tower.

  Lillie joined her. “What’s that rubbish on the floor?”

  “No rubbish, Lillie. It’s a shovel, torch, hammer, hard hat with an exceptionally bright headlamp, and a broom.”

  Lillie wrinkled her forehead.

  Berdie picked up the large torchlight. One click and the powerful light shone out, revealing a sparkle of metal in the corner that turned out to be a huge, full-length ladder.

  Lillie scanned the findings along with Berdie’s jeans. “Taken up construction work, have you?”

  “Not construction, Lillie. More like deconstruction.”

  “Deconstruction?”

  Berdie directed the light to the tower wall that had a hole puncture half way up, the outlined rectangular shape barely visible. “I’m going to tear down this wall.”

  “You sound like some eighties freedom fighter.” Lillie cocked her head. “Surely not the whole thing.”

  “No, just the interior-covering plaster. I won’t disturb any stones.” Berdie placed the blazing torchlight on the floor, lens upward like a flood light. She strapped the hard hat securely to her head, and clicked on its lamp.

  Lillie straightened. “You’re serious. Are you off your chump?”

  “Some have said so.” Berdie tried to sl
ide the ladder along the floor. It was heavier than she imagined. “Give us a hand here please, Lillie.”

  “Berdie, unless you’ve forgotten, I’m injured.”

  Berdie gave Lillie a pleading eye. “Could you just attempt a little try?”

  “I don’t know why on earth I ever get involved in your schemes,” Lillie huffed. She placed the art supplies and goody treat bag on the stone floor, and hobbled to the ladder.

  Berdie put her shoulder into the ladder frame’s edge. “Now, just you pull and I’ll push.”

  Lillie pulled as best she could. The ladder made a scraping noise on the floor whilst inching along the wall.

  Berdie looked up. “Stop. That’s good.” The top of the ladder aligned just to the side of the punched hole. She made sure her ‘mobile stairway’ was braced between the wall and floor, then stepped onto the first rung. All was OK. She ascended the second and third one, but when she hit the fourth rung, the ladder gave the smallest of slips. Berdie caught the wall with one hand and gripped the ladder’s side with the other.

  “Berdie!” Lillie clamped both hands onto the metal steps.

  “Lord have mercy.” Berdie felt a perspiration bead rise on her forehead. Could she do this? So much depended on her, on scaling this ladder and uncovering what lay beneath the plaster. And it was a real risk apart from the merciful kindness of the Almighty. She took a deep breath. She remembered King David’s words: When I said, “my foot is slipping,” O Lord, Your love supported me. Berdie calmed. Her courage put on work boots. “Yes,” she declared. With full voice she called out, “Hold the ladder, please, Lillie.”

  “What do you think I’m doing?” Lillie sounded panicked.

  Berdie took the fifth rung and looked down. She swallowed and her stomach gave a quiver. Knowing her capacity for vertigo, this would be her last downward glance in this adventure. Her eyes and determination would look only upward now. There was no looking back until her task was complete.

  “How high are you going to go?” Lillie’s tone was uncertain.

  “Can you hand me the hammer, please?”

  Lillie muttered something Berdie couldn’t make out, but she heard her friend limp to where the tools lay. A big huff escaped and Berdie knew Lillie had picked up the hammer. Step, plop, step, plop. “Here, Berdie,” came out rather breathlessly.

  Berdie reached downward, eyes forward, and grabbed the tool. “Good show, Lillie.”

  “I hate to bring this up, Berdie, but what do I do if you slip and tumble?”

  “I’m not going to fall, Lillie.”

  “Yes, but.”

  Berdie sighed. “You will call nine, nine, nine, and pray. But, I’m not going fall.”

  Lillie gasped.

  “What?”

  “I left my mobile on the dresser in my room.”

  Berdie leaned her body against the ladder’s aluminum frame. She fished in her trouser pocket for the iPhone and drew it out whilst gripping the hammer in the same hand that grasped the ladder’s edge. “Here,” she commanded, then stretched her arm down, eyes forward.

  Lillie seized it. “This is Hugh’s iPhone.”

  “We didn’t get around to switching mobiles from yesterday’s Edinburgh jaunt. Now mind where you stand, there’s going to be fallout.”

  Berdie ascended several rungs then wrestled the hammer into position. With all the force she could muster, she sank the claw end into the punched hole of the plaster and pulled on it with all her might. She felt a give, and falling debris became a spectacular crash on the floor followed by Lillie’s scream.

  “Lillie?”

  “Are you trying to do me in? That nearly hit me.”

  Berdie scanned the now enlarged hole. There was much, much more to come down. Perhaps it wasn’t that safe for Lillie to be near. “Gather your art tools and do more sketching out in the nave, Lillie.”

  “But….”

  “I need your watchful eye out there to sound an alert if someone should enter the church.”

  “Alert?”

  Berdie ran a finger around the gaping space and pressed. “Whistle, bird call, owl hoot, something.”

  “Coo-coo,” Lillie trilled. “Like that?”

  Berdie chuckled inside. “Yes, something like. Keep the tower door propped ajar, if you please.”

  Lillie didn’t respond.

  “I’ll be fine, Lillie. Honestly. Now go stand guard.”

  “But what if…?”

  Berdie pressed her finger on the wall with impatience. “Something bad is more likely to happen if I’m distracted by your boisterous protests.”

  She heard Lillie give a perturbed huff. “I want you to know, Berdie, I’m doing this under protest.”

  Berdie felt the plaster crack beneath her finger. She hooked into another large chunk, pulled, and it tumbled downward, creating white clouds of powder in the wake.

  Lillie gave a little cry. “Really.” The sound of her step-drag left the tower and echoed on the nave floor.

  “Oh, Lillie,” Berdie called out, digging the hammer’s claw into the opening and giving a good yank, “if something does happen, you can have all my jewelry.”

  “Not even remotely funny,” came like a fog horn from outside the tower entry.

  Berdie smiled. She’d have liked to giggle, but instead, worked to keep her feet planted as another large piece plummeted into more white dust.

  She repeated the procedure so many times her arms began to ache.

  “Keep going, old girl, we’re getting there.”

  Berdie realized that plaster dust on her glasses had diminished her vision. An index finger was her available windscreen wiper that gave her an opportune glance inside the large space created.

  She caught her breath. “Just as Hugh thought,” eased from her lips. He had said as much when he and Berdie surveyed this part of the tower days ago. This plaster covered the hearth of a very great fire place. High fire, my desire. Sailor’s song took on new life.

  Hopes rose in her heart. Was this a disguise for something more significant? “Lead kindly Light.”

  Berdie continued clearing the lathe and plaster with vigor until the fireplace was almost fully revealed.

  She swept her headlamp slowly across the hearth’s ample interior. The musty odor didn’t put her off the task. The fireplace was at least six-feet tall. She thrust the light beam upward into the chimney area and found herself ascending another two rungs to get a better look.

  On close scrutiny, unexpected satisfaction enlarged her eyes. “Hardly disguised!”

  Right there, before her eyes. Steps. Up the back side of the chimney. Narrow, steep, worn, but stairs indeed. How many? She adjusted her stance, but it was difficult to tell.

  Hugh’s words that formed her list flashed through her mind. False hearths, secret passages, priest holes, persecutions. This is what she hoped for. It could be the very thing that would break her investigation wide open. But also, could it be something rare and historical?

  A glistening spot caught her eye. And another. All the way, as far as she could see, on either side of the steps, it looked like some kind of metal hand-holds were embedded. Grips.

  And no faux back to the fireplace, it was open with steps in full view. Not originally constructed that way, surely. It became very apparent that someone else was here in recent history. It must have been Dennison’s discovery whilst working. Sailor’s song was evidence of that fact. Could Keith be aware too, or maybe Gus? Neville Oakes possibly? Any or all of the Cavendishes? Who? Why? “And why cover it all back up?” Berdie wondered aloud. There was someone who didn’t want this rediscovered. With every bit of passion for truth that burned within her, she had to keep exploring!

  The stone floor of the hearth looked solid enough. Berdie placed her feet on the rung that was level with it. She estimated the fireplace depth to be about four feet, from front to back where the stairs were located.

  With profound concentration, she inched her right foot off the rung and onto the he
arth floor. She pushed her toes firmly against it, and everything appeared capable of bearing her weight. She inched her foot about ten inches into the space and dropped to a knee as she released her right hand’s grip on the ladder and placed it solidly on the floor next that knee. Then, with rock-hard determination and rapid fire speed, she brought her left hand to the left side of her knee. One knee, two hands safely placed. Her left foot still clung to the ladder.

  Berdie’s heart felt like it would leap out her chest. Dryness of mouth pestered her. Perspiration sprang into beads along her forehead. Pumping adrenaline kept her focused. With a split second between her and the tower floor beneath, Berdie swung her left leg into the hearth opening and settled the knee on it, just managing her balance.

  “Whew. Thanks be to God.”

  With the patience of Job, she inched her way to the back wall. She could stand her full height within the hearth, but she felt steadier on her knees.

  Berdie became suddenly aware that if anyone entered the tower at this point, they would see a gigantic hole in the wall with a slightly stout bum in full view. The thought of it made her face pink. She had to release a slight giggle. The vicar’s wife on display. May no one enter here.

  Berdie eyed the stairs that were now before her and took an incredibly deep breath. “Here we go, old girl.”

  The hard hat lamp revealed multiple spider webs and unidentifiable debris, but her determination to move forward was irrevocable. She remained on her knees, until able to grasp the hand-holds. Gripping with all her might, Berdie lifted herself a little and a little until she stood fully upright.

  She released one hand to wipe the moisture from her upper lip, then returned it to the grip. With trepidation, she used her upper body strength and took the first step. Thank God for Cara Donovan’s class back in Aidan Kirkwood. Balanced, she took another step on the rather narrow stair, seizing each succeeding hand-hold.

  The area around the stairwell was ominously black, not as spacious as the hearth. It allowed, at best, only one adult body to make way. “How I wish I’d have passed on that last Devonshire cream at tea,” Berdie regretted aloud.