“I hope it’s not me.” Lillie broke into a gentle laugh.
“What’s so amusing back there?” Hugh called.
“Nothing more than a silly conversation about sweet tea,” Berdie returned.
“And fictional detectives,” Lillie added.
Arriving at the door of Marthrad House this evening seemed years away from the first time it happened. No wobbly shoes for starts. Berdie was, now, far more aware of family interplay, and the few days of investigating had familiarized her with the inner workings of this village.
Loren rang the bell. It wasn’t Turner who met them to come inside this time. It was Edward.
“Good evening,” he greeted. “Everyone’s in the family drawing room.” His tone was strained. “Save Wilhelmina. Her plane from Guernsey had mechanical problems, so she just got home a bit ago. She’s expected to join us any moment.” His playful eyes were somber, his shoulders ridged. “The solicitors have asked that we refrain from conversation until they formally begin the proceedings.”
“I see,” Hugh said.
“I’ll take you up.” After depositing coats Edward led the party, albeit with little energy. From their earlier telephone discussion, Berdie could certainly understand Edward’s manner. His whole way of life was about to be challenged.
Stepping into the drawing room this time round was distinctly unlike their previous visit as well.
To start, Chief Inspector Underwood and a plain clothes policeman stood near another doorway on the far wall, heads together.
Four men, strangers to Berdie, sat like apples and oranges at a small round table. Two were in smart grey suits with stern faces: apples. The other two were in shirt sleeves, a trace of white dust on their trousers, and pleasant faces: oranges. All danced their fingers upon laptops or tablets.
Various family groups were seated, almost huddled together, in protective postures.
Edward pointed to an empty couch. “Please, sit down.”
Berdie and Hugh obliged whilst the host directed Loren and Lillie to two nearby chairs.
“Can I get you some mineral water?” Edward asked. “I’m afraid that’s all that’s on offer at the moment.”
“Yes, please, it sounds refreshing.” Berdie leaned back into the couch, keeping her body quite close to Hugh.
“Good evening, Reverend Elliott.” Meg’s words spilled into the space. “It’s a pleasant surprise to see you here.”
Every eye turned her direction.
One of the apple-grey-suits cleared his throat and glared at Meg.
“Oh really,” she boomed. “It’s just chit-chat.”
Hugh nodded his head to Meg who was seated on a couch with her husband, Davis. He made an attempt to quiet her.
The Wells family, Gus, Aggie, and Keith, sat in comfortable chairs, grouped around the fireplace. Keith read a folded newspaper. Gus sipped his mineral water, and Aggie wore an electric blue sateen dress accompanied with sparkles of bulky costume jewelry on her neck and ears. She dressed, Berdie could see, in the attire she saw fit for being amongst the family of a well-to-do home.
Berdie attempted a quick nod to the trio. Keith paid no mind, Aggie feebly smiled, and Gus returned the gesture. The Wells, somewhat motionless, appeared to still be stunned by the news Edward had given them earlier in the day. Berdie was still stunned herself at what had been discovered.
Edward presented Berdie with the tall glass of bubbling mineral water.
“Thank you. You’re a gracious host.” Berdie hoped her comment would reassure Edward.
She took a sip of her drink.
Carol Turner Slade, who fiddled with her sweater buttons, was seated with her husband, Jack, along the wall opposite Berdie and Hugh.
Obviously, the woman wasn’t working tonight and it appeared that she didn’t know what to do with herself. Jack Slade leaned forward, elbows on his knees, impatience written in his tapping foot. Berdie caught sight of Ruby who seemed to be hiding behind her brother-in-law. Her eyes were trained on Keith first, then the floor.
Berdie smiled at the estate foreman, but he patently disregarded her.
“Jack Slade doesn’t seem very keen,” Berdie whispered to Hugh. “He ignored my smile.”
“Can you blame him? He’s probably still thinking of you as the soiled woman.”
Berdie blushed. “Oh thanks ever so for the reminder, Hugh.”
“Where is Wilhelmina?” Edward, who sat at table with the apples and oranges, checked his watch. “She’s usually so prompt.”
“She needed a moment to freshen up,” Pip offered. “I can go fetch her if you’d like.” The young man, whose appearance was much smarter than it had been this morning, rose from his chair near the door and reached the opening just at the moment the eldest Cavendish stepped into the room.
Wilhelmina took a deep breath, and her eyes moved round the space. The senior Cavendish scowled. “What’s all this?”
Pip took her elbow. “Come sit down with me, Aunt Willy. Uncle Edward’s about to explain it all.”
She positioned herself and became stick straight. “Thank you for your kindness, Phillip.” He escorted her to his former chair where Wilhelmina sat, crossed her ankles, and put her hands into her lap. Pip scooted another chair beside her.
Wilhelmina eyed Aggie and tried to shelter a gasp, but to no avail. Then she spied the Slade family. “Turner, are you not serving this evening?” she asked rather roughly.
“No she’s not,” Edward responded.
Wilhelmina glowered at her brother. “This needs an explanation.”
Edward stood. “Yes. Well, we all need an explanation.” He ran his hand down his tie. “Right. Let’s not beat about the bush. Certain things have come to light in the last few hours that could take all the lives of the people in this room and turn them totally and utterly on their heads.”
14
Whilst gasps and huffs registered all around the room, Berdie observed every emotion displayed on people’s faces: fear, insecurity, anger, indifference, hope, and, yes, defiant guilt.
“You know that there has been work going on inside the estate church for the last twenty-four hours or more. I hope that you’ll all listen courteously as our respected guests including noted professor, Dr. Harry Appleby, enlightens us about what has taken place.”
One of the oranges at the table stood. His hair was slightly disheveled, his shirtsleeves were buttoned at the wrist, though deep wrinkles gave evidence to the fact that they had been rolled up for some time prior.
“Thanks for coming, and good evening. Please excuse my appearance.” He offered a gentle smile, grasped his tablet, and placed black-rimmed glasses on the tip of his nose. “With great delight I want to inform you of a substantial historical find that has been discovered at St. Baldred’s.”
Quiet murmurs bounced round amongst the crowd.
Berdie watched the perpetrator’s eyes dart about the room as well, not that anyone else noticed.
“We’ve just discovered that the bell tower has held a national treasure for centuries.”
A flushed pink rose on guilty cheeks.
“We, my colleague here,” he nodded to the other orange, “Mr. Kingston, and I, have uncovered a heretofore concealed priest hole, originally used during the time of religious persecution under the reign of her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the First.”
“Truly?” Meg spurted.
They uncovered? Berdie held her poise. Actually it was just as well that these academics put the current exposing event at their door.
“Historians, anthropologists as well as theological specialists have all partaken in sorting this find. The contents of the hideaway were an incredible surprise and treasure.” The man’s face lit. “Wonderfully, and at the same moment, sadly, the body of what appears to be a sixteenth century cleric was discovered, along with some religious artifacts, his priest chest, and its contents. We believe it may be the famous, or infamous as the case may be, Brother Trustyn.” He paused as if awaiti
ng applause.
People glanced at one another.
“That’s quite grand,” Wilhelmina said.
“Does that help or hurt St. Baldred?” The volume of Meg’s voice made Davis work to calm her, again.
Jack Slade sat up straight. “A wonderful find, as you say, professor. But, with all due respect, how does it change our lives?”
“Oh.” The professor wrinkled his brow. “Well, apart from adding to our collective national heritage which should elevate St. Baldred’s profile, and of course that of Criswell Abbey as well, Mr. Kingston’s expertise tells us that it’s not so much the body found, but the contents of the chest that could be the undoing of some.”
“Undoing?” Ruby’s single repetition of the word sent most everyone into a verbal frenzy.
Edward stood. He motioned the professor to be seated.
“Perhaps ‘undoing’ is an overstatement.” Edward gave a weak smile.
“Perhaps it’s not,” Mr. Kingston said under his breath, but within hearing of most.
“Mr. Kingston,” Edward retorted, “since this is your area of study, will you kindly tell us what you’ve found?”
“This is all wonderful news,” Wilhelmina pronounced. “Despite Dr. Appleby’s beguiling statement, Edward, I would like to excuse myself. I have had a tiresome journey, and wish to please take my rest. You can inform me about all of these proceedings in the morning.” She rose.
“I would dare to say you want to hear this right now, Miss Cavendish,” Gus blurted.
Wilhelmina glared at Gus. “How do you know what I want and don’t want to hear? How dare…”
“Sit down, sister of mine,” Meg all but shouted.
“Please, Wilhelmina,” Edward beseeched. “We’ll be done soon. It’s important that you’re present.”
Reluctantly, and with a jutted chin, the elder sister sat down.
“Now, please go on, Mr. Kingston,” Edward directed.
The fellow rubbed his high forehead and stood. “I’ll get straight to it. In the priest chest was found, among other things, a royal decree, a sixteenth century document. Its royal status is evidenced by the red wax seal bearing the coat of arms of King Henry the Eighth.”
“Which I can confirm is genuine,” Dr. Appleby added.
“The content of the decree was found to be a grant of land to, and I’m quoting here, ‘the loyal and longsuffering supporter of King Henry the Eighth, William Gardiner.’ The king granted Criswell Abbey to Gardiner, or what was left of it following the destructive Dissolution of the monasteries, in perpetuity. Gardiner then was titled William Gardiner of Criswell and all was duly recorded.”
Meg’s face froze. Pip slouched back in his chair. Gus leaned forward, and Jack Slade silenced his dancing foot.
“I traced the family lineage and found that Jane Gardiner Penn descended from the honorable Gardiner family: she was a granddaughter. And this Jane Gardiner Penn, as it was discovered,” he paused and eyed his laptop, “is, or was, the great-great-great grandmother of Mary Carter. That is, Mary Carter Wells.”
Turner set her eyes on Aggie. “Wells?”
“Our great, great, grandmother,” Gus announced.
Berdie hoped no one had a match at hand for fear that if it was lit, the whole room would explode.
Stunned silence was broken when Davis, Meg’s husband, found his tongue. “Edward, in perpetuity means forever. So, what is the professor saying?”
Edward looked to be sorting his words. “It’s a very sound possibility that…”
“As primary inheritors, this estate belongs to us, the Wells family,” Keith barked.
“Never,” Meg trumpeted.
“It’s true.” Keith stood. “It’s legally ours, given by a royal decree. It’s ours as sure as I’m standing here.”
“Then, sit down,” Wilhelmina shouted. “Gather your senses, sir, if you’ve any at all to gather.”
Keith’s nose flared.
Hugh stood. “Everyone, please calm down.”
Berdie loved his authoritative demeanor.
“There’s no need for any rash and impetuous statements on anyone’s part, true or not. We’re in the midst of unraveling this tangle, so unless you have something constructive to offer, let’s give Edward and our experts a fair hearing.”
Though disbelief and tempers percolated, the room hushed and Hugh was seated.
“May I ask something, Edward?” Jack Slade raised his hand like a school boy.
“Yes,” Edward acknowledged.
“That decree is centuries old. Surely it has to be irrelevant now.”
“A royal decree, officially recorded, unless formally repealed, is the law of the land, no matter what century,” Kingston declared. “But it can be challenged.”
“Now,” Dr. Appleby picked up the conversation, “let’s not put the cart before the horse. You see, things became a bit convoluted in the time of Henry and Queens Mary and Elizabeth. All the back and forth of religious turmoil took a toll on Criswell Abbey and its owners. As you’re aware, when a Protestant was on the throne, Catholics were persecuted. When Catholics held royal power, Protestants were sent to the stake. We’re all familiar with the injustices that occurred on both sides at that time.”
“William Gardiner of Criswell was relative to the Gardiner who fell out of religious favor at the time of Elizabeth,” Kingston informed. “Now try to follow this closely. William Gardiner had secretly turned his devotion away from King Henry’s religious persuasion, if he had ever really held it. When Mary came to the throne, Gardiner rode the crest of revised religious favor. But when Elizabeth came to power, Gardiner’s religious affiliation was forbidden. He feigned support for Elizabeth’s church, of course, but she didn’t wear it. He made the whole of Criswell a clandestine safe house for hunted clerics and a place of worship for those under persecution.
Edward picked up the thread. “Therefore, Criswell was to be seized and passed to another person of favor, one from the new court.”
“Yes,” Kingston asserted. “Now, the royal decree of land ownership was being held in the home of a Gardiner cousin, Sir Thomas of Hindston, for safe keeping. So, Sir Thomas sent the document by a clerical envoy he trusted. This envoy was the one who we know as Brother Trustyn. Since it was Elizabeth’s father who granted the abbey to Gardiner, he hoped to stave off the seizure of land by producing the royal grant and hope against hope, that she would honor it.”
“A lost hope, indeed.” Dr. Appleby commented.
“We know there were armed conflicts in this area at the time.” Kingston adjusted his laptop. “That being so, this is what Dr. Appleby and I, in consultation with our colleagues, have pieced together.”
Everyone’s rapt attention was on Kingston.
“Brother Trustyn arrived in the midst of armed fracases. He went into hiding with his precious goods, using the priest hole, most likely as a result of Gardiner’s urging to get to safety. Gardiner met his fate without opportunity to reveal the decree. All his known family, save a granddaughter and grandson who escaped, were done away with. The poor brother died in hiding, expecting William Gardiner to fetch him when all was safe to present the document. Brother Trustyn died in utter seclusion. And Criswell Abbey was awarded to a favored, shall we say if discrete, alliance.”
Dr. Appleby took the lead. “We found the award was made by the queen to one John Bidwell who found her favor albeit as a friend, or should we say rather more than a friend. Catch my meaning?” Appleby glanced at all present. “As a result, the revised Grant was never put on an official record.” The professor lifted his brow. “Nonetheless, at the time, Bidwell received the property, then proceeded to cover over the bell tower fireplace unawares that it was actually an opening to a priest hole. A hundred eighty years later, Criswell was sold to the Cavendish family.”
“That’s all ancient history,” Pip snapped. “The whole lot of it.”
“Pip,” Edward said calmly, “ancient or not, it’s pertinent.”
Pertwee stood his full height, though it wasn’t over five-feet-six inches. “If the Cavendish family chooses to pursue a legal challenge, it will be long and drawn out. Given that King Henry the Eighth’s royal decree is the primary factor here, since there’s no official record Criswell was ever granted to John Bidwell, it is therefore without doubt that the procedure will take much time and effort to sort. And, of course, there is no guarantee as to who would win.”
“That will cost a king’s ransom,” Turner squeaked.
“But there’s no need for it to be challenged.” Every eye fell upon Gus who made the statement.
He stood. “Edward and Mr. Kingston informed us earlier today about all this. Keith, Aggie, and I, have discussed it at length. Aggie and I spoke to our spouses, too. With the help of our legal advisor, James Tippet who’s seated at the table with Mr. Pertwee, we’ve come up with a possible deal.”
The other grey suit nodded his balding head.
“Deal?” Wilhelmina made the word sound underhanded.
Gus looked her direction. “We don’t want all the upheaval and ruckus of court goings-on. The ones who benefit most, in that case, are the solicitors who would each be likely to buy a holiday home in Spain from the earnings.”
Mr. Pertwee cleared his throat, but Mr. Tippet laughed.
“No disrespect, Pertwee, but it’s a fact.” Gus waved his hand side to side, palm forward. “No, better we sort it outside the court room, with some legal help of course.”
Edward wore relief like an autumn sunrise. It seemed Gus really was Father Christmas for the Cavendish family. “Let’s hear it then, Gus.”
“The Watergate pub becomes our property: lock, stock, and barrel.” Gus nodded toward Keith. “St. Baldred’s is brought up to snuff on all accounts.”
All Hallows Dead (Berdie Elliott Mysteries) Page 20
