“Including all physical repairs.” Keith jumped in. “I continue as verger. And seeing as St. Baldred’s will now be recognized as an important historical site, we call for workshops, courses, and such, to be on offer. Because of her expertise, we ask that they be lead by Dr. Margaret Rhys-Kendrick.”
Meg gaped.
“And Aggie, along with her husband, get the little gatehouse and garden with it,” Gus said. “No one’s living there now. Otherwise, things stay as they are.”
Staggered disbelief. That was the only way Berdie could encapsulate the idea of the Wells family passing on owning the whole of Criswell Abbey. What they were asking for was none but a paltry bit of the empire.
“Some would question the Wells family’s sanity,” Tippet said, “but they have made their decision, and I support them.”
Gus shrugged. “Truth is, I can run a pub with the best of them. And Keith knows his onions when it comes to his line of work. But none of us can handle operating an estate, nor do we want to at this stage of our lives. No, those headaches can stay with the Cavendish family.”
“Why not acquire the estate and sell it off?” Kingston asked.
“And where would the Cavendish family be?” Aggie blazed.
“Have some greedy developer purchase it,” Keith interjected, “just to chop it up and fill it with ticky-tacky houses?” He shook his head. “No.”
“We are, in a word, content with what we’ve proposed.” Gus gave a quick affirmative nod.
Edward stirred. “You are an honorable man, Gus Wells. I don’t know what to say. I see nothing unreasonable in any of your requests. I’m sure things can be worked out to everyone’s satisfaction.”
“And if I may.” Gus sat down. “Mr. Cavendish, you might want listen to your nephew. Pip has a good business idea about a golf course. It could be a winner for all involved.”
“Here, here,” Pip cheered.
Edward grinned and wagged his head.
Berdie’s eyebrows rose. It was a collaboration of Keith, Gus, and Pip that promoted the golf course, apparently. Was that what fueled their secret meetings? Was it a team effort to energize business by each man promoting their own enterprises? Church tours fed into pub lunches which would feed into a golf club? And it was clandestine to keep what they were about from Edward. Underhanded and intertwined support?
“All’s well that ends well,” Ruby chirped.
Edward’s smile went sour. He rubbed his hands together. “But we’ve not ended. I’m afraid there’s more, and it’s very, very grave. I asked Berdie Elliott to sift through the deadly occurrences at St. Baldred’s.”
“Ah-ha,” Meg blurted. “Didn’t I say?”
“Mrs. Elliott,” Edward invited her to speak, “you have the floor.”
“Do we really have to listen to this?” Keith crossed his arms.
Berdie stood. She planted her feet solidly and breathed a silent Lord have mercy. “I’m aware that all of this has come as a shock to everyone involved. But there are two people intricately tied up in all this who aren’t here to say their piece: Fitch Dennison and Neville Oakes.”
If she didn’t have everyone’s attention before, Berdie had it now.
The plain clothes policeman edged his way to the main door whilst DCI Underwood stayed at the rear entrance.
“Two men: both doing repairs at St. Baldred’s, both died in the church bell tower.” Berdie’s words were as solid as her stance. “I’m here to tell you that it’s no coincidence that they both died, and it certainly isn’t due to some lunatic ghost.” Berdie turned toward Keith Wells. “Is it Keith?”
The man went red. Now all eyes were upon the verger.
“There’s no ghost,” Berdie asserted. “You never denied it, and you gave just enough credibility for others to believe it was true.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Keith looked round the room.
“You took ancient rumors and gave them life. Computers are your expertise. Do you want to explain the nonexistent security system, and assorted natural aids, or shall I?”
Keith swallowed.
“Your so-called security system is no more than a cover up for a completely different kind of structure. The cameras are motion-activated sensors that emit special effects. The faint footsteps, that’s the ‘camera’ at the front door. You can hear an audible emission there. The odd coolness of an ‘unearthly presence’ is nothing more than a motion sensitive air vent. Shall I go on?”
“So that’s your miserable game, Keith Wells.” Meg’s words scorched the curtains.
“For more appeal,” Berdie continued, “you spread toast crumbs about the place to attract vermin that invites the little barn owl as a night stalker. A nice enhancement to your whole scheme. Odd night noises, and more.”
Keith scooted forward in his chair, then back. “OK. But, I was only trying to keep St Baldred’s viable,” he defended. “How else were we going to get people in and keep the place going?”
“Make it viable by creating a lie?” Berdie resisted wagging her finger. “Utterly diabolical.”
“Indeed.” Meg’s face was red with fury.
“And what do you mean, Keith, when you say we?” Berdie waited though the man avoided her eyes.
Gus glanced at his brother. “Pub dinner crowds were dwindling.”
Surprise was written over all but one face.
“New gastro-pubs, like The Four Ducks, all that fussy food: that’s trendy right now. But it’s not what the Watergate’s about. We’re pub grub, darts, quiz nights. My brother and I put our heads together, out of sheer necessity, and came up with an idea. When the punters came to see the haunted church, a pub lunch was included in the tour. And it was working.”
“But, when another person died in the church,” Keith said with his eyes to the ground, “we decided to back off. It smelled of suspicion. And, we had nothing to do with that.”
“Why should we believe you?” Meg roared. “You charlatan!”
“Wait, Meg,” Berdie rebuked. “I shouldn’t go there if I were you. You have as much motivation as anyone in this room to wish Fitch Dennison, or Mr. Oakes silenced.”
“Silenced?” Meg was on her feet. “You’re saying they were knocked off on purpose? I love St. Baldred’s. Why would I want to defame the very thing I cherish?”
Davis coaxed Meg back to her seat and put his arm around his wife. “Are you suggesting Meg knew about what was in the bell tower? How could she? It wasn’t discovered until sometime late last night.”
“No, you’re wrong,” Berdie announced. “It was discovered years ago by Fitch Dennison when he was doing tower repair work.”
It was as if the group sucked all the air from the room in a collective gasp.
“Fitch Dennison?” Turner frowned. “If that old goat found anything he thought could be of value, he’d have wrung it dry.”
Berdie cocked her head. “Why do you say that, Turner?”
The woman twisted a button on her cardigan. “We all know he was a bad lot.”
“Was there something else he wrung dry?” Berdie glanced at Ruby and back to Turner. “Something like family honor?”
“He took what wasn’t his,” Jack growled.
“All right,” Gus admitted, “many of us in this room had an abiding dislike for Fitch Dennison, but that doesn’t mean any of us would do him in.”
“He was my world,” Aggie protested.
“He was base, low, and a drunken sot.” Jack Slade was matter-of-fact.
“Still, I loved him.” Aggie lowered her chin.
Ruby buried her head in her hands. Berdie thought she heard a sob. Aggie was not alone in her love for the man.
Berdie seized the moment. “Funny thing, love. Passion can so easily turn into rage. Rage at being wronged. It gets out of control and irrevocable acts can happen.”
“Never.” Aggie was defiant. “I’d give anything to have him back.”
Ruby silently nodded her head in agre
ement, a tear trailing down her cheek.
“That’s enough drama.” Wilhelmina all but rolled her eyes. “I agree with Slade. Dennison was swill.”
“So what you’re saying, Mrs. Elliott,” Pip threw in, “is that everyone in the room, save our professional guests, had motive to off Fitch Dennison.”
“Even you, Pip.”
“Me?” He put his hand to his chest. “But I was only sixteen at the time. Why would I care about some old man who drank too much?”
“Perhaps Fitch reminded you of a father who neglected you through drink. Perhaps you wanted your own back.”
“This is outrageous,” Wilhelmina protested. “None of us should put up with these insults any longer.”
“Mrs. Elliott does make some fair points,” Edward retaliated. “Dennison was deeply disliked.”
“Disliked. That’s a given.” Jack Slade tipped his head. “But, Neville Oakes? Why should anyone want to harm someone they don’t know?”
“That was my question,” Berdie agreed, “until I started putting the puzzle in place. Fitch discovered the treasure, as I said.”
“How do you know that?” Turner asked.
“Fitch’s last words, ‘Trustyn here’ wasn’t about a ghost. He found the body in the priest hole. More than that, have Sailor sing his ‘bawdy’ song to you. He mimicked the song Fitch sang time and again. Listen carefully. It’s not about his women, but treasure, even where it lay. It’s all right there.”
“That silly pub parrot? You’re joking.” Turner smirked.
“Fitch discovered the priest hole with its gem-covered chest whilst working repairs. But he covered it back up.”
Dr. Appleby cleared his throat. “There is evidence in the plaster work that part of the wall was removed, then repaired again.”
“Why would he cover it up?” Davis asked.
Puzzled faces urged Berdie on with the answer. “A thought occurred to me. What if he told another person about the find, someone in charge, and they took a look themselves? And what if this other someone didn’t want the secret within to ever see light of day and insisted it be covered again? And then when Neville Oakes was working, what if that someone feared he would make the same discovery as Fitch?”
“So, they made sure he didn’t?” Mr. Pertwee interjected.
“That’s reaching,” Keith asserted.
“No, wait a minute.” Gus knit his brow. “That could make sense.” He looked at Edward, Meg, Pip, and Wilhelmina, Slade, and Turner. His face went pink, as if becoming aware of something for the first time. “Blimey.”
“Why should Fitch cover it up when he had a fortune at hand?” Berdie asked. “He wasn’t the type.”
She saw the guilty party rustle in their seat.
“Why?” Berdie went on. “Because he found a different kind of gold mine.”
“What?” Pip was aggravated.
“What does a rather unscrupulous sort ask for when required to be quiet about something another person doesn’t want known?”
“Blackmail.” Edward’s face went white. His eyes dropped downward. “Blackmail.”
“Fitch, as a blackmailer, would drain a person dry,” Jack Slade barked.
“That puts the Cavendish family right in it,” Phil Tippet reasoned aloud. “They’re the ones who had most to gain by covering it up, but that’s only if they knew about the royal document’s contents.”
Berdie stood straight. “The person who made sure Fitch Dennison and Neville Oakes kept dead silent is sitting in this very room.”
Glances danced from person to person. A frightened pall descended upon the drawing room of Marthrad House.
“Edward, your newspaper editor was the target of a hit and run in London around two AM recently. What night was that?”
“Do you think it’s tied in with all this?” He paused. “It was the night you, your husband, and friends came to dinner here.”
“What did you do when you got the call that George Molten was injured?”
“Well, I went down to London, right away of course, early that morning.”
“And Neville Oakes died that day when you were gone.”
“Yes.” Edward closed his eyes and popped them open. “The person who killed Neville Oakes also ran down George to get me away from Criswell. Is that what you’re suggesting?”
“I must ask,” Berdie goaded. “Meg, where were you at two AM that evening?”
Meg pursed her lips. “Right here, with Davis.”
“Of course, she was here with me,” her husband said in defense.
“A husband who dearly loves his wife is your alibi,” Berdie pointed out. “You do have a wonderfully remarkable relationship together.”
“We do,” Meg retorted. “And we’re not liars.”
Berdie moved her eyes to the elder sister. “Where were you at two AM that night of the hit-and-run, Wilhelmina?”
“You know very well.” Her words were etched with agitation. “That was the night I went to visit my friend in Edinburgh. You were there when Pip took me to the train station.”
“Yes. But your friend, Lady Hemmett, wasn’t home that evening. As a matter of fact, she was at her Caribbean estate and had been for several days.”
Wilhelmina knit her brow. “And how do you know that?”
Berdie lifted her chin. “It isn’t difficult to find out.”
“Not that it’s really any of your business, but, yes, my friend was gone when I arrived. I simply forgot she had already left for her estate. But then, at my age, advancing years play tricks on memory. It was late, so I took a taxi to a nearby guest house and spent the night there.”
“Or,” Berdie suggested, “the moment you arrived in Edinburgh, you took a taxi to the airport and boarded a flight to London, ordered a hire car, and did the deed. There was time to do it all.”
“Preposterous.” Blood vessels enlarged on Wilhelmina’s neck. “Be careful, Mrs. Elliot,” she warned. “You are verging on slander.”
“I’ll bear that in mind, Miss Cavendish.”
Berdie turned her attention to the youngest member of the Cavendish clan. “Pip?”
“You’re asking me where I was that night?” He looked at the ceiling. “Let’s see. I took Aunt Willy to the station, came home, and went to bed.” He stopped and looked round, then, ran a finger through his hair. “Perhaps I dropped in on friends on the way home, to join in a friendly game of cards and have a few drinks.” Pip gave a sideways look at Edward.
“So, what time did you get home?” Berdie asked.
“Late. I don’t know. I didn’t study the clock.”
“No, I should think you didn’t.”
Pip bit his lip. “But, I never hurt anyone.”
“Well, that just leaves me,” Edward volunteered.
Berdie studied her former boss. “Go ahead, then.”
“After my guests left,” he nodded at Hugh, “I did a little computer work. Turner left around ten, after tidying up. I had another brandy and went to bed with a good book. I was awakened by the telephone call from my assistant editor around five AM with the news that George was in an accident and in a critical condition at a London hospital. I have no one to vouch for where I was at two AM, apart from my bed, but there it is.” Edward rubbed his hand on the arm of the chair. “George is the best editor I’ve ever had.”
“So, we have all the Cavendishes’s alibis. Turner, Slade? After all, you had much to lose if your employers lost the estate.”
“We were sound asleep in bed,” Jack asserted. “Both of us.”
“Once again, just your word. There’s something Jack, you told me about the Cavendish family that I find interesting. Everyone is familiar with electrics. The late Mr. Cavendish saw to that.”
Edward nodded. “Yes, that’s true.”
“So the Cavendish family have keys to the church, know how to operate the mains, and now you have motivation to see Neville Oakes, as well as Dennison, done in.”
“That doesn’t p
rove anything,” Pertwee growled.
“But, two people in the family have also had formal training in the classics, which would include the ability to read Latin, or old English. They could have read the content of the decree and applied a little genealogy work. After all, true land ownership was the real threat to the Cavendish family.”
“Which two people could read it?” Gus asked.
“My sister and me.” Meg spit out the words. “Just say it outright, Mrs. Elliott.”
“You learned about ancient languages in your study of Hagiology, Meg. And, Wilhelmina,” Berdie directed to the senior, “your area of university study included ancient languages. But there is someone else here who had the most at stake in that royal document being discovered.”
Berdie bore her stare at Pip. “Didn’t you Pip?”
Pip reared. “You’ve gone barmy. I didn’t know anything about all this until just now.”
Every eye went to him.
“You have the most to lose as a Cavendish. You’re the heir, and that meant everything was going to be a potential loss.”
Berdie moved closer to the boy. “How badly do you want that golf course?” Berdie raised her voice. “You dropped your aunt at the station that night, you drove to the airport, and flew to London where you ran down George Molten.”
“You’re mad,” Pip shouted.
“Greed, plain and simple. You knocked Fitch Dennison to his death from the ladder, and electrocuted Neville Oakes.”
“Stop!” Wilhelmina screamed and stood up. “He’s not a murderer. Leave him alone, you she-bear.” The room couldn’t hold her rage as her face went red. “He’s already told you that he would never hurt anyone.”
Now Berdie bored her glare at Wilhelmina. “But you would, wouldn’t you, Wilhelmina? And you did. You sent Fitch Dennison and Neville Oakes to their graves. You struck down George Molton to get Edward out of the way so you could do your dirty work. And you didn’t even blink.”
15
“Berdie, are you certain?” Edward’s voice shook, his eyes filled with anxiety. “There’s no mistake? It’s definitely Wilhelmina?”
“But how could a woman her age get up into the priest hole?” Mr. Kingston queried.
All Hallows Dead (Berdie Elliott Mysteries) Page 21
