“Exactly,” Berdie responded.
“You’ve seen it then?” Dr. Appleby asked.
“Yes, she has, with my permission,” Edward asserted on Berdie’s behalf.
“It’s not an easy climb,” Berdie added circumspectly. “But, then I remembered the entrance to the Cavendish tree house where Wilhelmina often goes.”
“Oh, yes, so do I,” Lillie chimed in.
Edward’s face flashed with awareness. “That stiff rope ladder. If she can climb that, then she can—”
“Yes, she can,” Berdie asserted. “To her credit, Miss Cavendish is more fit than she lets on.”
Pip was aghast, as if the reality of Berdie’s words were setting in.
“Let’s ask Turner a question,” Berdie prodded. “Whose job is it to serve guests at Marthrad House?”
“Mine, of course.” Turner scowled.
“Why would your boss, Miss Cavendish, take lemonade to the tradesmen, Mr. Oakes and Kit, who were working in the church? Isn’t that your job?”
“Yes,” she mumbled.
“But you didn’t take refreshments to St Baldred’s the day Neville Oakes died, did you?”
“No.” The word no sooner left her lips than Turner put her hand to her mouth and glanced at Wilhelmina.
Berdie crossed her arms. “It was difficult for you, Miss Cavendish, to do a servant’s job, but it was worth making sure the priest hole would not be found again. You were aware Oakes was working on the tower electrics. It was appearances you counted on, with your goodwill offering of lemonade, when you sneaked in and turned the mains back on which electrocuted Mr. Oakes.”
Wilhelmina was a smoldering ember, about to blaze. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing. I tried to revive the man.”
“But you didn’t succeed, did you. Kit, who was Neville’s assistant, said you beat Neville’s chest. In fact he repeated that fact. But he never mentioned giving the kiss of life. Quite an omission for someone involved with St. John’s Ambulance Brigade. ‘Reviving’ him set you up as a heroine, even though you never intended for him to survive.”
“This is absurd.” Wilhelmina bounced her furious gaze from face to face. “Why do you go on listening to this crazy woman? Dismiss her, Edward.”
Edward’s eyes were moist, his face pale. “I can’t, Wilhelmina.” He gave Berdie a reluctant nod.
“Then there’s Fitch. I had an interesting discussion with Tony, Ruby’s son. He was, as you know, Fitch’s assistant that fateful day.” Berdie turned to the foreman. “Jack, who asked you to send Tony to the north field to look after a broken gate that afternoon and instructed that he take the new estate SUV? Oh, and then sent you on another errand?”
Jack gave Miss Cavendish a hard glare. “She was in charge that day, with Mr. Cavendish gone.”
“Tony said he found nothing amiss with that gate. He also told me Fitch had a business lunch that day. Was it at the Watergate?” Berdie turned to Gus. “Who did Fitch lunch with at the Watergate that day, Gus?”
Gus looked at Wilhelmina and pointed. “Her.”
“Our family owns the place. Am I not entitled a little food?” Wilhelmina huffed.
“Gus, wasn’t that a bit off?” Berdie wheedled. “How often did Wilhelmina, the oh-so-proper Cavendish, frequent the pub? Or even yet, lunch with a tradesman?”
“Rare if ever. That’s why it’s engraved in my memory.”
Berdie stepped closer to the old woman. “You had to make sure the whole village saw Fitch drink himself legless, as you bought him pint after pint at your ‘business lunch.’ It must have been hard on your dignity, distasteful even. But you were thinking of family honor. And of course, your Pip’s inheritance, his proper place in the Cavendish line. You couldn’t let this money-grabbing tradesman keep blackmailing you. But, for a dullard to expose everything and rob your precious nephew of his future, you would never allow it.”
Wilhelmina smirked. “You think you’re so clever.”
“When you kicked and shook the ladder Fitch stood on in the church tower, it wasn’t just that he was an easier target. Everyone would know he was inebriated. ‘It was an accident,’ they’d all say.”
Wilhelmina’s eyes narrowed as she came to her feet. “Fitch Dennison was a stain on the landscape.” Her mouth curved downward. “The world’s a better place without that thieving sot. I did mankind a favor.”
“Miss Cavendish,” Pertwee interrupted. “As your solicitor I beg of you, don’t say anymore.”
“You!” Aggie wailed at Wilhelmina. “You are the stain.”
Wilhelmina stabbed her shaking finger toward Aggie. “Can you imagine that common tart becoming the lady of Marthrad House? Look at her with her bottle-dyed hair and gaudy dress. The thought of it turned my stomach.”
“She’s more of a lady than you’ll ever be,” Gus defended.
Without warning, Ruby flew up from her chair, anger pulsing from every pore. “You killed my son’s father!”
Berdie watched the Well’s reaction to Ruby’s words. Little surprise was visible.
But Ruby was livid. She rushed for Wilhelmina, vengeance etched in her face, hands stretched forward. “You deserve to die.”
Jack Slade tried to catch Ruby’s elbow, but missed.
Ruby pushed Berdie aside and dived for Wilhelmina. The enraged mother’s fingers, strong with fury, gripped Wilhelmina’s neck and squeezed with all her strength.
“No, Ruby,” Berdie screamed.
Wilhelmina’s aged eyes bulged. The old woman’s face reddened, and she clawed at the hands that cut off her breath.
Hugh thrust himself toward Ruby, grabbed the woman’s forearms, and worked to wrench them downward. “Stop, Ruby, now.”
As everyone came to their feet, the plain clothes constable raced from the door, charged into the fray, seized Ruby around the waist, and thrust her against the nearby wall.
Wilhelmina, face gone scarlet, dropped back into her chair, clasped her throat, and gasped for air.
“Get some water for her,” Edward commanded Pip.
“Ruby.” Berdie grabbed the woman’s shoulders, and looked her in the eye. “Don’t let her drag you down to her level. You are more than that.”
Ruby buried her face into her shaking hands. “I don’t know what came over….” A dam broke and she violently sobbed, shoulders heaving.
Berdie put her hand on Ruby’s back until Turner put her arms around her sister. “Officer,” Turner said to the policeman, “let me calm my sister. She’s overwrought. Our Ruby isn’t really a violent creature.”
“Both of you stay in this room,” the constable demanded.
Turner comforted Ruby and sat her down in a large chair. Keith sat with her. “It’s time to move on now, Ruby.” His voice was tender.
DCI Underwood stood next the chair where the eldest Cavendish was recovering her breath, hair awry, and face discolored. “Now I understand why you wanted Oakes’s inquest to be done so quickly,” he sneered. “And all for what? The Wells don’t even want your precious goods or position! Wilhelmina Cavendish,” came out between chomps of gum, “I’m arresting you on the suspicion of murder of Fitch Dennison and Neville Oakes. I must caution you that anything you say….”
Whilst the DCI continued his formal cautioning, Berdie let go a huge sigh. Relief. It was all done. Wilhelmina had incriminated herself. She turned to Hugh who stood by her side. “Pride cometh before a fall.”
“Well done, love,” he whispered. “Now,” he said with a large grin, “can we please go back to our room, have a cup of tea, and let me finish my book?”
Berdie chuckled and laid her head on Hugh’s shoulder. “Oh, yes, please.”
****
Tools whizzed and busy church workers buzzed, whilst Berdie walked toward the altar in St. Baldred’s. Hugh, Lillie, and Loren followed behind.
“Good morning,” Keith offered. “I’ve made everything ready.”
He surely had. Though work was continuing in the church, dust
was swept from several pews. Keith had obviously given them a touch of polish. The altar was prepared. A cross and glowing candles made their home upon a crisp white cloth that covered it. A round boule of bread, alongside a laden chalice, declared it a holy table. Made ready indeed.
Hugh donned his stole and joined the verger at the altar, momentarily chatting as he did.
“How many people do you think will come?” Lillie asked Berdie whilst the threesome sat on a polished pew. “I mean, after the shock of everything last night.”
“I don’t know.” Berdie answered. “Right now, it’s just for those of us who are aware. Edward said that there will be a public service later.”
“Well,” Loren popped, “I think your suggestion was a brilliant idea, Berdie.”
It was nice to be in Loren’s good graces again.
He went on. “Poor Brother Trustyn has been without a memorial long enough. It’s fitting now. We raise his honor and put both the ghost stories and the technical wizardry that fed them to rest.”
“So true,” a familiar male voice quipped.
Berdie looked up to see Davis, the large friendly man who was hand-in-hand with a somewhat weepy Meg, standing by the pew. Meg nodded, and brought a tissue to her nose.
“It’s wonderful to see you both here.” Berdie wanted to commend them for their courage in coming despite their family being in the midst of chaos. But instead, “Please, sit with us,” seemed more appropriate. She moved over. Meg and Davis joined them, Meg next her.
Berdie wondered if asking how things were going in the Cavendish household would be appropriate.
It was as if Meg understood Berdie’s hesitation. “Edward’s seeing to Wilhelmina’s legal issues,” she said without dithering. “He’s employing the best criminal barristers available, but she will surely pay for her crime.” Meg caught a dribbled tear with her tissue.
“And you, Meg? Is there anything I can do to help?”
“It’s just that I knew my sister was all about appearances, stuffy, even hard as nails sometimes.” Meg dabbed her eye. “But I would have never thought she could actually…I mean…to take an innocent life?” She swallowed and looked straight at Berdie. “What triggered your suspicions?”
“I visited her at the treehouse.” Berdie kept her voice low. “When Wilhelmina spoke of failing to revive Neville Oakes, she welled with tears.”
“And that made her suspect?”
“She was far more reserved than that, Meg. Even having spent the little time I did with her, I knew that. Blub for a workman she had just met?” Berdie said it gently. “They were crocodile tears. I had to ask myself, why?”
“When did you know, I mean beyond doubt, that she did the crimes?”
“After putting pieces together: not staying in Edinburgh, out of character behaviors around the deaths, her unswerving devotion to Pip, not giving the kiss of life. ‘Everyone knew their place,’ she once said, a very telling remark. Especially considering Fitch Dennison. But, the double nail in the coffin was when I became aware of what the royal decree was about, knowing she trained in ancient languages. And then, I discovered, by way of a personal friend, that she rented a vehicle in London the night George Molton was run down. Then the adage ‘follow the money’ came into effect. The timing of things all worked out.”
Meg barely seemed to take it in.
“By the way,” Berdie changed direction, “Lillie saw you in the wee hours of the night when George’s hit-and-run occurred. You and Davis were on a moonlight stroll I understand.”
“What was Lillie doing up at that time of night?”
“She was tending her cigar-smoke affected stomach.”
“Oh.” Meg gave just a hint of smile. She sniffed. “I must say, Edward was right. You don’t miss a thing, do you?”
Berdie took it as a compliment.
“Your children must not have gotten away with anything around you.” Meg almost smiled.
“If only that were true.” Berdie made her tone light. “But, I know something that is absolutely true, Meg. Hugh relished your classes. You’re a very gifted teacher.”
“I’ll never leave my academic pursuits. I truly love what I do.”
“And it shows.” Berdie chose her words carefully. “Just let me suggest that if you and Keith can bump along together, you have a great deal to offer as a course leader, right here, as well as at university.” Berdie made steady eye contact. “St Baldred’s needs you both.”
Meg dropped her chin and brought the tissue to her nose. “You certainly don’t go round the houses.”
“Nor do you, Meg.”
That brought the corners of Meg’s mouth upward. “I have to say that no one’s ever accused me of being a shrinking violet.”
Berdie grinned. Truer words were seldom spoken.
The conversation at a lull, Berdie became aware that gentle violin music had begun. Hugh and Keith were seated. Jack Slade stood next the altar, violin tucked firmly under his chin, bow upon the strings.
Jack Slade was a violinist? His leather-hardened hands touched the strings as if they were silk, the tender movement of the bow brought them to life. The undeniable notes of “Panus Angelicus” filled the church with such splendid simplicity, even the busy church workmen fell silent.
The musty air that tickled Berdie’s nose was the scent of the ages. Morning sunlight filtered through the ancient chancel window as it had for eons. The altar displayed its splendid storehouse without fear of persecution.
Berdie knew that she now joined the thousands who worshipped here before her, publicly or in secret. Numbered among the faithful at St. Baldred’s, she, too, came in reverent adoration. What a fitting prelude to serve the memory of dear Brother Trustyn whose personal faith stayed the course, even unto death.
Hugh stood when the music ceased and offered the call to worship. The entire work crew had gone silent.
The memorial service was short yet touching. And when Jack Slade struck up the stirring hymn, “Processional for Saints’ Days,” Berdie lifted her voice along with the others. The familiar words had fresh meaning for her.
The thousand times ten thousand, In sparkling raiment bright, The armies of the ransomed saints Throng up the steeps of light.
Berdie heard multiple voices joining as the hymn continued. She sneaked a quick glance behind her to see most of the workman, including Dr. Appleby and Mr. Kingston, singing along. Ruby, Turner, Aggie, and Gus were there too. She couldn’t help but smile as she sang on.
’Tis finished, all is finished, Their fight with death and sin; Fling open wide the golden gates, And let the victors in.
When Hugh pronounced the last word of the benediction, Gus stood, his Father Christmas cheeks in full bloom.
“A word of thanks to Reverend Elliott, Keith, and Jack. A fitting resolution for our dear long lost soul, and for us, as well.”
Everyone nodded, even the work crew.
“Now, moving forward, we’ve got the art work up at the pub for the silent auction.” He nodded toward the bell tower. “We need a proper bell for this church, so come along and give generously. And all who want a pub breakfast, it’s on me.” He jabbed his thumb toward the workmen. “You lot included.”
A general cheer went up, and everyone began to file out of St. Baldred’s.
“We’re going back to the house,” Meg informed Berdie. “I’m not ready to face the community yet.”
“Understandable. God’s grace go with you.”
Lillie, non-attentive to the farewell, raced for the door.
“Lillie, I need to talk to you. It’s important.” Loren dug his hand into his coat pocket and rummaged about in it.
“In a bit, Loren.”
“Why such a hurry, Lillie?” Berdie asked.
“I entered my drawing in the art auction,” she called forging onward, “and I want to see if it’s gotten any bids.” Her voice was riddled with excitement.
“Oh. I didn’t know.”
“It is a w
orthy cause, isn’t it?” The words left Lillie’s lips just as she walked out the door.
Berdie hoped Lillie wouldn’t be too disappointed when the highest bid on her art work wouldn’t pay for a morning newspaper.
“You go on to the Watergate, love,” Hugh told Berdie. “I’ll join you there.”
The short trot to the pub almost made Berdie breathless, trying to catch up with Lillie. And when the pack from St. Baldred’s entered the Watergate, Berdie had to practically squeeze her way along, Lillie having pushed through. The place buzzed with conversation, people gawking amongst several tall display boards boasting local works of art. Groups gathered round paintings on the walls as well. Tables were pushed aside. And to add extra color, Sailor was in full voice.
“It’s a madhouse,” Loren proclaimed when Berdie arrived. “Lillie’s off searching to see where her entry is hanging.”
“I’m afraid she’s not taking much notice of you.”
“Oh, but I’m soon to get Lillie’s full and undivided attention.”
Berdie heard determination in Loren’s words. “How will you do that?”
“I found it,” Lillie called out to Berdie and Loren. She waved her hand to them from where she stood almost dead center in the middle of the pub by a display board. “Come look.”
When Loren and Berdie reached Lillie, she pointed to the bid sheet next her work and was off again. “It says a bid has been made, but I must check with the director to see its value. What do you suppose that means?” Lillie didn’t wait for an answer.
Berdie thought it kind of the auction director not to embarrass Lillie with a minuscule bid in full view alongside her art. “May I borrow a pen, Loren?”
He pulled one from his inside suit pocket. “She’ll be pleased when she gets the news.”
“Really?” Berdie tried to sound positive as she wrote a ten pound entry on the bid sheet.
“I’ve always fancied having a nice picture of a horse for the front hall of my Timsley flat. Albeit, a bit of a fanciful horse in this case.”
Berdie caught her breath. “Loren,” she corrected, “it’s not a horse. Don’t even breathe the word horse.”
All Hallows Dead (Berdie Elliott Mysteries) Page 22
