Divine Death: A Rev Jessamy Ward Mystery (Isle Of Wesberrey Book 4)

by Penelope Cress

  “But why would we involve this Norman Cheadle, given their history? We have Sebastian as our expert.”

  Barbara puffed herself up and tilted her head towards me. “Norman Cheadle is Sebastian’s supervisor, I believe. DeVere would have to confer with him before they go any further. I doubt Isadora is aware of this bad blood. She’s not a native islander. Poor Tom.”

  Poor Tom indeed.

  The experts have landed

  Isadora had arranged a full appraisal of the Venuses for the following day. To ensure I could get back to St. Bridget’s in time for the expected visitation of Norman Cheadle and Sebastian DeVere from the mainland, I made the most of the brighter mornings to get out on my parish rounds as early as possible. It was invigorating to get outside on this crisp spring day. Once naked trees gathered branches of pink and white blossoms close to their chests as I spluttered past, and glimpses of fading bluebell carpets dotted themselves through stone walls and garden fences. Though the air had yet to fully embrace the warmth of the morning sun, it would be a fine Thursday, whatever dramas it held in store.

  I was also keen to leave plenty of time to collect Sam for our road trip to the other side of the Island after lunch. I had successfully avoided my mother at the vicarage. She would know something was awry if I saw her. Rosie was the only one up when I finally got home after the meeting last night. She was too wrapped up in the interior design plans for her cafe ‘Dungeons and Vegans’ to notice me beyond a quick hello as I raided the fridge for any leftovers from dinner. There were calls of ‘Get him! What are you doing? Man!’ from my study, which meant that Rosie’s son Luke was deep in gaming mode. And my eldest sister, Zuzu? I hadn’t seen her for days! In fact, we rarely saw her unless ‘the Baron’ was on an important case or away on business. As I whizzed through the glorious narrow roads of Wesberrey, I thought about how time intensive a new relationship is, and how lucky I was to have time to myself to determine my own schedule. I was so incredibly lucky to be this free.

  I pulled up outside a charming, grey-slate cottage on the furthest point east on Upper Road at the junction with Sandy Cove. Wisteria was successfully chasing out the ivy from the sunniest walls of this pretty building, but the ivy remained victorious above the faded green door. So mighty was its grip above the mantle I was wary that rattling the brass knocker too hard would bring down an army of bugs and crawly creatures. Fortunately, the owner of the green door opened it before I found out.

  “Reverend Ward, so kind of you to come out so early. I just this minute put the kettle on. Would you like a cuppa? I have some Earl Grey at the back of the cupboard if that’s more to your liking?”

  “Whatever you normally have will be fine with me, Mrs Jenkins. Now, you had some concerns about the theme for this year’s Queen of the May Parade. I understand you usually do the flowers for the float.”

  So my morning began. Several more stops and many cups of tea later, I was back at St Bridget’s just in time to dash to the lavatory before the big event kicked off. As I turned to flush, a vaguely familiar voice called out through the stalls.

  “Vicar! Are you decent?”

  “Er, yes... almost. Who’s there?”

  “It’s Tizzy, Luke’s friend.”

  Tizzy? Luke’s friend? My nephew Luke. The guy who was never more than a few feet away from a game, either on my ageing computer or his phone, has made a friend? A girlfriend? He never leaves the vicarage! How did that? Oh, wait… Tizzy! The exotic dancer from the Aphrodite Club?

  I took a beat to settle the shock on my face and opened the toilet door to find a petite brunette who I barely recognised without the animal print mini skirt and tight-fitting blouse. This Tizzy was wearing a camel-coloured suede cropped jacket over a pristine, if snug, white t-shirt and baggy blue jeans.

  “Tizzy! Why, of course. What a pleasant surprise! What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, I have been meaning to pop by. My dad bought one of the new builds on School Lane, and I moved in with him a few weeks ago. I wanted to get away from the city. You know what I mean.” Tizzy lifted herself up to sit on the sink stand and dangled her legs off the edge. Her childish pose made me realise she was barely more than a couple of years older than my nephew, in fact without the heavy make-up she was possibly the same age. How did she end up as a muse at the Aphrodite?

  “So, you kept in touch with Luke then, after Lord Somerstone’s funeral? I had no idea.” I shook the water from my hands and pulled out a fresh paper towel from the dispenser.

  “Yeah, we FaceTime regular-like. What’s going on in the church? There’s a massive hole in the floor of the side aisle!”

  “They have been excavating the old well. The Stourchester Historical and Archaeological Society have been here for weeks laying the groundwork, processing the site, and then yesterday they actually went into the shaft and brought up a load of figurines. Fertility offerings, they think. Stone Age. We have an expert coming in a few minutes to appraise the find.”

  “Ooh, how exciting! I’ve always been interested in old things. And I’m not talking about the clientele at the Aphrodite.” Tizzy giggled. “Don’t suppose I could tag along?” she asked.

  “Ehrm…” I couldn’t think of a reason to refuse, well not quickly enough anyway. What objections could there possibly be to a teenage strip-tease artist joining a meeting to examine mini pagan goddesses found in a well under a font in an Anglican church? “Be my guest, the more the merrier.”

  Back at the altar, I introduced Tizzy to Isadora. She appeared delighted that someone so young showed interest in her discovery and regaled in telling Tizzy all about the various documented stages of the dig. I took advantage of the distraction to check in on Tom, who was looking very sullen by himself on the front pew.

  “I think Ernest is very forgiving.” I ventured.

  “He is a saint.” Tom whipped out a polka-dot handkerchief from his blazer pocket and loudly blew his nose with it. “Can you believe he’s gone with Phil to greet that charlatan off the ferry? He asked me to join him. I snapped back; why don’t you just roll out the red carpet and be done! He looked so upset. I hate us to part on an argument. It’s not good for the soul, eh, Vicar?”

  “I am sure he appreciates how you want to protect him, but he is being the bigger man here. I admire that.” If I were honest, I was more inclined to side with team Tom on this. I may believe in forgiveness, but to act as if it never happened... Maybe Ernest is in denial? “Maybe this is his way of accepting the loss. It’s only money, after all.”

  “You are right, Vicar. He has such a strong faith. When I asked him about it last night, he said Norman must have needed it more. Of course he did! He was a mediocre lawyer and is now a second rate academic. I fear he will use this to further his own ambitions. If DeVere doesn’t steal his thunder, that is. Poor, sweet Isadora, this is rightfully her treasure chest. Look at her. It is rare to find a woman with such verve, such passion. See how she is talking to that young woman. By the way, Vicar, she looks familiar. What did you say her name was?”

  “Tizzy. Short for Elizabeth, I think. She, er, her family has recently moved to Wesberrey. One of the new houses in School Lane. Maybe you have seen her around. She is one of Luke’s friends.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, they would make a darling couple.”

  At that moment the large oak doors under the bell tower swung open, and a series of rapid footsteps scuttled up the centre aisle. I peered over Tom’s shoulder to witness a dusty black polyester suit, topped by a shock of white hair, leading the charge towards the altar. An elegant Italian three-piece suit with sandy jaw-length curls strode a few feet behind. Ernest and Phil brought up the rear. I squeezed Tom’s hand to offer him a sign of my support and then rose to greet our guests.

  “Gentlemen, welcome! You must be Dr Cheadle.” I outstretched my hand to the black suit, who grunted acknowledgement and clumped straight past me. Instead, the slim fingers of Mr Sebastian DeVere met my hanging palm.

  “Reverend Wa
rd, such an honour to meet you at last. Please excuse the professor, he’s a man of few words.” Or manners, I thought to myself. “Sebastian DeVere, at your service. Please, shall we join them at the front? It really is quite the find, you know.”

  After much peering and pursing of narrow lips, Dr Cheadle eventually turned to Phil and said, “Mr Vickers, do you still own the Cat and Fiddle on Market Square?” A surprised Phil nodded in the affirmative. “Splendid, well, two rooms. One for myself and one for young DeVere here. We shall be back in the morning to take over. No one. And I mean no one is to touch anything without my say so. Is everyone clear? DeVere? We shall return to Stourchester to fetch our things. Reverend.” He nodded. “Mrs Thurgood? It’s been a pleasure.”

  Before anyone could correct his error on Isadora’s name, Norman Cheadle pivoted on his heels and marched back out of the church with equal urgency to that of his arrival. Sebastian bowed and followed behind him.

  The rest of our party stood looking at each other open-mouthed.

  A nasal trumpet brought us back with a jolt.

  We all turned to Tom, who was casually folding his handkerchief back into his pocket.

  “I’m warning you. Nothing good will come out of having any dealings with that man. Mark my words.”

  Travellers Bay

  I knew Mum would be down at the bookshop/cafe with Rosie and Luke, so I snuck back to the vicarage to grab something to eat before setting off again to see Aunt Cindy.

  I had thought a lot about Sam’s words. Maybe I was afraid. Cindy was the current keeper of the Wells of the Triple Goddess. Her prediction was that I would succeed her and then, in my turn, pass the honour down to one of my nieces. I was still struggling to accept this. I was, after all, an ordained priest in the Church of England and until only a few months ago had considered women such as my aunt as misguided hippies and, at worst, witches. Now I was having visions and experiences that I couldn’t argue away with Anglican doctrine. I have always been very liberal in my approach to faith and have tried to embrace all cultures and beliefs. I believe there is one true God but, as Jesus said, there were many rooms in his Father’s house. I believe in the power of prayer. I know God in my heart. None of these recent happenings had dimmed the light of His love inside me. My faith had grown stronger. But I feared having to give up the priesthood. How could I be a pagan goddess protector and be a shepherd to my flock?

  I took a few moments to gather my thoughts and sent a little prayer for clarity to the Boss Man. If there was one thing my faith had taught me, it was to let go and let God.

  ✽✽✽

  Minutes later I was heading west to Sal’s Scooters with my best friend riding pillion. The day was living up to its morning promise. Flecks of afternoon sun danced through the fresh green canopy along the roadside down to Market Square. The sea joined them in a dazzling light show as we turned onto the harbour front. Wesberrey could hold its own against the delights of the Amalfi Coast today. In fact, one could have been mistaken for thinking we had slipped through a portal into an Italian postcard as we rounded the final bend to be greeted by a rainbow of gleaming Vespas and Lambrettas.

  I took advantage of Sam’s detailed inspection of the scooters to check the map before setting back off for Cindy’s house. I was ashamed that in the four months I had been on the island, I had never ventured out this way. Most of my parishioners lived on the east end of Wesberrey or close to its commercial heart. Cindy had always met me in town or visited me at the vicarage or at Aunt Pamela’s, and before I bought Cilla, I had no easy way to get out to this side of the island.

  The western cape was historically an outpost for ‘vagrants and minstrels’, which would explain the appeal to my aunt. Cindy was a free spirit with timeless grace and beauty. She seemed to glide effortlessly through life, depositing love and wisdom in the hearts of all who met her. How on earth was her plump, frumpy niece supposed to take over this crown? But, despite my sister, Zuzu, being a better candidate on paper (she looked the part and certainly believed in free love) both of my siblings were mothers and the godmother is childless. I guess that was my only qualification.

  Once Sam had settled on a brand-new sky-blue Vespa Primavera model to match her new helmet and handed over a huge wad of cash to pay for it, we began the gentle climb around the cliff head to Travellers Bay. The main coastal path ran all around Wesberrey and linked all the island’s major arteries. As there were no cars, there was also no need for most of the roads to be much more than a dirt trail, the only traffic being the occasional horse and cart. Even so, it was important not to get lost. We needed to find the correct turning, or we were likely to trespass onto private property or, even worse, territory owned by the Royal Navy.

  As children, we were always warned away from visiting this side of the island because of the real danger of being shot at. The navy had evacuated the base after the Falklands War, but I wasn’t keen to find out if they still had any security on-site, especially those guards with waggy tails and sharp teeth. Fortunately, Sam spotted a scrappy piece of plywood with a faded painted arrow on the roadside. We took the next left.

  The tarmac road soon dissolved into loose gravel and clay, making the last few miles of the journey a true test of our scooters’ suspensions. We carefully followed the line of telegraph poles that ran alongside the path as the road vanished beneath us. The flat landscape flanked us for miles on either side. As we alighted our mechanical steeds at the entrance to the picturesque hamlet, my inner thighs and rear end screamed their gratitude. We continued into the wild west of Wesberrey on foot.

  Travellers Bay had a peculiarly desolate charm. Pastel cottages nestled amidst the sandy dunes. It was like standing in the middle of a dusty watercolour painting. Nothing had any real definition, there were no edges, no boundaries. One of these shapes was my aunt’s home, but which one? There were no street signs or house numbers, just names: ‘Higgins’, ‘Bartholomew’, ‘Simmons’ and ‘Bailey’.

  “Here we are!” I triumphantly announced. I stopped by a pale lilac timber clad building with an array of pampas and other ornamental grasses acting as a garden. Sam took off her helmet and adjusted her glasses. Typically, her sleek bun had remained perfectly coiffed, no sign of being flattened. I didn’t need a mirror to know that my cheeks were ruddy and my hair was more tangled than Christmas lights straight out of storage.

  “Welcome, Jess, darling!” Cindy air-kissed me on each cheek. “And Dr Sam! How marvellous. I wondered how long it would take you to pop along to see me. I’m afraid I only have herbal tea in at the moment. I’m on a bit of a detox to prepare for Beltane. Though no chamomile, I’m afraid. Can’t stand the stuff, tastes like grass. I can offer you dandelion root or peppermint. There might be some Rooibos somewhere?”

  Sam and I both agreed that dandelion root sounded intriguing.

  I’m not sure what I expected from Cindy’s home. I knew it wouldn’t be the floral and beige mood board of Pamela’s house, but I guess I expected it to be more extreme, more gothic, more witchy? The room I sipped tea in was a sumptuous bohemian lounge with a tasteful vibe in muted pastels. There were lots of plants hanging in macramé holders from the ceiling and shelves. Delicate shawls layered the dusty pink sofa I was sinking into. More shawls draped over the stunning white peacock wicker chair Sam perched upon. Cindy held court from a sage brocade chaise lounge in front of a trio of pine bookcases, each shelf stuffed full of paperbacks and curios. The other walls hung with original artwork. Some pictures were of my aunt in her youth, several were nudes.

  “So, darling child, you had another blackout.”

  How did she know that? I hadn’t mentioned a word to anyone except Sam. I cast an accusatory glance in her direction.

  “Don’t look at me! I didn’t tell her!” Sam huffed.

  My aunt gracefully kicked her legs up onto the chaise to prepare for what she obviously thought was going to be a long conversation.

  “Jess, why does this continue to surprise you so? They
found the well, didn’t they? Was it under the font? We had often suspected it was there. It would have to be on the convent side of the church.”

  “The convent side?”

  “Yes, to the left of the stone arches. There were two chapels before the Reformation. Two altars. One for the nuns, the other for the community. They sectioned it off by a curtain to offer the nuns some privacy. That half is the only surviving part of the abbey. The rest was torn down during the dissolution of the monasteries. It only survived because of that shared wall. The curtains are gone now, of course. You must have realised there’s an extra aisle?”

  “Yes, no one ever sits there as you can’t see the altar.” I was possibly more shocked that my aunt knew so much about the architectural history of the church than I was that she knew about my fainting spell.

  “Exactly. It was always a small house. Never over thirty sisters. The only other surviving part of the convent is the stone archway that now leads into the hall. You must have noticed the Green Man carved into the frame?” I shook my head. Green men often appear in older churches. Probably a nod to the pagan sites they stood on, or the continuing rural traditions of the local stonemasons at the time. “It’s no coincidence you have discovered those simple offerings so close to Beltane. Or as you would call it, May Day. The Green Man is preparing to emerge from winter’s restorative temperance. He will soon walk abroad, infusing all living things with his passionate fire.”

  Sam giggled. When Cindy turned her way, Sam recoiled sheepishly into the wicker chair like a naughty schoolgirl. “Sorry,” she added, “It just sounded like he is feeling a little horny.”

  “Oh, he is. He’s a great lover. He sows his seed across the land, and Mother Earth is aching to receive him. You can feel the anticipation in the air. The yearning of the trees, their blossoms heaving with desire.”

  I coughed. “Well, I had never thought of May Day quite that way before.”