“Okay, well, I’m almost with you there. The devil is the temptation to act against God, to choose our own wishes over his. But surely the smashing of someone over the head with an altar candlestick is the work of the devil?”
“I think you will find it is, as it always is, the work of someone very much of this realm.” Cindy slid back into her chair. “I wish I could give you clearer answers, but the way to enlightenment is through opening up your heart and your mind. When you have been willing, the divine has worked through you. To help us connect, we all have our traditions. We have Beltane and Imbolc and, well, you have Easter and, in a few weeks, Whitsun. I can train you to handle this better, to read the signs, but you need to find your own anchors. You will become more open to these messages. Sometimes they will terrify you, other times you will feel actual pain. But there is no need to give up your faith. To find peace, however, you will have to embrace your destiny.”
A Girls’ night in
Dinner that evening started as an all female affair. Luke was presumably still celebrating with Tizzy, and Dave was busy with the business of detecting. Aunt Pamela had joined us, as Byron had a model railway enthusiast gathering in the Midlands, somewhere near Coventry.
“He has been talking about this convention for weeks, I’ll be glad when it’s over.”
“Well, then Aunt Pammy, what do you suggest we do tonight as we are man-free for the evening? I am up for cracking open the sherry and watching some Magic Mike.” Zuzu needed to stay occupied to mitigate her boredom at being Dave-less for an evening.
Rosie was less keen. “Don’t you think Channing Tatum has tiny ears? Don’t see the appeal, myself.”
“Aw, Rosie, you’re so sweet. I doubt anyone else was looking at his ears!” Zuzu sniggered. “But I'm sure we can find something on Netflix. Or a board game? Cluedo! Jessie that would be right up your street.”
Pam approved. “Did you know they call it Clue in the States? Crazy, eh? And they based Monopoly on an educational tool to teach children about the problems with capitalism.”
“Pam, darling, I think you have been spending way too much time locked up in that house of yours with just Byron for company.” Cindy joked.
Pamela’s mouth twisted. Her nostrils widened to suck in the surrounding air. “You are always poking fun at my husband, but he’s a good man. Stable. Reliable,”
“And boring! Come on, Pam, darling. Let your hair down.”
“Cindy, why do you always do this? Beverley, defend me here.”
My mother’s habit of silence safely removed her from their argument. For my sisters and I, it was quite amusing to watch their sibling rivalry play out. The three of them were so different. I guess Zuzu, Rosie and I have very contrasting personalities too. That’s just the way with sisters, even those with ‘special’ gifts from the goddess. Eventually, their disagreement petered out, and the conversation moved onto general chit-chat.
“I thought our Queen of the May was stunning today,” Pamela said as her eyes scanned the table for leftover hummus to dip her carrot stick into. “Jess, she was all talk about you and how supportive you’ve been since she arrived.”
“Tizzy, yes. I’m so sorry I missed it. You know I think she and Luke are seeing each other.”
Rosie was quick to defend her son. “Jess, I think your imagination is putting two and two together and making five! They’re just good friends.”
Zuzu shrieked with laughter so loud she sent Hugo scurrying out into the hallway. The poor cat has been gently falling asleep in her arms. “Luke’s not a child! Trust me, they aren’t playing monopoly tonight.”
“Susannah!” Mum’s displeasure was clear from her use of Zuzu’s proper name. “Poor Hugo!” She pushed away from the table in search of the terrified pet. “I suggest we move to the other room and find a nice film.”
Not that my mother was a prude, she just avoided all confrontation wherever possible. No one likes to think of their children in that way, much the same way as children can’t think of their parents having sex either. The fact was though, if not tonight, then surely it was only a matter of time before Tizzy and Luke took their relationship to the next level. They were constantly in each other’s pockets. Which begged the question, where was Tizzy last night? Why was Luke on his own when he discovered Norman’s body?
I offered to clear up the dishes and asked Rosie to hang behind to help. The others could pick the entertainment, we would be along later. I wanted to know if Luke had mentioned anything else about last night to his mother.
“I tried to get him to open up,” Rosie said. “But he was so upset. I’m worried this will become some deep-seated trauma, you know, buried away in his psyche, only to come out years later on a psychiatrist’s couch after when he’s on his third marriage.”
“Did he say any more about what he was doing there?”
“No, he just won’t talk to me. He gets all defensive. He thinks I’m accusing him of doing something wrong. Maybe Zuzu is right. Tizzy is a dangerous influence. She seemed such a polite young lady.”
“In Zuzu’s, and Tizzy’s defence, she didn’t say that. She just hinted, very heavily, that they would be getting to know each other more, er, intimately. And, much as that is a difficult thought to process, she’s probably right.”
“But she was one of those dancers, wasn’t she? Those clubs are full of wise guys.”
“Rosie! Seriously, wise guys? She wasn’t working at the Bada-bing on the Sopranos. It was a gentleman’s club. A little seedy, I grant you, but from what she told me, she only danced and did a bit of waitressing. She has a fresh start here; besides Luke is a good boy. I am sure he will do the right thing.”
“Yes, like his father. Men, they’re all the same.” She sobbed. “I don’t want my little boy to...”
“Grow up?” I took my detergent-soaked hands out of the sink and carefully put my arms around my baby sister to hug her, without drowning her in soapsuds. “He will always be your little boy. You don’t need to worry; you did a good job. He’s a credit to you.”
“He’s still a man, though, and men are stupid! If that Tizzy girl is involved in any of this, he is naïve enough to cover for her.”
Whilst I couldn’t agree with the generalisation that all men are the same or are stupid, it was hard to ignore that love, especially young love, could make fools of us all.
I squeezed my sister as hard as I could. I resolved to talk to my love-struck nephew as soon as possible. I couldn’t think of any reason Tizzy would have to kill Professor Cheadle, a man she only briefly saw the day before. But perhaps they had a shared past, maybe from the Aphrodite. Such thoughts could wait. The opening bars of ‘Be my baby’ by the Ronettes were creeping down the hall which meant only one thing: we had agreed on an evening of ‘Dirty Dancing’!
The White House
The SOCO team were still finishing up in the church, so we held Sunday mass in the hall. As it was a fabulously sunny morning, I didn’t expect the higher than usual numbers, but I suppose a murder brings out the curious. Phil and Barbara had carefully arranged the seating and refreshment tables between them. Rosemary, as usual, was in charge of the hymns, though without the organ had to turn to a more modern form of accompaniment. I went over to help her with the speaker.
“I can’t work out this confounded contraption. Phil gave me his smartphone thingy and said I only had to press play but…”
“Have you turned on the Bluetooth connection?” I offered.
“The what?” Rosemary was all confusion. I gestured to her to hand me the phone. I pressed the screen twice to access the correct area and music waltzed into the hall.
“Oh my, that is clever! Your ancestors would have been burnt at the stake for that a few centuries ago.” Rosemary took back the phone, let out a tremendous sigh of relief, and sat back in her chair. “So I just hit these double line things when it’s over?”
“Yes, I believe it queues all the hymns up in order. Quite the crowd, eh? Though I
think they are all a little disappointed we aren’t in the church. Even without a dead body, it’s too dangerous with that enormous hole.” I flopped down beside her. “Rosemary, do you ever wish you hadn’t agreed to something? This whole thing is quite crazy.”
“Well, that poor man’s death aside, the discoveries are important, and if this crowd is anything to go by, will bring more tourists here this summer. I think you made the right decision. This mess will soon clear itself up. It always does, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I guess it does. Right, I need to grab my sermon notes and check on how Mr Pixley is doing with the choir. They looked quite squashed in that corner. Are you sure you’re okay here?”
Rosemary smiled. “Don’t you fret none about me, you get over there to young Lawrence, clickety-split.”
Old age brings an enviable serenity. Though Rosemary could get flustered with new technology and often other people, underlying these bouts of anxiety lay a sense of peace and certainty one can only secure with passing time. Strangely, whilst I viewed Rosemary as an old woman, my mother was probably a similar age. Both were still active and spritely, yet it hit me how much we were asking of my mother to sell her house and move back to Wesberrey, after all these years. Were my sisters and I being selfish to expect her to give up the life she had made, the things she had gathered around her like a comfort blanket, to keep house for us? I had assumed her reluctance was because of all the terrible memories she had here, but perhaps she feared starting over. This was a huge ask, and I hadn’t given it any thought. I may be a good shepherd, but I am a terrible daughter!
✽✽✽
I am also a pretty awful vicar, as it wasn’t until we mingled for tea and biscuits after mass that I realised that neither Tom nor Ernest were there. Though I desperately wanted to hang around more with Lawrence (we hadn’t spoken since Friday night) there was a more pressing need to tend to my flock.
After a few gentle enquiries, I learnt that Barbara had been in touch with Tom first thing, and apparently both of my churchwardens were suffering from some undiagnosed malady.
“They said not to worry, just a few sniffles. I don’t think they felt up to facing everyone, to be honest. The whole island knows about Ernest’s former business partner and well, wagging tongues can be very sharp.”
It was time to visit the White House.
✽✽✽
I went back to the vicarage to grab some baked goodies, courtesy of my sister’s cafe experiments, and like an older version of Red Riding Hood, skipped along with my basket to visit Tom and Ernest. My logic was that they would be unable to resist the aroma of vegan carrot cakes smothered in faux cream cheese and pistachios. It smelt divine.
Tom opened the door. It was well into the afternoon and yet he was still wearing his pyjamas, even if they were topped with a very dashing paisley housecoat. “Ernest has a cold, Reverend, and I’m not too great myself. Thank you for popping by, though, it’s very kind.”
I wedged my foot in the closing door. “Tom, I understand that you don’t want to talk to people, but I’m not people, am I? I am your friend. Please, I promise not to stay long. I just want to see if I can offer you both some comfort at this difficult time.”
Tom glanced briefly into the house, and then slowly backed away, letting me enter. “I’ll put the kettle on. Those squares look intriguing.”
“Vegan,” I added as I slipped through the doorway. “We have lots more if you like them. Rosie is becoming a baking whizz. One thing about my little sister, she throws herself one hundred percent into anything she does.”
Though Tom and Ernest lived so close, or perhaps exactly because they lived nearby, I hadn’t been inside the White House before. I usually saw them in and around St. Bridget’s or when they operated the funicular railway. As the tourist season had begun, the railway could afford to pay some local youngsters to staff the two stations, giving Tom and Ernest a bit of respite from their active volunteering.
Their house was much as I expected it to be, a stylish, modern yet classic interpretation of a Victorian home. They had painted all the walls white or in contrasting tones of grey, with odd black feature walls for dramatic effect. Eclectic wooden furniture jostled for prominence against luxurious soft furnishings. The lounge boasted a sumptuous blue velvet sofa flanked at either side by soft brown leather armchairs. Every piece bore the patina of being much loved and well used across the generations.
Ernest had his back to me when I arrived. Huddled over some papers at a walnut writing bureau. On both sides, bookcases filled with dusty hardback covers in various hues lined the wall of the alcove. I coughed to get his attention.
Ernest stuffed the papers into a buff folder and closed the bureau. “Reverend! How lovely of you to honour our little home with a visit. Please sit down. I trust Tom is seeing to some refreshments.”
“Yes, he is, and I brought some cakes. Vegan, I’m afraid, but they are lovely.” I made myself comfortable on the velvet sofa, it was so lush I couldn’t help running my palm up and down the armrest a few times in admiration.
“Vegan? Ah yes, Rosie’s plans for a cafe. I am hoping to hand over the keys soon. Lord Somerstone’s estate is quite complex, as you can imagine. I hear you have agreed to sit on the new Academy’s committee, excellent news. There is quite a lot of money in the trust for that. Lord Somerstone has been incredibly generous.”
“I believe he has. Mr Pixley is extremely excited about the possibilities.” I tried my best not to kick off my shoes and sink back into the comfy cushions that hugged me. I figured that this couch was older than my nephew, possibly even older than me, and hadn’t survived this long without being treated with total respect. I was also aware of the need to not get too comfortable with my thoughts of Lawrence Pixley in public. My flushed cheeks would be a dead giveaway.
Thankfully, Ernest appeared to be oblivious to my reddening complexion. “Indeed, he is effervescent, and the school is in very great need of a makeover. I’m sorry we skipped mass this morning. Just a little under the weather, you know. I don’t like to miss a service, but that hall gets so cramped. Wouldn’t want to spread my germs to the entire congregation.”
“I’m sure God will understand.”
“Yes, let him be my judge. Now, Reverend Ward, I’m sure you haven’t just popped by to check up on our health.” Ernest took up his seat in the smaller of the two leather chairs.
“Well, I am concerned about how you're both feeling following the death of Professor Cheadle.”
Tom returned with a gilt-edged tray, three sets of bone china plates, cups and saucers and my sister’s carrot cakes beautifully arranged on a matching tiered cake stand which he carefully placed on the glass coffee table in the centre.
“Reverend, I won’t pretend I’m overly upset at the news. He was a vile man. Pomposity incarnate. It’s no major loss to the world. I hope his blood hasn’t permanently stained the flagstones.” Tom seated himself on the taller brown chair and folded his arms. He stared at his partner with a look that dared him to counter what he had just sad.
Ernest remained silent.
“I think the police will send in a special clean-up team to deal with stuff like that, and hopefully soon.” I bit into one of the cake squares. Rosie, your culinary skills are really improving! “Has Inspector Lovington been over to ask you any questions yet?” I asked.
“No, why do you think he will? Are we suspects? Surely not!” Tom unfolded his arms and slapped both hands down on his legs so hard, it must have stung a little. Yet he continued, unperturbed. “I mean, I hated the man with a passion, but they can’t suspect for one minute that I or Ernest would ever, especially Ernest. As you said yourself, Reverend, Ernest was a saint around that man.” Turning his attention away from me, he added, “Lord knows, he didn’t deserve your forgiveness or your kindness.”
I followed Tom’s gaze to see a greying shadow where once sat the man we called Ernest. It was as if someone had siphoned off all his inner light. There was
clearly more to Ernest’s pain than I could understand.
“Still.” Ernest’s eyes brimmed with water, which he shook out with a blink and a decisive shake of his head. “No one deserves to die like that. No one.”
Deeming it prudent to change the subject, I wanted to know more about the May Day parade and what I had missed. Tom gleefully provided a more colourful and detailed commentary of the event than anything I had gotten from my family to date.
“There was no real contest for the Queen of the May. I admire how some parents are willing to indulge their children, but there were a few who one can only describe as borderline delusional! Take the Fletcher child, please!” Tom pursed his lips into a wry smile, which he flamboyantly swept away with a linen napkin. “I mean seriously, that poor lamb would have featured higher in the island’s annual pig race!”
“Tom!” Ernest was quick to chastise him, but I noticed a fleck of laughter. “That’s a slight exaggeration.”
“See, see, slight! You agree! Don’t pretend you didn’t think the same thing.” Tom was triumphant. “I’m not cruel. Just honest. If it wasn’t for fair Tizzy, we would have been the laughing stock of the county.”
“The county?” I didn’t realise that this decision would go any wider than Wesberrey.
“Yes, all the villages put forward their queen to compete for the county crown on Whit Sunday. The various parishes take it in turn to host the event. Ernest, who is leading the festivities this year?”
“That will be All Saints. I think Tizzy has an excellent chance.” The animated conversation was bringing the colour back to Ernest’s cheeks. I imagined that such gossip about the local community regularly provided their evening’s entertainment. “Quite the prize this year, I had heard a cash gift of a thousand pounds for the winner and lesser amounts for the two runners up.”
Divine Death: A Rev Jessamy Ward Mystery (Isle Of Wesberrey Book 4) Page 6
