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

by Penelope Cress

  Whizzing down towards Market Square, my mind spun with the absurdity of the situation. Of course Ernest’s prints were on the candlestick. He was my churchwarden and was probably the last person to polish them and place them back on the altar before the attack. If the killer had the foresight to lure their victim into a dark church, I think they would have remembered to wear gloves.

  I did not know the professor was married. Wasn’t it slightly premature to eliminate DeVere? I suppose they are following the evidence and there is zero evidence pointing at anyone else. At least DeVere was away from the potentially murderous clutches of Isadora. Unless, of course, he was the killer. I hadn’t completely ruled that out. He was handsome, debonair and rich. Perhaps he was having an affair with his mentor’s wife? That would explain what I had experienced in my visions. If Norman found out, he would be in a venomous mood and if the affair had been going on for a while that could explain the desire to kill him. It was a long-held emotion. But such a motive would stem from lust, love or passion, not revenge. It didn’t feel right.

  I parked outside the Cat and Fiddle and rushed past Phil and Barbara, who were clearing up after the lunchtime service.

  “Is Sebastian DeVere still here?” I called across, dodging tables and chairs to get to the stairs at the back of the saloon bar.

  “Yes, Reverend,” Phil laid down his dishcloth. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his fiancée coaxing him to follow me. “I’ll, er, come up with you.”

  We bounded up the stairs, getting terribly out of breath in the process. I truly hoped that DeVere wasn’t the murderer. He could push through both of us panting wrecks without breaking a sweat. Outside Cheadle’s room, we took a moment to compose ourselves, then Phil knocked on the door.

  “Mr DeVere? Phil Vickers ‘ere, may I ask you a quick question about your bill?” Phil added a theatrical pantomime wink for added effect.

  The door opened. “Mr Vickers. Reverend? How nice to see you both? Please come in.”

  “Sebastian, I hope you don’t mind this intrusion.” I began, “I have this book, you see, and I thought you might be able to answer a few questions.” I handed over Fortescue’s history. Fortunately, I had skimmed it a couple of nights ago and knew some of its content. “There is an early chapter talking about the siting of the triple wells and I thought it might give us some clues where the third well is located.”

  Sebastian flicked forward a few pages. “Algernon Fortescue, I see he was one of your predecessors. Probably one of those Victorian historians who recycled a lot of old wives’ tales as fact. I doubt there is much here to help, but I can take it with me and explore his findings a bit further if you’d like. I haven't got time now, I’m afraid. I have to get back to work. We’ve had a junior PhD student covering Professor Cheadle lectures and…” he swallowed whatever he was going to say next and went back to his packing. “I need to get his belongings back to his wife.”

  “Yes, yes, I understand. Poor woman, what a terrible ordeal for her. And for you, of course, losing someone you worked with so closely. You must have got to know Mrs Cheadle very well.”

  I watched his face closely for a reaction. There was none.

  “He was like a father to me. A better one than my actual father,” he mumbled into Cheadle’s open suitcase.

  “Your father would be Charles DeVere? I understand he recently made a very generous donation to the university.” I needed to get Sebastian to open up.

  “Papa’s answer to everything. Throw money at it.” Sebastian collapsed on to the side of the bed. “I’m sorry, Reverend. Mr Vickers. I’m really not feeling up to talking right now. If I could ask you to leave. I’ll settle the bill on my way out.”

  I looked to Phil, who edged back towards the hall. “I understand Mr DeVere. I was just wondering how you found your time with Isadora Threadgill? Very generous of her to invite you in, given the situation.”

  “Yes, yes, it was.”

  I waited for Sebastian to say something more, but he just carried on with the packing, which was mainly books and papers. There were very few clothes.

  “I suppose it’s a blessing Mr Cheadle brought few personal items. He obviously wasn’t expecting to stay long.”

  “He wasn’t one for clothes. If he ever forgot something, he knew he could trust me to have whatever he needed.” Something just triggered him. Suddenly Sebastian hunched over the end of the bed, sobbing hysterically. I walked around and perched beside him, stroking his back for comfort. “What must you think of me, Reverend? All this,” he gestured to the clothes he was wearing, “is a facade. I don’t have his wit, his intellect. I am little more than a clotheshorse with a doctorate in old things. He had the mind. The ability to deconstruct theories and myths. He put the past on trial. And the best I could offer to support his genius was to lend him my jacket or belt.”

  “Your belt? Sebastian, did you lend him a brown belt whilst you were here?”

  Sebastian sniffed, took out a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, and dragged it across his face. “Yes, not that it brought him good fortune. He was wearing it when he died.”

  That explains why Sebastian had to wear a black belt to the May Day parade. I sat with him for a short while longer, then motioned to Phil that we should take our leave.

  “I will probably visit the university soon,” I said. “I have a friend who works in Animal Science, Frederico D’Souza. Do you know him?”

  Sebastian shook his head. “No, but then it’s a completely different faculty.”

  “Of course, may I pop by for a visit when I am next there? It would be good to see what you can find out about the third well.”

  “It would be an honour. Thank you all for your hospitality. I’m sorry if I appear rude, but I need to gather up Norman’s things. I’m not looking forward to taking them back to Rita. That poor woman. Widowed again. Her third marriage, I understand. Some people have no luck in love.”

  Rita? Now, where had I heard that name before?

  Checkmate

  As I predicted, the heavens had opened. I pictured a stoic PC Taylor standing firm with only the roof above the church gate for protection. I might need his help to question Isadora if only I could convince him to listen to me. Just before we left, I had asked Sebastian if he knew where Isadora would be. His reply? St. Bridget’s. They had finished documenting all the finds and had resealed the well. Isadora had arranged for some local labour to move the font back into place that afternoon.

  As Cilla and I cornered the top of Abbey Hill Drive into Upper Road, we met with a blizzard of apple blossoms. Wet petals on the tarmac made Cilla skid one-eighty degrees, throwing my front wheel into a nearby privet hedge. I tried to reverse out, but we were stuck. My adrenalin was now in overdrive. I had no choice but to continue on foot. This little ‘April shower’ was turning into a full-on storm. If PC Taylor had accepted my offer of an umbrella, it would offer little protection now.

  I pushed on up the incline towards the church. Some welcome, but equally bedraggled forms appeared on the horizon.

  “Weather caught you out as well, Reverend?” Buck led the party, with Tizzy and Luke bringing up the rear. “We thought we’d mosey on down to the market. Get some fresh vegetables for tonight’s dinner. I think we might turn tail and make do with whatever’s in the freezer. You’re welcome to join us again. Maybe play more real-life Clue. My money’s still on the churchwarden.”

  Of course, for Buck, this was all a game, but perhaps he could still be useful. He seemed the kind who’d want to assist a damsel in distress.

  “Buck, I had a bit of an accident with my scooter. She’s at the end of the road in a hedge. I tried to free her from the branches but… Would you be able to take a look?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” He playfully slapped Luke across his shoulder blades. “I’m sure we can wrestle her free. Get it back to you in no time. So where are you heading now?”

  “Oh, to the office, so to speak. I have an appointment at the church a
nd I'm running late.” I braced myself to continue the battle with the wind and waved goodbye.

  Forging through the final few yards, I wondered how to best approach PC Taylor. An offer of tea perhaps, or a simple statement of my intention to confront a killer. All such thoughts were in vain as I got to the lychgate. The constable was nowhere to be seen. Probably had to answer a call of nature. I took full advantage of his absence to sneak into my church unmolested.

  Isadora was calmly sitting at the front of the choir stalls reading a book.

  “Mrs Threadgill, so glad I caught you. I bumped into Sebastian DeVere in town. He mentioned you would be putting the font back this afternoon.”

  “Reverend. Is it raining outside? You looked soaked to the skin. Funny isn’t it how one can be totally unaware of what’s going on in the outside world from here.”

  “Yes,” I took off my jacket and tried to shake off some of the water. Then I remembered I still had my helmet on. “Do you mind if I wait with you? It’ll be good to see everything back in order.”

  “Be my guest,” she gestured to the presider’s chair on the altar. “It is your church.”

  I chose instead to position myself on the opposite stall. “The past few days have been quite the rollercoaster. I hear the police are close to making an arrest.”

  “I believe so. PC Taylor was telling me all about Mr Woodward. Must be terrible for Tom. I feel for him, I really do. We worked well together. He has a ready wit. Of course, if I had known about the rivalry between Professor Cheadle and Mr Woodward, I would never have invited the university in.”

  “Are you so sure it was Ernest?” I rested my folded jacket beside me on the wooden seat, placing my helmet on top. “It could have been Mr DeVere? He had the opportunity and many people hate their bosses.”

  “Enough to kill them? I don’t think so, Reverend.” Isadora shook her head and calmly placed the book on her lap. “Well, I think the police know what they are doing unless you have any other theories you want to explore.”

  There was something about her demeanour that unnerved me. Like she was waiting for me to accuse her. That somehow, she knew I knew it was her, and she wanted to find out how. The clues were there, of course, she had almost given it all away when she said she couldn’t get the image of Cheadle’s dead body out of her mind. I should have spotted that.

  “I know it isn’t Ernest Woodward,” I replied.

  “Why, because he’s your friend? Or because he is a lawyer and a fine upstanding pillar of the community?” She brushed a speck of fluff off her corduroy slacks. “Appearances are so important. Don’t you find Reverend? How people see us and the image we want to project. The loving parent, the learned academic, the doting wife, the caring priest.”

  “Ernest is my friend. And we both know he didn’t kill Norman Cheadle.”

  “Really? Do we? Let’s explore the facts. Cheadle swindled him out of a great deal of money. He was the last person seen talking to the deceased and, I believe, the facts show his fingerprints are on the murder weapon. Motive, means, and opportunity.” PC Taylor must have told her everything.

  I didn’t answer. Isadora was playing with me. Like a cat plays with a mouse before the fatal pounce. The corners of her mouth suggested that she was enjoying her little game. Her eyes, though, offered no emotion.

  Silence reigned for several minutes. Both of us caught in a game of mental chess. It was my move next. I had to be sure. Work out all her possible defences. My gut was telling me this was something to do with her father. Rita! That was her stepmother’s name. Don’t the police do any background checks? Sebastian said Norman was her third husband, but what number was Reginald Bryant and is there a connection? Think, Jess, think!

  “You wanted to avenge your father!” It was time to trust my visions.

  “Very good!” Isadora looked impressed and fortunately didn’t ask me to expand on my theory. “It was just the perfect storm. When you invited S.H.A.S. to dig up the old well, it all fell into place.”

  I took a stab in the dark. “Your stepmother, she married the professor. That was the ultimate betrayal, wasn’t it?”

  Given Norman Cheadle’s knack for exposing fakes and frauds, my suspicions were that he had something to do with there being no reference to S.H.A.S. in Reginald’s obituary. The ‘loyal Rotarian and town councillor’ had been denounced as a cheat only for his ‘loving wife’ to hook up with the man who exposed him, after his death.

  “They deserved each other. She took my father away from me.”

  “So, you took her husband away from her.”

  Isadora sneered. “She’ll find another. It’s her only real talent.”

  I thought back to the snippet of conversation I’d overheard between Norman and Sebastian earlier that dreadful day. Norman thought there was a problem with the bronze figurine.

  “Did you plant the bronze to test him, or just to draw him out?” I asked.

  “My, my, aren’t you the clever one, Reverend Ward?” A smug glint lit up her otherwise dead eyes. “When I found the other Venuses, the ruse just fell in my lap.”

  “What I don’t understand is why you invited Sebastian DeVere to live with you?”

  “Really, you can’t work that out? I am disappointed.” She scanned my face. “I have time, you know Cheadle was the victim of his own hubris. I knew he would be arrogant enough to want to confront the fraudster before going public. I willingly gave him his last victory, knowing the key to winning the war was in my hands. Literally.” Isadora laughed to herself. A near maniacal laugh that poured itself into the empty void that was her conscience. Stopping when it hit the pain in her core. “You see, my father was just one more charlatan to him. Just another name on his list. Like the Witchfinder General of old, he moved from discovery to discovery, hunting out the innocent and guilty alike. Destroying reputations and legacies.” Her earlier calmness laced now with bitter emotions. “When I told him he had unmasked one of his wife’s former husbands, he laughed. You know, he said that that was one of the things that most attracted him to her. His exact words were ‘to the victor the spoils’.”

  “And I suppose he didn’t connect you were Reginald Bryant’s daughter at first. Much like the police have failed to make a connection.”

  “Crazy, isn’t it Reverend, how faceless we women become? Taking on our husband’s identities. Losing our family names. I was reasonably sure that he wouldn’t discuss his work with my stepmother. Not that I needed to worry, he was so arrogant, he didn’t even bother to learn my name. Thurgood!” she sneered, “It was a risk he would remember the Society, which is why I went through DeVere.”

  “You created distance. Very cunning.” And I thought I knew why she offered Sebastian room and board. “You wanted to see if the professor had shared any of his thoughts with his prodigy.”

  “Marvellous, I knew you would get there in the end.” Isadora brightened. “You know, Sebastian is actually an excellent archaeologist. I am sure he will flourish, free of the professor. Now, if you’re happy to wait for the workmen, I will be getting along. Things to do, people to see.”

  She reached down to put the book she had been holding in her bag and then stood up. I hesitated. What was I supposed to do, wrestle her to the ground? She was right; I had no evidence, no proof. As she walked down the steps to the nave and I rose to follow her, she turned.

  “No need to trouble yourself, Reverend. The rain’s eased and I’m sure that lovely PC is back on patrol outside.”

  Her words confused me. “Are you handing yourself in?”

  “Interesting thought. We can’t allow another innocent man to have his name dragged through the mud, now can we?” she paused. “But no, that would be foolish!” Isadora stood in the middle of the church pondering her options. “You want me to confess, because without my confession you have no evidence to defend your friend and I want to walk out of here unmolested. Let’s compromise, I will send my confession through to the police when I am safely abroad. Par
is is lovely this time of year, or perhaps Cairo? Who knows?”

  I was both incredulous and full of admiration at the same time.

  “One thing, Reverend. I slipped a report into Sebastian’s luggage before he left this morning. In it, you will find all my father’s original notes and the testimonials of several eminent historians who verified that his bronze figure was authentic. There was only one conman here, and it wasn’t Reginald Bryant.”

  I watched as helpless as a squirrel caught in the headlights of a lorry as Professor Cheadle’s killer calmly walked down the centre aisle. Immobile. Stunned.

  Just as Isadora reached the main doors, one side flew open. The dazzling sun, victorious in its battle with the afternoon rain, streamed through the crack in the portal, casting the impressive figure of Buck Driver into stark silhouette.

  It was now or never. “Stop her. She did it. She killed him!” I called out.

  Buck dutifully moved in to block her escape. Without missing a beat, seeing there was no way to avoid her fate, Isadora elegantly held out her arm. “So very kind of you to escort me.” she curtsied.

  And with that, Buck accompanied Isadora out to a bemused PC Taylor, now restored to his post. I caught up with all three of them seconds later by the lychgate.

  “Constable,” Isadora offered her hands, joining them at the wrists, “Those clouds look rather ominous. I’ll make this brief. I killed the professor and I’ll tell you all about it over a nice cup of tea.” She turned and smiled at me, “Reverend?”

  “I’ll put the kettle on,” I answered.

  Dinner for four?

  World-weary eyes appeared over the top of the menu.

  “Jess, dear, are you sure you can afford this? Even with the two-for-one offer, these prices are eye-watering.”

  “Mum, it’s my treat. You do so much for all of us and, well, it’s time I treated you like the queen you are. Have whatever you want. The lamb is excellent.”

  “I suppose it’s a good idea to try out the competition. Shame Rosie has decided not to open in the evening, I think it would be a popular alternative.” Mum mused as she scanned the entrées. “You know, I think I will have the roasted aubergine. I’m not keen on eating meat anymore.”