The Rarest Rose

by I Beacham

  “Tell me?”

  For what seemed the longest few seconds, Kiernan stared at her. Then she smiled.

  *

  Kiernan knew she didn’t have to tell Ele anything. She had known her such a short time, and yet everything felt right. What was the song about an enchanted evening and seeing a stranger across a crowded room? She always thought that song fanciful, but now its lyrics rang true.

  “It was around the time I found this place.” Kiernan hooked her fingers into tight jean pockets and gazed out the window at the countryside beyond. “I was at a party in London. It was an art studio showcasing some untalented, pretentious artist’s work—hideous color schemes and overlapping cubes. The place was packed. I don’t know why they invited me, but I was happy to go. Free wine and small eats.” She glanced at Ele. “A meal I didn’t have to cook.” Ele watched her, with wide open, hungry for detail eyes.

  “This rather attractive woman stood in a corner. She had spilled wine down the front of her dress and was trying to clean it up with a tissue. I had a surge of chivalry and went over to her with a load of paper napkins I swiped off a table.” Kiernan remembered how grateful Chrissie had been and how she’d instantly engaged her in conversation. Chrissie told her she’d been watching her, wondering who she was. The attraction had been mutual. Kiernan felt the old ache return. She still missed her despite what had happened. Resurrecting the memories always did this.

  “We started to talk―really talk. Not about usual party stuff, but about who we were and what we did, and what had been happening in the news that day.” Kiernan couldn’t stop grinning. “She told me how she enjoyed traveling and going on camping walks along coastlines. That should have been my warning then!” Ele joined in her laughter.

  “Chrissie’s an architect, and was then a post grad studying at London South Bank Uni. We clicked straight away, and ended up leaving the party early, and going for dinner. She was fascinated in me, who I was and what I did. I was fascinated in her, too. Before I knew what hit me, we were going out. We never stopped laughing, and were always planning our time together. If we weren’t working or studying, we were in each other’s company, and very quickly, our different circle of friends accepted that. I was never so happy. I was totally in love and it felt wonderful. Maybe it was my age, but I started thinking of settling down, wanting to make Chrissie a permanent part of my life.”

  “And Chrissie?”

  “She was in love with me. I still believe that. And I thought she wanted the same as me, maybe she thought she did. But in the end, she didn’t.”

  “What went wrong?”

  Kiernan looked at Ele, unsure at first, how to explain. She didn’t rush the answer. She thought first. “When you’re in love, you put your partner first. You think more of them and their needs than your own. That’s how you know it’s real. I knew Chrissie had a lot of qualifications to get, a lot of study to do. She was a born architect, loved her profession. She was constantly seeking to broaden her knowledge and experience. She was always studying for something or other—a diploma in this, then a professional practice course in that. But I always saw an end to all the study, where she would settle down into her own practice. It was something she wanted. She had talked about working in the city or maybe in Oxford, and both very commutable from here. We’d be able to continue doing what we do—but together.”

  “But that didn’t happen?”

  “It didn’t. We’d been together several years, and she’d finished a particularly challenging course of study and was working for a London designer. I was looking forward to more stability—more us. She announced that she was going to do a one-year course at the University of Milan. I didn’t like it, but I wasn’t going to stand in her way. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to succeed in her profession. But while she was out there, she got an offer to work for some apparently well known and respected designer with his own studio—Alessandro Tagliatelli or something…” Kiernan hesitated. “That’s a pasta, isn’t it? Well, some Italian sounding name.” She sighed. “It was the final straw, Ele. I knew then that Chrissie was never going to commit to a relationship with me. She loved me, but when it came down to it, she chose her career over us.”

  Ele put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. That must have really hurt.”

  It hurt all right. Kiernan had loved Chrissie and she had wanted to settle down with her. She was ready to commit. “I realize now that I was always playing second fiddle to her career. It wasn’t her fault, it was just our needs didn’t dovetail, not in the end. Not where it was important. I should have seen the signs. They were there. The positive responses, but never enthusiastic. Always me suggesting how our future might look. She never did. Well, it’s over and we all move on, don’t we.” She felt her eyes sting.

  “I’m sorry, Kiernan. I can’t begin to imagine how much this all hurts.”

  Kiernan could now make out Ele’s reflection in the window. It was getting dark outside. “Just sad, Ele.” She glanced at the sky and the dark clouds that had appeared from nowhere. “It’s starting to snow.”

  Her dredging up of the past was over, and she was thankful that Ele recognized that and wasn’t uttering platitudes of understanding and concern. Kiernan didn’t want sympathy. She hated that. It had been her problem, and she was over it. Life moved on. Her disappointing relationship with Chrissie was nothing new. Hundreds of people went through the same issues every day. Tough.

  The timer buzzed in the kitchen announcing lunch. Though Kiernan had not wanted sympathy, what she got was an arm gently taking hers. Ele leaned in close as she guided her toward the kitchen.

  Kiernan considered the token act worth more than all the kind words in a dictionary.

  Chapter Twelve

  The drive from Enstone to meet Dorothy Harding, the daughter of Beatrice Lavish who had worked for the Staffords, wasn’t bad even though the short snowstorm turned to rain. Dusk was beginning to fall. Ele maneuvered the small country lanes through the fields with extra caution as the temperature plummeted.

  She had never been to Chadlington even though it was only three miles south of Chipping Norton where she sometimes shopped. Looking at the array of pretty Cotswold properties, she marveled at how newer homes were built in similar style to conserve the area’s heritage. Sometimes she thought everything traditional was disappearing. It wasn’t something she liked. She was old-fashioned and longed to keep many of the former ways. Her father had always said she was born for the wrong period.

  Kiernan sat in the passenger seat next to her, chatting away as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe she hadn’t, not anymore. Perhaps, as Kiernan was apt to keep telling her, she was over her relationship with Chrissie. But Ele sensed the scars, the small internal reminders that would always be there. She thought of how easily Kiernan had spoken to her of Chrissie, and how straight-forward her account had been. Very much that of someone who had come to terms with her loss. And yet, she had also heard Kiernan’s voice tremble, and had seen her eyes water as she reconnected with the past. Ele knew the scars were there—scars you expected when deep, meaningful relationships went sour. But she suspected that, despite Kiernan’s bravado, the scars weren’t healed and still had power to hurt.

  Ele reached across and placed a hand on Kiernan’s leg, a show of unspoken support. Kiernan stopped talking and Ele sensed her eyes on her. A warm hand then covered hers before Kiernan carried on chatting. It suddenly felt wrong, and Ele wanted to take back her hand. It was only a show of friendship, she thought, but she knew it wasn’t. She was reaching out in a most intimate way, trying to make a connection with someone who was becoming important to her, so fast. But it felt like she was committing a sin. Beth entered her thoughts. She waited for an acceptable time and then removed her hand, feigning its need for driving.

  As they entered the small village of Chadlington, they passed an impressive ancient church set back in grounds surrounded by old gravestones.

  “Look.”
Ele drew Kiernan’s attention to the high walls of the church building. “Those are gargoyles.” Ugly medieval stone creatures with tongues sticking out, sat high on the parapets, visible from the road.

  “That’s Saint Nicholas Church.” Kiernan looked back over her shoulder as they sped past it. “It’s Norman, and in the thirteenth century, they added the North and South aisles. The tower is fourteenth century, but the chancel wasn’t added until the Victorian period so it’s a bit of a work in progress.”

  Ele glanced at her before watching the road again. Kiernan didn’t seem to have noticed.

  “If you go around to the side of it, there’s a stone carving of two green men,” she added.

  “What are you, a walking encyclopedia?” Ele’s question wasn’t answered, and she considered she was being deliberately ignored. Kiernan suffered from selective hearing.

  “It’s believed Chadlington was named after Saint Chad and…” Kiernan paused for effect. “Chadlington is actually mentioned in the Domsday Book, written in ten eighty-six.” She grinned as she turned her head to look slyly at Ele. It reminded her of a look Feathers sometimes gave her—the one that spoke of omnipotence. Kiernan was playing with her. “Admit it. You’re impressed, aren’t you?”

  Ele was impressed, but wasn’t going to let on. “I’m not sure I know how to answer that in fear of discovering you’re some closeted type of geek.”

  Kiernan laughed. “You’re safe. I accessed Google before we left, so we could find Dorothy Harding’s house.”

  Ele sighed. “I’m mildly reassured. I’m not sure I can handle geeks.”

  “Again, you’re safe. But just to keep your suspicions alive, every summer, Chadlington has a music festival for three or four days, mostly classical. Last June, they held a beautiful candlelit twilight recital in the chapel here. I attended, and it was wonderful. We ought to come next year, if you’re up for it.” Her easygoing manner became urgent. “Hey, turn left up here and then stop as soon as you can on the right.”

  Ele hardly had time to register the subtle invitation. It was said and gone in a blink. She was now forced to concentrate on parking her larger than normal vehicle in a narrower than normal side lane where other cars were parked, leaving little room. With grim determination, she managed the task.

  As they hopped out of the car, she said under her breath, “I do hope Dorothy Harding still has all her marbles, and that she’ll know something.”

  Kiernan led the way to the door and then watched as Ele rang its bell. She was still watching as Ele rang it for a fourth time. She could see the disappointment building on Ele’s face. Ele clearly thought as she did. The owner of the property was either deaf or out. Perhaps someone of Mrs. Harding’s age had forgotten their appointment?

  Ele looked miserable. “What if she isn’t in?”

  Kiernan faked confidence. “She will be. Ring a fifth time. Five’s a lucky number.”

  A petite, elderly, but very sprightly woman appeared from around the back of the house. Dressed in an old pair of dark green corduroys, muddy boots, and a heavy brown jacket, she was carrying an armload of rotting vegetation. She stopped in her tracks and smiled at them.

  “I expect you’ve been ringing that for ages. I can’t hear it when I’m up the garden. Never mind. Doesn’t matter.” She spoke quickly and in an indomitable manner. “You must be the ladies Eddie rang about. You want to know about some of the folk who used to live at Pegmire Vicarage?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, you’d better come in, but come around the back. It’s easier.”

  As she moved back the way she came, she threw her cargo into a large brown bin. She dusted soil off her arms and hands, and announced, “I’ve been clearing the vegetable patch, getting rid of all the old growth so it’s ready to plant for next year. I grow all my own stuff.”

  Kiernan glanced up the garden, which was about half an acre. There was a small cultivated area of lawn and flowerbeds in the forefront, with a larger vegetable plot to the rear. All was immaculate. The white-haired woman caught her looking.

  “I do all my own gardening. It keeps me fit. I’m not like some of these others, you know, spend their lives sitting in front of a television, wasting away. I’m Dorothy Harding, by the way.” She thrust her hand to shake theirs. “You can call me Dot.”

  Kiernan eyeballed Ele, unable to contain a grin. It seemed Dorothy Harding was an eccentric, and not likely to be missing a single marble.

  Inside, her home was like her garden—colorful, and a feast for the eyes. Though her sitting room was large, it was full to the brim with furniture and belongings. There were two huge floral designed sofas covered in a multitude of comfortable cushions that didn’t match in size or color. Every flat surface seemed to have fresh flowers in large vases on it, and if it didn’t, there were trinkets of every shape and size to fill the gaps.

  One wall was an entire bookcase stuffed full of books and magazines, but in no neat order, and any space left on the walls was festooned with mismatched paintings and photographs. Everything in the room seemed a cherished belonging, a memory.

  Dot Harding was a natural host and insisted on making them a warm drink before any discussion began. They waited as she finished pouring them tea from a large brown crockery teapot.

  Kiernan took to Dot in an instant. Her mother had owned a teapot, and had loathed the modern progress of throwing a tea bag into a mug. Harding still favored the old ways, and graced the small lace-covered table they all sat around with pretty bone china cups and saucers, none of which matched.

  “Do I recall J. Stafford?” Dot repeated Ele’s initial question. Her face brightened. “Oh yes, John and Harriett Stafford. They were my mother’s favorites. Of course, I never knew them. They were gone before I was born, but Mother worked for them all the time they lived at the vicarage.”

  “Did they move on then?” Kiernan couldn’t help interrupting. They might as well know now, like the Wintermans.

  “No. They both died.”

  Kiernan tried to catch Ele’s attention, but her concentration was on Dot. She saw an intensity in her that reminded her of the younger Ele, when she had been interviewing someone with tenacity on morning television, and looking to unlock the locked.

  “Can you tell me what you know about them, Dot?” Ele asked.

  Dot placed her cup back in its saucer and scrutinized them both before eyeballing Ele. “Can you tell me why you’re so interested? They’ve been gone a long time, and since none of us here knew them personally, I’m intrigued.”

  How would Ele tackle the question? She and Ele had already talked about this, as they had expected Edmond Riser to ask them why they were interested in past owners, but he hadn’t. The problem was telling someone the truth, that you had a ghost. It wasn’t wise. They would either consider you some crackpot, or worse, given Ele’s celebrity background, they might leak the story to the press. The tabloids would have a field day. The latter would do their research, and Kiernan could only imagine what would follow. “Eleanor Teal, lonely lesbian loony.” Sometime after that, the ghost hunters would appear in her garden.

  “If I said I was just interested in researching the previous history of my home and its past occupants, would that suffice?” Ele said. It had worked with Riser.

  “I wouldn’t believe it, my dear.”

  “I didn’t think you would.” Ele leaned forward, her breasts pressed against the table, her hands beneath it. Kiernan saw the slight twist of a smile on her lips.

  “I heard you in the background when Eddie phoned,” Dot said. “I sensed some desperation, some rather urgent need to see me as soon as possible. And you don’t seem too interested in any other occupant of the house except the Staffords.”

  Not a single marble out of place, Kiernan thought again as she watched two intelligent minds negotiating the way forward.

  “You’re right, Dot,” Ele said, and Kiernan watched her considering what she wanted to admit.

  Dot interrupted her struggle. �
��I do recognize you, you know. You used to be on the television and in the press.” She drummed an arthritic, knobbled finger on the table. “My mother loved the Staffords, and I wouldn’t want to be part of anything that did her or them any disservice.”

  Ele smiled. “I understand completely.” She glanced at Kiernan before looking at Dot again. “Dot, if I told you something…do you know how to keep a secret?”

  Kiernan knew Ele was about to take a leap of faith with Dorothy Harding. But she felt that trust was in safe hands. There was a quality about Dot that told you she wouldn’t let you down. Her own comment about wanting to safeguard the integrity of the Staffords said as much.

  “If the secret doesn’t concern illegal or criminal activity, you have a deal.”

  Ele spoke with her usual determined and clear diction. “I’ve lived at the old vicarage for many years and been perfectly happy, but recently, some strange things have been happening there. They are things that are not quite…natural, things that are a little unnatural.” Ele raised her brow and emphasized words to ensure Dot comprehended the gravitas of the situation.

  Kiernan studied Dot’s face for ridicule, but found none. Dot sat expressionless, listening intently.

  “Dot, I don’t want to go into too much detail, but I think what’s happening has something to do with the Staffords.” Ele breathed out. “I can only promise you that I have no intention of doing anything with this information other than finding out what is going on. It really is a personal matter.”

  Dot studied Ele like she might an oil painting by a Master looking for signs of forgery. “Are you alone in your feelings?”

  “No, she isn’t,” Kiernan said quickly. “I’ve witnessed…some things.”

  Dot’s eagle eyes rested on her for an uncomfortable minute before she eased back in her chair and crossed her hands in her lap. “Well, if I was intrigued before, now I’m very curious. Okay, I can understand why someone of your background, Ele, might not want this information to fall into the wrong hands. The media would love this.”