Bobbles and Broomsticks

by Nancy Warren

  The usher had the doors wide open at the west end of the church, and I could see the sun-dappled lawn and even glimpse the high street. It was like the light at the end of a dark tunnel. My sense of dread grew. I really wanted to get out of here. My feet began to tap in nervous frustration, while Rupert, oblivious to the social cues, talked on. We could all hear him telling her what a beautiful bride she was and how happy she made Charlie.

  By this time, the whole congregation was on their feet, clapping. And Rupert kept talking. The recessional music ended and had to start up again from the beginning, and Rupert was still talking. Now, he reminisced about his own wedding day and how much his wife would have loved to be here. Before he could relive his entire, happy marriage, as he seemed inclined to do, Charlie stepped in.

  The groom offered his most gracious smile to Alistair’s father, said something I didn’t hear, and began to lead Alice away.

  And that first act of husbandly bossiness saved Alice’s life.

  Chapter 8

  We finally began moving toward the doors when I heard something above my head that sounded like a gunshot or a small explosion and, with a gasp, immediately looked upward.

  I saw one of the heavy beams that made up the roof break away and fall. My mind shrieked, “No!” I scrambled for some kind of a spell that would stop the disaster, but it was too late. Even as I registered that the massive beam was falling, it had crashed down, right in the spot where, seconds ago, Alice had been standing talking to Rupert.

  Charlie’s mother had the presence of mind to throw her body against her husband, pushing them both out of the way, but poor Rupert Grendell-Smythe probably never knew what hit him. One moment he was staring fondly after Charlie and Alice, and the next moment he was gone.

  The first seconds after the beam fell were truly terrible. At the back of the church, people were still clapping as though they hadn’t clued in that a terrible disaster had occurred. The organ continued to play for a few bars and then suddenly stopped.

  A cloud of dust and woodchips bounced, and beneath the beam lay Rupert Grendell-Smythe. He’d been crushed where he stood.

  Wellesley pushed Alistair behind him and ran forward.

  Reverend Wallington stood as rooted as one of the stone sculptures looking down with placid expressions. And then his lips began to move, though if he was praying, it was too softly for anyone to hear.

  Alice and Charlie clung to each other, both white-faced.

  I looked down and realized how truly close the bride had come to death. The train of her wedding gown was trapped under the fallen beam. Had she stood there another ten seconds—even five seconds—listening to Rupert, she would have died, too.

  As for Rupert Grendell-Smythe, it was immediately clear that he was beyond aid. Still, Wellesley lifted a limp hand and checked the man’s pulse. He glanced up at Charlie and shook his head, then gently replaced the man’s hand on the church tile. The beam had hit the poor man in the head, and his body lay beneath. His hands reached toward the pulpit. The way he was lying, the soles of his shoes faced upward. I could still see the price tag on the soles. He’d bought new shoes for the wedding.

  As the wedding guests realized what had happened, there was a rush for the exit, though some stopped to help the elderly, and parents helped their crying children to safety.

  As for the bridal party, we all stood stock-still, and then Alistair suddenly sprang to life, pale and frantic. “Help me. Help me. All of you, help me get this thing off him.”

  He ran to the beam and began tugging and trying to lift it. Charlie and Wellesley exchanged a glance and both shook their heads. But then they and Nigel went to help. My gaze searched out Rafe. Somehow I felt that he would know what to do. He wasn’t where he’d been sitting. As I began to search for him, he was there, at my elbow. “Lucy. You’re all right.”

  I wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question, but I answered, “Yes. But we must get everyone out of here, quickly. It’s not safe.” I glanced up at the roof, though the groaning seemed to have stopped for now.

  The vicar was still standing, praying. Rafe walked up to him. “Reverend Wallington, you must make an announcement. Everyone must leave now. The roof could cave in.”

  Philip nodded and appeared pleased to have someone tell him what to do. In a voice that was accustomed to making sermons that would reach to the back of a crowded church, he announced, “Ladies and gentlemen. There’s been an accident. Please make your way out onto the front lawn. Row by row. As quickly as you can. Go now. God bless you.”

  Most of the congregation were already leaving as quickly as they could, but there were clusters of people standing as though unsure what to do. Now that they’d been told by the vicar to leave, they also turned and headed for the open doors at the back of the church.

  “The police,” I said. “Somebody must call the police.”

  Rafe glanced at the roof. “Let’s get you outside first.”

  I appreciated his concern for me, but I wasn’t the only one in danger. The four men, Charlie and his groomsmen, were still struggling with the massive beam. Alice stood there rooted. I realized that my first job as a bridesmaid was to aid the bride. I had to step over the beam in order to reach her. “Rafe. Her skirt’s trapped.”

  He’d been watching the four men heave and sweat, but the ancient beam was thick and heavy, and they didn’t so much as budge it. He looked at me and nodded slightly, then stepped forward to help. I had a few spells floating around in my head, but the only one I could think of, if it even worked, would make that beam float up in the air. I didn’t think it was a good idea to float massive ancient beams up in the air where everyone could see. I suspected Rafe had a similar problem. He didn’t want to lift that beam up as though it weighed nothing, but if we were going to get Alice freed, we would need his superhuman strength.

  He leaned down and slipped his hands under the beam, then calmly said, “On three. One, two, three.” And they shifted the beam enough that I could pull Alice’s dress, and therefore Alice, to safety. Once I’d pulled Alice’s skirt free, Alistair tried to lift the beam farther. “Please,” he panted. “We have to get Dad.”

  Rafe stopped him. “There’s nothing to be done for your father now. I’m very sorry. Let’s all go outside and wait for the police.”

  All the men stood but Alistair. “I can’t leave him. He’s got no one but me.” He was clearly in shock.

  Violet put her arm around him and gently tugged him to his feet. “Your dad would want to know you were safe. He won’t be alone for long. Someone will be along very soon.”

  The minister joined Violet and Alistair, speaking softly. He seemed to have pulled himself together, I was glad to see. The whole bridal party walked out of the now empty church. We were meant to have led the way with joyous celebration. Instead, we limped down the aisle shaken and filled with shock and grief.

  As we emerged, both Charlie’s and Alice’s parents came rushing up. Alice’s mother hugged her. “Oh, my darling. I’m so glad you’re all right. When I saw that beam come crashing down, I thought at first you’d been killed.”

  I gazed around at the wedding guests milling about on the lawn. They stood in small groups—family parties huddling together, couples holding hands. Children held in their mother’s arms. Some spoke quietly. Several were crying. I saw Sophie Wynter standing apart with her brother. The woman who’d cried through the whole wedding ceremony now seemed remarkably calm and dry-eyed.

  No one seemed to know what to do. I said to the vicar, “Someone should call the police.” My handbag was in the car with Alfred. All I had with me was a bouquet of flowers.

  He appeared to have the same problem, for he patted his pockets and then shook his head. “I never bring my mobile with me when I’m preaching.”

  “No. Of course not.” I glanced around. Had someone already taken it upon themselves to call the police? It was impossible to tell. Charlie’s parents seemed like a sensible pair. I asked them
if they had mobile phones with them and if they could call 999. It was clear it hadn’t occurred to them. “Yes, of course.” His mother opened her bag and found her mobile phone. First she had to turn it on, and then she made the call.

  When she’d hung up, she said, “They’ll be right over. They’ve asked that no one leave.”

  I nodded. Alistair Grendell-Smythe was sitting on the church steps with his hands over his face. Wellesley and Violet sat on either side of him, offering what comfort they could. I walked up to the pair of ushers, standing together pale-faced. “The police will be here soon. Can you go around and tell everyone they must remain until the police arrive? No one is to leave.”

  Charlie’s cousin Walter, who’d let us in, looked so pale I thought he might pass out. “Blimey. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  And then he straightened his shoulders—“Come on, Eric”—and began to deliver the message.

  I didn’t know what else to do. Rafe was nowhere to be seen. I didn’t think he’d left. No doubt he’d found a shady spot to retire to. With Alice taken up with Charlie, and Violet trying her best to comfort Alistair, I felt at a loss. Beatrice was having hysterics, sobbing in Alice’s mother’s arms. I didn’t feel like crying, and I also didn’t feel like talking to people I didn’t know. Nigel and Giles stood near Charlie and Alice, but none of them were talking. What was there to say?

  I walked up the front path to the stone wall and the gate that led to the high street. How had this happened? What kind of witch was I that I hadn’t been able to prevent disaster? I knew what Margaret Twigg would say if I shared my thoughts. “Lucy, we’re not magicians. And we’re not God.” Still, I hated that I had power and I hadn’t used it. The accident had happened so fast. One minute, that nice old man was complimenting Alice, and the next minute he was dead. Crushed.

  I noticed a couple walking their dog along the high street. It was such an ordinary, everyday activity that I drank in the sight of them. The dog was some kind of terrier and bounded along with his tail wagging and his tongue hanging out. Watching the foolish puppy and the older couple out walking soothed my troubled spirits. As they grew closer, I realized I recognized them. It was Harry Bloom, a former police detective who’d retired here with his wife, Emily. Even though he no longer worked for the police and was obviously enjoying a Saturday afternoon walk, I waved him over frantically.

  He might have been retired, but his instincts were as keen as any detective’s. He handed the leash to his wife and strode toward me. “Lucy. Hello, there. Is everything all right?”

  He didn’t need to be a detective to read trouble in my face or that the crowd mingling in front of the church wasn’t a joyous one and this wedding seemed more like a funeral.

  Briefly, I told him what had happened. His first question was, “Is everyone out of the church?”

  “Yes. Well, except for Rupert Grendell-Smythe.”

  “He was the victim?” he asked gently.

  I nodded.

  He put his hand above his eyes to shade them from the sun and looked at the church. “And you’re absolutely sure there’s no one else in there?”

  Was I? “No.” I put my hands out in a helpless gesture. “I’m fairly certain there’s no one left in the main church. But I suppose there could be other areas of the church.” I glanced around. “You’d better ask the vicar. He’s over there.”

  “And you’ve called the police, I assume?”

  “Yes.”

  As Harry Bloom walked through the gate and strode toward Philip Wallington, I felt immeasurably better. He had an air of authority and plenty of experience in the police. I didn’t need to worry so much now that he was here.

  His wife arrived at my side. “Lucy. What’s happened?”

  She might not be a police officer, but she’d been a detective’s wife for a long time. Her gaze was almost as sharp as his as she scanned the crowd in front of the church. “Is there anything I can do?” Even the dog seemed to have lost his friskiness, as though he picked up the gloomy atmosphere.

  I liked that she hadn’t asked any pointed questions. Still, I didn’t think the fallen beam was going to remain a secret for long. I told her what had happened. Her free hand went to her chest. “Oh, my goodness. What a terrible way to begin your married life, with a tragedy like that.”

  I’d been feeling so awful for poor Alistair and Rupert Grendell-Smythe that I’d barely taken the time to realize what this meant for Charlie and Alice. “Oh, my gosh. Their wedding reception.”

  Poor William. Even now he’d be chilling champagne and putting the last touches on the hors d’oeuvres, checking that the waitstaff’s aprons were all pristine and their bowties straight.

  She shook her head. “This will cast a shadow over their whole marriage.”

  “They don’t deserve this. They deserve to be happy.”

  The vicar was talking quietly with her husband. He looked pale and ill. “And poor Philip. We’d only just begun the campaign to raise the funds to replace the roof because of that deathwatch beetle. But the church’s restoration committee hired surveyors who said the roof was safe. This is a terrible blow to our whole community.”

  It was a worse blow for poor Rupert Grendell-Smythe.

  I kept thinking about the way I’d heard the beams above me groaning. I didn’t want to make this tragedy all about me, but I couldn’t help but wonder whether Constance Crosyer could somehow be behind the disaster. There were certainly women who loved men enough that they would kill their rivals, but I had a hard time believing that Rafe would be foolish enough to fall for such a one. But then, of course, he’d had five hundred years or so to get smarter before I met him. Maybe back when he first met Constance, he was young and foolish.

  Emily watched her husband talking to the vicar. “I was on the committee that chose Philip Wallington as our vicar, you know. He’d been in Harlesden, I believe it was.”

  At my raised eyebrows, she said, “It’s in London. Not the most savory part.” She shook her head. “Philip had worn himself out trying to help solve the problems in that community, and we believed that coming here would be a restful change.” The dog pulled on his leash, trying to get to Harry Bloom, but Emily said, “Sit,” and good dog that he was, he obediently put his rump on the ground, even as his whole body strained to follow Harry. “What very bad luck. For all of us.”

  Harry Bloom walked over to Alistair and took Violet’s place sitting beside the grieving son. As he sat down, Alistair looked at him intently, his face gray. I thought the retired detective was no doubt explaining the process of what would happen next.

  His wife said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll speak to Philip. We’ll have to get the word out to the community. Find somewhere else for worship tomorrow.” She excused herself, and she and her dog headed toward the beleaguered-looking vicar.

  I didn’t know where the congregation would gather tomorrow, but it wouldn’t be at St. John the Divine.

  Chapter 9

  I looked around for Rafe. I hated to ask him about his dead wife, but he was the only one still in existence who’d been around when Constance was alive. Perhaps if I understood more about her, I could better determine whether she was a restless spirit who’d go to any lengths to keep Rafe for herself. I walked around the church and found him sitting on an ancient stone bench, in the shade of a tree, overlooking the graveyard.

  It was a peaceful spot, with a view of the crumbling gravestones and past that into the village. I doubted this particular view had changed for hundreds of years. The old cottages, the twisty lanes, even this tree must be several hundred years old, based on how thick and gnarly its trunk was.

  I had a moment to study Rafe before he saw me. He looked pensive rather than sad, and as still as one of the gravestones. I walked forward, and he smiled when he saw me approaching. When I would’ve settled beside him on the bench, he stopped me. He stood up and took off his jacket and then laid it down on the mottled granite seat. “I wouldn’t wan
t you to spoil that pretty frock.”

  “What about your jacket?”

  “It hardly matters. I’m not one of the wedding party.”

  I sighed. “I don’t think my dress much matters either. I suspect this wedding is over.”

  He nodded. At the same moment, we both said, “Poor William.”

  Still, I sat on his jacket, and he resumed his place beside me.

  “Have you called him?”

  Rafe nodded. “But I told him not to send anyone home or put away any food. I suppose anyone who wants to might as well still enjoy the food that William went to so much trouble preparing.”

  “It won’t be a wedding reception. It will be a funeral.”

  Once more, he nodded.

  I licked my lips. Had no idea how to begin a conversation about his dead wife. I looked down at my knees pressed together in my pink silk gown. From a distance, we probably looked like a Victorian couple courting, sitting primly on the stone bench. “Rafe, when I first came into the church, and then again during the service, I thought I could hear noises coming from the roof. Groaning.”

  His gaze narrowed on my face. “Groaning? You’re sure it wasn’t a ticking sound?”

  “No. More like groaning or creaking. My hearing is better than average, but yours is amazing. Did you hear anything?”

  “No. But I wasn’t standing right under the faulty beam the way you were.”

  I felt guilt stab me. Right in the chest. It was an awful feeling. “If only I’d said something, maybe poor Alistair’s father would still be alive.”

  He reached over and took my hand, cool and steady, holding it firmly in his. “And perhaps if the church committee had taken the deathwatch beetle more seriously, Rupert Grendell-Smythe would still be alive and Charlie and Alice’s wedding wouldn’t be a shambles.”