Tea and Broken Biscuits

by Daphne Neville

  “Yes, if you want to find out the latest news then you need look no further than Tess,” Lottie declared.

  “So, she’s the local gossip,” said Bill, “every village has one.”

  Hetty frowned. “Well I suppose so but she’s much too nice a person to be labelled thus.”

  While the family were eating their meals in the bar, Brett and Alina who had arrived back the previous day to spend Easter in the village walked into the pub. Later in the Ladies, Hetty encountered Alina by the washbasins where she was waylaid by Marlene, the play’s leading lady.

  “Have you and Brett been questioned by the police about the attack on Gideon?” Marlene asked Alina. “I just wondered because it’s possible you might have seen or heard something with Sea View Cottage being nearly opposite the church.” Marlene turned off the tap and held her hands beneath the drier.

  “Yes, we have but we didn’t hear or see anything. Brett was in the bath at that time and I was watching television. It would have been nearly dark anyway by half seven, wouldn’t it?”

  “Hmm, probably. I get a bit muddled about times when the clocks have just been altered.”

  “Me too. Anyway, the first we knew of it was when the sirens stopped outside and we saw flashing blue lights through the curtains.”

  Hetty with ears flapping and keen to learn anything she could about the case, eavesdropped on the conversation while applying fresh lipstick and to make sure she didn’t miss anything she also brushed her hair.

  “How about you?” Alina asked, as she took a bottle of expensive looking perfume from her handbag and sprayed some on her wrists, “Have you been questioned by the police?”

  “Oh yes because we live next door to Gideon and Debbie.” She sniffed the air. “Hmm, that reminds me of a rose my granny had in her garden when I were a kid.” Alina’s eyebrows twitched. “Yes, anyway as I was saying, me and hubby have both been questioned but we have good alibis in each other. Not that I expect we’ll be suspects. I mean, if we wanted to hurt Gideon why would we follow him to the church when he only lives next door?”

  Alina shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t know.”

  “Anyway, as I said we’re each other’s alibis. Gary was watching football or it might have been rugby. It was sport anyway and I was curled up in the armchair learning my words as I’m determined to be a credit to your Brett.”

  Alina smiled falsely. She was used to people and women in particular, being friendly towards her with the sole intent of getting into Brett’s good books.

  “Just a minute, you were in here last night,” blurted Hetty without thinking as Marlene’s claim sank in.

  Marlene scowled. “Yes,” she hissed, “we were later on when the football or whatever finished but that was sometime after Gideon was attacked.”

  Alina looked surprised.

  “Yes, yes, of course, sorry.” Hetty wished the floor would open up and swallow her.

  On Good Friday morning, Lottie was busy in the kitchen making hot crossed buns.

  “I don’t know why you’re bothering, Lottie,” scoffed Hetty, “It seems silly to go to so much trouble for something readily available in the shops.”

  Bill tutted. “Oh no, I must disagree with you there. Shop-bought buns could never be as good as Mother’s. Can’t beat homemade.”

  “Well, we shall see. The proof is in the pudding and all that.”

  After Lottie had kneaded the spicy dough packed with dried fruit she returned it to the mixing bowl and covered it with clingfilm. She then carried the bowl outside and placed it in the lean-to greenhouse on the side of the garage. When she returned she pointed to Hetty’s tomato seedlings on the sitting room window sill.

  “It’s lovely and warm in the greenhouse, Het. I reckon you could safely put your tomatoes and chillies out there and it’d stop the tomatoes getting even more leggy.”

  “I might do that because I can always bring them indoors at night if it looks like being cold.”

  “Looks to me like you need to prick the tomatoes out,” laughed Bill, “you’ve quite a forest there.”

  “Yes, alright don’t nag like your mother. I know I sowed too many but they’ll not go to waste and I’ll prick them out tomorrow.”

  “I’ll do it for you now, if you like,” proposed Sandra, “I like to make myself useful.”

  “Oh bless you, I’d really appreciate that because it’s not a job I enjoy. The chillies are okay for a while because there are only six of them. Come with me and I’ll show you where the pots and compost are.”

  At lunchtime, Bill popped down to the Crown and Anchor to have a pint with Bernie the Boatman with whom he had made friends two summers before.

  “Many in there?” Sandra asked when he returned.

  “Quite a few but then it is Easter.”

  “Try this on, Bill,” said Lottie, throwing him the sweater she had finally finished knitting.

  Bill caught it. “Will do. Something smells nice.”

  Lottie stood up. “It’s the hot crossed buns and I need to take them out of the oven.”

  “Anyone in the pub you knew apart from Bernie?” Sandra asked as Lottie left the room.

  “There were a few familiar faces and several people were talking about the attack on the organist again.” Bill removed his jacket and pulled the sweater over his head.

  “Hardly surprising,” reasoned Sandra, “crime’s not an everyday occurrence, especially in villages.”

  Bill looked at Hetty. “Are you and Mum trying to find out who did it, Auntie Het? The attack on the organist, I mean. Because surely it’s right up your street.”

  Hetty laid down her script and looked over the top of her reading glasses. “Do I detect a hint of sarcasm in your voice, young man?”

  “My dear, Auntie Hetty, whatever gives you that idea?”

  “Cheeky boy,” Hetty picked up her script, “The sweater looks very nice by the way. Your mother is a clever old stick.”

  “Thank you. I think I’ll keep it on as it looks none too warm out.”

  “Very wise and in answer to your question, yes we are and it was your mother’s idea; so we’re currently keen to solve both mysteries. One, who stole certain items from Pentrillick House a few years back when the Liddicott-Treens were on holiday, and two, who brutally attacked our church organist last week?”

  “And three,” said Lottie, as she entered the sitting room, “who knocked the poor old heron in the pond? I’ve just noticed from the kitchen window that he’s floating on the surface.”

  “That’s an easy one to solve,” giggled Kate, “It was Vicki. She stood him in the water to see how deep it was but he toppled over and then she couldn’t reach him.”

  Chapter Eight

  On Saturday morning, Penelope Prendergast left the Vicarage clutching two large baskets full to the brim with flowers and greenery. As she neared the village shop, she paused and then went inside enticed by the notion of a bag of mint humbugs. To her surprise the shop was busy. She selected the sweets she desired and then waited patiently in the queue to pay for her purchase.

  “Hmm, those flowers smell divine,” said Tess, also in the queue, “I love the scent of lilies. In fact I think they’re my favourite flowers.”

  “So do I,” agreed Penelope, “and these are special. They’re for the church. The altar in fact. I asked Sammy weeks ago when I knew we’d be here for Easter if I could do them this Sunday. I love flower arranging, you see. It’s my hobby.”

  “Sammy?” Tess was clearly puzzled.

  “Vicar Sam,” advised Kitty as she joined the queue, “this lady is his mother.”

  “Oh, I see. Pleased to meet you. I’m Tess Dobson.”

  “Penelope Prendergast,” stated the vicar’s mother, offering her hand as she placed one of the baskets on the floor.

  After paying for her humbugs, Penelope left the shop and walked the short distance to the church. Once through the lichgate she quietly sang her favourite hymn and walked along the gravel path
bordered on either side by banks of grass where daffodils bloomed amongst very old gravestones, many covered in lichen, and the final resting place of Pentrillick’s long dead residents.

  As she approached the solid wooden door, she took a large key from one of the baskets and inserted it into the lock. Usually the church was left unlocked during the day so that visitors might view the interior but since the attack on Gideon Elms the Parochial Church Council decided they must be more security conscious. After turning the key, Penelope carefully pushed open the door and stepped inside. She shivered. The building struck cold and eerie when devoid of human presence and the sunlight shining through the mullioned windows cast strange shadows across the cold stone floor. To ensure that she did not feel quite so alone, she left the door slightly ajar hopeful that the sound of passing traffic outside would provide a little comfort.

  There were no flowers on the altar for the arrangement from the previous Sunday had been removed for the Good Friday services and in place of the missing candlesticks a similar pair which normally stood in the window behind the choir stalls now had pride of place on either end of the altar cloth.

  Penelope filled the two brass vases with water from the tap in the belfry and then carefully and artistically arranged the flowers to her satisfaction, singing as she did so in a clear contralto voice. Feeling pleased with her effort, she stood back to admire her handiwork; all was well except for one of the lilies which needed to be turned slightly to the left. As she stepped forwards to adjust the flower she felt a sudden chill and sensed that she was being watched. Knowing what had happened to the organist she froze to the spot, afraid to turn around for fear of who or what she might see. Her mouth felt dry, her hands became clammy and she was conscious of her heart beating faster and much louder than usual. Desperate to know if her inkling was founded, she turned her head slowly just in time to glimpse movement by the door, and then it was gone. Feeling a sudden rush of bravery, Penelope picked up one of the replacement candlesticks and ran down the aisle and out of the door. But in the churchyard there was no sign of life other than a jackdaw resting on a nearby gravestone.

  “I hope you’ll all come to church with Auntie Hetty and me tomorrow,” urged Lottie, on Saturday afternoon when the family returned from a trip out sightseeing, “After all it is Easter Sunday and it’d be nice to go as a family.”

  “I agree,” said Bill, as he dropped his car keys into a pot on the mantelpiece, “I must admit I do like singing the old hymns so I hope there aren’t too many I’m not familiar with.”

  Sandra smiled. “Well if there are I’m sure you’ll soon get the hang of them after all you’re quite musical.”

  “Yes, but the trouble is we’ll most likely be on the last verse when that happens.”

  “Will we be getting Easter eggs tomorrow?” Kate asked in anticipation.

  “No,” said Sandra, firmly, “you’re too old now and you eat too many sweets already.”

  Lottie was touched by the disappointed look on her granddaughter’s face. “Don’t worry, Kate, I’m going to make a big chocolate cake iced with real chocolate so you’ll not be deprived.”

  Vicki looked puzzled. “This service tomorrow: will this be in the same church where the poor bloke you told us about was bashed on the head?”

  Lottie tutted. “Yes, Pentrillick only has the one church: it’s called St. Marys, and as for the poor man who was brutally attacked the other day, your aunt and I will be eager to hear how he’s getting along. Poor Gideon.”

  Hetty nodded. “Quite right, but there is another church in the village although most people refer to it as the chapel. It’s Methodist, you see.”

  “Wesleyan,” corrected Lottie.

  “Well, whatever it’s still a chapel.”

  “Anyway you can count me in for a trip to the church,” said Zac, “because it’ll be great to see Sam again.”

  Vicki frowned. “Who’s Sam?”

  “The vicar,” answered Lottie, “but he’s usually referred to as Vicar Sam.”

  “Unless you’re his mother,” laughed Hetty. “She calls him Sammy.”

  Zac gasped. “She doesn’t.”

  “She does,” retorted Hetty, “and I get the impression he doesn’t really like it.”

  “You’re dead right,” Zac agreed, “I remember someone calling him Sammy last summer and he went nuts.”

  “Ah, but mothers can get away with murder,” said Lottie.

  “Very true,” agreed Bill.

  Chapter Nine

  On Easter Sunday morning the whole family left Primrose Cottage and walked down Long Lane into the village to the sound of the church bells ringing to entice villagers to join the worshippers. On the way they met Luke Burleigh out for a run. He nodded as he passed by.

  “Does that bloke live near you because I’ve seen him running by several times?” Kate asked.

  “He used to,” replied Hetty, “but he and his wife live along the main street now.”

  “Rather him than me,” chuntered Bill, glancing back at Luke, “Running, that is and up-hill too. He must be a health fanatic to be out this early in the morning.”

  “But it’s nearly nine o’clock,” laughed Sandra, “so hardly the crack of dawn.”

  “Actually, he’s training for the London Marathon,” Hetty revealed, “and he’ll be raising money for charity.”

  Bill laughed. “Okay, I’ll let him off then but I still think it’s too early to be out running, especially on a Sunday and a cold Sunday to boot.”

  “He won’t be cold if he’s running,” reasoned Lottie, “far from it.”

  Along the main road outside the church, cars were parked nose to tail leaving very little room for any late arrivals and near to the church gates the family passed visitors to Pentrillick who were reading of village events on the notice board.

  Inside, Hetty and Lottie went to their usual pew. Zac sat with them but Bill, Sandra and the girls sat in front. No sooner were the girls seated than both had their phones out and were scrolling down the screens. Lottie tutted but decided it was not her place to reprimand her granddaughters. Besides, they were doing no harm.

  At nine o’clock, the vicar and the choir left the vestry and processed down the aisle; the congregation stood to sing the first hymn and Sandra told the girls to put away their phones. They obeyed and half-heartedly attempted to sing but the words and tune were unfamiliar and so they opted to mime instead. Bill, however, made up for the lack of volume coming from the mouths of his daughters and sang with gusto.

  At the end of the hymn they all sat and Vicar Sam addressed the congregation. Noticing him for the first time caused Vicki to gasp. “Who’s he?” she whispered.

  Sandra scowled. “Shush.”

  “Obviously the vicar, you numpty,” whispered Kate, “Vicar Sam or whatever he’s called. Surely you can tell that by his dog collar.”

  “Well yes I can but whatever he’s drop-dead gorgeous….”

  Vicki was forced to cease her chat when she received a sharp poke on the shoulder from her grandmother. After that the girls were both silent and during the sermon a little later, Sandra was surprised to see that her daughters appeared to hang on to every word spoken by the vicar.

  After the service, Penelope Prendergast, the vicar’s mother, greeted Hetty and Lottie. “Hello, ladies, lovely to see you again.”

  “Likewise,” said Hetty, “and are you enjoying your stay?”

  “Very much, thank you. Rum do about the organist chappie though.”

  “Gideon, yes,” tutted Lottie, “I do hope they catch the person responsible but it seems the police have very little to go on.”

  “So I understand. Just as well you have a spare in Kitty. Organist that is.”

  “Actually Kitty has been playing for years but she was happy to share the duty with Gideon when he moved to the village and the two get on very well.” Lottie stepped aside to let people pass by.

  “Right, now, ladies, I know it’s a bit of a silly qu
estion,” said Penelope, biting her bottom lip, “but do you like biscuits?”

  The sisters both laughed and then said they did.

  “Would you like some then? They’re assorted but broken.”

  “Oh, well, yes, that would be nice especially as the family are down for Easter,” said Lottie.

  “Good, I’ll go and get some from the car. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  “A whole box of broken biscuits,” whispered Hetty, as Penelope left the church, “I dread to think what Lucy Lacey would say when confronted with that.”

  Lottie laughed. “Yes, I should imagine they’d put her in a right tiswas.”

  “Where are the family?” Hetty suddenly asked realising she was unable to see any of them.

  “The girls are outside and Zac’s gone to see Emma because he’s been invited to lunch with her family. Bill and Sandra are over there chatting to Kitty.” Lottie pointed to where they stood beside the font part hidden by a pillar.

  “Here we are,” gushed Penelope as she returned with a box, “I guarantee you’ll like them as they’re really delicious.”

  “But don’t you want them?” Lottie asked.

  “My dear, we have biscuits coming out of our ears. It’s our new neighbours, you see. They’ve moved into the big house next door and they own a biscuit factory at which inevitably there are breakages every day. They’re lovely people and when we first met them they kindly asked if we’d like some of the broken biscuits. We said yes and they’ve been giving us boxes ever since. We’ve both put on several pounds trying to get through them but in the end we started to stockpile them hoping to distribute them amongst Sammy’s parishioners, as I’m doing now.”

  “I see, well that’s very kind, thank you.” Lottie took the box from Penelope. “I can assure you they’ll not go to waste.”

  “Did you give some to Gideon?” Hetty asked on impulse, “It’s just that I recall he had a box of broken biscuits with him on the night he was attacked.”

  “Yes, I did. He called round at the Vicarage the day after we arrived so I gave him a box then. He said he would share them with choir members after the next practice because he was confident they would have perfected the anthem he and Kitty had given them to learn.”