“And it looks like he was right,” smiled Lottie, “I thought the anthem was superb.”
“Yes, just a pity poor Gideon wasn’t able to hear it,” sighed Hetty.
When they returned home from church, Lottie began to make preparations for the Sunday roast.
“Would there be any objections to me popping down the pub for a pint before dinner?” Bill asked.
“That’s a good idea,” agreed Sandra, “and I’ll go with you. We’ll take the girls too as I’m sure your mum and Auntie Het would appreciate a few minutes’ peace.”
Shortly after they left it began to rain. Hetty groaned. “It looks like it’s going to be wet now for the rest of the day.”
Lottie, took the parboiled potatoes from the hotplate. “That’ll be quite nice because we can all stay indoors and watch a film or play Scrabble. Meanwhile, once these spuds are in the oven I must ice the chocolate cake or I’ll have two irate teenager girls to contend with.”
“And while you’re doing that I’ll make use of the quiet and attempt to learn my lines for the play.”
Easter Monday began cold and dull after the rain the previous day but it brightened in the afternoon and encouraged people to get out and about despite the bitterly cold north wind. Pentrillick House was the destination of several hundred who wandered the grounds, shopped in the garden centre, toured the grand house and visited the lakeside café.
Inside the kitchen of Pentrillick House, Mrs Hazel Mitchell, a lady of fifty three summers, a widow and the family’s part-time cook, was cosy and warm as she peeled apples to make a pie for the family’s evening meal. However, her concentration wasn’t for the job in hand, her thoughts were focused on the evening Gideon Elms had been attacked in the church. The reason for her concern was because when it happened she had been standing at the bus stop waiting to catch a bus into Helston where she was going to meet her friend, Andrew. She recalled seeing Gideon go into the church shortly after she had arrived at the bus stop and he called hello to her as he went through the church gates. A few minutes later, just as the bus arrived, she saw someone run from the church in an obvious state of distress. The person stopped, looked at Mrs Mitchell and their eyes momentarily met as she boarded the bus. She did not see where the person went as her attention was focussed on the driver who she was informing of her destination. When she sat down on the bus she glanced from the window hoping to catch a glimpse of the person she had seen, but it was almost dark and she saw little other than her own reflection in the glass. She thought no more about the incident until the next day when she heard about the attack on poor Gideon in the vestry. Hence, Hazel’s dilemma; she felt that she ought to tell the police what she had seen although she doubted, if confronted with a line of possible suspects that she would be able to identify the person in question. The problem was Andrew. Neither of her two grown-up children liked him. They said he was a playboy who was only after the substantial amount of money she had obtained after the demise of their father, her husband. The house she lived in was bought and paid for and a large pay-out from an insurance policy meant she was comfortably off. In fact she didn’t need to work at all but she’d taken the part-time job at Pentrillick House, when offered, because she loved cooking and wanted to get out and about and meet people.
Hazel laughed as she dropped the apple peel into a bowl ready to dispose of in the compost bin. The only reason she had taken the bus into Helston that night rather than her car was because Andrew lived quite near to her son and so she didn’t want to park anywhere in that vicinity in case he spotted her car because she had told her children that she was no longer seeing Andrew. She knew it was a lie but she considered it to be just a little white lie. After all, she wasn’t a fool and had no intention of letting Andrew get his hands on any of the money which she considered to be her children’s inheritance. Anyway, he appeared to have plenty of money of his own although she did wonder where he got it from and on the few occasions she had mentioned it his response was very guarded; for that reason she often felt a little guilty and even wondered if her children might be right in their judgement.
From the refrigerator, Hazel took the pastry she had made earlier, rolled it out and placed it over the apples she had spiced with cinnamon. When the pie was ready she placed it in the oven, and took out a tray of ginger biscuits she’d made earlier for Jeremy, the Liddicott-Treen’s fourteen year old son of whom she was very fond. She then washed down the old pine table where she’d worked and put the dirty dishes in the dish-washer.
Due to the heat from the Aga and the sun streaming in through one of the two windows, it was warm in the kitchen and so Hazel wasn’t at all surprised when she caught sight of herself in the mirror to see that her cheeks were bright pink. Eager to cool down she walked towards an open window to lean out and get a breath of fresh air. But as she approached the window she sensed that someone was standing outside watching her. Slowly a gloved hand pulled the curtain aside. Hazel gasped, turned and ran towards the door eager to get out of the kitchen and into the hallway. In her haste she stumbled and knocked from the table the ginger biscuits which broke as they hit the flagstone floor. She attempted to scream but the noise from her mouth was little more than a squeak and as she reached for the door knob two shots were fired and her world went blank.
There was no drama group meeting on Easter Monday and so in the evening the family walked down to the Crown and Anchor for a drink. The pub was busy when they arrived and the chatter amongst the clientele seemed livelier than usual. Before she sat down Hetty popped to the Ladies to adjust an undergarment which she felt had come undone.
“What’s with all the excitement?” Bill asked Bernie the Boatman, who sat on a stool at the bar talking to Vince from the garage, as he went to order drinks.
“Haven’t you heard?” Bernie tutted and shook his head. “Poor old Hazel Mitchell was shot while she was at work in the kitchen of Pentrillick House this afternoon.”
Bill’s jaw dropped. “Shot! But that’s terrible. Not that I know Hazel Mitchell. But is she alright? I mean, she obviously isn’t but she is alive I hope.”
“Yes, she is just about from what I’ve heard but it’s not looking good.”
Bill took his wallet from the pocket of his jeans. “So who is she?”
“She’s the Liddicott-Treen’s cook. Nice woman. Widowed a couple of years ago and I wouldn’t have thought she was the sort of person to have had any enemies.” Bernie took a sip of his beer, “I don’t know what the world’s coming to. First Gideon’s attacked in the church of all places and now this.”
“Who’s next?” asked Ashley, the landlord from behind the bar.
Bill raised his hand and ordered drinks for the family. “Can I get you a drink, Bernie?”
“That’s very kind but no. I’d better get going after this and tell Veronica what’s happened. She liked Hazel you see. They were at school together.”
“Oh dear, she’s in for a bit of a shock then.”
“She is and she’s in the church choir too so knows Gideon as well.”
When the drinks were ready Bill put them on a tray. “Well tell her we send our regards.”
“Will do.”
Bill picked up the tray and carried it to the table where the family sat.
“You’ll never guess what,” he said, as he handed out the glasses.
“Hazel Mitchell’s been shot,” blurted Lottie, clearly shaken, “we’ve just heard.”
“Oh,” Bill sounded disappointed.
“I told them,” confessed Emma, who sat beside Zac. “It only happened a couple of hours ago and so everyone who was at Pentrillick House today is still there and no-one is allowed to leave until they’ve been questioned by the police. We were told about it by Mum who’s up there with her sister, my Auntie May. She rang Dad a while back and said not to expect them home for a while.”
“Wow, never a dull moment in this village.” Bill sat down. “Where’s Auntie Het?”
“In the
Ladies.” None of the family noticed the anxious look on Lottie’s face and the fact she drummed her fingers on the table in an agitated manner.
“A few moments later Hetty returned. “Everything alright?” she asked as she removed her jacket and placed it on the back of a chair.
“We were just saying about the attempted murder at Pentrillick House,” blurted Bill. He took a sip of his beer.
“Attempted murder?”
Lottie reached up and squeezed her sister’s hand. “Yes, Het. It’s Hazel Mitchell, the Liddicott-Treen’s cook. She’s been shot.”
Hetty attempted to speak but no words came from her mouth. Voices all around her became muffled and her vision blurred. As a whooshing sound in her head grew louder and louder, she attempted to grab the back of a chair but missed as she fainted.
Several people panicked, one or two screamed, dreading the fact that Hetty might be victim number three but when she came round she assured everyone gathered around that she was not ill or hurt. Bill and Sandra each took one of her arms and helped her to a seat.
“It was the shock of hearing about Hazel,” Hetty whispered, aware that her voice lacked its usual timbre, “I didn’t know her but the fact she’s a cook unnerved me.”
“Ah, I expect it was because of the play,” reasoned Bernie, sympathetically, “that was the first thing I thought when I heard.”
Hetty nodded.
Gradually everyone drifted away and continued to chat in their own groups. When all were out of earshot, Lottie, with Hetty’s help, told the family about Lucy Lacey’s visit and how that was the real reason for Hetty’s shock. The twins hung on to every word.
“But that’s amazing,” shrieked Kate, eyes like saucers.
“Wicked,” agreed Vicki.
“But surely it’s just a coincidence,” laughed Bill, “I mean, reading broken biscuits, come on, that really does take the biscuit.”
Zac chuckled.
“Not funny,” scolded Sandra.
“Where does she live?” Kate asked, ignoring her father’s scorn, “I imagine it’s somewhere deep in the dark, dark woods.”
Lottie smiled. “Not a bad guess. She lives in a cottage on moorland near to Pentrillick Woods.”
“What’s it called?” Vicki asked.
“Broomstick Cottage,” suggested Bill.
Lottie frowned. “No, it’s Wood Cottage.”
“What was it she said again? I didn’t quite grasp it just now.” Sandra was clearly taken by the story.
“I wrote it down after she’d gone,” said Hetty, “that’s how I remember it. Lucy said: I see yellow tulips in a shaft of sunlight. I see a lady cooking and she will get hurt. Other people will get hurt. Some will be deceitful. Things will go missing. Nothing will make sense. But you dear lady shall be unhurt for the lucky heather will protect you and your family.”
“You won’t hear me say this very often,” admitted Sandra, “but I’ve gone all goosepimply.”
“So have I,” concurred Vicki.
Kate gasped. “And you bought yellow tulips, Mum.”
“Which explains why Grandma and Auntie Het both looked like they’d seen a ghost when Mum handed them over.” Zac looked and felt uneasy.
Bill, however, drained his glass and looked heavenwards. “Well, if Auntie Het and her family are safe we’ve nothing to worry about, have we?” He stood up. “Anyone fancy another drink?”
Later, Brett and Alina who were at Pentrillick House when the attempted murder took place arrived at the Crown and Anchor where they were questioned by all and sundry about the latest developments.
“Who are they and why are they always being fussed over?” Vicki asked, “It was the same the other night when I saw them.”
“That’s Brett Baker and his girlfriend, Alina,” stated Hetty, feeling more relaxed after two glasses of wine.
“Who?”
“The script writer,” said Zac, “The one who wrote Murder at Mulberry Hall. We were talking about him the other day.”
“Oh, oh, I see. He’s much older than I’d imagined and not as handsome either.”
Kate giggled. “No, not a patch on the vicar.”
“Does the vicar ever come in the pub?” Vicki asked, hopefully.
“Occasionally,” answered Lottie, “he’s a very sociable chap.”
“With his wife?” Kate asked, her fingers crossed beneath the table.
“He’s not married,” laughed Zac, “but don’t let that fact get your hopes up.”
Chapter Ten
On Tuesday everything went back to normal after the Easter weekend. It was a lovely spring-like day and so in the morning the family drove to Marazion for a look over St Michaels’ Mount. While they were out, Hetty took Albert for a walk and outside the post office she bumped into the vicar.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” she laughed, “lovely day and I feel rather overdressed in coat, scarf and gloves.”
“Good morning, Mrs Appleby, it is indeed. And like you’ve I’m also overdressed but then it has been rather chilly lately so we have a good excuse.”
“On a more sombre note. Terrible business regarding Hazel Mitchell.”
Vicar Sam sighed deeply. “Yes, it is and I’m very concerned about what happened to her. She rang me on Sunday evening, you see, and asked if I would pop in and see her. She didn’t say why but I got the feeling she was worried about something. We agreed I’d call today because she was working yesterday. If only it had been the other way round. I pray she pulls through.”
“Is she conscious?”
“No, far from it. One of the bullets damaged her brain and so they’ve put her in a medically induced coma.”
Hetty gasped. “But that’s dreadful.”
“Yes, it is.”
“So have you told the police about the call she made to you? I mean, it may well help with their enquiries.”
“Yes, I have. I rang them as soon as I heard the news. They were very interested but I doubt it’ll help much unless they can find someone who knew what was bothering her.”
“Perhaps her children will know. I think she has two…grown up of course.”
“Yes, she has but hopefully she’ll recover soon and be able to tell the police all they need to know herself.”
“We can but hope.”
“And pray.”
The family arrived back just after lunch and in the afternoon, Kate and Vicki announced they were going to walk down to the beach. This was because on the previous evening while in the Crown and Anchor, they had overheard someone saying they’d found a message in a bottle while out beachcombing that morning. Sadly though, the message was illegible as a little water had got inside and blurred the ink. The notion of beachcombing appealed to the girls and so just before three they set off with two carrier bags which they hoped to fill with treasures. However, when they arrived at the beach they found it was high water and so there was very little beach to explore.
“Bother,” shouted Vicki, stamping her foot, “Dad said we ought to check the tide. It’s so annoying when he’s right. Now we’ll have nothing to take back unless we hang around waiting for the tide to go out again and if we do wait anything we find will be sopping wet.”
“Well, I suppose anything we found would still be wet even if the tide was out now. I mean it’s hardly going to be dry after being in the sea for goodness knows how long.”
“No, but it’s a nice day so anything washed up would soon dry in the sun.”
“Okay, you win.” Kate looked across the beach. “I suppose we could explore those rocks over there. You never know the tide might have thrown something up there which the beachcombers will have missed.”
“Yeah, you could be right. Worth a try anyway and better than doing nothing.”
At the end of the beach the girls clamoured over the rocks. Kate found the going easy as she was wearing trainers. Vicki on the other hand wore flip-flops.
“Let’s sit down and rest,” suggested Kate, after they had
walked for half an hour and found nothing other than an empty drinks can and water bottles which they had collected to dispose of in the recycling boxes at Primrose Cottage, “It’s quite warm so it’ll be nice to just sit and look at the sea.”
Vicki readily agreed.
The girls sat side by side, legs outstretched with jeans rolled up to their knees to feel the warmth of the sun.
“I could happily fall asleep here,” said Vicki, as she stifled a yawn, “the sea is so calming and it smells nice too.” She removed her sunglasses and leaned back.
“I agree. I wish we lived near the sea because I like the sound it makes. I’d like to see it in the winter as well when it’s really rough and the wind’s howling.”
“Well, I shall live by the sea when I’m older,” declared Vicki, as she closed her eyes, “I might even come and live in Pentrillick.”
“At the Vicarage?” Kate teased.
Vicki laughed. “Only in my dreams.”
Because the tide was beginning to recede, they walked nearer to the sea on their way back and collected even more litter.
“Well, we’re doing our bit for the environment,” laughed Kate, as she picked up yet another plastic bottle, “so our efforts have not all been in vain.”
Vicki suddenly stopped walking, clearly distracted as she pointed to her left. “I’m listening, Kate, really I am but what’s that over there?”
“Where?”
“Over there by the triangular shaped rock. I can see something shining in the sunlight.”
“Treasure,” screamed Kate.
“Wow, be brilliant if it was.”
Eagerly the girls scrambled towards the shiny object. Both gasped. For there beside a small rock pool lay not one but two brass candlesticks.
When the girls arrived back at Primrose Cottage with two bags; one full of litter the other holding the two brass candlesticks, Bill rang the police.
Tea and Broken Biscuits Page 7
