A Crowded Coffin (13 page)

As Rory followed Sam, Edith leaned over the balcony and gazed down at the pinnacles of the Wilberforce tomb. A large party of tourists was milling around and as she watched, Dr Sutherland glanced up and waved to her, pointing to the Venerable Chapel at the side. She smiled and nodded as he turned to make his way through the throng and into the chapel, then she followed the others down to the library. A last glance downward showed her the old man parked comfortably on a chair, with Sam’s panama on his chest and Sam’s blue silk
handkerchief
being used as a fan. Edith felt faintly disconcerted, dismissing as ridiculous an indefinable sense of dismay,
something
out of tune, something she had just seen.

The library was fascinating and Rory, in particular, spent ages admiring the famous Winchester Bible, the masterpiece
commissioned
by King Stephen’s brother, the Prince Bishop of Winchester.

Rory quoted from the leaflet he’d bought: ‘It was written on the finest parchment, each sheet a complete hide, requiring the slaughter in all of some two hundred and fifty calves.’ He looked at the other two, his eyes gleaming. ‘I’ve a good mind to try my hand at some illuminated capitals,’ he said. ‘I had some fun with icons a year or so back, and this wouldn’t be too dissimilar.’

Sam’s phone beeped and he looked eagerly at the incoming text. ‘Oh great, we’ve completed. The cottage is mine.’ He acknowledged their congratulations then looked at his watch again. ‘Seen enough? Right, let’s go down and winkle old Oliver out of wherever he’s dozing. I promised him lunch and he’ll be ready for it by now. We’ll make it a celebration.’

There was no sign of the portly clergyman on guard by the tomb so Rory stuck his head into the chapel. He gave a sudden exclamation and withdrew, beckoning Sam with a shocked expression.

‘What the …?’ Sam shoved him aside and hurried in, with Edith on his heels. Rory glanced round briefly and followed them.

Oliver Sutherland was leaning back comfortably in a corner, feet stretched out on a kneeler. His head was tilted against the carved wood of the pew, with Sam’s panama hat slipping down from where it had been precariously balanced over his face, with the brim now resting on his chest. The hand that had been holding Sam’s handkerchief as a fan lay lax at his side, the
handkerchief
a blue splash of silk on the floor. He looked as though he was taking a peaceful nap as any elderly cleric in his
mid-eighties
is surely entitled to do. But he appeared to be quite, quite dead.

The next half-hour was a nightmare jumble of discreet panic. The last thing anyone wanted was to have a commotion in the cathedral, which was packed with visitors. Disruption, however, turned out to be unavoidable.

Sam Hathaway took control. Rory had taken up the old man’s wrist and finding no trace of a pulse, looked round for guidance. As Sam, trying to summon up what he knew of resuscitation, took Rory’s place at the old man’s side, the only other occupant of the chapel, a middle-aged woman who had been sitting in quiet meditation in the opposite corner, now rose in concern.

‘Is something wrong? Can I help? I used to be a nurse.’ Her accent was Canadian and Rory saw, from her comprehensive glance, that she understood the situation. To Sam’s relief, she took over, directing him to help her lay Oliver Sutherland down and begin CPR, so Sam told Rory to hurry to the booth at the
cathedral
entrance to alert the authorities and to call for a first-aider.

‘There’s an ambulance on its way,’ Rory panted, returning within minutes. ‘The first-aider should be—Oh.’ He was
interrupted
by the woman who had followed him in. She quickly assessed the situation and nodded to Sam to change places with her. He took a pace back, then spotted his panama hat on the tiled floor, partly obscuring the puddle of blue silk, his
handkerchief
. As he reached to pick them up he glanced at the still, serene old face and bent his head in a moment’s quiet prayer.

Rory, after one look at Edith’s chalk-white cheeks and dazed
expression, pushed her into a pew and looked to Sam for instructions. Grieved, but not shocked, Sam was sure there was nothing to be done for his old friend, though he knew that CPR would continue until the further help arrived.

‘You stay here and keep people out,’ he said crisply to Rory. ‘Here, put the rope across and stand guard. I’d better go and report to the powers-that-be what’s happening.’

Within less time than seemed possible the ambulance crew were on the spot and a defibrillator put into use but Sam wasn’t surprised when they made a quiet decision to stop trying.

‘I’ll go with him to the hospital,’ he told the anxious group in the chapel. ‘Rory, can you talk to people here?’ At Rory’s nod, Sam followed the discreet procession to a side door.

‘How peaceful he looked, the poor old gentleman,’ remarked the Canadian nurse. ‘And what a nice way to go for a minister, right here in the cathedral.’ She patted Edith’s hand. ‘There, dear, don’t take it too hard. Is he your grandfather?’

‘No-o,’ Edith roused herself. ‘I don’t really know him at all. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I was so upset.’ She mopped her tears away. ‘I suppose it made me think about my own
grandparents
. How silly, what an unhelpful thing to do.’

Rory reappeared, having given all the information he could to the authorities. He glanced anxiously at Edith, but was
reassured
by the colour returning to her cheeks.

‘Poor old chap,’ he commented. ‘I suppose it was a heart attack, it’ll come out at the post mortem, I suppose. Mind you,’ he added, ‘he did have a couple of nasty scratches on his hand and wrist. I wonder what caused that?’

The Canadian woman shook her head in dismissal. ‘I noticed them too, but it’s nothing to worry about. I’d guess those are cat scratches. Does he have a cat, do you know? Failing that, it could be rose thorns or brambles if he was a gardener. Anything could have caused it; they weren’t freshly done.’

He hunched his shoulders as he nodded in agreement. ‘You didn’t notice anything odd in here, did you?’ he asked her in a low voice. ‘Nobody talking to him, upsetting him or something like that?’

‘He might have been agitated and had a heart attack, you mean?’ She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘No, I can’t say I noticed. I did see him put his hat over his face, because it reminded me of my father. He always did that if he wanted a quiet snooze.

‘A party of tourists looked in at one time, with a guide, but you can’t get many people in here so they mostly didn’t stay. Some of them sat down for a moment and one or two knelt in quiet prayer, I think. I’m sorry, honey,’ she smiled mistily. ‘I wasn’t really noticing much, I was thinking about Angus, my late husband. He would have loved this place so much.’

She blinked away a tear then, as Sam Hathaway reappeared, she became practical. ‘Now then, if we’re not needed here, why don’t we go get a cup of coffee or something?’ She spoke to Edith, patting her arm as she did so, and Sam nodded.

‘That sounds like a good idea. You go, Edith. I decided not to go to the hospital in the end. There’s a lot to be sorted out at a time like this, so I’m going round to Oliver’s place to make a start on phone calls and so forth.’

‘I’ll stay with Sam and see if he needs a hand,’ Rory announced. ‘Where will you go, Edith? You ought to have
something
to eat, you’re white as a sheet.’

She shook her head, nauseated at the thought of food, but the Canadian lady, who introduced herself as Margaret Mackenzie from St John, New Brunswick, interrupted.

‘I’m staying at the hotel right by the cathedral. You can’t miss it. We’ll be in the main lounge. You come and find us there – we’ll be fine,’ and she waved the two men on their way.

‘I know you don’t feel like eating, but you’ll feel all the better
for it,’ she insisted, and beamed approval as Edith absent-
mindedly
polished off a plate of biscuits. Refilling their cups, she enquired, ‘Why were you so upset, honey? You mentioned your grandparents. Have you recently lost them? That old gentleman must have been well over eighty, and he looked so peaceful. Death is nothing to fear when it comes so gently.’

‘It was just silly hysteria and not the slightest bit of help to anyone,’ Edith said apologetically. She explained a little of her situation and found the older woman warmly sympathetic.

A call came in. Rory. ‘We’ll be a while,’ he told her. ‘Why don’t you have lunch with Mrs Mackenzie at her hotel? Sam and I will grab a bite to eat and one of us, probably me, will get back to you as soon as possible.’

The next couple of hours passed in peaceful conversation about this and that, and Edith was feeling much calmer when Rory appeared at about three o’clock – without Sam and looking slightly amused.

‘I dropped Sam off at his flat to pick up the last of his bits and pieces and then he’ll make his way over to Locksley.’ He accepted a cup of coffee and went on, ‘He’s going to camp in his new house for tonight at least, though he’ll probably move in next door to keep an eye on Harriet when she gets home tomorrow.’ He grinned at them. ‘The thing is, I’ve got something of Dr Sutherland’s in the car. We went round to his house first and Sam got in touch with the old boy’s solicitor and his son in Toronto. There wasn’t much else we could do except that when we got there Sam remembered the cat.’

Edith and Mrs Mackenzie looked up. ‘He did have a cat after all, then?’ the older woman remarked. ‘That could explain the scratches on his wrist.’

‘Well, it could,’ Rory said doubtfully. ‘But Sam says Hector, the cat, is far too laid back to scratch anyone and too fat and idle to lift a paw.’ A reminiscent smile flickered across his face. ‘He’s
certainly fat and he weighs a ton, but he didn’t even twitch a whisker when we got him into the cat basket. Oh, didn’t I say? Sam’s decided to take him on. Hector can camp in Sam’s spare room till he feels settled. The son in Toronto wouldn’t want a cat; he lives in a high-rise block of flats anyway.’

The Canadian woman was still looking concerned and Rory added, ‘I mentioned the scratches to Sam and he says Dr Sutherland was always complaining about brambles so that’s most likely how he got the scratches. They colonized his garden from the patch of common land next door and he was fighting a constant battle against them.’

It was time to go. Edith rose to her feet and put out her hand to Mrs Mackenzie. ‘I can’t thank you enough for your kindness,’ she said. ‘It’s been lovely to meet you, even under such sad circumstances. You must come over to Locksley soon; are you here for long?’

Margaret surprised her with a quick, sympathetic hug. ‘I’d love to, honey. I’m based here in Winchester for another five days though I’m off to Salisbury for the day tomorrow, and Chichester the day after that. I like to have a theme for my
vacations
,’ she confessed with a smile. ‘Last time it was castles, the time before that was royal palaces and this year I’m visiting cathedrals.’

As they took their leave Rory had a last word with the Canadian visitor. ‘If you do happen to remember anything, anything at all that strikes you as odd, I mean about the old chap, will you give me a call?’

She shot him a curious glance and surveyed him very thoughtfully, but nodded and promised, in spite of her repeated assurances that there was nothing at all out of the ordinary that she could recall.

As Rory edged the car out of the city and headed towards the hills Edith sat in the back seat talking to their unexpected feline
passenger. Hector was curled up in an extra-large cat-travel basket, gazing out with placid, gooseberry-green eyes and responding amiably to her polite advances. She had to agree with Rory that a cat so large and indolent was probably not going to be scratching anyone anytime soon, so it must have been the brambles after all.

At Sam’s new home, the semi-detached twin of Harriet’s cottage, they used the key he had given Rory and carted Hector and his belongings upstairs to the back bedroom. Sam’s
furniture
from the flat had been delivered the previous day and besides his own room, the spare room had a carpet, a pair of twin beds and a chest of drawers already, though there were no curtains as yet.

‘He should be all right,’ Edith said hopefully as they watched the hefty grey and white tabby uncurl himself from his basket to take a languid stroll round his new quarters. A sniff of approval at his food and water bowl, a disdainful glance at the litter tray, ready for action and tucked away in a corner, and Hector stalked off to his own bed where he promptly fell asleep.

As she waited for Rory to double-lock the front door, Edith was startled to see a sleek silver Porsche parked alongside Rory’s elderly Vauxhall, and Brendan Whittaker coming down Harriet’s front path, next door. He looked disconcerted to see them.

‘Oh, er, I was looking for Miss Quigley,’ he said, looking
self-consciously
at the expensive-looking bouquet of lilies he was carrying. ‘Gordon wanted me to see her and make sure she was comfortable.’

‘She’s at our house,’ Edith told him, surprised. ‘Didn’t you know? I’ll take the flowers for her if you like?’ She looked round but Rory had disappeared down the side path, so she walked to the gate. ‘That’s a nasty scrape on your wing, what have you been up to?’

‘That?’ He shrugged as she indicated a mark on his car. ‘Nothing to do with me – some fool parking badly. I found it like that when I got back to the car. Bloody nuisance, though; I’ll have to put in a claim unless I can get it done privately.’

‘Hard luck,’ she sympathized. ‘Did whoever did it leave their name and insurance details?’

‘Of course not.’ He stared at her. ‘Never mind that, how about a drink sometime soon? Tonight maybe? No, of course you can’t tonight, but tomorrow perhaps. I’ve scarcely seen you since you came home.’

‘It’s only been a few days.’ She fobbed him off with a mumble about her grandparents and he drove off as Rory reappeared.

‘I was just checking Harriet’s back door,’ he said. ‘In case anyone’s been poking about in there. It’s all over the village that she’s up at the farm, so why didn’t lover-boy know?’

‘He’s not,’ Edith was frowning. ‘He’s just someone to have a laugh with now and then. But what did he mean, I can’t have a drink tonight? Why not?’

Back at the farm she soon found out.

‘You’re in the dog house,’ Karen informed her with a cheerful grin. ‘The vicar phoned earlier to remind you that you’d
promised
to go out with him for a drink tonight and asked what time he should he pick you up.’

‘No I didn’t.’ Edith was indignant. ‘I said sometime or other, not tonight. Anyway, why does that put me in the dog house? It’s not a crime.’

‘It is to your grandfather,’ Karen shrugged, and bent to take out some trays of tiny sausage rolls from the oven. ‘He doesn’t approve of the vicar making up to you. And you needn’t look at me like that; I heard him tell the vicar that himself.’

‘He did?’ Edith was irritated but impressed all the same. Her grandfather rarely interfered in her life.

‘Uh-huh.’ Karen deftly put more oven trays, this time of
minute vol-aux-vents, in to cook. ‘Mr Attlin took the call from the vicar this morning and told him you couldn’t go out tonight as we’re having a small drinks party. Then he invited the vicar anyway and told him straight out that he felt it wasn’t wise for a man in his position to be seen out and about with other women so soon after his wife’s death and he advised caution.’

‘Drinks party?’ Edith was startled but the evidence was before her eyes: cocktail savouries, canapés, assorted bottles and glasses, on every available surface. ‘Have they gone mad? It’s only a day or so ago that we had the Rotary dinner here. What on earth do they want a drinks party for?’