Smile and be a Villain (24 page)

‘We do the same. At least we always did. Sometimes it was weeks before we got all the leftovers packed off to Barbara's charity shop.'

‘Good. That's what I was hoping. Now, where would this year's account book be kept?'

‘At the vicarage, along with other church records. There's no proper office at the church.'

‘And where would I be able to find this year's leftovers?'

That afternoon we divided our efforts. Alan went to the library to look for vendors of deluxe choir folders; I went to the church to rummage in a little storage room for unsold merchandise.

The room was actually a sort of shed. It was padlocked, but very little ingenuity was required to find the key under a nearby flowerpot. The lighting was bad, and the flashlight I'd bought wasn't very powerful, but my search didn't take me very long. The leftovers were much the sort of thing one might expect: books that didn't look very appealing, lamps that might have seemed a good idea once, mediocre pictures, rather drab clothing. There were also a few items that might have attracted buyers but for their rather high prices: a small table for forty pounds that I might have considered at thirty, a small framed embroidery (the frame slightly chipped) for fifty, when it was worth thirty-five at the very most.

I slipped the embroidery and a couple of small pictures into my purse and made my furtive way out of the churchyard and back to Belle Isle.

Alan wasn't back yet, so I phoned Mr Lewison. He was rather stiff with me, but yes, he was at home, and yes, he knew where to lay his hands on the jumble sale ledger, and yes, he could bring it to me.

‘I don't think I want to know why you want it,' he said.

‘Then I won't tell you,' I said agreeably.

Alan returned before Mr Lewison arrived. ‘I was lucky,' he said. ‘I could find only five firms that supply the sort of folders Abercrombie said he ordered. I haven't phoned them yet.'

‘No, of course you couldn't do it at the library.'

‘Would you rather make the calls?'

‘No, you go ahead. You can sound much more business-like than I. What I'm hoping is that one company will say such an order was discussed, but they're waiting for payment before they can ship.'

He hit pay dirt on the third call. His end of the conversation was enlightening. ‘I see. But I was assured that had been taken care of a few weeks ago. Give me the final price again, and I'll look into it at once.'

Mr Lewison knocked on our door just then, and was surprised when I asked him to sit down. ‘We've found another length of rope,' I said. He looked puzzled. ‘For hanging purposes, if he were still around to be hanged.'

‘The choir folders were never ordered,' said Alan heavily. ‘I just spoke with a representative of the company from whom Abercrombie requested an estimate. I would be very much surprised if Abercrombie didn't quote a very much higher price to your vicar and choir director, to justify collecting more money.'

The priest sighed. ‘I can't say I'm surprised, after all the other misdeeds that have been laid at his feet.'

‘And I've another,' I said. ‘I'm sorry. None of this is pleasant.'

‘Truth is often unpleasant. What have you uncovered?'

‘I'll know for certain when I've seen the ledger.'

He handed it to me. It was a simple spiral notebook with lists of items and prices, many with checkmarks beside them. I went through rapidly until I found what I was looking for. ‘Framed embroidery, parish church, walnut frame, twenty-five pounds.' I read aloud. I pulled the item in question out of my purse. ‘I purloined this from the storage room a little while ago. I'll return it, of course. Note the price tag.'

‘Fifty pounds. Someone made a mistake.'

‘Yes. The mistake was in not destroying the ledger or removing the tags. Here's another: “Occasional table, modern, round, chipped leg, twenty pounds.” I didn't bring that with me, obviously, but it was priced at forty pounds. Here are some pictures, mostly photographs, of some value perhaps for their frames. I think if you'll look them up you'll find prices far lower than the ones on the tags.'

He glanced at them, still puzzled. ‘Group photos, not very good. Whoever took them wasn't a photographer. The frames aren't bad, but they're certainly priced quite high. I don't understand. Are you saying that Abercrombie reduced prices to increase sales?'

‘No, I'm saying just the opposite. I believe Abercrombie either tagged all the items himself, or more likely removed the price tags before the event and replaced them with much higher ones. He left the ledger entries as they were. On the day, he collected the prices shown on the tags and pocketed the difference. If he had removed the altered tags before the unsold items were stored away, no one would ever have known. He must have decreed a single till and served at it himself, or perhaps counted on the confusion of the day making others less careful about checking prices.'

‘But it's insane! The amount of money would be so small, and you say he was a millionaire!'

‘He was insane, in a sense,' said Alan, ‘though perhaps not by any legal definition. He had to keep proving that he was so very much cleverer than anyone else, that he was invincible.'

Mr Lewison was silent, his face dark with sorrow. ‘Such a waste,' he said finally. ‘So much power for good, and he turned to evil instead.'

‘And ruined several people's lives in the process,' I said rather sharply.

‘I haven't forgotten them,' he said, ‘but neither must we forget Mr Abercrombie himself.'

I sighed. ‘I keep telling other people that they must try to forgive him. I should learn to practice what I preach.'

‘We all have trouble doing that, don't we?' He stood. ‘I presume you will add these latest discoveries to the information you dispense at the meeting tomorrow?'

‘I think we must.'

He shook his head sorrowfully and left.

‘Oh, look, he left the ledger behind. And I meant to ask him to take these things back to the storage room.'

‘Tomorrow,' said Alan. He sat down on the bed and started to take his shoes off. ‘Sufficient unto the moment is the evil thereof.'

Evil. Just dealing with it tangentially was enervating and depressing. I found I could, after all, summon up a tiny bit of sympathy for Abercrombie, who had been entrapped in its clutches.

And had perhaps died for that reason?

A
fter our nap, we spent the evening planning the meeting. I was nervous. So many things could go wrong. What if the pro- and anti-Abercrombie factions got into a slanging match? What if all of them turned against Alan and me as the common enemy? What if, conversely, everyone simply sat in sullen silence, refusing to contribute or to listen to anything that contradicted their fixed ideas?

‘Is this a really, really stupid idea?' I asked. I had been asking him some variant of the same question for hours.

‘It's too late to worry about that now,' he said patiently, some variant of the same answer every time. And I went back to worrying.

I had a hard time sleeping, and woke much too early. Alan was still sound asleep, so I dressed as quietly as I could and went out for a walk.

The morning was fresh and cool, and almost nobody was yet stirring. The deafening chorus of birdsong from trees a few streets away somehow emphasized the essential stillness. The bakery was awake and at work, though, sending out tantalizing aromas of yeast and cinnamon, and a sleek ginger cat walked down the street on silent pads, bent on some important errand of his own and taking no notice of me. He paused at the door of the fishmonger's and sniffed it thoroughly, then flicked his tail and disappeared around a corner.

I walked up to the High Street, silent and deserted. In another hour or so it would come alive. Now it was sleeping, gathering strength for the day ahead.

The day ahead. Which might be productive or an utter disaster, and if a disaster, one for which I felt solely responsible.

The early morning peace deserted me. I plodded back to Belle Isle.

It wasn't even seven o'clock yet, and Alan was still asleep. I made some coffee. That occupied a few – a very few – of the endless minutes until the meeting was to begin. I was tired, but I knew I couldn't sleep if I went back to bed, and I'd wake Alan if I paced. I took my coffee down to the lounge and paced there.

Traffic in Victoria Street picked up. I watched as dogs were walked, merchants prepared to open their doors, delivery vans blocked the street. A few shoppers headed for the bakery, which opened earlier than the other shops.

A few minutes before eight, Alan came downstairs. ‘I thought I'd find you here or out in the garden. Buck up, old dear. It's no worse than a root canal.'

‘Yes, it is. The dentist gives you anaesthetic.'

‘Well, when it's all over, I'll have some anaesthetic for you, if required. On my way back from the library yesterday I found a bottle of Jack Daniel's at the off-licence. I know you don't usually have anything stronger than wine at midday, but some circumstances may justify an exception. Now let's go in and dawdle over breakfast.'

‘I don't want anything.'

‘I didn't think you would, but you're going to have something, anyway. You can manage some yogurt, at least, and perhaps fruit. And proper coffee,' he added, looking at my half-finished cup.

I managed to eat a little, though I thought it would stick going down. And I drank tea instead of coffee. My nerves were jumpy enough; they didn't need concentrated caffeine.

The time dragged until about nine thirty, and then suddenly, before I was ready, it was time to go to the church and face the music. Alan remembered at the last minute to bring the ledger and the bits of evidence I had taken from storage, and held my arm in a firm grip as we walked through the churchyard.

‘Maybe nobody will come,' I muttered to him, and I couldn't have told anyone whether the remark was hopeful or fearful.

It was, at any rate, not going to happen. The church was half full when we got there, with more people coming in a steady stream. I would have liked to sit in the back, but Mr Lewison had been watching for us, and gestured to a pew at the very front, just under the lectern. I felt every eye on us as we walked up the aisle.

The clock chimed ten. A silence fell in the church. On the last stroke of the hour, Mr Lewison stood.

‘This meeting is not, strictly speaking, a religious occasion. On the other hand, since the subject matter is very serious indeed, and closely involves many members of this church, perhaps it would be appropriate to open with a prayer. The Lord be with you.'

‘And also with you,' chorused most of the audience.

‘Let us pray. We are gathered here, dear Lord, to seek the truth. We are in distress; heal us. We are confused; show us the way. We are groping in darkness; show us thy light and thy truth. Give us charity of heart and a spirit of forgiveness, O Father, and make us whole. Amen.'

In a few carefully chosen words, he set out the known facts. Mr William Abercrombie had been a priest of the Episcopal Church in America. He had come to Alderney with the apparent intention of settling here permanently. He had been an active volunteer at the parish church, though he could not take up clerical duties until the vetting process of the Church of England had been completed. He had enjoyed walking, and had been found lying dead on a steep path nearly two weeks before.

Mr Lewison cleared his throat. ‘Mr Partridge is here with us this morning. I ask you, sir, to tell us anything you can about the circumstances of his death.'

Derek stood up. ‘He was about halfway down the Blue Bridge path, which as you know is quite steep. He had fallen and hit his head on a large stone, causing a cranial fracture and haemorrhage. It was estimated that he had been dead less than an hour before he was found.'

He sat down. Mr Lewison took a deep breath. ‘The death was an accident, then?'

Derek stayed in his seat. ‘There were no indications that it was not.'

Well, everyone in the church knew that already, but there was a little flurry of whispers anyway. I was thankful now that we were sitting in front; if everyone was looking at us, at least we didn't have to meet their eyes.

‘Now,' said Mr Lewison, clearing his throat again, ‘we come to the part of this discussion that may prove painful to many of you. I am well aware that many of the people of the town and the church of St Anne had deep affection for Mr Abercrombie. It has unfortunately been proven quite conclusively that our affection and our trust were misplaced. I will call once more upon Mr Partridge to tell us what he learned from the American authorities.'

‘In searching for any family Mr Abercrombie might have had, we asked for the help of the American Embassy in London, who contacted the church where he had been serving before he came to England and then Alderney. There the authorities learned that Mr Abercrombie, had he stayed in America, would have been arrested for larceny. They had certain proof that he had stolen a large sum of money from the church treasury. He would also have been stripped of his authority as a priest. The state of Ohio was about to apply for extradition when word came of Abercrombie's death.'

There were a good many present who hadn't known that. This time the whispers were punctuated by gasps, and here and there a stifled sob.

We heard someone get to his feet. Mr Lewison nodded. ‘Yes, sir?'

‘I'd like to ask just how much money was stolen.'

Derek replied, ‘Something in the neighbourhood of one hundred thousand dollars American. That's around sixty-five thousand pounds.'

More gasps.

I felt the butterflies in my stomach start doing aerobatics. I knew what was coming. Sure enough, Mr Lewison looked at me. He spoke gently.

‘Many of you know that our visitors Mrs Martin and Mr Nesbitt, by reason of their having been the ones to find Mr Abercrombie on the hill, have taken an interest in him and conducted some researches of their own. Mrs Martin, would you tell us what you've found?'