Up from the Grave (18 page)

Berdie brought the car to a halt in the drive right near the front door.

“Well, thank you for the tea and the ride, Mrs. Elliott.”

“And thank you for rescuing the day. I’m sure if the congregation ever saw my sad floral attempts, they would echo my sentiment.”

Rosalie gave a hearty chuckle and a quick wave.

Once the young woman was inside, Berdie sped down the Swithy Hall drive.

Passing by the lodge, she noticed the lights were now off. “I must talk to our contessa,” Berdie noted, turning on to the main road. “But first, I need to get some rather stray ducks in a very straight row. Then we’ll see to Carlotta Santolio.”

By the time Berdie almost finished her quick ride back to the vicarage, she remembered that her house key lay on the hall table at the locked vicarage. “No bother,” she said to the dark sky. “I’ll stop at church to get Hugh’s.” She knew he had work to do.

When Berdie arrived at church and stepped inside, two low lights near the door softly lit the stones of the central aisle up to the altar where two more lights gave a gentle holy glow to the entire church. Berdie loved gathering with the community to worship, but the night silence of this sacred place also fed her soul.

She saw the light under the sacristy door. It became apparent Hugh was not alone. She could hear muffled voices; Hugh of course, the other certainly male, but not distinct.

She decided to give her husband and his guest a few moments more before she disrupted their meeting.

She sat near the sacristy in a shadowed pew when the sacristy door flew open. Light from the small room flooded the sanctuary floor, making it almost white. Preston Graystone burst from the sacristy, his angular features creating distinct edges in the play of light. His rapid footsteps rattled on the stone floor until he reached the church door where he exited.

He mustn’t have seen me,
Berdie realized.

Hugh stepped out into the sanctuary, and something caught Berdie by surprise. Hugh wore his stole. The long length of fabric that graced his neck was given him by Nick and Clare as a ‘congratulations, Dad’ gift upon Hugh’s ordination. If his collar was his badge of office, his stole was his mantle of service.

“Service,” Berdie muttered to herself. She took a deep breath. “An act of confession, surely.” Like a bolt, her mind put the scrambled thought into a frame; Preston Graystone, secluded evening, an official act of the church in which his words would be under protection. He was after all a solicitor, words outside the scrutiny of the law.

Hugh removed the stole and sighed. His busy Lenten schedule was quite demanding, and he wore the duty of it in his brow. Still, he stood tall. This lighting accentuated the silver of his hair. His blue eyes dazzled. Berdie’s pulse gave a flutter. She decided to tuck away Preston Graystone in a corner of her memory to be conjured up at a later moment.

“Hugh,” she spoke with a touch of cream.

He slightly jumped. “Oh, love, you gave me a start.”

“Forgot my key.” Berdie stepped to her husband and put her arm around his waist. She stared into those ravishing blue eyes and leaned close. “Come home with me, Hugh Elliott,” she whispered.

Hugh’s face took on the glow of a spring afternoon. “My beautiful wife, I’ve been waiting for an invitation like that all day.” He gave her a warm kiss.

In less than three minutes, Berdie and the man she loved most in the world made their way home, leaving humankind with all its contention behind them and relished a few stolen moments of time together.

Having settled in for bed, Berdie was roused from her sleep by an annoying sound. It was the vicarage telephone, giving out its distress signal in the darkness. She opened one eye to see Hugh in deep sleep.

“Really.” Berdie sighed and leant her body cross her husband to lift the receiver and bring it to her ear. “Vicarage,” she said with a crackled voice.

“I need you to meet me on Monday,” a garbled voice commanded.

Berdie mentally shook her head. “Do you need the reverend?”

“I want you,” the voice boomed.

Berdie began to wake. “Who is this? Do you have any idea of the time?”

“Will you meet me or not?”

“What do you want?” Berdie tried to sound commanding.

“No, I have something for you. Monday, six AM, behind the Pork and Barrel in Timsley.”

“Six AM, Pork and Barrel?” Berdie had both eyes opened now. “Who is this?”

Click was followed by a definite bzzz.

“Well, I certainly hope you sleep well now because I certainly won’t.” Berdie’s words spewed into an empty line. She plunked the receiver back in the cradle and nudged Hugh. Still, he slumbered on peacefully.

She lay down, head spinning. She pressed herself to push the upheaval out of her mind and yield to her need for sleep. She must be fit for a robust day of active worship and service, which were only hours away.

10

The alarm clock was akin to a sledgehammer that assailed Berdie’s brain. It seemed she had just fallen back to sleep.

The odd conversation on the phone allowed her only intermittent sleep, not being awake enough to really put things well together and yet not able to truly put them out of her mind.

Besides the call, the Venetian glass played itself into the scramble of facts that paraded through her mind all night. Lolly Grainger, the name was not recognizable, yet there was something certainly familiar. Coral Weston, Wanda Pitts, Wilkie Gordon, ripped photo: from London to Aidan Kirkwood, all had their own space in which they fitted that would complete a puzzle.

She muddled through her morning routine, while Hugh set eagerly about his preparation and was off to church far before her.

When she finally arrived at the church door, Hugh and the young acolytes bedecked in their albs and holding steady the candle lighter, were gathered there to begin the procession down the central aisle.

“Ah, you made it.” Hugh looked relieved.

Berdie took a deep breath and nodded.

“Vicar,” Jeff Lawler approached Hugh. He wore a hoody over his football jersey along with his game shorts. Jamie Donovan, in the same attire, attended Jeff. “Wanted to give you fair warning. We’ll be sneaking out a bit early.”

“We play Mistcome Green for the Pelé Cup this afternoon, I’m sure you’re aware.” Jamie smiled.

“Indeed.” Hugh grinned. “Wouldn’t miss. Although I’ll be a touch late. It really wouldn’t do for the vicar to sneak out early.”

“No.” Jeff returned the grin, and Jamie chuckled.

“Our village is the proper place for that cup. Bring it home, lads.” Hugh had a grand note of cheer in his words.

“We’ll do our best,” Jeff promised.

“It’s ours,” Jamie said with great pluck.

Jeff and Jamie sauntered to a seat just as the first notes of “Lift Up Your Hearts” resonated from the organ. Berdie, by Hugh’s nod, flew in after the young men, just steps before the acolytes and Hugh.

She found a spot near the back of the church. Though she worked to keep alert, the rest of the congregants were abuzz. More to do with the upcoming football game, Berdie thought, than the opportunity of sitting on a hard pew. There was an eagerness that hung in the air amongst the throng, the sense of a community that had negotiated a difficult week and now sought out great encouragement to take them into the next.

Edsel Butz read the New Testament reading for the day from St. Matthew chapter seven verse three. His booming voice rang clear. “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye,” his barrel chest heaved as he gave the rest of the verse full throttle, “and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?”

Berdie wondered if all the village hadn’t heard his reading. She noticed several people sat a little straighter in their pew after.

Hugh’s sermon was a bit gentler than Edsel’s boom, but he was firm. Berdie heard Hugh say that one must take care of their own soul business, not making charges concerning someone else’s, when his voice seemed to become muffled and distant.

The next thing Berdie heard was Mr. Castle setting to on the organ for the closing hymn of the service. She jerked her chin up and noticed the young woman next to her smiled widely, then whispered to her mother who eyed Berdie furtively. In fact, most the row where Berdie sat wore smiles, although a few had frowns.

It was then Berdie became aware that she had taken a wee siesta at her husband’s expense. Oh, no, she thought. I can just imagine what they’ll be saying at the Copper Kettle.

Berdie managed a quick look-about, trying to appear absolutely astute. It was clear that Jeff and Jamie were not the only congregants to sneak out early.

As a matter of fact, Hugh, who stood at the door when the service was ended, sent off a less populated crowd than had arrived that morning.

Berdie went directly home. The first thing she did when she got home was to enter the kitchen, put on her kitchen pinny, and make a strong pot of tea. Lillie joined her, Hugh following. Berdie poured a cuppa for all three of them.

Lillie blew on the hot liquid. “Did you think your congregation was being spirited away today, Hugh?”

“In truth, I appreciate that they showed at all.” He spooned sugar in his brew. “Priorities: they seem to have the stick by the right end.”

“Yes.” Berdie rubbed a tired eye.

“So, give me your thoughts on today’s sermon, Berdie.” Hugh grasped his cup and lifted it to his lips.

Berdie pulled some sliced ham from the refrigerator, the smell of it delighting the nose.

“Quite good,” Berdie said with a hint of hesitation.

“Really?” Hugh’s eyebrow arched upward.

“Oh.” Berdie paused. “You saw me then?”

Hugh simply tipped his head.

“Didn’t we all?” Lillie tittled.

Berdie pursed her lips. “I’m sorry, Hugh, really. It’s just that call last night, at all hours, you know.”

Hugh briefly shook his head in the negative.

“What call?” Lillie snatched a bit of ham she quickly popped in her mouth.

“Dead of night,” Berdie began. “A call, some fellow says he wants to have a clandestine meeting, very cloak and dagger.”

Hugh placed four pieces of bread out on the counter.

“What man?” Lillie said abruptly.

Berdie handed the mustard jar to Lillie with a knife. She pointed to the bread. “If you would please.”

“What man?” Lillie repeated and dipped the knife into the seasoned mustard jar.

“I was awakened from a sound sleep. The conversation was clipped, something sounded familiar, but.” Berdie separated the ham slices. “He wants to meet behind the Pork and Barrel, can you imagine?” Berdie placed several thin slices of ham on the dressed bread.

“Be careful, love,” Hugh cautioned. He cut a tomato into slices on a bread board.

Berdie stopped short. “He said he had something to give me.”

“How many people know you’re investigating things?” Lillie asked cautiously just as she put the last swathe of mustard on the top bread slices.

“Who doesn’t know might be a more appropriate question,” Hugh injected. “This is a small village.”

“Was it Wilkie Gordon?” Lillie rammed the words together rapidly.

“Wilkie Gordon?” Hugh stopped slicing.

Berdie placed ham on the remaining dressed bread. “Something’s going on with Wilkie, yes. But it wasn’t he who called.”

Hugh put the knife down. “Why is Wilkie even in this conversation?”

Berdie glanced at Lillie then proceeded. “Hugh, I know it’s difficult for you to think of Wilkie Gordon poorly. However, too many things are out of sort with him since the garden fête. Something’s off.”

“Wilkie Gordon, hurt a child? Preposterous,” Hugh proclaimed. “That is what you’re suggesting?”

“I’m simply saying something’s off.” Berdie lowered her voice. “At this point.”

Lillie looked down and took a quick swallow of tea.

Hugh shook his head. “No.” He plunged the knife through the tomato cutting a particularly thick piece.

Lillie pointed her spreading knife towards Berdie, eyes big. “It was Colonel Preswood who called.”

“Preswood.” Berdie cocked her head.

Hugh chuckled. “Oh, ladies, you do reach.” He placed a tomato slice atop the ham. “Preswood.”

“Well, they’ve got Venetian glass in their home, just the kind that was imbedded in that poor child,” Lillie bleated.

“What?” Hugh stopped dressing the sandwich.

“And there’s Flora Preswood’s chin, as well.”

“Go back to the glass bit,” Hugh directed.

Berdie chimed in. “There was a piece of eighteenth century Venetian glass stolen from the Preswood’s home, and from what I could gather, about the time of the child’s death.”

“Really?” He placed the last tomato slice. “Now that could be something. You must get Goodnight to look into that.”

Berdie began to top the tomatoes with lettuce.

“Right? Goodnight? You are giving him aid and all?” Hugh checked with an eye to Berdie.

Berdie glanced at Lillie. “I should think so.”

Berdie opened the cooler bag while Lillie placed the top slices to complete the sandwiches. “Now, a little cling wrap and you’re off to cheer on the home team.”

“That John Smith, vanishing from the tour, suddenly returning, it could be him.” Lillie continued the guessing game.

“Where are my Scotch eggs?” Hugh opened the cupboard door, surveyed, and reached into the crowded space. “Now if anyone is suspect, I should think he would be.” He brought the shrink-wrapped goods to the counter. “Slightly erratic, wouldn’t you say?”

“Would say.” Berdie wrapped the last sandwich with cling film. She placed the sandwiches in the cool bag.

Hugh poured hot tea into the large awaiting flask while Berdie put the Scotch eggs in the cool bag aside the sandwiches then popped in a couple of apples.

“Mathew Reese tried to ring the fellow when he first departed the tour you know,” Hugh rattled. “He rang up the number Mr. Smith gave as a home telephone, but Mathew got a pet store in Norwich. Can you imagine?”

Lillie and Berdie came to a dead stop. Berdie inhaled. “What pet store?”

“What?” Hugh stopped pouring the tea when he saw the interest generated by his comment.