Berdie had barely parted her lips to say, “Please do,” when the willing helper was out the kitchen door, teapot in hand.
“No grass grows under her feet,” Lillie offered. “Five children and a husband who can hardly keep up with the demands of his job. Still, it amazes me how she seems to keep so jolly.”
Berdie put a stack of burgundy napkins with gold trim on the drink tray. “Mr. Butz isn’t home much?”
Lillie brightened. “Why? Something’s going on there, isn’t it? I knew it.”
“Lillie. They are simply a part of our parish, and I’m asking a simple question.”
“Edsel’s father passed on just two years ago, leaving the family electrical business to him, and Edsel was the sole heir. With our recent building boom, he’s been busier than a goat in the garden, new houses springing up like April dafs. He had to hire a new man—well, an apprentice really.” Lillie picked up the fully laden tray.
“Oh yes. Edsel hired Jamie Donovan.” Berdie opened the kitchen door to the hallway. “He was in church this morning. I invited him to the party.”
Lillie started, nearly dropping the tray. “Oh no, you didn’t!”
The front door chime rang.
“Go on through, Lillie. That could be Jamie.”
Berdie entered the hallway as Mathew Reese burst in from the front entrance, the lighted wall sconce casting a shimmer upon his fair hair.
“I’m my own person now.” Raging, he slammed the door behind him.
“Are you all right?” Berdie wondered at his hostile action.
He stiffened. “It’s not really your business, is it, Mrs. Elliott?”
Suddenly, Mathew didn’t seem like a young Hugh at all. In looks perhaps, but certainly not in manner.
The door chime rang out impatiently, once, twice, and a third time in rapid succession. Both hostess and guest stared at the door.
“If it’s my parents, don’t let them in.” Mathew’s jaw set.
Without comment, Berdie went to the door and opened it only to find Jamie Donovan listing off the front step along with Lucy Butz—Edsel and Ivy’s teenage daughter—and Mathew’s parents retreating from the gathering. Jamie, one step ahead of danger, was agile enough to regain his balance and hold Lucy with him.
“Y’beasts knocked her round,” Jamie bellowed after Mathew’s disappearing parents. The Irishman had a few choice words for the Reeses but stopped as he gazed at Berdie who stood in the doorway. He took Lucy’s arm. “OK, Luce?”
Poor Lucy seemed momentarily bedazzled. In the ado, her long auburn braid had wrapped around and given her a whack on her frosted cheek.
“Jamie, Lucy, please come in.” Berdie opened the door and motioned them inside. “I see Mr. and Mrs. Reese won’t be joining us, then.”
Jamie put his arm around Lucy’s shoulders and helped her inside. Berdie closed the door behind them, delighted that she didn’t have to deal with Mathew’s parents at this present moment. She could resume being a hostess for her guests.
“The rest of the people here aren’t nearly as inane as those two.” Mathew, who must have been looking over her shoulder, churned.
“Jamie, this is Mathew Reese,” Berdie said.
Jamie removed his knit cap, revealing coal black hair. His workman’s hands pushed the cap into a pocket of his woolen over shirt, and he tipped his head toward the golden boy.
“Lucy, a rather mature crowd for you, don’t you think?” Mathew asked.
“I’m sixteen in May.” She lifted her chin. Her heavily mascaraed eyelashes and a mouth swathed in slightly smeared lip gloss betrayed her first attempts in makeup.
The sitting room door opened, and Cara Graystone joined the foursome in the entry. Her fitted ivory cashmere sweater reflected both her father’s rank as village solicitor and her position as his only child. An emerald solitaire, almost the size of Berdie’s Christmas platter, dwarfed her slim finger.
Mathew placed his hand on the small of his fiancée’s slender back. “Darling, this is Jamie. Jamie, this is my fiancée, Cara.”
Berdie sensed Jamie stretching up to make sure every inch of his five-foot-seven-inch frame was fully flexed. The young men reminded her of the picadors she’d seen at the bullfights in Spain, displaying their prowess to dazzle the crowd.
“We’ve met,” Jamie declared.
Cara Graystone smiled as she gave her long, honey colored hair a flip over her shoulder. It was an unconscious gesture she made when tense, and it didn’t pass Berdie’s awareness. The young woman took a deep breath. “Let’s join the others. Reverend Elliott is about to light the Advent wreath.”
“Did you know, Jamie, that in Latin advent means ‘to come’? It signals an awaiting.” Mathew was telling more than asking.
Lucy Butz shifted her feet.
“Of course,” Cara interjected, “everyone knows that. We’re all waiting, waiting for Christmas to come.”
“Are we, now?” Jamie dug his hand further into his pocket.
There was something in Jamie’s voice that made Berdie’s nose twitch.
Berdie and her visitors entered the warm sitting room that hummed with conversation. Upon sight of them, the aged body of Miss Livingston rose on the strength of her cane. When fully erect, she thrust the stick toward Jamie. “Who invited you?” Her once melodious voice now screeched. “And what are you doing with her?”
The room hushed except for the sound of the teapot Mrs. Butz slammed onto the side table, sloshing brown liquid all over a bowl of spiced nuts.
“Lucy!” With the combustion of an Atlas missile, the girl’s mother was across the room, grabbing her daughter by the arm.
“Ivy, leave the child alone,” Edsel Butz commanded.
“This is all your fault!” His wife hissed.
The stunned Lucy tried to pull her arm out of her mother’s grip. “You’re hurting me.”
“My dear lady, please sit down.” Hugh offered the elderly spinster a seat.
“And you!” Miss Livingston ignored Hugh. She shook her cane toward Edsel, making the pink scars on her left cheek go twice crimson. “Your father would shudder to see the loss of integrity, the shoddy craftsmanship, and disgrace you’ve brought to his business.”
“You stupid cow!” It was Jamie who railed at the elderly woman.
“Steady on,” Hugh cautioned the young man.
“You’ll get yours, y’witch. You just watch and see if y’don’t!” Jamie pulled his cap from his pocket and tugged it on his head. He lunged for the door, bumping Cara’s shoulder as he went. The Irishman turned toward Berdie. “You invited me to this?” The fire in his eyes burned into the very heart of Berdie.
Lucy yanked herself from her mother. The teenager’s gaze ran across the room of astonished faces. “He’s really quite wonderful,” she apologized and then burst into tears.
Edsel Butz scooped his daughter into his arms. With the nod of his head, he beckoned his wife to the door. Without a word, the Butz family left with what little dignity they could muster.
“If you please, Miss Livingston.” Mr. Raheem spoke up. “Sit down and take a bit of tea.”
Miriam Livingston struck her cane on the hardwood floor with such force Berdie was sure it would crack open a Christmas walnut. “I’ll not have some foreigner telling me what to do. Now where’s my coat?”
“I say...” Reverend Lewis stood. “Where’s your Christian charity, madam? It’s Christmastide, the season of peace and goodwill.” He spoke directly to Miss Livingston.
“Goodwill?” the old woman nearly screamed as she scanned the onlookers. “Lies! Deceit! These are afoot in our village.” Her fuming gaze returned to the clergyman. “Peace? There is no peace for the wicked.” The spinster straightened herself and hobbled to the door. “Come along, Natty.” And with that, the two women left the room.
“I will see them home.” Mr. Raheem gave his holiday cup to Lillie.
“Thank you, Mr. Raheem.” Hugh looked relieved. “You are indeed a gentlem
an.” Hugh walked the kind man into the hallway.
“Can I refresh anyone’s drink?” Lillie asked.
No one responded.
Reverend Gerald Lewis set his cup on the end table near him. “I believe I’ve overstepped my boundary here this evening. I will apologize to Reverend Elliott. My apologies to you, Mrs. Elliott.” He tipped his head toward Berdie. “To all of you. I’ll see myself out.”
Lillie slid up next to Berdie. “What’s the temperature of our assembled saints now?” she whispered.
When, at the end of the evening, the last guest stepped into the crisp English night, Berdie and Lillie set to on the cleanup. Hugh excused himself and walked the hundred meters to the church.
“He once told me he does his best thinking at the kneeling rail,” Berdie told Lillie while loading the old dishwasher in the kitchen.
“If that’s the case, don’t expect him home soon.” Lillie put the last cup in the appliance.
“We can make a divine request as well, my dear friend.” Berdie pushed the Start button on the machine. “Pray this old thing performs well.”
Without a slip, the device began its work.
“Yes.” Lillie appeared delighted that she was spared dipping her hands in dishwater.
Berdie shook her head. “This whole affair this evening, I know there’s an elephant in the middle of the room. I just can’t put my finger on exactly what it is.”
“You know what the problem is with your elephants, Bernadine Elliott?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“Every time you go elephant hunting, someone ends up missing or dead.”
2
With Lillie sent on her way and Hugh still at the church, Berdie ascended the stairway to the upper story. Instantly it felt like endless kilometers of ornamented wood. It was then that Berdie realized how tired she was. She entered the spacious master bedroom and prayed blessings for Nick and Clare, her two grown children. Their pictures sat on the night table, offering gentle comfort to a mother whose offspring were in distant lands. She promised herself that within ten minutes’ time she would be washed, creamed, in her night slip, and head to pillow. It took only nine.
****
“What, what?” Berdie was roused by a familiar tone, but in her state of coming to, she couldn’t make it out.
“Vicarage.” The graveled voice of her just-awakened husband spoke into the receiver of the bedside telephone. “Yes. What? Yes, of course. Straight away.”
Berdie heard the click of the receiver as it fell into its cradle. A long sigh escaped the lips of her loved one. He pulled back the covers and arose. She could hear him wrestling with his clothing.
“Hugh, what time is it?”
“Don’t worry, love. Go back to sleep.”
“Who called?”
“It’s Dudley Horn from the Upland Arms Pub. Apparently a couple of our flock need assistance getting home.”
“Is that really your job?” Berdie whined the words.
“Love, I’m the parish priest in a small village. Everything’s my job.”
She felt Hugh’s gentle kiss on her cheek. The sound of his footsteps down the carpeted stairs and the slam of the door made her suddenly aware he was gone. She placed her hand upon the warmth of where his body lay only moments before and fell back to sleep.
This time she awoke to a sound she recognized right off. It was the shower in the en suite bathroom, the water forcefully hitting the floor of the old claw-foot tub. A small lamp on the dressing table was lit, the only light visible so far on this bleak December morn. Berdie put on her glasses and gazed upon the bedside clock. “Half six?” she almost yelled.
The sound of splashing water stopped and her towel-wrapped husband emerged from the bathroom with little clouds of steam. Though rejuvenated, he looked fatigued.
“You look like Zeus arriving from the heavens,” Berdie teased.
“Ah, I have the strength of ten.” Hugh stretched and yawned.
“Right.” Berdie loved her husband’s optimism. “It’s half six, Hugh. A bit early after a tiresome night.”
“Not when you have an appointment at the church in fifteen minutes.” Hugh began blow-drying his hair. He turned and looked into the tall dressing table mirror.
“An appointment?” Berdie blinked. “Who has an appointment at six forty-five in the morning at a church?” Berdie’s loud voice competed with the roaring appliance.
“And today’s the interfaith jumble sale in Timsley,” Hugh hollered out, still styling.
“Honestly,” Berdie said to herself. She put on her housecoat and added a spritz of lavender botanical splash. With that, she headed to the kitchen.
She sat at the petite kitchen table with a generous mug of freshly brewed tea revitalizing her senses when Hugh popped in. Berdie poured another generous mug of tea, added a slip of cream, and handed it to her husband.
“I’ve been thinking,” Berdie said.
“I really need to get going.”
“I know, love. I’ve decided I’ll handle the jumble sale in Timsley today. Lillie can help me; then you’ll have your morning.”
Hugh took a quick sip of tea. “I haven’t time to discuss this.”
“So it’s settled, then. Go on. Get to your appointment.”
Hugh smiled. “Actually, it would help me out buckets.”
Berdie planted a morning kiss on her grateful husband.
“The boot’s loaded.” Hugh was cheerful. “Both Miriam Livingston and Ivy Butz are expecting a ride.” And with that, he sprang for the door.
****
It took Berdie a bit to remove the frost from the windscreen of the Citroën. Though the car was older, it was faithful. And Berdie adored the lavender tone of it. Hugh called it a light gray, but then a former military officer would. The quick sprint to Lillie’s house, just two roads over and down to the bottom, was enough time to get the heat going inside the car.
Berdie still marveled at the Divine Intervention that brought her and Hugh to the very village where her cherished friend, Lillie, lived. The former vicar of Saint Aidan of the Wood Parish Church left for a foreign field just as Hugh was ready for assignment. It all came together like pieces of a puzzle and gave reason for awe and celebration every time it came to mind. When Berdie pulled up to Swallow Gate, Lillie’s splendid three-story home, two quick beeps were enough to bring her friend bounding to the car.
“I must say...” Lillie smiled as she got in. “After last night’s discourse, this could be quite interesting. Miss Livingston and Ivy Butz as fellow passengers all the way to Timsley!” Lillie’s green eyes positively glowed.
Berdie pulled the car away from the curb and started down the narrow road. “You must behave yourself,” she asserted.
“That’s easy enough, but will our two passengers behave?” Lillie rubbed her Christmas mittens together with vigor.
Out of nowhere, a figure dashed in front of the car.
Lillie screeched. Berdie slammed on the breaks, but the female jogger kept on going without even acknowledging the close call. She ran straight into the woods.
Berdie was sharp. “A mobile in one hand and a dog lead in the other. They’ll meet with mischief someday!”
“It’s Cara Graystone.” Lillie sounded surprised. “That’s not like her. She’s usually very attentive.”
Berdie looked after the figure. Indeed, it was Cara and her Highland terrier, Snowdrop. “If she hopes to continue her exercise program, she had better keep her mind on what she’s doing.”
When Berdie moved on again, the sun had started its celestial climb, but gray clouds shrouded its full glory.
“What lovely little patches of fairy frost all across the gardens and rooftops,” Lillie observed.
When they came to a stop at Lavender Cottage, Miss Livingston’s home, the glint of a morning ray hit upon the roof of the back potting shed then quickly disappeared. Berdie observed that the high fence around the front garden surely n
eeded some repair and a good coat of paint. A great spring project for our church youth.
Both women exited the car. “Here goes,” Lillie chirped. A few steps and they were at the front gate. “I must say, I love Miss Livingston’s front garden.” Lillie stopped to admire the view. “It always smells of English lavender—the entire lot is planted in it you know.”
“Well of course,” Berdie answered. “After all, it is her bread and butter.”
But when Berdie swung the painted iron gate open, it was clear the lavender was in its dormant winter sleep.
“Look!” Lillie stopped short. “Isn’t that Batty Natty sitting on the front step? Is she coming, too?”
Berdie espied the old dear. She was in a woolen jumper, but she had no coat or jacket, no gloves, no hat.
“She must be freezing,” Lillie said what Berdie was thinking.
Walking up the path to the doorway, it was clear that Natty was in disorder.
“Natty, love, are you OK?” Berdie sensed something was very much out of sorts. She bent down to take the woman’s icy hand. The old soul’s eyes were flared with fright, her hair disheveled. And her body shivered uncontrollably.
“How long have you been sitting here?” Lillie removed her Christmas mittens and put them straightway on the frigid hands of poor Batty Natty.
Berdie raised her voice. “Natty, are you OK?”
A glimmer shot through the glazed eyes. She looked into the face of her rescuer and tried to speak, but her teeth were chattering so that the sounds were inaudible. She grabbed Berdie’s arm as if clinging to a breath of life, teetered forward, and tried again to speak. “M–M–i...”
“Let’s get her inside to the warm,” Berdie ordered Lillie. Both women squatted down to lift her.
“N–n–o–o,” the old voice croaked. With one irrepressible move, she fell in a heap against Berdie’s body, nearly knocking her over. “Mi–Mi–Miriam.”
As Berdie recovered her balance, she noticed in the dark door well that the front door to Miss Livingston’s cottage was ajar.
“Lillie, if I help you get Natty up, do you think you can get her next door to her cottage?”
Candle for a Corpse Page 2