CHAPTER ELEVEN
After a delicious evening meal of roast lamb and mint sauce, James drove the Merryweather clan back to the vicarage and, on returning home, relaxed on the sofa and warmed himself by the fire.
The varnished walnut clock rang a gentle chime announcing a quarter to ten. Benny Goodman’s ‘Stomping at the Savoy’ provided a rhythmic beat and, over a glass of port, he and Beth discussed the possibility of Keith Grimes having arrived in Cavendish. Beth contemplated the likelihood and manoeuvred James’ arm over her shoulders so she could snuggle into him.
‘But why kill him?’ said Beth. ‘I mean, he hasn’t been living down here for, what, ten years? With no contact with his father. Why suddenly come down to kill him?’
‘Maybe there has been contact,’ replied James. ‘Perhaps Keith has fallen on hard times and needs to raise some cash? The farm, admittedly, is run down, but there’s the livestock, the house. It’ll be worth something.’
‘I guess so,’ replied Beth. ‘Especially the land. I think that would be worth something, particularly to developers. Oh dear, you don’t think we’re going to go the same way as Crawley, do you?’
James smiled. Crawley, like Cavendish, had existed as a small hamlet for hundreds of years and was, as they spoke, being transformed into a New Town for Londoners to move to. They’d already made plans for over a thousand houses together with local shopping parades, a library and schools. The locals, of course, opposed all of the proposed plans and many villagers despaired of what they viewed as unwanted destruction to their tiny community. He shuddered to think of such an enterprise coming to their area.
‘No darling, they wouldn’t build two new towns in the same county,’ he replied. ‘Anyway, they’d earmarked Crawley for that little venture several years ago. Cavendish is too far off the beaten track. I mean, we’re not even near the railway. Crawley is bang in the middle of the main Brighton to London commuter service. You could be right about the land, though. May be worth a bit.’ James sipped his port. ‘I wonder if Grimes made a will? I didn’t see anything in his bureau. Didn’t see any letters, come to think of it. I’ll have to remember to ask George in the morning.’
Beth sat bolt upright. ‘Oh God, I nearly forgot. I’m supposed to be doing a list of guests from last night.’ Her eyes pleaded. ‘Will you help, sweetie?’
‘Of course. Let’s do it now.’
James made his way to his bureau and took out some paper and a fountain pen. He rested his port on the top, dragged a chair across and sat down at the desk, with Beth hovering behind with her hands on his shoulders. James jotted the names down as they sprung to mind and, after a couple of minutes, Peter Mitchell’s name came up.
‘Mmm…’ Beth reached across to tidy up a vase of fresh flowers. ‘What did you make of Mitchell this afternoon? When he mentioned going back to the farm?’
James swivelled round on his chair. ‘Yes, that was a bit odd, wasn’t it? You know, he said nothing to me about going back there. In fact, I’m damned sure he said he’d come straight from the Jepsons’ place. I mean, Grimes’ farm is in the other direction, so why trundle all the way over there just to return here?’
‘He didn’t make eye contact then, either,’ said Beth. ‘Most of the time he spoke, he looked at George and occasionally glanced over to you. But when he got talking about that second visit, he looked down at the carpet. That’s a sure sign of a lie. Do you think he went back?’
‘I must admit - that part of his story doesn’t ring true. And, yes, he did look pretty damned shifty. Wonder what George made of it? But, if he didn’t go back to the farm, where the devil did he go? It doesn’t take half an hour to get from Mrs J’s to here, not in a car.’
‘Perhaps he got his timings wrong?’
James shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think he did.’
Beth shrugged and they carried on with the list. As a final check, they went through it over the phone with Bert, who knew all and sundry bar a couple of the villagers.
Satisfied with their list, James finished the remnants of his port.
‘Well, darling, shall we turn in for the night? It’s been an eventful few days and I could do with a good sleep to recharge the batteries for the weekend. I do hope Stephen will be all right for Sunday.’
Beth circled around the room, turning off the wall-lights, as James secured the fire-guard and opened the lounge door for her.
‘I’m looking forward to hearing the Reverend’s first performance,’ he said as they climbed the stairs. ‘Wonder what he’s going to bring up?’
‘Well, one thing’s for certain,’ replied Beth. ‘He should have plenty of material to play with.’
The church pews filled quickly as villagers, local farmers and inquisitive onlookers descended from Cavendish and beyond. John ‘Beaky’ Brown stepped lightly on the organ pedals and the timeless classic, ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’, played softly in the background to welcome parishioners as they entered.
Adults who, a generation ago, had ridiculed Brown’s long hook-nose, had taken to calling him Beaky and the name had unfortunately stuck to Brown a generation on with current pupils. Now retired, he continued playing in the church and delighted in teaching the organ to several younger villagers, who were eager to take up the mantel when Beaky became too old to play.
James and Beth sat at the front where he could stretch his long legs out. Every so often, he glanced over his shoulder to wave to members of the congregation as they filed in and took their place sat the pews. Rose and Lilac Crumb pushed their way into the third row.
He leant in to Beth. ‘Full house. Even the snoop sisters are here.’
‘I thought they’d have queued overnight,’ said Beth. ‘I guess it’s human nature to be nosy. It’s certainly brought people out of the woodwork.’
James agreed. Everyone who enjoyed their Halloween party was here, although many were not regular churchgoers. Their children fidgeted awkwardly, much to the annoyance of their parents. He grinned. Harry and Oliver had behaved in exactly the same way, especially with the old vicar. He hadn’t been the most inspiring orator in the world and, James admitted sheepishly, even he got bored listening to him. He hoped to goodness that Stephen would provide a more motivating and inspirational reading.
The church community was a large one, but Grimes’ death and the news of the attack on the Reverend Merryweather had awoken morbid curiosity and the people gathered. Bert suddenly obscured his vision and told him to push up. James stared incredulously.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘The same as most of these old codgers,’ replied Bert. ‘Nosing about.’
James and Beth exchanged grins. Stephen, who had been at the entrance with Anne welcoming his parishioners, finally walked to the altar with a beaming, welcoming smile for everyone. His long, angular frame appeared even more so in his long, black cassock. He’d taken the bandage off his head and certainly looked a lot brighter than he did on Friday.
Eventually reaching the pulpit, he gazed at his new audience. A hush descended. Footsteps echoed at the back and, as if on cue, everyone turned, including James. DCI George Lane smiled apologetically and took his place at the end of the last pew.
James settled back and listened to Stephen introduce himself and tell the congregation a little about his background and how he found his spiritual path. He had, James thought, a likeable manner; his intonation changed and he even included a little humour here and there which, along with his minor stutter, quickly endeared him to the parishioners. James decided that the new Reverend was an astute man, clearly knowing why so many people had turned up.
‘I-I suspect that my arrival has brought you here en-masse, so to speak, because of my small mishap.’
A murmur rumbled around the congregation.
He chuckled. ‘P-perhaps I need to do this every week to guarantee a good crowd.’
The parishioners relaxed and laughed with him.
‘W-well, I have to sa
y, it wasn’t the welcome I expected, but I believe these things come along for a reason. I-I’m not exactly sure what the reason is at the moment but, being in the profession I’m in, I must f-forgive whoever did this. He, or she, will I’m sure come to a time in their lives when they will look back on this incident with either regret or r-relish. Indeed, perhaps this did not come to me for a reason, but to my attacker. A man, or woman, who c-could well be sitting here this very morning.’
The villagers shifted uneasily in their seats.
‘Our-our gracious Lord watches over us and we are here to learn from every aspect of our lives,’ continued Stephen. ‘The triumphs, the disasters, the high and l-lows, the gloomy, the funny. All emotions touch us, all acquaintances rub off on us, all human nature affects us, consciously and s-sub-consciously. The Lord certainly does move in mysterious ways, but he does so for a reason. To learn. My attacker, in our eyes, is a criminal, am I right?’
The villagers quickly nodded in agreement, but stopped as Stephen held his hand up.
‘B-but is he? What if it transpired he were a poor man seeking food and money for his starving child? A child that may die if he does not provide. Then we would feel sorry for him. Indeed, if we knew he needed help, we would provide food and shelter for him.’
The congregation nodded again.
‘S-so, the lesson for me, for us, is forgiveness. Until we hear all sides of the story, w-we cannot judge, just understand. So, I would ask that we do not make judgements about people and their actions. Even if the reason is c-criminal, we must look to what leads that person to act in such a way. Jesus was a great mediator in such circumstances. Where people cast their opinions and pointed their fingers, he sought to understand and forgive.’
He smiled at his congregation. ‘So, from having said that I am not sure why this incident c-came along, I-I appear to have surmised that the lesson is to forgive, and not to allow the intrusion of spiteful or evil thoughts.’
Stephen’s voice became more assertive and he stepped down from the pulpit and began wandering up and down the front of the church, something that neither James, nor the congregation, had witnessed before. But, as James watched, he thought it took away the barrier that a vicar always stood behind. Stephen’s message became more direct and personal.
‘Now, I must come to the story of A-Alec Grimes,’ he continued. ‘In my efforts to find out about Mr Grimes, I have heard many unfavourable remarks and opinions.’ He briefly glanced at Rose and Lilac. ‘Some from people who never knew him, never met him, or met him just the once.’ His eyes scanned the congregation. ‘S-some, I’m sure, were true, some untrue, and many, I believe, exaggerated. Yet, are we so perfect?’
Stephen flicked open a small copy of the bible and strode up and down the nave.
‘Matthew, seven. Do not judge, and you will not be judged. For as you judge others, so you will yourselves be judged, and whatever measure you deal out to others will be dealt to you. Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye with n-never a thought for the plank in your own? How can you say to your brother, ‘let me take the speck out of your eye’, when all the time there is a plank in your own. You hypocrite! First take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s.’
And so went Stephen’s first sermon - delivered with empathy, passion and purpose. A far cry, James whispered to Beth, to the last vicar.
One hour later and those that had filed into the church, filed out, full of conversation. While happily exchanging pleasantries with the Reverend Merryweather and his family, they gave sincere promises to return the following Sunday. George wandered down, hat in hand, to James, who remained seated on the pew chatting with Bert.
‘More snoopers than normal, James.’
James grinned at him. ‘Most definitely. Any clues your end?’
George rolled his trilby in his hand. ‘Not really. It’s always worth a shot. The police always pitch up at weddings and funerals, but I’ve never gleaned anything from it. I live in hope. Any thoughts since yesterday?’
James and Bert glanced at each other and James shook his head.
‘None at the moment, but I’ll keep poking around while I’m doing my bits and pieces. By the way,’ he said, reaching into his pocket, ‘here’s the list of people you wanted from the party. I don’t think we’ve left anyone out. You on duty today?’
George took the paper and gruffly advised them that he was on the two till ten shift that afternoon. He buttoned up his coat.
‘Right, I’ll be off. You let me know if you find anything out. And Bert, no funny business on my shift.’
As George strode out of the church, Bert got up and buttoned his own coat. ‘Right, I can take a hint. I’ve got some stuff to move, so I’d best get it sorted early. What are you doing now?’
‘I thought I’d pop by Pete Mitchell’s place and see if I can fathom out why he lied yesterday,’ replied James.
‘You be careful, Jimmy boy. By the way, I’ve got some satin in the car for ‘er Ladyship. I’ll pop by later and drop it off.’
James grinned as he watched his friend scamper off to embark on some dodgy deals. He took a deep breath and stretched his legs. The church had emptied completely. Stephen wandered toward him and James shook his hand warmly.
‘How’s the head?’
‘N-not too bad, actually. Anne dosed me up with p-plenty of painkillers last night.’ He sat down next to James. ‘D-d’you think it went all right?’
‘I think it went more than all right,’ James said. ‘A very timely sermon under the circumstances and an audience riveted to your every word. I believe, young Stephen, you will have quite a crowd at your Sunday sermons.’
‘Yes, well, I-I did have something written about moving into a new area, but that seemed rather tame after the events on Thursday.’
‘Nothing like a bit of blood and gore to get the public in.’ James patted him on the back. ‘Let’s hope you fill the place every week.’
‘B-by the way, James, I forgot to thank you for the Halloween party. Not just for looking after me after that commotion, but the actual party. The boys loved it.’
‘Yes, me too. It’s always a good night and I hope that you’ll be here for many more. And now, of course, I’ve got Tuesday’s Bonfire Night to get organised.’
Stephen’s face lit up. ‘Ah yes, Anne and Beth are at the vicarage now sorting out the c-catering and who’s doing what.’
‘Good show. Remind them that Mrs Keates is baking some bits and pieces for us. Might be a good idea to get in touch with her today.’
‘I-I’ll let them know. Perhaps we could pop across to her now? I’m free for an hour or two.’
‘Sorry, Stephen,’ said James, ‘but I’m off to see Pete Mitchell. Why don’t you run the girls over yourself? Elsie’s will be open - she does a mean cream tea on Sunday. She opens between twelve and four and has the wireless on. And half of what she charges goes to their local church fund. It’s a pleasant way to pass a Sunday.’
Stephen’s eyes sparkled at the thought and he made a mental note to suggest this to Anne and Beth. James shook Stephen’s hand and made his way out of the church where, to his surprise, he saw Pete Mitchell pacing up and down on the gravel, squeezing his flat cap in his hands. When he saw James he quickly accosted him.
‘You don’t think that detective thinks I ‘ad anything to do with this Grimes business, do you?’ he said nervously.
‘Well, no, at least, I don’t think so,’ replied James. ‘Would you have reason to be involved?’
‘No! It’s just that I get in a real state when police interrogate me.’
James assured him that George had simply been asking routine questions to get an understanding of what had happened. ‘There’s certainly no interrogation going on,’ he added. ‘Have you been in a similar situation before, then?’
Pete’s eyes shifted left, then right. ‘No, no, it’s just that the police are always
so suspicious.’
James put an arm around Pete’s shoulder and steered him out of the churchyard and onto the high street. ‘I’m sure everything will be fine. I’m a good friend of DCI Lane, so I’ll get a handle on what he’s thinking.’
Mitchell’s face relaxed. ‘If you could, I’d be grateful. I’d best get going. Can’t stop working on a Sunday, not this time of the year.’
James ignored the remark and continued talking. ‘You went to school with Keith Grimes, didn’t you?’
Mitchell continued folding and wringing his cap and nodded. ‘Yeah, I did. Only for the last year, like. I mean, they’re not a Cavendish family. Keith changed schools a few times from what I can gather. Came to our one for the last year.’
‘What did you make of him?’
‘Never knew ‘im, really. Kept himself to himself. Real loner, like.’ Pete put his cap on. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me if he did it - you know, killed ‘is old man. They always say it’s the quiet ones, the loners, who do these things.’
‘What makes you think he was murdered?’
Mitchell’s eyes opened wide like a frightened rabbit. ‘But… I thought…’
‘Oh, you may be right,’ replied James. ‘At the moment it’s just a heart attack.’
Mitchell gestured goodbye, clearly wanting to get away.
‘I say!’ James gestured for him to stop. ‘There is one thing, Mitchell.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Well, you never said anything to me about going back to Grimes’ farm on Thursday night, but you told George that you did. Is that true?’
An uncomfortable silence followed and James could see Mitchell turning the question over in his head. He eventually shrugged.
‘Must’ve slipped my mind like, you know, with everything that’s been going on. Look, I’ve gotta go, things to do.’ He scampered off and unlocked his van in double-quick time.
James frowned as Mitchell drove off, his tyres squealing. ‘You, young man, are hiding something, but what it is remains to be seen.’
LORD JAMES HARRINGTON AND THE WINTER MYSTERY (Lord James Harrington Mysteries Book 1) Page 12