Smile and be a Villain

by Jeanne M. Dams

  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?

  TWENTY-SIX

  After 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?’

  My knees were shaking, but I managed to get to my feet. ‘First, some computer research revealed that an elderly parishioner of Mr Abercrombie’s back in Ohio had died recently, leaving her entire estate to him. It amounted to over two million dollars. Close to a million and a half pounds.’ I waited for the reaction to die down and then went on. ‘Further, despite the fact that he had inherited a great deal of money and had stolen a great deal more, he still went about defrauding this church of small sums. Those of you who attend St Anne’s will remember that he took up a collection to fund the purchase of new choir folders, with the understanding that if the monies collected were not enough, he would make up the difference. This was some time ago. The folders have never been ordered; we checked with the company concerned and they were waiting for payment. Finally, I have proved that he went to rather elaborate lengths to steal part of the proceeds of the recent jumble sale.’

  A woman in the middle of the nave stood and said belligerently, ‘That’s impossible! The money tallied with the ledger. I saw that with my own eyes.’

  ‘I have no doubt it did. He had repriced items. Perhaps all of them, perhaps only some of the more expensive.’ Alan handed me the framed embroidery. ‘This, for example, is marked with a price of fifty pounds. It is listed in the ledger at twenty-five. It did not sell, but if it had, Mr Abercrombie could have pocketed a nice little profit of twenty-five pounds with no one the wiser.’

  ‘One item!’ sneered the woman.

  ‘Not just one. I have a few more here, and if you search the storeroom for the other unsold items, I think you’ll find them all marked far higher than the entries in the ledger. Now if you’re going to ask me why a millionaire would find it necessary to stoop to such tactics, I fear I have no reasonable explanation.’

  I sat down, feeling as if I’d run an obstacle course. There were murmurings, but no one else questioned what I’d said.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Martin. Now it needs to be said that you have, I fear, heard only negative things about Mr Abercrombie. Sad as it is to tell, those things are all true, but we are not conducting a crucifixion here. We know, at least those of us here at the parish church know, that there was another side to the man. He did indeed work hard at several thankless volunteer jobs, and for that we owe him our gratitude. I knew him for only a short time, but in that time he helped me considerably with some mundane parish tasks, and for that I personally am grateful. I would like now to open up the meeting to anyone who has any comments at all to make about Mr Abercrombie.’

  Dead silence. Then there was a little stir, and I turned around to see. Martha Duckett stood up. I gave a mental cheer. Brave lady!

  ‘I–I have to believe everything that has been said this morning. If he really did steal all that money, when he didn’t even need it … but there was another side to him. There really was. He was a pleasant man, with a good word for everyone, and he really did help so much with so many small duties. I suppose I’m just old and stupid, but I–I really did like him a lot.’ Her voice broke and she sat down amid soothing murmurs. I saw the woman sitting next to her pat her on the shoulder and hand her a tissue.

  Then it was Rebecca Smith. ‘He supported the choir. I think we were all grateful for that. I’m not so happy about the folders. We need them badly, and no one has much money to spare. I’m still trying to deal with the idea that he took our money. I wouldn’t have believed it. You’re sure, Mrs Martin?’

  Alan stood. ‘At my wife’s suggestion, I looked up possible suppliers and phoned them till I found the right one. There’s really no doubt, I’m afraid. Abercrombie had talked with them and obtained a quote for the very nice folders he suggested to you, and then nothing further was done. They have kept the order open, awaiting payment.’

  Robin stood. ‘It’s no secret to most of you that I disliked the man, for many reasons. He did, however, have a good idea about the folders. We need new ones, although perhaps nothing quite as elaborate as what he proposed. However, as a choir member, I will, if you will allow me, remit payment for them, if you, Mrs Martin, will give me the pertinent information.’

  He sat down. A woman I didn’t know spoke up. ‘I think we need to know why you disliked him so much.’

  Robin stood again, looking weary. ‘It isn’t my story to tell. I will say simply that I learned through a friend of a truly despicable thing he did at his old parish, something that caused a great deal of heartbreak, something wholly unworthy of a priest. After that, I could only despise him.’

  Speculative murmurs, which were quelled when another voice spoke. ‘I hope you can hear me. It’s hard for me to stand; my broken ankle is still somewhat painful and I’m not yet quite secure on my crutches. I would like to tell you my story.’

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I clutched Alan’s hand. Mr Lewison said, ‘Mrs Small, are you sure? You are not at all well, and this will be—’

  ‘Painful, yes. But also necessary. It concerns my sister, my twin sister, who committed suicide because of Mr Abercrombie.’

  The shock was so great that no one even gasped. The room was completely silent.

  She told her story, simply, with no prejudicial remarks. When she had finished, she said, ‘I very nearly followed my sister to the grave. If I had not been found, after falling on Longis Common, I would almost certainly have died of exposure. I have been persuaded, by Mr Lewison and others, that I must forgive Mr Abercrombie, not only for the sake of my own mental health, but because I have come to believe that my life was not saved so that I could nourish hatred for the rest of my life. I have not yet been able to forgive him, but I’m trying hard, and one day I will manage it. I hope that all of you who have been disappointed by learning the truth about him, or who have actually been defrauded, will also find it in your hearts to forgive. That’s all.’

  I doubt there was a dry eye in the house, but through the tears there were subdued cries of sympathy and support, and the occasional ‘Well done, Alice!’

  It was the equivalent of a standing ovation in America, and I was extremely touched – and extremely relieved.

  I would have been delighted if Mr Lewison had chosen to end the meeting then, but he had still one thing to bring into the open.

  ‘I am grateful to all of you who have spoken. I know it wasn’t easy for anyone. There is one matter still unresolved. We may never be able to resolve it, but we need at least to talk about it. There has been some speculation that Mr Abercrombie’s death might not have been an accident, that someone, though I hate even to say it in this sacred space, might have pushed him down that hill. You have heard that there are those who might have thought they had reason for such a horrific act, forbidden by the laws both of God and of man. If there is anyone in this room who has any knowledge about this, I urge you to speak now.’

  Silence. It felt as if no one dared breathe.

  The priest let the silence prolong itself. At last he said, ‘Very well. If anyone has anything to say to me privately, I will remain here in the Lady Chapel all afternoon.’ He gestured for us to rise. ‘And now may the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, be upon you and remain with you, now and always. Amen.’

  The crowd dispersed with much less than the usual conversation. They had been too moved by Alice’s speech to return right away to the everyday world. Once they got beyond the confines of the churchyard I suspect that a good deal of revisionist history would start developing. ‘You know, I always felt there was something just a bit off about
him.’ ‘Oh, I know. Just a little too nice, too smooth, if you know what I mean. I know I said to George when the man first came to town …’ And so on. It was human nature. We hate to admit we’ve been wrong, hate especially to think we’ve been made to look like fools.

  Alan and I didn’t talk at all until we got back to our room, when Alan silently opened the bottle of bourbon and poured each of us a small tot.

  I took a gulp.

  ‘Better than you had feared?’ asked Alan after he had done the same.

  ‘Much better. I think even those who had loved the man came away feeling … I don’t know, perhaps the word is “cleansed”. Sad, of course, but not heartbroken. More than the feet of their idol was made of clay, but there was at least a little bronze, anyway. And I think Mr Lewison handled it beautifully. There’s hope now for healing in the congregation.’

  ‘Robin helped, with his offer to pay for the folders.’

  ‘He really is a good man, just a little … prickly.’

  ‘But,’ said Alan, finishing his drink, ‘we’re no closer to knowing whether Abercrombie was killed or not.’

  ‘No. And we’re leaving on Monday. Probably we never will know.’

  ‘Of course,’ he mused, ‘there was at least one person of interest missing.’

  ‘Harold Guillot. At least we think he was missing. We don’t know what he looks like.’

  ‘True, but if he’d been there someone would have mentioned it. There’s been a good deal of interest in his disappearance.’

  ‘You’re probably right. Oh, by the way, I need to put that stuff back in the storage room. And return the ledger to Mr Lewison.’

  ‘I gave it to him just as we turned to leave. I left the other things on the pew; someone will look after them, I’m sure. Do you want some lunch?’

  ‘Oddly enough, I do. I’m starving. Stress, I suppose. But let’s drive down to the harbour. I’m too wiped out to walk that far, and I’d rather not talk to anybody here in town for a while yet.’