“Who would destroy it? It’s so very precious.”
“Apparently there’s someone who doesn’t agree,” Berdie stated matter-of-factly.
Rosalie’s first flush of anger turned into perplexity, and she eased herself into the slipper chair. “Aunt Flora never liked the picture, but to destroy it, no. Robin was embarrassed by it, but then all our early snaps embarrass her.” Rosalie stared at ragged edges that ravaged her favorite photo.
“Your uncle?” Lillie asked.
“I doubt very much if he’s even aware the snap exists. Besides, no one in the family uses this room.”
“Have you had guests recently?” Berdie glanced through the window to the now empty back garden. Rosalie lifted her chin and paused.
“Charles, really, I mean overnight, but that was a few days back. Contessa Santolio made a momentary stop.” The young woman shook her head. “That’s grasping at straws.”
“Straws are often worth the grasping.” Berdie had a hint of play in her voice.
“Grasp away. It won’t mend my photo.” Rosalie stood and sighed, still poring over the snap, aligning it to fit together.
“Perhaps there’s some professional photo repair service,” Lillie offered.
“Yes, perhaps,” Rosalie said wistfully.
“The important thing, it has quite inadvertently been rescued and is back in the hands of the person who treasures it most.” Berdie touched Rosalie’s hand. “Where it belongs.”
Rosalie Preswood smiled timidly. “Yes, well.”
“Perhaps I can find a service to mend it, as Lillie suggested.”
“That’s a very kind offer.” Rosalie appeared to waver. “Do be very careful, won’t you?” The young woman relinquished the torn snap.
“I’ll handle it like hidden treasure,” Berdie assured as she accepted it. “We’ll have it repaired in no time.”
“I need to get my jumper.” Rosalie pointed towards her room. “I’ll meet you downstairs in the hall, and we can get on with the tasks at hand.”
“There’s a dear,” Lillie breathed.
Rosalie entered her room while Berdie and Lillie made their descent.
Lillie, it seemed, could hardly contain herself. “Who do you think did it and why?” she tittered in a low level.
“I don’t know,” Berdie whispered, “but I’m going to find out.” She paused on a stair and put the torn pieces in her bag. “Now, let’s say a person who doesn’t want this snap around retrieved it, tore it perhaps hastily, and then stashed it in the guest bathroom rubbish. It’s a somewhat nondescript spot anyone at any time could use. Yes, I should think it gets cleaned daily, the rubbish would be removed.” Berdie perked. “But, the gentleman said the cleaning lady has been out ill this week.”
Lillie inhaled. “He did. Yes, he did.”
“Still, what’s the motive”? Berdie leaned closely towards Lillie. “I haven’t worked it all out yet, but a detail I noticed along with something Rosalie said, has given me an idea on that front.”
“Mrs. Elliott,” The man in black’s strong voice broke way into the conversation. “Did you find Miss Darbyshire?”
“Yes,” Berdie answered, “Thank you.” She and Lillie continued their descent just as Flora Presswood entered the large entrance hall.
“Bradford, once again those silly men who are to raze that dilapidated greenhouse have not kept their appointment, no doubt satisfying their thirst at a nearby pub.”
“Yes, madam.”
“Oh, and Bradford, there’s a delivery in the kitchen. Could you see to it?”
“Yes, madam.” Bradford hadn’t finished the words when he had already departed.
Berdie and Lillie were at the bottom of the staircase.
“Mrs. Elliott, Miss Foxworth, I didn’t realize you were here.” Mrs. Presswood spoke with a hint of displeasure.
“It was rather sudden, I’m afraid. We’re here to gather Rosalie, she’ll be down presently,” Berdie explained.
“She’s going to arrange the flowers at church,” Lillie added with a disarming smile.
“I see.” Flora lifted her distinctive chin. “She didn’t say.”
Lillie gave Berdie a slight nudge. “Chin,” she whispered.
Berdie, in return, gave Lillie a discreet nod while Flora Preswood came near to them.
A moment’s silence played itself into an opportunity.
“These are quite fetching.” Berdie pointed to a lighted shelf in the nearby cabinet that she had noticed when she was previously here for dinner. The shelf was home to two opulent pieces of stemware.
“You’re taken by them?” Flora drew near the pieces. “They are splendid. It’s the iridescence you know, Venetian.”
Berdie nodded.
“Colonel Presswood’s great-grandfather purchased them in Italy. They’re eighteenth century, I believe.”
Lillie’s eyebrows elevated and her jaw dropped.
“I should love to see them more closely.” Berdie knew it was slightly rude, but she had to try it on.
“Oh, no.” Flora Presswood lost her smile. “This is a locking cabinet, and Randal has the key.” She admired the stemware. “There was a time when we displayed them on the Venetian table you know.” She pointed to the shapely end table near the bottom of the stairwell. “They’re irreplaceable, sadly.”
“Sadly?” Berdie asked in an innocent manner.
“It was originally a set of three, but a piece was stolen. Horrible.”
“Dreadful,” Berdie commiserated. “So you never found the thief?”
“Oh, we know who took it. Well, my sister Rose was aware and informed the colonel and me. A young maid, actually quite trainable.” She shook her head. “One can never tell. Of course she insisted she was innocent. Sadly, I had to dismiss her.” Flora lifted her nose and sniffed.
Berdie caught a glimpse of Lillie from the corner of her eye. The choirmaster, still agog, eyed the top of the stairs. She went pale.
“Your sister must have been astute,” Berdie plied.
“Yes, she and the girls just arrived here at Bampkingswith Hall from overseas, trying to find safe haven, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“And the twin’s father? He wasn’t with them?” Berdie continued to peel back the layers.
“The colonel wouldn’t allow him in the house.” She scowled. “But you see, my husband was on special assignment at the time. As he often was. No, Rose noted, and told me later, that the domestic was dusting the display on the table one evening and in the morning, the glass was missing. While the cats away as they say. It was quite obvious who did it.”
“With your grand sense of order Mrs. Preswood, you didn’t notice it missing?”
Mrs. Presswood looked at the floor. “I,” she ran her hand across the bodice of her dress, “I was visiting friends in London.” She paused and observed Lillie. “Are you all right, Miss Foxworth?”
“What?” Lillie looked at Flora and blinked.
“You’re quite pale.”
“Lillie’s feeling a bit queasy,” Berdie offered on behalf of her friend.
“Not flu, I hope.”
“No,” Berdie answered while Lillie, again, just blinked.
“So you didn’t press charges against the domestic. What did you say her name was?”
“I didn’t actually.” Mrs. Preswood put a finger on her chin. “Grainger, I believe. Yes, Lolly Grainger. And no, we didn’t press charges. Too messy, bad for the colonel’s business.”
“Ready to go?” was accompanied by Rosalie’s rapid footstep.
“I should deposit Miss Foxworth at her home right away,” Mrs. Preswood advised.
“Yes, please,” Lillie spurted and caught her breath.
Berdie took Lillie by the elbow and led her in the direction of the outside exit.
“Let me get that for you.” Bradford re-entered the room and stepped lively to the door.
He carried an enormous basket of fruit. Lemons, limes, grapefruit, and oranges of all v
arieties were wrapped in rosy pink transparent wrap. A large yellow bow was tied to the handle. “A gift for the Misses Darbyshire.”
“Whatever for?” Mrs. Presswood eyed the basket with a certain distain. “Really. Who from, Bradford?”
“It doesn’t say, madam.”
“Rubbish bin,” Rosalie instructed the gentleman. “Lovely but intolerable.”
“Yes, Miss Darbyshire.” Bradford spoke without any hesitation, and opened the door for the departure.
Rosalie gave her aunt a peck on the cheek. “I shouldn’t wait for me.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Preswood.” Berdie continued aiding Lillie who just nodded.
It seemed but a snap of the finger that Lillie was safely deposited in her home with the promise of getting together to talk after church tomorrow. Then a minute’s drive until Berdie and Rosalie reached the church.
Berdie marveled at how gracefully Rosalie was able to create the elegant floral arrangements. However, it did take a great deal of time.
When Rosalie was finished, it was nearly four thirty and time for tea. So, Berdie invited Rosalie to join her and Hugh at the vicarage for Panzanella with toasted almonds, courtesy of Mrs. Raheem who created and sold the custom mix at the produce store. Berdie added an olive cheese loaf, and a sticky toffee pudding to round the meal. It was the least she could do in gratitude for Rosalie’s availability.
It was approaching dusk when Hugh dismissed himself to go back to the church following the meal. It was even later when Berdie and Rosalie were on the road back to Swithy Hall.
As they turned into the drive past the lighted lodge, Rosalie told Berdie she understood Ortensia, still hospitalized, to be improving after the awful spider ordeal.
“Yes, well, by God’s grace.” Berdie was appreciative and relieved.
“You know, after living in South America, my mother was terrified of spiders, even the little tiny ones. She and Little Miss Muffet.” Rosalie laughed.
“I’ve wondered, Rosalie, how is it that you came, once again, to live in England?”
“It depends on who you ask. According to mummy,” Rosalie smiled, “she always said that she wanted Robin and me to live on ‘the isle that rules the waves,’ as the song says. Now, Aunt Flora’s version is quite different.” Rosalie half smiled. “She says that our father got tangled up in some oil scheme gone bad that put the whole family in jeopardy, and we fled to England, to the safety and security of Bampkingswith Hall.” The young woman sighed. “Whatever the reason, my father eventually abandoned us. Rosalie sounded matter-of-fact. “I dare say Aunt Flora and Uncle Randal have been our refuge, for which I’m grateful.”
“Yes, wonderfully generous, and a well-provided-for home to grow up in, I should think.” Berdie perked as she thought of her pledge to Rosalie. “And I’ll have your precious photo repaired and to you as quickly as possible.”
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 o
n 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.
Up from the Grave Page 14