Up from the Grave

by Marilyn Leach

  He tipped his shiny head towards Berdie. “Hello, Mrs. Elliott.”

  “Hello, Mr. Dudham.”

  “Science outing,” he explained.

  “The boys said.” She smiled.

  The teacher turned his attention to the immediate foliage near the Lenten Rose. “Ah,” he directed his pen towards a plant. “Milton Butz, can you identify this plant?”

  Milton studied the plant. “It’s a wild geranium.”

  “True, and what is it called?” Mr. Dudham looked at Bobby. “I should think you’ll remember the common name of this one.”

  The youngster took a deep breath. He bit his lip. Then a large grin appeared. “Oh, right, It’s Herb Robert.”

  “Geranium robertianum, one in the same,” Mr. Dudham spoke and pens scribbled.

  “In medieval times, it was used for healing wounds and curing diarrhea.” Kevin added emphasis on diarrhea with a great deal of gusto.

  Most the girls wrinkled their noses except Martha Butz, Milton’s twin, who just knit her brow and looked as if she were far too mature to react to such business.

  “Splendid.” The teacher beamed then looked at Berdie. “They listened after all,” he said quietly to her. “With this age group, one never knows for sure.”

  Berdie chuckled in agreement.

  “All right, students, let’s move along.” Mr. Dudham looked at his watch. We’re approaching eleven o’clock.”

  “Eleven.” Berdie widened her eyes. “I must go.”

  “And you three.” Mr. Dudham pointed to the trio of lads. “Stay with the group.”

  Reminiscent of bees swarming a hive, the science class and their teacher moved back into the woods. This time Milton, Kevin, and Bobby were buzzing alongside.

  And Berdie buzzed herself into the vicarage and on her way to the Copper Kettle. “Evergreen,” she said quietly as she went. “Curative wild herbs.”

  She was late for elevensies at the Copper Kettle where people mobbed the entrance. The Cow-Mobile was parked in front of Mr. Raheem’s produce store, just cross from the Kettle, and it seemed all of Aidan Kirkwood was there.

  “Oh, right, it’s Tuesday,” Berdie remembered aloud.

  Every Tuesday Mr. Cathcart was about his butcher business in cooperation with Mr. Raheem. The enterprising team invested in an old ice cream van and did it over to become a mobile butcher shop. Mr. Cathcart provided the straight-from-his-farm cuts of beef, and other fresh meats, while Mr. Raheem provided the perfect spot for smashing amounts of sales: right in front of his produce store. There was always a crowd about the High Street on Tuesdays from ten to six, and the rest of the shopkeepers benefited greatly as well. People were everywhere, and Lillie was among them.

  “Where have you been?” Lillie seemed anxious.

  “And very good morning to you, as well,” Berdie offered while catching her breath.

  “It’s just that Cherry came. I tried to start a conversation, but it was so crowded, I’m afraid it was to no avail.”

  “Really?” Berdie harbored disappointment.

  “You might be able to catch her up if you go rapidly.” Lillie pointed to a figure scooting quickly into the distance.

  “Wait here,” Berdie instructed and shot off down the road like a hungry fox after a spring chicken.

  Cherry was just one door away from the entrance to the B and B when Berdie caught her up. Breathing heavily, she called to her. “Hello Cher-ry.”

  The young woman, laden with boxes of buns, turned towards Berdie. Cherry’s pixie face registered surprise and concern. “Mrs. Elliott, perhaps you should sit down.”

  “I’ve been,” Berdie took a deep breath, “trying to,” she held her hand to her racing heart, “catch you up.”

  Cherry’s surprise turned to pity.

  “Quiet place to talk, please.” Berdie’s words were dappled with pants.

  “I need to put these,” Cherry nodded towards the boxes, “in the kitchen.” She then lifted her chin as a pointer to the bench near the edge of the green, directly across from the B and B. “I’ll be there momentarily.”

  Berdie crossed the road and sat on the wooden bench. She took in a deep inhale of the warm spring air. It was then she realized her approach to Cherry had taken care of itself. Desperation, to the point of breathlessness, evoked a tender response.

  Berdie began to relax, her breathing settling into an ordinary rhythm.

  Bird trills called across the small green as if to sing to the spring daffodil displays that dressed all four corners of the square. Just large enough for a standard football game with nets at both ends, and a handful of fans for both teams, it suited Aidan Kirkwood quite well. It played host to village cricket, which would be starting soon. And, of course, there was the annual flower show which drew crowds from all round. Gracious homes, Cherry and Jeff’s B and B, a few small shops, and the parish church hall sat opposite the green on the four sides of the road that edged the grassy expanse.

  Three cars and a work lorry ambled their way on the cobblestone street at the moment. The fresh aroma of spring grass drying in the morning sun settled Berdie into a sense of well-being. All in all, Berdie nearly always found the village green pleasant.

  “Yes, this will do quite well,” Berdie said to the sky.

  No more than the words left Berdie’s mouth that Cherry’s petite figure came out the B and B’s door and crossed the road. The young woman’s sky blue tee shirt, dark twill trousers, and clogs, somehow, appeared quite fashionable. Her short blonde hair that framed her elfin face, the pink cheeks and sparkling eyes, looked fresh as a spring daisy. Still, her twinkle wasn’t as vibrant as usual. Her steps were not blithe.

  She sat beside Berdie on the edge of the bench with a certain amount of hesitancy. “I have only a few moments.”

  “Cherry, I need…” Berdie started her apology.

  “I know I’ve been rude,” Cherry interrupted.

  “Well—” was all that Berdie got out before Cherry interjected.

  “It’s just that since I confronted my grandfather, I didn’t know exactly if I should say.” Cherry folded her hands. “And yet, of course, you probably figured it out by now.” She unfolded her hands and rubbed them across her trousers. “And I know that you’re aware that my grandfather is, at heart, a good person.”

  “What?” Berdie found herself leaving off her own apology and listening to what Cherry was trying to say. “Yes, your grandfather is a good man.” Berdie leaned closer.

  “Well.” Cherry swallowed hard. “It’s really not my place to say. I mean I couldn’t betray my grandfather’s trust.”

  “Has this got anything to do with the thirty thousand pound payment voucher we discovered in your mail?” Berdie asked instinctively.

  “Could do.” Cherry’s shoulders sagged like a wilted flower.

  “And does it have anything to do with the fact that the jolly mailman of your childhood greeted your mother as Mrs. Gordon?”

  “I knew you’d see through.” Cherry became animated. “I tried to tell grandpa that.” She put her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, this is getting so messy.” Cherry’s eyes took on a sense of panic. “Grandpa has been so foolish. And ever since the drawing of that poor child appeared in the paper, people have been saying some awful things about Grandma.” Cherry shook her head as if to lose the troubling thoughts. “I know Gran has been unwell, but she’s already been through so much, far more than I could ever endure.”

  “Cherry.” Berdie took the young girls hand. “I believe you can endure more than you realize.” Remembering the nose allegations put forth by Mrs. McDermott at the appearance of the “garden child” newspaper drawing, Berdie went on. “You must remember that lies and destructive speculation never lead to good. Now, say good-bye to verbal rubbish.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Elliott, I love Jeff.” Cherry’s chin trembled. “And I love my home, my work in it. But sometimes I can’t bear this village.”

  “I understand what you’re saying.” Berdie sp
oke in comforting tones. “But we must never let the small-mindedness of the few color our world as a whole. In time, the truth has a way of setting things right.”

  “Setting things right.” Cherry sighed. “What will happen to Grandpa? You must speak to my grandfather. He can do such silly things, but he does love deeply.” She looked down. “Forgive me. I’ve been avoiding you, and it’s not right.” Her tone softened as she raised her eyes back to Berdie. “Please, I’m afraid there’s no more I can tell you. You really must go see my grandfather.”

  A cheerful voice from the opened door of the B and B shouted cross the road to the green. “Telephone, Cherry,” Jeff called.

  “I’ve really got to get back.” Cherry stood quickly. “You do understand, don’t you, Mrs. Elliott?”

  Berdie nodded her head, and Cherry scrambled across the road.

  “I understand your loyalty and love to your grandfather, dear one,” Berdie spoke aloud although there was no one left to hear. “But what a place he’s put you in.” She shook her head. “And I hope to soon completely understand what foolishness and trouble Wilkie Gordon has gotten himself into.”

  Berdie rolled her eyes to the sky and sighed. “And I still haven’t made my apology.”

  As Berdie made her trek back to the Copper Kettle, she determined that she must speak to Wilkie Gordon as soon as possible. She began hatching her great plan. Like a newborn chick from an eggshell, it came to life. She was certain the bottom of Wilkie Gordon’s goings-on would be known in the next twenty-four hours—sooner, in fact.

  When Berdie arrived back at the Copper Kettle, Lillie still stood outside amongst the throng.

  “Come with me. We’ve work to do,” Berdie said enthusiastically.

  “Did you catch Cherry?” Lillie asked as the two weaved their way out of the crowd.

  “I did.” Berdie clipped. “Now, if you please, Lillie. Were you out with Loren last night, and are you seeing him tonight?”

  “Yes to first, no, to the second.”

  “Good. Now, I would like you to go to the Cow-Mobile and ask Mr. Cathcart if he’s any oxtail. Purchase it, and I should take a nice nap this afternoon.”

  “What are you going on about?” Lillie paused. “You’re up to something.”

  “We’re up to something, my dear.” Berdie placed a finger aside her nose. “Be at the vicarage, tonight, midnight. Bring the oxtail, and wear black, not the dinner wear sort. I’ll explain it all then.”

  “Splendid.” Lillie beamed.

  “Oh,” Berdie added coyly, “don’t ring the doorbell.”

  ****

  Berdie, who had gathered goods in a market bag, was reading in the library when Lillie arrived promptly at midnight, oxtail in hand.

  Having sent Hugh up to bed with a hot milky drink an hour earlier, Berdie was sure he would be sleeping soundly.

  Berdie illuminated Lillie to her plan and made a flask of hot tea, after which they made their way to the edge of the wood near the empty crime scene.

  “Now we must be very quiet.” Berdie cautioned Lillie as they stepped carefully into the shelter of a large bush at the perimeter of the wooded area. There was a small space between the bush and a massive oak tree. “We could be waiting a bit, so I’ve made accommodation.”

  There, leaning against the oak, were two folding garden chairs.

  “Outdoor furniture.” Lillie applauded.

  “Shh.” Berdie placed a finger to her lips. “I brought them out before Hugh came in for dinner. If we’re doing a stakeout at our age, may as well be somewhat comfortable.”

  Lillie unfolded the chairs and set them closely together to fit the space behind the bush.

  “Did you get some kip this afternoon?” Berdie asked her Watson.

  “Not really. I had three voice lessons back-to-back.”

  “The tea’s extra strong.” The two settled into the chairs. “That will help.”

  She pulled two torches out of a large market bag and an April edition of Country Homes and Interiors. “Turn on your torch and you can read this for a bit. Berdie handed the silver light tool and magazine to her friend.”

  Lillie grinned. “This is more a midnight picnic than a stakeout. My nose tells me there’s one of your tasty meat pies about.” Lillie nearly cooed. “A midnight snack?”

  “No,” Berdie pronounced promptly, “a secret weapon. Remember, Lillie, we are on stakeout, albeit casual. Wilkie Gordon is hardly an axe murderer, but still, we need to be vigilant.”

  “Some tea then.”

  Berdie handed her the large flask and a paper cup.

  Berdie was ninety-nine percent sure that this approach to Wilkie Gordon held no great danger or she would never have asked for Lillie’s help. Nonetheless, it was a bit of an adventure and Berdie enjoyed it.

  An hour and a quarter passed, the half-moon had a moisture ridden lunar corona. The clouds were hiding most of the starry host, and the smell of wet tickled Berdie’s nose. “Please hold back the rain,” she whispered to He who hears all.

  Lillie was in and out of dreamland, but Berdie was alert. She sat up straight and turned her shoulders side to side to relieve a cramp that made way up her back.

  Then she heard it. Finally. The clink of metal identity tags danced, just what Berdie had been waiting for. She roused Lillie.

  “Get out the oxtail,” she informed quietly.

  Struggling to become alert, Lillie followed the command.

  A not-distant torchlight made itself known. Berdie silently pulled the still warm meat pie half out of the bag and unwrapped it. She broke a piece off then sat it on the ground by the bush. She placed the rest at her feet.

  The enticing odor of the fresh baked pie began working its magic. The jingling sound came closer, right next the bush then paused.

  “Get ready, Lillie.”

  Berdie could now just make out the figure of Wilkie Gordon, woodsman hat atop his bald head, white beard in full prominence. He stood near the upturned earth that declared the former grave of a helpless child. Then Berdie espied it. He held a small spade in his hand.

  Lillie took a deep inhale as the sight of Wilkie became apparent to her.

  Berdie placed her index finger upon her own lips as a signal. Lillie nodded.

  Wilkie was mumbling something, but Berdie couldn’t make out what he said.

  And then it happened. Creeping around the bush, the fish took the bait. First, his wiggly nose, then his wee front feet and Fritz found the temptation that teased his senses. He stopped and ogled Berdie for a moment and then the pie.

  “Good boy, Fritz,” Berdie whispered. “Good boy. Eat up.”

  The dachshund cautiously touched his nose to the pie then suddenly took an immense bite. He chewed with absolute delight until all gone.

  “Fritz, look.” Berdie pointed to the pie at her feet. “More for the good lad.”

  Fritz stepped lively to the meat pie near her feet.

  “And look what Lillie has for you.”

  Lillie pulled out the oxtail, and placed it on her lap. She sweet-talked the wee creature to her. “Fritz, look.”

  Crumbs of crust clung to the edges of Fritz’s mouth as he investigated the enticement of another treat.

  Lillie patted her knee. “Hear, boy, up.”

  “Fritz,” Wilkie called in a low voice.

  The little red sausage stopped momentarily.

  “Fritz, come.” Wilkie was just slightly higher in volume.

  Then, with gusto, the disobedient canine put his front paws on Lillie’s knees and sniffed. In a rapid flash, the dog leaped into Lillie’s lap.

  “Good boy,” Lillie cooed. She stroked his coat then lightly held him as he chewed upon the bone of the oxtail.

  “Fritz, where are you boy?” Wilkie stepped towards the bush. “Fritz?” The aged man now stood only a couple yards from the sheltering bush.

  “OK, Lillie,” Berdie whispered. “It’s on.”

  “Hello.”

  Wilkie jumped and lifted
his torch towards the bush.

  The slurps and slops of Fritz devouring his goodie was as audible as Constable Goodnight consuming fish and chips at the Upland Arms.

  Wilkie bent down, gripping his spade tightly and in a stealth manner crept to the bush. At the very moment he came round the vegetation, Berdie turned on her torch, stood, and dazzled him.

  “Going walkies are we, Mr. Gordon?”

  Wilkie jerked back, eyes large, mouth agape, arm up trying to shelter himself from the sudden light.

  Berdie shined her torch on Fritz who stopped eating momentarily, eyed his master, then continued his feast.

  “Why, yes, on a walk.” Wilkie replied with shallow breath.

  “Mr. Gordon.” Berdie’s voice was now militant as she turned the torch back to the elder. “As the old clergyman once said, don’t play puppies with an old dog.”

  Wilkie’s shock turned to resignation.

  “Well?” Berdie said with clear determination. “Do you want to tell me the truth or shall I call Constable Goodnight?” Berdie held up her mobile phone.

  Wilkie slumped to one knee. He dropped the spade and put his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry,” came in a quivered voice.

  The penitent man kneeling on the hard earth before her moved Berdie immediately into action.

  “Mr. Gordon, please.” Berdie scooted the garden chair to the weakened fellow. “Sit here.”

  Wilkie struggled to his feet and placed himself into the chair, drooping like a wet umbrella at the end of a drenching storm.

  Lillie urged Fritz from her lap and the dog, oxtail bone still in his mouth, sprung to Wilkie’s feet where he continued his nosh.

  Berdie opened the flask of tea and poured some of the still warm brew into a paper cup she pulled from her large bag. She handed it to Mr. Gordon whose face was flushed. He gestured a thank you with a tip of his head and took a swallow.

  “Where do I start?” He breathed heavily and stared into the night sky.

  “You can begin by telling me what you’re doing with that spade,” Berdie said calmly.

  “That’s the whole matter of it, you see.” He looked at Lillie.

  “Well.” Lillie brushed her lap with her hands. “I can wait inside if you wish to speak to Mrs. Elliott alone.”