Berdie obliged. “I’ll get straight to it then.” She was firm yet kind. “My husband told you that I have some inquiries to make of you?”
The contessa nodded, moved to the range stove, and took another swallow of her java. She stirred a wooden spoon through the boiling contents of a saucepan.
“Have you considered who may have wanted to do you harm, contessa?”
“Yes, I’ve considered it and have not one person in mind.” The contessa sat her demitasse on the table and returned to stirring the pot more vigorously.
“I see.” Berdie could hardly settle for that answer. “Contessa Santolio, where did you say your family was from?”
“Our relatives live in Milan.”
“Yes, I understand your husband’s people are from there, and yours?”
The woman lifted her chin. “If you’re trying to establish if my own family was wealthy…”
“No, that’s not my inquiry,” Berdie interrupted and proceeded. “You and your husband seemed to have been well suited. How did you meet him?”
The contessa raised a brow. Even with the swath of powdered blush over her cheeks, Berdie could make out a light pink tinge across the tan face.
“Is that important?” Mrs. Santolio asked.
“Why don’t you tell me?” Berdie urged with a firm tone.
The lovely woman spooned the contents of the saucepan into a bowl that sat near the stove. “If you must know, I came into the Santolio home when the count was still married.”
“Came into his home. You mean you worked for the Santolios?”
“An aide, yes.” There was a slight chill in her voice. She knocked the spoon hard against the edge of the awaiting bowl, loosening the last of the sticky gruel. “As time went on the count became fond of me.”
Berdie watched the contessa closely as the woman placed the empty saucepan in the sink and turned the water full-on, filling the pan to overflowing.
“When his wife died, he asked me to marry him.” The contessa continued matter-of-factly. “It was not well received by his family, but none of them would really benefit by my death. That is what you’re interested in, yes?”
“You’re sure of that, no one?”
The woman turned the water off, grabbed a tea towel, and wiped her hands. “The summer house in Monterosso al Mare became mine along with a comfortable monthly stipend. I’ll never worry for money. The rest of the estate, the business, and all assets, went to his children, and rightly so. I didn’t want his fortune.”
“I see.” Berdie took a deep breath. “Now, Contessa, will you tell me why you’re really here?”
“What do you mean?” Delicately, Mrs. Santolio picked up the cup of her demitasse from the table and brought it to her lips.
Berdie pulled the torn photo of the muddy twins and the domestic, which she had taped on the backside, from her bag. She handed it to the contessa.
The woman gazed at the photo in her hand. She caught her breath. “Where did you get this?” Her voice choked.
“You don’t know?”
“I’ve never seen this picture before,” she avowed.
“You are the domestic serving the girls fizzy water in that old photo.”
The contessa carelessly returned her demitasse to the table. The cup rocked spilling drops of cappuccino.
She handed the snap back to Berdie, a sense of culpability played across her sea green eyes. She moved to the large kitchen window and turned her back to Berdie as she looked out upon the view to Swithy Hall.
“Yes,” she said, her voice shaky. “I am the maid in the snap.” She spun round dramatically and looked intently into Berdie’s face. “And, no, I’m not. Charlotte Grainger, the mousey Lollie you see there in that photo, no longer exists.”
Nor did the contessa’s light Italian accent exist, Berdie observed.
The woman before Berdie stood her full height and collected herself; poised, yet self-protective. “The moment I married my Alberto, I became Contessa Carlotta Santolio, and no one can take that from me.”
“Does someone want to take that from you?” Berdie asked bluntly.
The contessa exhaled. “I should think not.”
“Well, I certainly don’t. But I do want to know just what you’re doing here in Aidan Kirkwood.”
“What a hash of things,” came from the lips of Carlotta Santolio, but sounded more like Lollie Grainger. “Very well, but please, don’t spread it about, I beg of you.”
“Go on then.” Berdie still held the returned snap.
Mrs. Santolio sat in the chair next to Berdie.
“Yes, I was in the Preswood employ twenty years ago, my first job. I lived in Timsley with my family. I was young, but I did my job well.” She swallowed. “Suddenly, I was sacked, just like that, on false grounds. I had no opportunity to defend myself, sent on my way with a ‘don’t let the door hit you on the way out,’ and a ruined reputation.” Her face lighted with the anger of unjust dues. “Do you have any idea what that feels like?”
“Just what was the accusation?”
The contessa stood and moved to the window again. “I was accused of stealing an expensive piece of foreign glassware by Mrs. Preswood’s sister, Mrs. Darbyshire. She had only been in the house three days.” She faced Berdie squarely. “If you ask me, she needed to look a little closer to home at that dodgy husband of hers.”
“John Darbyshire was with Rose and the girls?” Berdie was getting a broad picture.
“Oh, Colonel Preswood wouldn’t have allowed it, but he wasn’t about when they arrived, nor Mrs. Preswood for that matter.”
“Was Rose’s husband given to domestic violence?” Berdie leaned forward in her chair.
The contessa paused for a moment. “He and the missus had rows, raging, but never any slapping about or that. Quite frankly, he gave me shivers. He was secretive, furtive. And he certainly didn’t spare the gin.” The contessa shook her dark hair. “You know the very day that glass came up missing, so, too, did her rangy husband.”
“Rose’s state of mind?” Berdie had a spade and she was digging.
“She was temperamental at the best of times. That day she was half mad.”
“Did she explain her husband’s absence?”
“He and the children were off to London to visit relatives and she was to follow.” Mrs. Santolio furrowed her brow. “They could off to China for all I cared. I rue the day.”
“A very difficult situation, I can see that.” Berdie was delicate. “Back to my original question, Mrs. Santolio, why are you here now?”
The contessa returned to the chair. She folded her hands in her lap.
“All I said previously about Alberto and I visiting Aidan Kirkwood is true. We strolled the High Street to the church. He noted to me that it would be most lovely to have flowers and a fountain in the church garden. When he died, I thought of what he had said and contacted the parish council president, Mr. Webb. That is all true.”
“But there’s more.” Berdie took in every word the maid-cum-contessa spoke.
“I know it sounds terrible, but I wanted to rub the Preswood’s face in my good fortune. Embarrass them. I’m the one with a real title.” She unfolded her hands. “But when all this horrible business with the spider took place, the prospect of losing Ortensia, well.” The contessa sighed heavily. “My need to settle old scores paled.”
“You went up to the big house to visit just after the spider ordeal. Why?”
“I thought to reveal myself to the Preswoods, to clear the air. But when it came to it, I lost my bottle and didn’t go through with it.”
“Did they recognize you?”
The contessa became almost melancholy. “Not even a remote glimmer of awareness.” She straightened herself. “I made some excuse and came back to the lodge.”
She looked at Berdie with eyes that now reflected the calm of a Mediterranean sunset. “It all suddenly felt a bit hollow.”
“Revenge, for all its appearance of sweetn
ess, only sours the soul,” Berdie proffered in a gentle but solid tone.
“The bile I wished for another came upon my own house in the form of a Wandering Brazilian spider.”
“Ah, yes. Well, in due time, I believe that will be rectified.” Berdie placed her free hand on the contessa’s. “Now that is justice yet to be settled and the information you’ve given me will help us get there.”
“Does anyone need to know all this?” Mrs. Santolio’s lovely face wore a plea.
Berdie brought her hand back. “I see no reason to make it known. In fact, I believe there is still danger lurking about. I should let sleeping dogs lie and be very careful. When the whole affair is brought to rest, it’s your decision if you wish to make your former tie with the community known.”
Berdie returned the photo to her bag. “I’ll inform the authorities if needed, discreetly of course.”
“Yes, I see.” The woman, sitting there in her lovely clothing covered by an old servant’s pinny, responded without any pretense.
“Thank you for being candid and telling the truth, Mrs. Santolio. It’s been most insightful. Berdie gathered herself and leaned forward. “I’m afraid I really must push on.”
“No, I need to thank you, Mrs. Elliott. I feel confident that you’ll do what’s best.”
“Yes,” Berdie assured.
“And I want to present a more formal thank you. Ortensia and I will be returning to Italy as soon as she is able to travel. So, I’m planning a tea to celebrate her recovery. I’ve invited Mrs. Preswood and the girls. I’d like it very much if you and Lillie would attend.”
“We’d love to.” Berdie stood.
“Tomorrow afternoon, two o’clock.” The contessa smiled.
“We’ll, see you then. Oh, and I should think Ortensia’s porridge has cooled.” She pointed to the neglected bowl. “I can see myself out.”
Berdie left Swithy Lodge armed with new facts. “If Mrs. Santolio didn’t tear that photo, who did? And just as importantly, why?”
As she watched the Hall and Lodge retreat into the distance in her rear view mirror, something in her stirred. “There’s a menacing sense about, Lord. Protect those at risk and bring evil to its knees, sooner rather than later,” she prayed.
14
Berdie eyed herself in the undulating mirror of her antique dressing table. Getting dressed for a formal tea was never one of her favorite things to do. Not that she had to impress Contessa Santolio or the Preswood contingent; she just wanted to be casual without appearing uninterested.
“This could be pleasant and insightful.” She prodded herself. “I shouldn’t think it will carry on too long.”
Berdie decided on her light gray linen trousers and a salmon colored poet’s blouse. Yes, that was just the right balance. She scanned her shoes and decided on the sturdy black flats. A bit of polish and they looked quite suitable while still offering buckets of comfort.
By the time Lillie rang the door chime, Berdie was ready. Well, she was dressed. She felt a reserved misgiving concerning this tea, but she couldn’t pinpoint just why.
After meeting Lillie at the door, they went straight way to the car, down the vicarage drive, and off to Swithy Lodge.
The sun was running its course, and a fresh drift of daffodils waved their showy heads near the edge of the road.
“I am looking forward to this.” Lillie nearly purred. “It fits the day to have a lovely tea.”
“Perhaps,” was all Berdie offered as that tickle of doubt still played itself in her head.
At that exact moment Berdie’s mobile, lying between her and Lillie, played its loud tone.
“Do you mind getting that please, Lillie?”
“Mrs. Elliott’s mobile.” Lillie answered the phone with a chipper greeting. “Oh, dear. Now?” Her words after listening to the caller took a more somber note.
Berdie glanced at Lillie whose expression became downcast.
Lillie turned her gaze to her dear friend. “Berdie, it’s the hospital in Timsley. Mary Gordon was rushed in. She’s taken a bad turn, and she’s asking for you.”
“Mary?” Berdie blinked. “Yes, of course I’ll be there straight way.”
“She’ll be there as quickly as possible,” Lillie said into the phone. “Good-bye.” Lillie laid the mobile down. “Bang goes the tea.”
“I must get there sharpish. She made a quick U-turn. “I thought Mary was improving.”
“Yes, well one never knows with debilitating diseases.”
“Can you call the contessa to tell her of the development?”
Lillie was already dialing her mobile. “Contessa? Lillie Foxworth here.”
Berdie accelerated.
“Fine, thank you. I’m sad to tell you that Berdie has been called to an emergency and neither of us is able to come to tea. I’m dreadfully sorry.”
There was a prolonged silence.
“Oh,” Lillie said with some surprise. “Yes, what a day.”
“Tell her I’ll ring this evening,” Berdie relayed.
“Berdie will be in touch this evening. Yes, good-bye, Contessa.”
Lillie rang off then shrugged. “None the worse I s’pose, since it seems the whole tea’s gone pear shaped anyway.”
“What?”
“Mrs. Preswood was called to an unexpected meeting of the Family Heritage Circle, and Rosalie is in Timsley with a broken car.”
“Really?” Berdie lifted her brow. “Rosalie’s car, that’s odd. It was just serviced at the garage.”
Berdie turned the car onto the High Street. “I should call Hugh.”
She pulled to the curb near Bearden’s Creamery and grabbed her mobile.
“Look,” Lillie spouted. She pointed towards the creamery.
There, big as life, stood Wilkie Gordon with a bulging carrier bag. He looked up and down the High Street, then gave a whistle.
Berdie put down her window. “Mr. Gordon?” she called. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Mrs. Elliott. Why I’m buying ice cream of course.” He held the bag up and grinned. “It’s orange sherbet actually, Mary’s favorite.” Wilkie squinted. “Say, have you seen Fritz? He’s done a runner while I was inside the shop, little beggar.”
Lillie leaned forward. “Shouldn’t you be at the hospital, Mr. Gordon?”
“Hospital?” Wilkie laughed. “Why would I want to be there?”
Berdie tapped the steering wheel. What is going on?
“Come to the house and join Mary and me for a bowl of orange…”
“Orange!” Berdie all but yelled. She felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Snap! Tea and fruit baskets.” Like a rush of water over a dry plain, the little puzzle pieces of this whole business suddenly fitted together. “Shoes, Pitts, herbs. Oh my word, Lillie, how could I have missed it?”
“Hey?” Wilkie piped.
“Mr. Gordon, when you worked at the Preswood estate, did you keep your woodsman hat in the paddock area?” Berdie was in full flow.
“What are you going on about?” Lillie appeared as bewildered as poor Wilkie.
“Yes,” he clipped, “but…”
“Sorry Wilkie, must be off.” Berdie nodded to the confused gentleman.
“Lillie hold on,” she commanded.
The tires screamed as Berdie rocketed away from the curb, made a hard U-turn that sent Lillie on a sail, and pointed the car back in the direction from which they came.
“What on earth?” Lillie squealed as she grabbed the dash.
“Call Goodnight,” Berdie instructed. “Tell him to meet us at Swithy Lodge, now.”
Berdie turned off the High Street and onto the road that went to Bampkingswith Hall.
Lillie punched nine, nine, nine.
Her foot steady, Berdie pushed the gas pedal full-on, making the car speed down the road. “I just hope we’re not too late.” The daffodils near the road became a blur.
“I just hope we get there at all.” Lillie grasped the dash with white knuckles.
/>
Upon their arrival, gravel from the Swithy Lodge drive scattered like so much popcorn as Berdie raced the car up the drive and stopped on a dime.
After being certain it was locked, she shot from the vehicle with Lillie just behind her.
“Go up to Ortensia’s room, Lillie,” Berdie commanded. “No matter what you hear happening downstairs, keep her still and in place.”
“What’s she going to hear?” Lillie called after Berdie.
“I’m not sure.”
She twisted the handle of the front door. It was unlocked. “Thank God.” Without hesitation, she was in the hall and motioned Lillie upstairs.
Berdie could hear voices in the drawing room. Steeling herself, she briskly stepped into the room.
“Mrs. Elliott.” The contessa’s face registered surprise. “I didn’t hear you ring.”
“No, Contessa, you didn’t.”
The royal and a guest stood near a side table laden with cups and saucers. In Mrs. Santolio’s hands was a small gift, from which she was peeling back the gift wrap paper, a bow on the table.
“I thought you were detained.” Mrs. Santolio smiled at Berdie. “You’ve arrived just in time to see the hostess gift Robin has brought me.”
“Don’t open it,” Berdie insisted. “Please, Contessa, put the box down, now.”
Despite the attractiveness of her trendy clothing and matching stiletto-heeled shoes, Robin Darbyshire’s face went sour. “Mrs. Elliott, what a silly bird you are.” Her voice was stilted. “It’s my gift to the contessa.” She leaned towards Mrs. Santolio. “Go ahead. Open it. Mrs. Elliott may enjoy the surprise as well.”
“No, I won’t enjoy the surprise.” Berdie could feel her heart pound. “Contessa, please, put it down.”
The hostess blinked with confusion.
“If I’m wrong,” Berdie continued, “I’ll deeply apologize.”
Robin shoved the box more firmly into the contessa’s hand.
In an act of desperation, Berdie lunged forward and grabbed the gift from the contessa’s grasp.
Robin stretched to snag the box from Berdie, a fruitless gesture. “Mrs. Elliott, this is entirely irrational and absurd behavior.” Robin’s face reddened. “Give it back to the contessa. Now.”
Up from the Grave Page 20