“We won’t take a moment,” Berdie promised.
“Be quick then.” Meg bristled.
“Lillie and I are going to be sketching the interior of St. Baldred’s. Did Edward say?”
Meg squinted. “You’re an artist?”
“My goodness no. But Lillie here, she’s had training.”
Lillie sheepishly lifted the carrier bag so Meg could read it.
She eyed Lillie and grinned. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“All the time.” Lillie’s smile was half-baked.
“I hope to watch her at work,” Berdie added. “We won’t go in until the tape’s removed, but, I just wondered if our presence in the church could possibly put off the verger.”
“Just spoken with him.” Meg’s tone was less than delighted. “If my brother’s given you permission, it doesn’t really matter how Keith feels about the matter, does it?”
“Keith. He’s the verger?” Lillie asked.
Meg gave a quick nod.
“Tell me Doctor Rhys… Meg, are you happy with Keith’s work?” Berdie worked at being nonchalant.
Meg raised her chin just a bit. “Why should that interest you?”
Berdie tried not to fumble her words as she realized Meg could catch her probing out. “Well…”
“Ah,” Meg interrupted, “you saw Keith and me having words in the garden the other day.”
“Yes,” Berdie replied quickly. “I couldn’t help but notice.”
Meg pursed her lips. “It’s no secret, really. Keith and I seldom agree on anything.” Meg directed her gaze toward the church. “I do feel a certain amount of responsibility to see things right for St. Baldred’s. She’s a lovely old church with great historical value.” She sounded almost wistful.
“She is lovely,” Berdie agreed.
“Still,” Meg returned her gaze to Berdie, “I do hope, deep down in Keith’s heart, he has a genuine concern for the success and wellbeing of the church. But if that’s true, our methods of accomplishing it are as different as the Atlantic is wide. And no boats going spare, I might add.”
“Oh,” Lillie said, as if the first sunrays of dawn danced upon her eyes. “Are you referring to the Trustyn thing?”
Meg frowned. “That among many things, but yes.” Her eyes took on fire and her lips clenched. “He all but endorses that wretched wives’ tale. And with this most recent horror, the whole thing has taken on a new head of steam. It makes my blood boil.”
And by the color her face had gone, boiling wasn’t far off.
“Why does he persist? Does he believe the story?” Lillie blurted.
Meg shook her short page boy hair. “Ask him.” She took rapid steps away from the conversation. “I’m off.”
“Have a good lecture. God go with you,” Berdie offered in benediction.
Meg gave a nodded acknowledgement as she hurried on her way.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned Trustyn.” Lillie’s voice sounded small.
“No. I’m glad you did, Lillie. Something’s out of sorts between those two, badly out of sorts.”
“Can we go get that toast now?”
Berdie glanced at the church. “I’m not surprised that Meg ignored the tape. And, is Keith in there?”
“Berdie,” Lillie said with some irritation, “the pub?”
“Yes.” Berdie eyed the police tape and then Lillie.
Lillie stepped in the direction of the eatery. “You know I believe they must grill their thick-cut artisan bread to make that yummy toast. It swims in herbed-butter, yet it’s so crispy. It’s highly unusual for a pub to be known for their toast. Very different. It must draw customers in.” Lillie stopped and turned. “Berdie, are you coming?”
Berdie put her finger on her chin. “Empty space?” Things were tumbling about in her brain. “What did you say?”
“The toast is deliciously crisp.”
“A real draw,” Berdie repeated to herself.
“The toast. Yes. Are we going or not?”
“A real draw,” Berdie repeated, “but why?”
Lillie tilted her head in a do-you-hear-me-at-all fashion.
“Of course we’re going, Lillie. And we’ve gotten our first clue.”
“Have we?”
“Thank you, Watson. You’ve done well.”
“Really?” Lillie’s smile could light the whole of Criswell. “That’s good then, though I really don’t know what I’ve done.”
“On to the pub, my dear. Your delightful toast is just steps away.”
When they reached the Watergate’s door, a group of women were leaving, and none of them looked very pleased.
“Really, in all my life I’ve not heard such a thing,” one well-coiffed woman railed.
“Obscene,” another blustered.
The two others with them murmured in agreement.
The well-coiffed woman looked at Berdie and thrust her bottom lip forward. “I shouldn’t go in if I were you.”
“And if you do,” the second one fumed, “don’t sit near that coarse bird.”
“Thank you,” Berdie acknowledged to the group as they trooped past. She tried not to smirk.
Lillie covered her mouth with her hand, but Berdie could see the upturned corners of her lips.
Once the women were well past, Berdie laughed. “Sailor must be at it.”
“Now we have to go in.” Lillie was keen.
When they stepped inside, several tables of people were laughing whilst the parrot sang some little ditty and bounced his head.
Berdie and Lillie looked for a table near Sailor, but there were none to be found.
“That’s enough, Sailor,” Gus called out.
“Put a sock in,” the parrot screeched.
Laughter bounced around the room.
Berdie had to laugh as well. “Sounds as if the regulars like him.”
Berdie and Lillie took a table near the fireplace.
“Hello, ladies,” a woman greeted in a rather deep, scratchy voice. She held a notepad and pencil in her thin blue-veined hands. “Pay no mind to that rascal.” Her straight-from-the-bottle carrot-colored hair was thinning, but it was volumized into a straight up bouffant. The aging pink-rouged cheeks bounced with the words, “What’s your pleasure?”
“Tea, please,” Berdie responded.
The waitress blinked her shimmery blue eyelids and scribbled on her notepad.
Berdie wondered how the woman even kept her eyes open considering the amount of mascara upon her eyelashes.
“And you, love?” she asked Lillie.
“Tea and some of your lovely toast.”
The waitress grinned.
The color of her teeth told Berdie that the woman loved her coffee, and perhaps a cigarette or two.
“You’ve become a fan,” the waitress croaked. “Everybody likes our special toast.”
“Then, I better have it as well,” Berdie added.
“There you see. Everybody.” She jotted her pencil. “Two teas with toast, on its way.”
“Aggie.” Gus stood two tables away. “Can you top off their coffee at number six?”
“Got it.” The carrot-haired senior scurried off.
Gus continued to talk and joke with the people at the table where he stood.
Lillie leaned toward Berdie. “Perhaps he could top off their coffee at number six? Aggie seems a bit, well, a bit long in the tooth to be running everywhere.”
“Lillie, neither of us are exactly spring chicks ourselves.”
“Speak for yourself, stewing hen,” Lillie groused.
Berdie laughed and watched Aggie pour coffee, smile, and chat with those at number six. “My guess is she loves working here.”
There was the sound of an overturned glass. A man at number six rocketed from his chair as water dripped from the table.
“Gracious, I am sorry,” Aggie declared in her gravelly voice.
The woman at the table with the chap grabbed her napkin and
dabbed the tabletop.
“You see?” Lillie said pointedly.
“Everyone makes mistakes,” Berdie defended.
Gus arrived at the dripping table with a cloth and bundles of apologies that in time turned to lighthearted banter whilst Aggie made for the swinging doors and the kitchen.
“Gus is certainly good with people,” Berdie observed.
“And parrots,” Lillie quipped.
Almost as if he heard her, Sailor began to sing.
Berdie couldn’t make out the words very well. Something fire, something more, desire, on and on. The people near him laughed. One woman put her hand over her mouth and raised her brows. Aggie, he squawked in song at the same time Aggie, the waitress, came back in the room bearing two brimming plates of full breakfasts.
“Aggie.” Lillie laughed. “Do you suppose the song’s about her?”
“There have been stranger things.” Aggie stood at their table. “Put a sock in it, you daft bird,” she yelled in her smoky voice.
“Put a sock in it, you daft bird,” Sailor squawked.
“You and Sailor are on first name terms?” Berdie asked.
A quick humph was Aggie’s only response. “Now, who’s the poached eggs with double bacon?” she asked, lowering a plate full of breakfast.
Lillie glanced at Berdie.
“Actually, neither of us,” Berdie responded.
“Tea with toast?” Lillie reminded.
“Oh, I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on.” Aggie laughed and shook her head. “These are for Al and Cathy.”
Gus, done with mopping up at number six, moved to Berdie and Lillie’s table.
Aggie lifted the plate. “Al and Cathy’s,” she explained to him.
Gus sighed and stooped closer to Berdie and Lillie. “Everything OK here?”
Both nodded.
“I’d fire the ol’ girl if she didn’t love to work in the pub so much.”
Berdie chuckled and gave Lillie her didn’t-I-just-say look.
“Well,” Gus went on, “that and the fact that she’s my sister.”
“Aggie’s your sister?” Berdie and Lillie chorused.
“More’s the pity,” he joked.
Berdie watched Aggie set the plates at the correct table. “She adds to the character of the Watergate, Mr.—?“
“Wells,” Gus responded, “but by all means, call me Gus, please.”
Berdie nodded. “Well, Gus, I like your Aggie.”
“Most do. She’s well loved, our Aggie is.” He flashed his Santa Claus grin.
The door opened and a young man entered. There was a distinct lull in conversation. The lad’s shirt declared Newcastle across his chest in the colors of that city’s football team. Even so, his face wasn’t so much cheerful but as rather drawn. His shoulders drooped, and the dark hair looked as if a comb wouldn’t go amiss.
Gus straightened. “Poor fellow.”
“Who is he?” Berdie asked.
“Neville’s assistant.” Gus answered without taking his eyes of the young man. “He was apprentice to the man who died yesterday. They lunched here every day last month, had a pint after work most days, too. Good people.” He nodded toward the fellow. “He was there when…”
“Was he?” Berdie queried quietly. She glanced at Lillie. “I need to speak with him,” she said under her breath.
“What?” Gus asked.
Berdie set her eyes on her host. “I’m a vicar’s wife, Gus. I’d like to offer him my condolences. Do you think he’d mind?”
“I shouldn’t think so, but you don’t know until you try. Let me speak to him first.”
Gus made way to the chap.
“I hope Gus can win him over,” Lillie whispered.
“So do I, Lillie. So do I.”
Berdie waited until Gus turned from talking with the young man. He gave a quick nod to Berdie.
Yes! She would handle this situation very circumspectly.
“Lillie, it may be best if you stay here.” Berdie jumped from her chair.
“Can I have your toast?”
“No, but I’m sure that won’t stop you.” Berdie moved to where Gus and the young man stood.
“Kit,” Gus introduced, “this kind lady is a vicar’s wife.”
“Berdie Elliott,” she offered.
The lad looked as if he lost a pound and found a penny.
“What can I get you, Kit?” Gus asked him. “Sorry, I’d offer a pint, but the well’s closed at the moment.”
“Cup of coffee, thanks.” Kit’s words were just audible.
Gus’s Father Christmas cheeks blossomed. “And a nice cinnamon bun? On the house.”
A corner of Kit’s mouth curved upward. “Thanks, yeah. Take away, please.”
“I’ll leave you to it.” Gus nodded and scurried off.
Berdie smiled at Kit. She guessed him to be early twenties. “Gus is a good man.”
“Yeah.” He stuck his hands in his jean pockets.
Berdie went to the heart of the matter. “Kit, I know you’re going through a very tough time.” She gazed tenderly upon his cheerless face. “Sometimes there’s so much focus on the deceased that the ones left behind don’t get all the support they need.”
Kit’s eyes, somewhat red and swollen, continued to simply stare at Berdie, along with nearly every eye in the pub. Berdie glanced about. “Shall we step outside?”
Kit took a fleeting look round the crowd. Abruptly, people’s gazes went back to their eggs and bacon. “Yeah, outside. There’s a bench.”
Once out the pub door, a wooden bench was just a few paces away, red potted geraniums on either side. Kit plopped down on the hard wood. Berdie joined him.
She took a deep breath. “You seem quite low, understandably.” She paused. “A chat often helps. Do you want to talk about it?”
Kit’s eyes perked. “You’re the first person to ask me that. I mean, the police fired questions at me right and left. But other people, even my best mate, seem over cheerful and talk about anything and everything except what’s happened.”
“It’s only because they don’t know quite what to say.” Berdie looked directly at him. “What did happen, Kit?”
He sighed and slouched forward.
“It’s weird. One minute you’re working with someone and the next minute they’re gone. I’ve never had that happen to me before.”
“No, I should think not.” Berdie softened her voice. “Did you and Mr. Oakes get on?”
A soft grin played on Kit’s face. “Neville had a bit of a gob; he could prattle on. See, I was an apprentice. Mr. Oakes, Neville, was a great instructor.”
“How’s that?”
“He explained every little thing. He was keen that I got things right. I mean every little thing.” The grin wilted a bit, then faded. “I liked learning from Neville. It’s just that sometimes he went on and on and I didn’t, well, I didn’t always listen.”
“Were you listening yesterday?”
Kit bit his lip. “Kind of.” He shuffled his athletic shoes against the ground. “He was working on the wiring, but his rubber gloves were wet. That old roof and the storm, you know. So he asked me to go get a dry pair from the work lorry. It took me a bit of time to find them.” He swallowed. “The next thing I know, I’m walking back with the gloves, and I hear a ragged scream like, and so I ran inside. And there he lay on the floor.” Kit closed his eyes and shook his head.
“It’s OK, Kit. You’re not there anymore.”
He gazed at Berdie as if searching for understanding. “I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there. Helpless, like.”
“You were in shock, Kit. It often happens.”
He took a deep breath. “That’s when she came in.”
“She?”
“That old lady. She raced to Neville and started pushing her hands on his chest. ‘Call nine, nine, nine,’ she yelled.” Kit rubbed his hands over his thighs. “I was so glad she showed up. She seemed to know what to do, beating
his chest.”
“Yes. Where did she come from?” Berdie probed. “The main entrance, side door, rear, or was she already inside?”
“I think, main entrance,” he paused, “yeah.” He gazed straight ahead, as if listening to a memory, his forehead in a pensive crease. “She must have had something with her, because I heard a clattering noise and suddenly, she was there.”
“Clattering,” Berdie mused. “Yes, well, I’m sure it was a relief to have help.”
“She kept hitting his chest. But she couldn’t, you know. He was gone.” Kit hung his head. He wiped his finger under his nose.
Berdie gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“It’s just that…” His lips went white for clenching. His shoulders tensed.
“It’s just that what?”
“It shouldn’t have happened!” His words were etched with irritation. “Safety first. He said that a hundred times.”
“I’m sure Neville was careful.”
“Careful?” Red flushed Kit’s neck. “He was obsessed. Even my mother, who won’t cross the street except at the traffic light, wasn’t as demanding.”
“Obsessed, vigilant,” Berdie whispered.
“I know it was old wiring, ancient even. But…” Kit jabbed his finger at his chest. “I watched him turn the mains off. How could it suddenly become live? How?”
“And you told the police all this?”
“I answered their questions, one after another. So, I must have.”
Berdie knew that may or may not have been the case. It all depended on the questions they asked.
“Then there’s all this talk of a church ghoul.”
“You can dismiss that daft idea right off hand, Kit. There is no church ghoul at St. Baldred’s.”
The lad released a long exhale followed by a quick nod.
“Did you know who it was that came to your aid?”
“She was old. White hair. She’s sister to the guvner.”
“Guvner?”
“Him, who owns Criswell Abbey.”
“Edward Cavendish? White hair? It was Wilhelmina Cavendish?”
An opening pub door was accompanied by a bright, “I hope I’m not interrupting.” Gus held a carrier bag and Styrofoam cup.
“Oh, thanks, Gus.” Kit stood and took the goods. “Thanks for talking, Mrs. Elliott.”
All Hallows Dead (Berdie Elliott Mysteries) Page 6