“Oh,” Berdie perked. “Yes.” She hoped she sounded convincing because the design wasn’t any more recognizable. She tipped her head. “Well, you’ve spent quite some time carefully crafting it.”
Lillie balanced on one of her crutches and snatched the sketchbook away altogether. “That’s the best you can say? You’ve no idea, have you?”
“Did I say that?”
Lillie tipped her head and eyed Berdie’s undressed ear. “Going pirate, are you?”
Berdie put her hand where the earring should be. “Oh, dear. Well I guess I’ll need to come back later and hunt for it as we need to get ready for the memorial service. We’ve no time going spare right now.”
Lillie raised her brows and smiled. “Um hum. What are you up to?”
Berdie just grinned.
As they made way past the garden’s yews, she noticed a figure exit the Watergate and walk toward them. “Lillie,” she said with curiosity, “is that who I think it is?”
7
The person, who just exited the Watergate pub, wore a black shimmering blouse gathered at the waist by a sizeable silver-sequined belt and a fake fur stole round her shoulders. Tight black leggings hugged her thin legs. Carrot colored hair stuck out from under a black pill box hat with netting.
“Aggie,” Berdie confirmed.
“If she’s attending Neville’s funeral, she’s properly in black,” Lillie observed. “More or less.”
Aggie drew closer, carrying a small tray.
“Hello, ladies,” she scratched out in her base voice. “You’re rather quick off the mark, with the police tape down. Going about your church business?”
“Church business?” Air caught in Berdie’s throat. Did this old dear, who worked the village pub, somehow get wind of what Berdie was about?
Aggie took in the church. “Are you enjoying your morning sketching?”
“Oh. Yes,” Lillie offered with some hesitance.
“Wonderful.” Berdie expelled a pent up breath with relief.
The tray Aggie possessed held a small pot of tea, a cup, plus two pieces of the favored toast. She eyed the still opened sketchbook in Lillie’s awkward grip.
Aggie cocked her head and stared at the drawing.
Berdie took the tablet from Lillie, held it so Aggie could see it properly, and prayed for the best.
Aggie took a prolonged perusal of it and lifted her silvery blue eyelids to look at the artist. Her orange-red lips formed a smile. “Oh, I do like what you’ve done with the shadowing.”
“Thank you, Aggie, I worked on that specially,” Lillie preened.
Berdie looked at the picture again. Shadowing?
“Don’t let us keep you from taking a moment.” Lillie nodded toward the laden tray.
“Oh, no. This is for my brother.”
Berdie put the sketchbook under her arm. “Gus not in the pub, then?”
“Yes, he is.” She let go an earthy giggle. “This is for my youngest brother.”
“Who’s that, then?” Lillie chirped.
Aggie glanced toward the church. “Keith, Keith Wells. He’s the church verger.”
“Keith?” Berdie didn’t even try to hide her amazement.
“Would you believe it?” Aggie raised her thin penciled-in eyebrows. “I get that reaction from people all the time. They’re always shocked to find that Keith and Gus are my brothers. Mind you, neither of them acts like they’re from the same family.”
“Their appearance is so different from one another,” Lillie marveled.
“Gus took after mum, whereas Keith is the spit of dad. I’m just a wholesome blend. Well, apart from some improvements found on the shelves at Boot’s beauty counter.” Aggie laughed, fingering a strand of orange hair.
Lillie joined Aggie with a gentle chuckle, but Berdie just grinned. She had a rather serious question for Aggie on her mind.
“If I may ask, Aggie, when you say your brothers don’t act like they’re family, what do you mean?”
“One’s a publican and the other works in the church. That should give a clue right there. They’re chalk and cheese, those two. Have been since they were in shorts.”
“So you could say they don’t spend Saturdays together watching football.”
“Watching football? They don’t even speak to each other. It’s been years since they’ve had anything more than the time of day for each other.”
“That sounds difficult,” Lillie sympathized.
“Tell me,” Aggie croaked. “God only knows what might cause those two to finally come together.” She had a somewhat weary look. “I take tea to Keith nearly every day. Since I work at the pub with Gus, it’s only fair.”
“Kind of you,” Berdie commended. “Love your brothers as yourself.”
Aggie grinned. “I’ve not thought of it quite like that, but yes, I suppose so. Anyway, I’d better get this to Keith before it gets cold. Must leave for the funeral in a bit.”
“Yes, we’re just on our way back to the inn to get ready to go as well. Perhaps we’ll see you later.”
“And I look forward to seeing whatever else you may draw of St. Baldred’s,” Aggie told Lillie.
“Of course.” Lillie’s face lit with a bit of confidence. “Thank you for taking time to chat, Aggie.”
Aggie nodded and moved on.
By all appearances, the woman sincerely hoped to see more of Lillie’s work. Wonder of wonders.
“Who’d have thought it?” Lillie whispered after Aggie left.
“Yes. She truly wants to see more of your art work.”
“No, Berdie.” Lillie’s tone held a caustic tinge. “I mean that Gus and Keith are brothers.”
“Oh, indeed. And not just brothers, Lillie, but brothers that aren’t on speaking terms. How do you mend something like that?”
****
The grey overcast sky seemed to sympathize with the gloom that filled St. Margret’s Church in Alnwick. The ceremony was simple but meaningful as last farewells were given for Neville Oakes. At the end, Berdie gave her condolences to Neville Oakes’s wife as well as Kit.
Now, she, along with Lillie, sat on a bench in the sadly neglected church garden. They joined the other attendees who milled about, apparently waiting for some direction about the food and drink that usually follows a funeral. Berdie spotted Meg and decided to join her.
“Come along, Hop-Along,” she teased Lillie. “Let’s greet Doctor Meg, and then we’re off.”
Berdie walked cross the patchy lawn, Lillie limping behind.
“I must say,” Berdie greeted Meg. “This garden doesn’t appear very well loved, not like your St. Baldred’s.”
“Fancy seeing you two here.” Meg eyed the grounds. “It’s true. Whatever else his shortcomings, Keith Wells keeps St. Baldred’s landscape in good nick.” Meg shivered against the wind. “I do wish someone would offer us something hot to drink.”
“Something must be on offer somewhere,” Lillie said.
Meg sniffed. “An Irish Coffee wouldn’t go amiss. Blustery outside and blooming cold in that church as well.”
“Still, a full house. Mr. Oakes must have been well liked.” Berdie pulled her black woolen hat down a bit to protect against the rising wind. She was warm in her trousers and heavy black coat, but she couldn’t imagine how the weather was affecting Meg in her lightweight dress with only a shawl to cover.
“We’re paying for all this, you know.” Meg’s words were as biting as the wind.
“Praying is an act of kindness.” Berdie hoped the good doctor wasn’t going numb.
“Paying, not praying.” Meg pulled her shawl tightly round her arms. “My family I mean. The widow made all the arrangements, and we covered the cost. I drew the short straw to be the Cavendish representative to attend this affair.”
“Really?” Berdie found that a sad commentary.
“It’s been done a bit hastily, cremation you know, but it cuts down on unwanted press. St. Baldred’s doesn’t need any more bad pu
blicity, and Oakes’s wife was glad to have it over and done. Especially since we’ve set up a fund for the family to which we’ve already generously donated.” Meg sounded somewhat dispassionate. “My sister called in a few favors and here we are, all done and dusted.”
“Taking responsibility seems compassionate.” Berdie used the word “seems” with careful optimism.
“Least we could do, really. Hopefully put off any ideas the wife may have of a lawsuit.” Meg scanned the crowd. “Do you see any caterers? I noticed poor Aggie Milburn is here, but certainly not for catering purposes. This has to be nightmarish for her.”
“Aggie.” Lillie squirmed a bit on her crutches. “Do you mean Gus and Keith’s sister?”
“That’s the one. Aggie Wells Potter Dennison Milburn, to be exact.”
“That’s a mouthful,” Lillie said.
“Of course, Wells is Aggie’s maiden name.” Meg put her index finger on her palm. “She married Oscar Potter right out of the Upper Sixth, got divorced after she had an affair. Then,” she put her next finger on her palm, “she married Fitch Dennison with whom she had had the affair. She became widowed by him, to her benefit.” Meg put her ring finger on her palm. “And now her husband is Gerald Milburn who’s older than dirt.”
“Hang about,” Berdie urged, “go back to the second one.”
“Fitch Dennison.”
That name had a ring. “What do you mean being widowed to her benefit?”
“Oh Fitch was quite the dandy, a philanderer.”
“Woman in every port?” Lillie asked.
“Make that women and you’ve got the idea. Poor Aggie put up with it, she was almost a saint.” Meg shivered.
Berdie glanced at Aggie standing next to Gus some distance away.
“By all accounts, Fitch was her true love,” Meg continued. “Somehow, he fancied himself a poet.” She smirked. “I’d have had the randy goat kicked out of the house and on the street before he could count to two.” She tugged her shawl tighter. “And fish envied the way he drank.”
“Poor Aggie.” Lillie sagged on her crutches as the wind blew a dark curl against her cheek.
Berdie watched Gus give his sister a tissue. Aggie dabbed round her eyes. “Apart from funerals not being especially pleasant, why should this be a nightmare for Aggie?”
“What?” Meg vigorously rubbed her hands together. “Oh. Dennison, who was her husband at the time, died at St. Baldred’s when doing restoration work. Drunken sot fell off his ladder. It must dredge up ghastly memories for her.”
Dennison. Edward told Berdie and Lillie, yes, about the inebriated worker who fell off the ladder whilst repairing the tower. Murder number one?
“What is she doing here?” Meg didn’t conserve her volume.
“Who?” Berdie turned her eyes to the garden’s edge where Meg’s stare was directed. A rather plain woman stood alone. A tatty grey dress peeked from beneath a huge coat that draped her thin body, and her long brown hair was pulled back. Berdie guessed her to be around forty-years-old. Something about her seemed rather sad. “Who is she?”
“Ruby Turner.” Meg’s lovely black brows were in a scowl.
“Turner?” Lillie repeated.
“Related to your housekeeper, perhaps?” Berdie rubbed the top of her nose.
“Sister.”
“Does this sister rush about as madly as your Turner?” Lillie asked.
“Why did she come?” Meg appeared stumped.
Berdie was finding this gathering to be of more and more interest. “Why shouldn’t she be here?”
Meg ran her hand through the black hair that whipped near the nape of her neck. “Family dynamics and deceit are explosive bedfellows.”
“Are they?” Berdie prepared herself for a good chat on the matter.
Meg scanned the front road. “This is all a bit disorganized. Where’s the host, anyway? I need a hot drink.”
Berdie wanted to say that this was a funeral, not a garden party, but thought better of it. “As you said, it was done in haste. What family explosives, Meg?”
“There’s a nice pub cross the road.” She ignored Berdie’s question. “Care to join me?”
Before Berdie could answer a resounding, yes, Lillie cut in.
“No,” came out much stronger than her stance with the crutches. “We need to get along home ourselves.”
“As you wish. I’m off.”
And she was off, indeed, to Berdie’s chagrin. “God go with you.” She pondered what she might miss by not going with Meg, yet she knew Lillie was beginning to lag.
Berdie turned her attention back to the crowd where she noticed Keith, who was nowhere near Aggie or Gus. He joined Ruby Turner. Explosive dynamics?
“Hey ya’.” Berdie nudged Lillie. “What do you suppose that’s about?”
Berdie watched Keith take Ruby’s hand and squeeze it. The woman looked down, quite glum, whilst he spoke. The space between the two was not the usual formal distance. It was more of a hovering together.
“Cozy, I’d say.” Lillie fidgeted with her crutches, obviously distracted. “I’ve had about enough of these unmanageable sticks.”
Keith nodded his head, let go Ruby’s hand, and went back into the crowd, with a lingering glance back at the woman.
“Odd.” Berdie observed Gus who still stood by distressed Aggie, and then eyed Keith, now chatting with a group of men far from his sister and brother. “Awkward.”
“Berdie, of course it’s awkward. These crutches are uncomfortable to say nothing of the frosty breeze.”
“What?”
“Can we please go home?”
“You know, today is day three, Lillie, the day I need to give Hugh cold hard facts about this case. So much of what I’ve observed urges me to dig deeper. But, do I have enough hard evidence to convince Hugh that I must push on?”
“Berdie, can you hear me?” Lillie almost yelled. “If we don’t push on home, there’s going to be plenty of evidence that I’ve throttled you.”
Berdie took Lillie in. Her teeth appeared to chatter beneath her bright red nose, and she sagged like a snow laden pine bough on her crutches, “Oh, sorry, Lillie. Sorry. Of course, we’re on our way back to Criswell right now. You need rest, and I need to go shopping.”
****
“Twelve pounds fifty, please.” The young woman’s oil smudge on her chin bounced with the words.
Berdie wanted to grab a tissue and wipe the grease away, but resisted the impulse for Hugh’s sake of embarrassment. He stood at her side.
“Cash or credit card?” The words, barely perceptible, were directed toward Hugh between bites of chocolate bar.
“Cash.”
Berdie cradled the very large torch they had purchased in her arm.
Hugh pulled his wallet from his trouser pocket.
A toy tow truck sitting near check out lit up with flashing yellow lights and began to crank out an obnoxious noise that made Berdie jump.
Honk. Honk. “Break downs happen everywhere,” it sang out incredibly loud and garbled. “Criswell Garage will do repair.”
“I’d love to blow that thing up.” The attendant gave the truck a thump, distorting the on-going lyrics.
Hugh eyed it curiously.
“It has a motion sensor,” she explained. “Movement at just the right spot sets it going. Naff thing.”
Hugh gingerly placed cash on the counter whilst Berdie backed away from the ghastly contraption.
“Doug does everything to improve the quality of this shop.” She took Hugh’s money and placed it in the till. “A coat of fresh paint and new windows, brought in a hardware department, even got Wi-Fi so people can use their tablets and phones whilst waiting for their rides.” The young woman bit off another chunk of chocolate like it was shoe leather. “Then his wife discovers this tacky gear at a trade fair. ‘Customized advertising,’ she said. Thinks it’s clever. But she doesn’t have to work here ten hours a day, does she?”
“I see your point
, clearly.” Berdie’s thoughts began to spin. “Activated,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t wonder.” A new possibility was planted.
Hugh stuffed his wallet back into his pocket.
Yellow lights flashed. Honk. Honk.
Berdie was out the door, Hugh just behind, putting the loathsome garble out of sight and mind.
“Hugh, I really am fine going on my own.”
“No. Lillie’s done in. I don’t want you to go alone to St. Baldred’s to search out that earring. It will soon be dark.”
Berdie wasn’t all that keen on Hugh partaking in her investigative work, but he was sincere in his concern. Then she reconsidered. Could browsing St. Baldred’s make him more amenable to her continued probing?
Though the sun was waning and shadows waxing, the wind had ebbed, and surprisingly, owl-eyed Sydney from the Bell Tower Inn stepped from the church door, laptop under his arm, just as they arrived.”
“Good evening, Sydney. What brings you to St. Baldred’s?” Berdie gave him a smile.
“Reverend and Mrs. Elliott, nice to see you.” He lifted his laptop. “The net’s down at the inn.”
“And you came to pray it would be restored?” Berdie asked slightly tongue in cheek.
“Good one, Mrs. Elliott.” Sydney laughed. “No, it’s being restored as we speak. But, I had some reservations to confirm quickly, so I just came down to borrow the church Wi-Fi.”
“Borrow?” Hugh asked.
Sydney went a bit pink. “Oh, it’s all above board. Keith’s given permission for me to use it when needed.”
“The church has Wi-Fi?” Berdie found that a bit unusual.
The young man lowered his voice. “Keith’s not keen that people know he’s got it here.” He looked left and right. “He doesn’t want the place chock-o-block with piggybacking villagers. You know, computer gamers or coffee-swilling impulse on-line shoppers.”
“I should say he wouldn’t,” Hugh agreed. “Mum's the word.”
“Must get back to the inn, then. See you later this evening.”
“Yes.” Berdie’s possibility that began in the shop started to gel as she and Hugh entered the church.
“Isn’t it lovely?” Hugh’s first words, once inside, were almost lyrical. Berdie had to admit that the church took on a kind of mystic glow at this time of day.
All Hallows Dead (Berdie Elliott Mysteries) Page 10