“What?”
Gus and Keith’s clandestine conversation concerning young Pip popped into Berdie’s mind.
“Mr. Horsham, this is Mrs. Elliott, a friend of your uncle,” Keith said with a hard edge.
Pip looked at Berdie as if he’d not noticed her there until that moment.
“Oh, yes. From dinner the other night. You’re the one with a cigar-smoking friend.” He grinned.
Berdie worked at a smile. “Hello, Phillip.”
The young man started as if poked in the ribs. “Oh. No, no. Not Gus your brother, Keith. It was a friend of mine from Bridgeford that rang this morning. Gus. Gus from Bridgeford.”
Keith nodded uneasily.
Who did they think they were kidding?
“Pip, you look as though you could use a nice hot cuppa,” Berdie smiled. “I’d be glad to get you some tea at the Watergate.”
Keith frowned.
After registering a quick glance in the verger’s direction, Pip replied. “I don’t frequent the Watergate. I understand it has great food, excellent food. But, I don’t go in there.” He said the last words with a somewhat posh tone, making it over-evident that he was trying too hard to convince her.
Berdie actually meant she would fetch a cup of something hot for him, but never mind now. She wanted to tell both men to forget ever auditioning for the stage because their acting stunk.
Then Pip’s words took on significant meaning. I don’t go in there. Something buzzed in her head. “Nor do you serve,” she said absently.
Pip squinted. “Serve? In the Watergate? Are you mad?”
“Well,” Keith barged in, “I say it’s about time you see to this church situation, Mr. Horsham. Surely, as a Cavendish family member, you can go in and see what’s what.”
Berdie waited to hear the young Cavendish’s response.
He slipped his hands into his pockets. There seemed to be no great rush on his part. “That guard looks a brute.”
Considering Pip had slits for eyes, the young man could certainly see well enough.
“I’ve got to fetch Aunt Willy from Newcastle Airport soon,” he stalled.
“Traveling, is she?” Berdie asked.
“She and her group of old friends are at some gathering of a St. John’s Ambulance Brigade event in Guernsey. Have done for several days. All this falderal going on around here, she needed to get away.” The young man scratched his ribs. “I’d rather be on the green right now, actually. And, to be precise, one that bears my name as owner.”
“You’re not on your own green, yet,” the verger pronounced.
Yet? Berdie found that an interesting comment.
Pip scrutinized the church. “My uncle’s throwing good money after bad on this old pile. It’s all so ridiculous.”
“It is not.” Keith’s words sounded like stamping feet. “Now, go find out what’s happening in there.”
“OK, calm yourself. I’ll see what I can do.” Pip ambled toward the guard, and engaged him in conversation.
Berdie was sure the young man’s attempt would be to no avail.
Pip turned to face Keith and shrugged.
Keith pursed his lips.
The verger and his young Cavendish may as well paint WE’RE IN SOMETHING TOGETHER UP TO OUR NECKS on the side of the church. And it was something underhanded. But, were either of them really capable of murder?
“You seem quite frustrated, Keith. Would you like to join me for some tea?”
His eyes never left poor Pip who made another attempt to engage Goliath. “No thank you,” Keith whipped. “I’m fine,” came out like two rapid bullets. “But, please, don’t let me keep you.”
It sounded more a command than a pleasantry.
Berdie’s stomach was gurgling like a shy school girl. She put her hand to her abdomen. “Excuse me. Yes, I will enjoy a cuppa.”
Really, what more was there to glean here at this moment? Neither man would gain access.
“I hope your day goes well,” Berdie offered to the churchman.
“Quite,” was Keith’s tight-jawed response. His eyes were still glued on Pip who was getting nowhere with the guard.
Berdie made her way to the Watergate. Perhaps findings from Edward’s experts would answer the one constant question that plagued her. Why should someone cover over the priest hole and all it held once it was discovered? Obviously, it was meant to hide something. What? That was vital in determining who committed the crimes. She felt just a breath away from knowing who the perpetrator was. “And I’ll go after them with both barrels,” she vowed.
There were only three occupied tables in the Watergate when she entered. Berdie approached Gus who didn’t look at all eager to dispense any sunshine.
“You are open, I presume?” Berdie studied the publican whose arms were crossed
He looked out the window that faced the church. “It’s a sad day when people are deprived of their history because an ancient building is shut down.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t think it’s for good,” Berdie offered.
“It’s long enough to ding my business.” He jerked his head in the church’s direction. “Look at that Neanderthal on the door over there. He’d put anyone off.”
“I should think it would do quite the opposite,” Berdie countered. “They’ll be round in time. Never underestimate the curiosity factor.”
“No good will come of this.”
“Why should you say that, Gus?”
He didn’t even look at her. “I’ve got to go fix a leaky tap,” he mumbled. “Aggie will get your food for you, Mrs. Elliott.” Without another word, Gus shot into the kitchen.
No Father Christmas this morning. She considered just what Gus, Keith, and Pip could be up to. A possibility took shape in her mind and it began to form a clear picture. Could it be? Were they spoiling to build up, to promote their own pockets? If so, that thinking needed a major fix. And she would do her part to make sure it got repaired.
Berdie sat down at a table near Sailor who seemed rather subdued this morning as well.
“You clever bird,” Berdie said to the creature.
Sailor turned his head, almost as if listening to Berdie’s words. He scooted to and fro along his perch.
“Do you see all that goings-on at the church?” She leaned toward the cage. “It’s all your fault, you know. You and your wonderfully cryptic song. Others heard a bawdy tune, but it was a lively enigmatic key to treasure. Dennison sang that often, did he, the poet he was? You told me what to look for and where to find it.” She eased backward. “Well done, Sailor.”
“Well done, Sailor,” the bird echoed.
“It’s come to that, hey?” Aggie’s bass voice matched her sagging shoulders this morning. “Talking to that old salt?”
“Hello, Aggie.” Berdie smiled. “Yes, Sailor and I were having a morning chin wag.”
Aggie let the hint of a grin spread cross her magenta lips, but her heavily made-up eyes wore a touch of sadness. “He’s heard more of my problems than you’ve had cups of tea.”
“I don’t know, Aggie. I’ve had a great deal of tea in my time.” Berdie chuckled.
The old woman’s eyes took on a glossy sheen.
“Aggie, are you all right?” Berdie intended her comment to be lighthearted, but it seemed to trigger just the opposite reaction. “That was a silly thing for me to say.”
“No, it’s not you.” Aggie sniffed. “It’s me. You think you’ve got all that rot behind you. Then it pounces on you like a lion.”
“Rot?” Berdie was concerned and at the same moment inquisitive. “What is it, Aggie?”
Before Berdie could ask Aggie to join her, the waitress slid onto a chair at the table.
“St. Baldred’s has a cloud over it, and each time it rumbles, I get wet all over again.”
“I’m not entirely sure I understand, Aggie.”
“I was married to my Fitch, Fitch Dennison, when he met his death at the church.”
“Ah, ye
s. Tough one, that. Difficult for you, no doubt.”
“With Neville Oakes and now this newest disturbance,” she nodded in the church’s direction, “it’s so ‘in your face.’”
“I’m sorry, Aggie. Can I help in any way?”
The fretful woman’s face crumpled. “Why I should even consider the silly dolt? It makes no sense. Fitch was a womanizing, coarse old goat that drank too much and gamed himself into debt.” Her tired eyes softened. “He was helplessly weak to temptation.” She swallowed. “And, I loved him.”
“Yes. I imagine you did.”
“I lit a candle and said a prayer for him at St. Mary and All Angels last night. Father Preston spent a few moments with me, too.”
Berdie sensed a slight comfort in Aggie’s tone.
“Gus and I have gone to that church in Bridgeford all our lives. Fitch and I married there.”
Aggie wiped wet from the corner of her eye, picked up a paper napkin, and dabbed at her nose. “Look at me. Blubbing over a ne'er-do-well.”
“Love lost is never easy.”
“For heaven’s sake, I’ve moved on. I’ve married a good and kind man.” She wiped her nose again. “Still.”
Berdie leaned closer to the woman. “Losing someone who was once the most important person in your life will always have a lasting effect, Aggie. Grief is an odd duck, no matter how far you move on. And, in time, all this fuss at the church will blow over. You’ll be fine in no time.”
She nodded and her shoulders went a bit straighter. Her eyes perked. “Well, for all his scandalous behavior, Fitch was quite generous in the end.”
“Was he?”
“He left me a nice little nest egg.” Aggie ran a finger over the back of her wrinkled hand. “He must have stashed it away, me unawares. Just over thirty thousand pounds it was. The pilchard.”
“That is a nice nest egg.” Berdie’s calm words disguised her astonishment. Considering Fitch was a tradesman with some costly vices, it wasn’t just a nice nest egg. It was exceptional.
“Well, enough of this.” Aggie stuck the napkin in her pocket. “My gob going on so, and you wanting breakfast.” A slip of smile signaled a fresh way forward. “Now, we’ve got some Old Spot rashers just delivered this morning. Sound good?”
“Yes, please. I do enjoy fresh bacon. Accompanied by nicely poached eggs and some of your excellent toast?”
“Consider it on the way.” She raised her aged body from the chair. “You’ve been very kind. Cheers, Mrs. Elliott.”
Berdie gave Aggie’s hand a gentle squeeze. “God go with you, Aggie.”
Aggie seemed in slightly better spirits entering the kitchen, but Berdie was tormented with curiosity. Was Aggie telling her the truth about the money? But then, why would Aggie lie to her when the woman simply saw her as a vicar’s wife offering comfort? That raised a much more crucial question. Where did Fitch Dennison get thirty thousand pounds? Or, from whom? She knew just who to contact for the answers. And, after a certain amount of thought, deliberation, and facts considered, she may have some helpful information for them, too.
Berdie pulled her mobile from her coat pocket and brought up the number for her dear friend and comrade.
“Jasper Kent,” a rushed voice answered.
“Chief Inspector Kent, good morning. How are things at the Yard?”
“Well, well. Berdie Elliott. It’s been a while. Dare I ask what you’re up to?”
“More to the point, it’s what I hope you’ll soon be up to. I may have some useful information for you, and I’m in need of a bit of a few facts myself.”
“You’ve no doubt gotten a scent on someone.”
“Yes. The information I can offer may help solve a current London hit-and-run case, and the bit I need is all above board anyway.”
“I’d expect nothing less from you, Berdie. So, tell me about your bit. Then, I’ll give you your needed information which will, no doubt, nail your suspect to the wall.”
****
“Berdie, will you please sit down?” Hugh’s voice was slightly perturbed.
She stood at their bedroom window to watch the sun glow its last hurrah before sinking altogether. The crew at St. Baldred’s continued their work. “I’m becoming like the impatient Doctor Meg, or fussing Keith. Waiting for Edward to ring up with the news of what he’s discovered is more difficult than I expected.”
“You’ve only eaten half your sandwich. Are you going to finish your dinner?”
Berdie went to the dressing table, picked up a brush, and ran it through her hair. “And of course I won’t be able to sleep a wink tonight.”
“You’re like a cat on a hot tin roof.”
“The information Chief Inspector Kent gave me could be a real nail in the coffin. But, I need to know what Edward has found.” Berdie went back to the window. “It’s all about motive. But, I need more hard facts or perhaps a confession. When I know Edward’s findings, this case may be done and dusted.”
“Yes, but does wearing a path in the carpet help to make Cavendish’s call come any quicker?”
Berdie turned on her heel. “A path? I’m not pacing.”
“Really? Well then, love, sit down and finish your sandwich.”
Berdie considered her husband. He was right. Composure, at this moment, was not her strong suit. And flitting about would only add to her edginess. “I s’pose you’re right.”
She sat in the chair next to the butler table. Hugh’s plate was nearly empty. She nibbled at her roast beef with pickle tucked between two pieces of crusty bread.
“Loren and Lillie spent a good deal of time together today,” Hugh said.
“Right.” Berdie opened her bag of cheesy-onion flavored crisps and was half-heartedly grateful that Hugh attempted to distract her from her current train of thought.
“Loren said they did a great deal of shopping in Bridgeford.”
“I’m not surprised. Lillie calls shopping retail therapy. She’s one of the healthiest shoppers I know.”
Hugh took the last bite of his sandwich. “Yes, well, Loren said that there wasn’t an opportune time to get into a serious conversation and pop the question.”
“Has he given up on an atmosphere of fine food and candlelight, then?”
“Not totally. But I reminded him, if he wants to ask her whilst in Northumbria, he has forty-eight hours left. The conference is over in two days. Trying to convince him that he might have to settle on something less than his romantic ideal didn’t sit well with him.”
“Do you think he’ll cry off the whole idea?”
“I should hope not. It would be such a….”
Whatever Hugh said next was inaudible in Berdie’s head because her mobile sang out its tune and her temporary composure disappeared into thin air. She sent her crisps flying in an attempt to retrive the device.
“Berdie Elliott here.”
“Well, Berdie, are you sitting down?” Edward boomed.
****
“Don’t get too comfortable, Hugh,” Berdie coaxed after ringing off from her conversation with Edward.
“That must have been quite the tête-à-tête judging by the length of it.” Hugh had his nose in a book.
“We’re going to Marthrad House. And wear your collar.”
Hugh baulked. “Marthrad House. What? Now? I’ve only just settled into a good read.”
“Well, unsettle.” Berdie pushed a number on her mobile. “Lillie, it’s Berdie. We’re gathering at Marthrad House this evening.”
“Are we?” Lillie sounded excited. “So Edward’s called, then.”
“He has. You won’t believe what’s come up with the shovel.”
“More than I can imagine, by the sounds of it. Now tell me. Who’s the criminal, Berdie?”
“I’ve not said to anyone yet, not even Edward. And, I haven’t time to tell you right now, Lillie, but you’ll find out soon enough.”
“I daren’t miss it.”
“Bring Loren.”
“He w
as a bit quiet today, but yes, he’ll come.”
“We’ll meet you both downstairs at the sitting room in half an hour.”
“Can’t wait.”
Berdie rang off.
She gathered the sandwich plates. “Be sure to wear your military bearing, Hugh, as well as the collar. We may need a referee for this gathering.”
“What on earth for?” Hugh was still buried in his book.
“Lillie will be my back-up witness.”
“Back-up for what?”
“I’ve asked Edward to gather the whole clan, plus the Wells and Slade families. He thought it an excellent idea to announce his findings in one go to the entire lot. It saves on muddle. But, it could become quite acrimonious. I need a confession which means I’m going to have to goad some individuals. I assured Edward you were very commanding.”
Hugh’s head jerked up. “Are you expecting a dust up?”
Berdie dumped her half sandwich into the rubbish. “Solicitors will be present to sort legal issues. Taking Jasper Kent’s advice, I insisted that Edward ask Detective Inspector Underwood to come as well.”
Hugh frowned. “I don’t like the sound of this, Berdie.”
“Then pray all goes well. I certainly am.”
As she and Hugh prepared for the event at Marthrad House, Berdie told him bits and pieces of what she had learned from Edward, and what she expected could happen at the group get together, although she didn’t go into any real detail. And she certainly didn’t tell him who perpetrated the crimes. But she sensed that he had a good notion who it was.
Berdie and Hugh met Loren and Lillie in the charming sitting room where not one of them actually took a seat. There was no hanging about. They set out for Marthrad House on foot immediately.
Whilst Loren and Hugh walked ahead chatting together, Berdie strode in tandem with Lillie. “I feel a bit like Hercule Poirot,” she confessed.
Lillie giggled. “’I’ve gathered you all here to name the murderer,’” she gargled in a deep voice with a French accent. “Is that what you mean?”
“I’ve not done this before, gathered all the suspects together.”
“True. Are you just a wee bit excited to see how it all plays out?”
Berdie lifted her brows just as the butterflies took flight in her stomach. “I shouldn’t want to bet on who’s going to shout loudest, or require sweet tea, or something stronger, for the shock.”
All Hallows Dead (Berdie Elliott Mysteries) Page 19