“I thought as much,” said Florence, keeping a round cake tin level as she withdrew it from the depths of her carrier bag. “Perhaps you could use this. It’s a Victoria sponge with a raspberry jam filling. I made it just this morning. You can’t have too much cake, I always say.”
Bronwyn’s eyes lit up. “Oh, bless you, Florence, that’s brilliant! I’ll give it to Mari right now and you can have your tin back.” As she spoke, a woman entered the room carrying a cut-glass serving dish on which slices of chocolate cake protected by cling film had been arranged in careful rows. Bronwyn waited until she had set the plate on the refreshment table, then handed the cake tin to her, with an explanation and a brief introduction to Florence and Mrs. Lloyd. By now, three or four women had gathered in line behind Mrs. Lloyd and Florence, so Bronwyn handed them song sheets and then gently suggested that they move on into the room and find places to sit. “Just introduce yourselves, although I’m sure you know almost everybody anyway, Mrs. Lloyd.”
Mrs. Lloyd greeted a few women and then, happening to turn her gaze to the door, murmured to Florence, “Here they are!”
Penny and Victoria, standing in front of Bronwyn, signed in, then took a few hesitant steps onto the blue carpet.
“I knew you’d find a way to make it,” Mrs. Lloyd said, greeting them. She turned to Florence and added, “Wasn’t I just saying as much?”
“Indeed you were,” agreed Florence. “Quite a turnout, isn’t there, Penny?”
Penny scanned the room. The meeting had attracted about thirty women, including several she didn’t know, and quite a few she did. She recognized a few from the Spa, who, although not her manicure clients, availed themselves of other services, such as hair, massages, or skin treatments. She smiled at a couple of women across the room and nodded and raised a polite hand in greeting at another. And then she caught sight of a small solitary figure standing alone off to one side, head lowered, writing in a pocket notebook.
Barbara Vickers.
Before Penny could cross the room to speak to Barbara, Florence remarked that the meeting was about to begin. “We’d better find our seats,” she said. The two rows of chairs had filled up quickly with middle-aged and elderly women, leaving only a couple of empty single seats. “If we can find any, that is.”
Mrs. Lloyd had a word with a white-haired woman in the second row, everyone obligingly shifted along, and Florence and Mrs. Lloyd settled into the two empty chairs at the end of the row. Victoria and Penny remained standing at one end of the tea table, their backs brushing the wall.
Bronwyn, Barbara, and a woman Penny didn’t know but assumed to be Elin Spears took their places at the table at the front of the room. When the last of the chatter died down and she had their full attention, the woman called the meeting to order.
“Right then, ladies, we’ll begin as usual with the singing of ‘Jerusalem.’ Please stand.” She nodded at a woman seated at the upright piano, who, on cue, swung around to face her instrument, and as the opening chord filled the room, accompanied by a rustling of song sheets, the women rose to their feet. Their strong feminine voices rose purely and confidently, and when they reached the last two lines of the hymn, “Till we have built Jerusalem / In England’s green and pleasant land,” Penny found herself moved, suddenly and deeply, as her heart flooded with love for her adopted homeland, with its rich cultural past, beautiful architectural heritage, stunning country views, and the occasionally quirky eccentricities of its people. Her eyes threatened to prick with tears, but the moment passed as the hymn finished and those in the audience took their seats.
The woman leading the meeting remained standing, her hands resting lightly on a document on the table in front of her. “I’d like to begin by welcoming everyone,” she said, making eye contact with members of her audience, “and as we have several visitors with us today, I should introduce myself. My name is Elin Spears and I’m the vice president of the Llanelen branch of the WG.”
She spoke in a clear, practised voice with no trace of nervousness, as if she was used to public speaking. She wore a pale pink jacket over a white blouse and black trousers. Penny and Victoria had speculated on the way to the meeting how Elin Spears would address the death of Gaynor Lewis, and now they were about to find out.
“We are meeting today under difficult and shocking circumstances,” Elin continued. “I don’t need to go into details. You know what I’m talking about. So before we get to the reading of the minutes and the meeting proper, I’m sure you would wish to acknowledge the sad and untimely death of our president, Gaynor Lewis.” She paused as a murmur rippled throughout the room. “And since apparently it’s standing room only today, it seems other people are taking an interest in what happened, too.” With a lot of effort, Penny resisted glancing at Victoria, and the two kept their eyes focused on the speaker.
“Although we had our personal differences, I want to pay tribute to Gaynor. She brought a tremendous amount of energy to her role with the WG, and worked tirelessly to help the organization achieve its goals. She was never too busy to donate a cake to a worthy cause or sew a blanket for a new baby, and she threw herself into our campaigns with everything she had. I would ask you now to rise and we’ll observe a moment’s silence in her memory.” The audience rose again, a couple of the younger members helping the older, less steady ones to their feet, and everyone stood, with their hands clasped in front of them, heads slightly bowed. Penny peered around the room from under her lowered eyes and sensed a slightly embarrassed awkwardness. Perhaps it had to do with the nature of the long-standing rivalry between the deceased and the woman in front of them leading a tribute in her memory.
To signal the observance was over, Elin Spears cleared her throat, and after a general shuffling as everyone sat down again but before the business part of the meeting got under way, Penny whispered to Victoria, “Does she come to the Spa?” Victoria shook her head and raised her shoulders slightly.
Elin Spears glanced in their direction. “Now, before we begin the meeting properly, would someone please see if we can find a couple of chairs for our guests who are standing.” A woman in the front row jumped up and scurried into the corridor, returning with a man carrying two chairs, which he set down beside the tea table. Penny and Victoria nodded their thanks and sat. Bronwyn read the minutes of the last meeting, and after signing them, Elin Spears called for the treasurer’s report.
Barbara Vickers, Joyce Devlin’s agricultural show assistant, got to her feet and, referring to the notebook she had been writing in before the meeting started, announced, “We have a balance of one thousand five hundred and thirty-six pounds, fifty-two pence.”
“Thank you, Barbara,” said Elin. She made a few announcements about upcoming events and then asked if there was any new business. A woman in the second row raised her hand, and when Elin acknowledged her, she stood up.
“I’m wondering what’s going to happen with the executive now that Gaynor’s gone. I mean, she was our president, so will you…”
“As your vice president, I’ll assume the role of acting president until a new president is chosen at the next regularly scheduled election,” replied Elin. “That’s what the role of vice president is for, and that’s the process that’s laid out in our rules.” A little ripple of agreement spread through the audience.
“And what about Gaynor?” another woman asked. “Will we do anything in her memory?”
“We’ll discuss that at a later date, but now isn’t the right time. It’s too soon.” Elin’s eyes narrowed slightly as she surveyed the room. “Now, before I introduce our guest speaker, there is one more piece of business I‘ve been asked to mention.
“A very important part of our Llanelen WG heritage has been misplaced. As you know, many years ago, we were presented with a beautiful silver cake stand, engraved server, and knife by the late Mrs. Gruffydd, and part of the set seems to have gone missing during the agricultural show. We always display the set on the table with the Best in Show
award, and when it came time to do that, the stand was there, and the server, but not the knife. I can’t think why someone might have taken it, but if you did, or you know what happened to it, please make arrangements with me or Bronwyn to return it. It’s part of a valuable set, and we want it all back together. I’m sure you all know what it looks like, but just to remind you, the knife and server have mother-of-pearl handles.” Mrs. Lloyd frowned, leaned forward slightly, and seemed about to say something, when Florence put a gentle restraining hand on her arm and gave her head a little shake, as if to say, Not now. Mrs. Lloyd relaxed back into her chair. Elin scanned the small audience, but her expectant expression was met with blank looks. A small sigh escaped her bright red lips.
“Well, if there’s nothing else, I would now like to introduce our guest speaker.” After a few remarks from Elin, a somewhat bewildered-looking woman wearing a navy blue-and-white-striped pullover and a white yachting-style peaked cap that was no doubt meant to be jaunty but came across as silly, gave a brief talk on the pleasures of canal boating.
When the speaker had finished, Elin thanked her, advised everyone that next month’s meeting would feature an informative talk by a volunteer from a local owl rescue group, reminded the group that there was still time to sign up for the upcoming trip to Speke Hall, just outside Liverpool, and closed the meeting by inviting everyone to enjoy a cup of tea and slice of homemade cake.
An enthusiastic din of light conversation broke out as the women made their way to the tea table. Cups and saucers in pretty floral patterns of snowdrops, roses, and daffodils had been arranged in neat rows on one side of the table, where a smiling woman in a grey suit poured tea from a catering-size aluminium teapot that held sixteen cups. It had the usual handle on the side for pouring but also had a second handle affixed to the top over the lid so that the pourer could use both hands to support and steady the heavy pot. The Guild members accepted cups of tea, helped themselves to slices of cake, then stepped away from the table to make room for others. Their conversation provided a low background hum as Elin Spears, accompanied by Bronwyn Evans, circulated.
They reached Penny and Victoria just as Penny was about to try to make her way over to speak to Barbara Vickers, who was deeply engrossed in what looked like a serious conversation with a fellow member. As Bronwyn said, “And I’d like to introduce you to Penny Brannigan and Victoria Hopkirk,” Penny turned her attention to Elin Spears. “They own the local Spa,” Bronwyn continued, “but Victoria is also a musician—plays the harp—and Penny is a watercolour artist of some note.”
“Oh, yes, I know the Spa. Many of us get our hair done there, including me, occasionally. And surely it’s Victoria whose talents are of some note,” Elin said, a little twinkle in her grey-blue eyes punctuating the pun. Slightly shorter than Penny, she held out a small hand as she ran an appraising eye over her. “Perhaps one or both of you would be willing to give us a little talk one day.” Her eyes shifted to meet Victoria’s. “We’re always looking for interesting speakers.”
“Yes, I would enjoy that,” said Penny, who had previously spoken at various groups. Elin turned her attention to Victoria, who confirmed that she, too, would be happy to speak to the group.
“Perhaps you’re even thinking of joining the WG?” Elin continued. “We love to welcome new members.”
“I’ve been after them for years to join,” said Bronwyn, “although I know it’s difficult when they’ve got a business to run, but I do hope now that they’ve been to a meeting, they’ll think about it.” She reached out to Mrs. Lloyd and Florence, who were hovering nearby. “But these two ladies might very well be interested.”
“Interested in what, Bronwyn?” asked Mrs. Lloyd as she was pulled into the little group.
“Becoming a WG member.”
“Oh, we are interested, aren’t we, Florence? I was just saying the other day how foolish I was to let my membership lapse. Can’t think why that happened.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Elin as she shifted slightly away and scanned the room. “Our membership secretary is right over there”—she indicated a tall woman in a black skirt and a bright yellow jacket—“and she’d be more than happy to sign you up. Join today and you’ll be able to go along with us on our day trip to Speke Hall next week. And what a treat that promises to be.”
“Oh, Speke Hall,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “That sounds wonderful. I love any building with ‘Hall’ in its name.”
“And Florence here very kindly brought the Victoria sponge we’re all enjoying so much,” Brownyn said with a nod in the direction of the tea table. “She’s a wonderful baker.”
“Is she?” Elin, who had won Best in Show in the baking category at the agricultural show with her two-layered cake covered in graduated shades of pink icing roses, tilted her head to one side as she sized up a potential rival through slightly narrowed eyes. “How thoughtful of her to bring a cake. I must try some, if there’s any left.”
“Congratulations on winning Best in Show for your cake,” Penny said. “It was absolutely stunning. A real showstopper.” Elin seemed genuinely pleased by the compliment and thanked Penny with a broad smile that created tiny wrinkles around her eyes.
“Elin won that award for the second straight year,” said Bronwyn.
The conversation ended, Elin and Bronwyn glided away to speak to others.
“I’ll be right back,” Penny said to Victoria as she set off in search of search of Barbara Vickers. She scanned the room, but Barbara was nowhere to be seen. Damn, thought Penny. She’d hoped to speak to Barbara at the meeting today, and she was annoyed to have missed her.
The women began placing empty cups on the table, gathering up their handbags and jackets, and saying their good-byes until either the Speke Hall outing or next month’s meeting. With the crowd thinned, two women began piling empty cups and plates on trays and carrying them to the kitchen across the corridor.
Florence turned to Penny. “I’d just like to pop along to the loo before we go, and I wonder if you’d mind asking the women in the kitchen who looked after the tea for my cake tin. If I leave it here, I’m sure it will be misplaced by the next meeting. My name’s written on a piece of tape on the bottom.”
“Of course.”
Penny crossed the hall and was about to enter the kitchen when a woman leaning against the worktop said to the woman loading cups and saucers into the dishwasher, “That was quite the speech Elin made about Gaynor, wasn’t it?”
The other woman let out a light laugh. “You’d almost think she meant it, pet, wouldn’t you?” Sensing someone in the doorway, the women turned around. Both carried more than a few extra pounds, as evidenced by the cardigans that stretched to cover their ample bosoms. With their white hair styled in the same one-length bob that reached just below their ears, and their almost identical eyeglasses, they could easily have passed for sisters.
“Oh, hello. Sorry to bother you,” said Penny. “Only, I’ve just come to pick up Florence Semble’s cake tin. She brought a Victoria sponge in it, but I’m not sure what it looks like.”
“Oh, right,” said Mari Jones, the woman who had been leaning on the worktop. She wiped her hands on her apron and pointed to a table where a cake tin sat with several plastic storage containers. “It’s just over there.” Penny picked up the tin, checked for Florence’s name on the bottom, and, after thanking them, left the room and turned into the corridor, but she remained just outside the door, her back pressed against the wall.
“Do you think she heard?” one woman asked the other.
“Nah.”
Cake tin in hand, Penny returned to the meeting room and approached the tall woman in the black skirt and yellow jacket, who was placing a couple of file folders into a worn brown leather briefcase.
“I’d like an application form to join the WG, please,” Penny said as Victoria, raising her arms to adjust the blue velvet ribbon holding her short blond ponytail, caught her eye and threw her a conspiratorial nod and smile.
“On second thought,” added Penny, “better make that two.”
On the short walk from the community centre back to the Spa, Victoria commented, “The missing Women’s Guild cake knife that Elin talked about sounds as if it could be the one used to kill Gaynor Lewis. Gareth said the weapon had a long blade, remember? We should tell the police about it.”
“We probably don’t have to,” Penny responded. “Didn’t Elin say it’s engraved with the WG logo or something? And if it is, the inscription will lead the police to the Women’s Guild. The police are smart enough to figure that out.”
“I’m not sure that’s what Elin said,” Victoria replied. “I think she said the server was engraved.”
They stopped outside the little supermarket on the town square to wait for the traffic lights to change.
“The server, the cake knife. It doesn’t matter which one has the engraving, because of course, you’re right,” Penny said. “We should tell the police. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess it just seemed to me that Bethan doesn’t need me telling her the obvious. But the police always remind us not to withhold anything. To give them the information and let them decide if it’s important or not.”
The lights changed and they crossed the street.
“And if the WG’s missing cake knife does turn out to be the knife the police have, at least that would clear up a little mystery for the Women’s Guild,” said Victoria. “They’d know what happened to their cake knife.”
“I’ll let Bethan know,” said Penny.
Thirteen
“I’m really glad you rang me,” said Inspector Bethan Morgan that evening as Penny showed her through to her sitting room and waved her into a chair. “You’ve been on our list of persons to speak to in the Gaynor Lewis investigation and I’m sorry I haven’t got round to you before now. I still need to take your statement, but you know how stretched our resources are. With so many people coming and going at the agricultural show on the Friday night, the night that Gaynor Lewis was killed, we’ve got a lot of interviews to conduct, as you can imagine. And most people aren’t as reliable a witness as you, so I reckoned you’d keep.”
The Marmalade Murders Page 10