CHAPTER ONE
The May Day celebrations on Linhay were as much a part of island life as the tides themselves, and the undercurrent of excitement as arrangements were made was almost palpable. However, my first attendance at the festivities, in nineteen thirty-six, was memorable for all the wrong reasons; for that was the year a particularly nasty murder occurred.
To make matters worse my own life was unravelling in ways I could never have envisaged, and my worry would begin to overshadow the investigation when it came. With the luxury of hindsight it took me longer than normal to realise the importance of certain clues.
Starting with a telephone call from my husband John, whom I had been told had died, it had become apparent that everything I had believed for the last two years was a lie, including the role of my housekeeper Mrs Shaw.
Just over a week after the call, still smarting from a combination of embarrassment and fury at what had come to light since, and with the feeling of claustrophobia threatening to overwhelm, I decided a change of scenery was needed and made plans to spend the week with Aunt Margaret.
I said goodbye to my gardener Tom, who was hard at work unearthing the Victorian walled garden we had discovered some weeks earlier, and took a taxi to the station. Mrs Shaw was under strict instructions to telephone me at my aunt's immediately if there was news. I had been seated in my train carriage for only a few minutes when suddenly there was a shrill whistle, and a loud hiss of steam came billowing along the platform and past my window moments later, then with a jolt we started slowly forward and gradually picked up speed. Within minutes the station was left behind, then the city suburbs rushed past and before long we were moving into open country. I settled back in my seat and replayed the conversation I'd had a few days ago with the Home Secretary…
"Are you telling me John is in fact still alive?" I asked with barely suppressed fury and the threatening sting of tears behind my eyes.
He paused looking extremely uncomfortable. Eventually he leaned back and sighed.
"We're not sure, I'm afraid he's gone missing. This telephone call you received is the first indication we've had in months he may still be alive."
"What do you mean he's gone missing? He was supposed to be dead. I don't understand anything you're saying."
"I think you'd better tell her everything from the beginning, old chap. She deserves to know the truth," said Uncle Albert, who had accompanied Lord Carrick.
Albert wasn't strictly my uncle, but was Godfather to my sister-in-law Ginny. He was also the Police Commissioner at Scotland Yard, and I had worked closely with him on two previous murder inquiries. It was at his recommendation I had been employed as a consultant detective.
"Yes, you're right of course, I apologise, Miss Bridges. The fact of the matter is John was recruited to MI5 directly upon graduating from Oxford. This was prior to his meeting and marrying you of course. He turned out to be an exceptional operative, one of our best in fact."
"So he was a spy all along?" I asked.
Lord Carrick gave a curt nod.
"He was fluent in several languages, which of course made him a valuable asset."
I was astonished at that news.
"I had no idea. It looks as though I didn't know my husband at all," I said lamely.
I clasped my hands until my knuckles turned white, as a wave of cold spread through my body and I began to shiver. I felt quite sick and fought to suppress the feeling of nausea as Lord Carrick continued.
"You saw what you expected to see. John was a trained undercover operative and there was no reason for you to suspect he was anything other than what he claimed. But if it's any consolation I think you knew the real him better than anyone."
"I'm sorry, but I don't find it in the least bit consoling, the man I thought was my husband was in fact a total stranger. I can't think why he married me in the first place."
"He married you because he fell in love with you, it's as simple as that. We tried to talk him out of it of course; the type of work he was doing was dangerous and having a family makes it all the more difficult. We encourage our men to remain single in fact but, John was insistent and rather than lose him we relented."
"So what happened to him?"
"Please understand I am bound by the Official Secrets Act so am not at liberty to divulge everything. However, I will tell you what I can. John was one of the best undercover men we had as I said, and he was used extensively to infiltrate organisations abroad and send back information we needed."
"What sort of information?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that. But suffice to say he was very successful. During his last mission…"
"Where exactly was his last mission?"
"Germany. And just so you understand, it was indeed to be his last assignment. He'd formally put in for retirement from active overseas duties as he wanted to spend more time at home. With you. Unfortunately things didn't go according to plan and we lost communication with him. He missed several rendezvous then disappeared from the radar completely. It's thought his cover had been blown."
"You mean he was taken prisoner?"
"We're not sure. I'm afraid the intelligence is somewhat lacking, but it's assumed so, yes."
I was simply stunned and was finding it difficult to formulate simple questions, as though my head were stuffed with cotton. I felt the prick of tears as I realised John had intended to retire and come home so we could begin a normal life together. I'd had no idea, yet his plans were derailed at the last moment by some dastardly quirk of fate. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and the rising bile; it was all so unfair.
"So you assumed whoever took him had him killed? You told me at the time he was shot accidentally on a farm in India and that he didn't suffer at all. I take it this was not actually the case considering what I know now?"
"Well the body…"
"What about the body? Two years ago you identified it as my husband. You came to my home and told me he was dead and gave me his wedding ring. If my husband is dead, Lord Carrick, then just how is it he telephoned me last evening?"
Lord Carrick rose and approached the fire. Leaning on the mantel he stared into the flames and began to talk softly, almost to himself.
"The news came in that a body had been found in the early hours. One of our chaps happened to be in the area at the time and went to investigate. What he found was the body of a man, charred beyond recognition, in the lower level of a factory which was still partially burning. We know now it was arson used to cover up a murder; the victim had been shot. Naturally our man quickly searched the body for any means of identification, but the only thing he found was the wedding ring. He removed it, then left the scene. There was nothing more he could do; he was putting himself at great risk as it was. Because the ring was engraved it was naturally assumed the body belonged to your husband, it was his ring after all."
"But now you don't think it was?" I asked.
He glanced at me quickly but didn't answer my question.
"A couple of months ago we received a report citing the possibility John had been spotted in the company of some high level German officials, but before it could be confirmed he disappeared. Naturally we've been searching for him ever since but to no avail."
I shot out of my chair before I had a chance to think about what I was doing.
"You mean to say you knew my husband was alive two months ago and didn't tell me? How dare you keep this from me? Dear God, what sort of people are you?"
"Miss Bridges, please understand we couldn't confirm anything. We didn't know whether it was your husband or someone who simply bore a striking resemblance to him. Remember, in these situations John would be in disguise. It would have been remiss, no, it would have been cruel of me to come to you then only to find out it wasn't him."
I sat down at the end of this little speech and put my head in my hands, all the fight had left me. My skin felt cold and clammy, and along with the shakes, which were getting worse, my heart was beating wildly. I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see the blurry shape of Albert hovering over me, a large brandy in his hand. So mired was I in my own thoughts I hadn't even heard him move.
"Drink this, Ella, you've had a nasty shock."
I nodded, and taking a large gulp immediately felt the warmth of the liquid suffuse my body, and the anxiousness abate somewhat, though not entirely. John was alive. It was almost too much to believe after all this time, but in my heart I knew it was true. I felt a surge of hope course through my veins as I asked Lord Carrick for confirmation. I needed to hear him say it out loud.
"But now you think it was him because he telephoned me?"
"Yes, and we're doing everything within our power to find him."
"And bring him home? You must bring him home, it's much too dangerous for him there."
My emotions were vacillating between elation that John was alive, and abject fear of the peril he was in. The thought I would lose him again forever was simply unbearable.
"We're doing everything we can to find him, Miss Bridges, and as soon as I know anything I will come and speak with you. However, please be aware it may not be a simple job to extract him. If the reports we've received are true then he has managed to infiltrate the highest echelons of the German government, and blowing his cover at this stage would almost certainly result in his death."
"But surely he must be in some sort of jeopardy if he telephoned me? Why would he risk doing so otherwise?"
"God only knows how he managed it, especially considering you have moved away from your shared home. But he's not the best spy we have for nothing. I'm inclined to agree with your analysis, however, and subsequently finding him has been given top priority."
"Who did the body belong to if it wasn't John? And how did he happen to be wearing my husband's wedding ring?"
Lord Carrick shrugged. "Until we find John, I'm afraid we won't know the answers. The fact is he shouldn't have taken any form of identification with him at all. Taking the ring, engraved as it was and in English, was foolhardy and could have exposed him. I can't think what possessed him to risk everything by doing so. But again that question can only be answered by John himself."
"And what about Mrs Shaw? I know she's one of yours."
Lord Carrick eyed me shrewdly for a moment, then nodded.
"Mrs Shaw will remain here for your protection. John may try to contact you again and if he does so, Mrs Shaw will need to speak with him."
But several days had passed and there had been no more news from Lord Carrick and John had not telephoned again.
***
Approximately half an hour before reaching my station, a black cat wearing a familiar purple collar with a silver bell attached materialised on the seat opposite. It was Phantom, my ghost cat. Luckily I had the carriage to myself, for Phantom was only visible to me and I would have looked decidedly odd holding a conversation with fresh air. I had inherited both him, and the unusual ability of being able to see spirits who needed my help, from Mrs Rose, the former owner of The Yellow Cottage which was now my home. Phantom had saved my life during my first case and it was thanks, in part, to these special gifts that I had been so successful as a detective.
Now Phantom jumped nimbly across the gap and landed on my lap, where he spent the remainder of the journey curled up asleep, then vanished into thin air just as we pulled into Broughton station. He had an uncanny sense of when I needed his company.
Aunt Margaret's driver was already waiting for me and before long we were pulling up outside the house. My aunt engulfed me in a hug as soon as I alighted.
"Darling, how lovely to see you, it's been too long. Now come in and tell me what's bothering you. I've had tea set up in the orangery. Potts will see to your bags."
Divesting myself of coat and hat, I allowed myself to be shepherded through to the back of the house and into the orangery, where the large walls of glass looked out over a magnificent vista of verdant lawns and topiary hedges. Inside, giant ferns, orange trees and rare orchids vied for space with several more exotic varieties for which I had no name, and to the right a comfortable seating area and low table had been set for tea.
I threw myself in a chair and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Now, Ella, I realise you couldn't speak on the telephone but I sensed in your voice something was wrong, and I can see now you've lost some weight. What on earth has happened?"
"Oh, Aunt Margaret, it appears John is still alive," I wailed, and to my absolute horror I promptly burst into tears.
"Good heavens! Well, that's the last thing I expected you to say. You go ahead and have a good cry, dear girl. Personally I feel all this British stiff upper lip malarkey is perfect nonsense. I find one always feels much better when one can let it all out as it were."
As usual Aunt Margaret was correct. Once the sobs had subsided and the pent up emotion released I did feel better.
"Now dry your eyes, dear, and tell me what you know."
I began with the shock of the phone call, then related subsequent events as they had happened, including the conversation with Lord Carrick.
"So John is in Germany?" Aunt Margaret asked.
"As far as is known, yes, but it seems he's vanished."
She sighed and took my hand in hers.
"I'll not beat about the bush, Ella, that's not my way as you know, but there is rumour of another world war, one with Germany at the heart of it."
I gasped. "How do you know?"
"You don't reach my age without knowing a bit about the world, darling. Plus I have friends in high places. However I don't want you to worry too much, it is just a rumour and may never happen."
"But I do worry, Aunt Margaret. How can I not when John is in so much danger?"
"Oh, darling, I feel for you I truly do, but if anyone knows exactly what's going on, far more than my friends I hasten to add, it's John. He's there and knows first-hand their intentions. Whether it comes to war or not it's John's job to ensure our government is kept abreast of what is happening. It's an exceptionally important job he's doing."
I stood up and went to gaze out of the window, my mind in turmoil at my aunt's revelation there may be another war. I wondered where John was and what he was doing at that moment. Was he thinking of me as I was thinking of him?
"Did you know John was a spy? I seem to remember you weren't really taken with him when I brought him home that first time."
"Then you remember incorrectly, Ella. I liked him very much and thought him perfect for you. However, to answer your question, no, I didn't know his job was espionage but I felt he was being a little circumspect with the truth. Not lying, you understand, more holding something back, secretive. Of course it's obvious why now we know the truth."
I sighed and took my seat again.
"Whatever am I to do, Aunt Margaret?"
"Do? Why there's nothing you can do except continue to live your life and wait to see what happens. I'm quite sure John would be appalled to realise he's caused you so much distress, and even more that you've put your life on hold to just sit about and worry. There is an entire organisation behind John and they will be doing their utmost to bring him home safely."
I knew every word she spoke was true, but I was feeling angry and frustrated and more than a little afraid. I was exhausted truth be told, but sleep was difficult and I was perpetually tired. I was also feeling quite sorry for myself, which was childish and not like me at all, which then made me feel guilty and started the whole cycle again.
"I'm sure you're running the gamut of emotions, my dear," Aunt Margaret said, her usual prescient self. "But feeling angry and guilty is both pointless and harmful to your well-being. You'd do much better to concentrate your energies on something more positive."
I frowned and looked at her.
"Are you sure you're not a witch?"
She laughed. "Now that's more like my Ella. No, I'm not a witch, I've just lived longer than you have. Now I have a telephone call to make, I think you need cheering up and I have just the thing. Tomorrow we will visit the old part of the town, do some shopping, have lunch and in the afternoon I'll introduce you to a friend of mine. I'd advise you to get a good night's sleep; you'll need your wits about you."
***
The next morning I awoke feeling more refreshed than I had for days, the emotional talk I had had with Aunt Margaret obviously being more cathartic than I'd realised, although the knot of anxiety for John still lay like a stone in the pit of my stomach.
After a late leisurely breakfast we bundled ourselves into our warmest coats and set off for town.
"No need for the car I think, a brisk walk will do us good and it's a beautiful day," my aunt said.
My dubious look at the grey louring sky caused her to chuckle.
"Ella, this is the North of England remember, any day where it doesn't rain is considered positively balmy. Besides it's almost summer."
I laughed. "I think I must have been in the south for too long. I'd almost forgotten what it's like."
As we walked down the lane on the outskirts of the town the conversation turned to my housekeeper Mrs Shaw.
"And she was the only applicant you say?"
"Hers was the only application I received," I corrected her.
"Ah, I see."
"Can you believe they intercepted my post?"
"Of course I can, Ella, this is the Government we're talking about, normal rules don't apply."
"Well, they should," I said in a petulant voice and was rewarded with a raised eyebrow. I sighed. "Don't do that Aunt Margaret."
"Do what dear?"
"Make me feel guilty."
"I'm doing no such thing, that's your conscience talking."
"You'd be furious in my position too. My freedom of choice was removed, not to mention my privacy. The sheer audacity of these people astounds me."
"Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe it was all done in order to protect you?"
"But I don't need protection. I've already had to change back to my maiden name and move miles away from our home. I did everything the Home Secretary advised but it still wasn't enough, so they ensconced a charlatan in my home under false pretenses. It's appalling behaviour."
"Goodness me, Ella, if you keep this up I'll have no choice but to send you to bed without any supper."
I glanced at her, spied the smirk and the twinkle in her eye.
"Yes, all right, point taken. But I'm still furious and I don't know what to do about Mrs Shaw, if indeed that's her name."
"What do you mean 'do?'"
"Well I can hardly keep her on as my housekeeper now, I can barely bring myself to talk to her."
"Ella, that's simply dreadful behaviour, rather like shooting the messenger. The poor woman is just doing her job, following orders actually. How would you feel in her position?"
That brought me up short. Remarkably I hadn't considered things from Mrs Shaw's point of view and I was rather ashamed of the fact. Emotion and shock had obviously clouded my normally sound judgment. I resolved to speak with her as soon as I returned home. It would be a difficult conversation but it had to be done.
"Thank you, Aunt Margaret."
"Think nothing of it, my dear. I feel it always helps to speak to someone on the periphery as it were, it brings things into perspective. And there's no need to feel guilty, Ella, you're perfectly entitled to have a tantrum now and again, particularly as the root cause is worry about John. Just so long as you don't make a habit of it."
I smiled. "There's no need to worry on that score, Aunt Margaret. Admittedly it's all a bit of a mare's nest, but there's really very little I can do now except wait, and hope," and worry, I silently added to myself.
"And keep yourself busy," my aunt added. "There's nothing worse than sitting around brooding and worrying. Now, there's been a couple of additions to the town since you were here last, a perfectly lovely milliners and a delightful tea room close to the Guild Hall. My treat."
***
True to her word, I departed The Lilly Tea Rooms stuffed to the gills, which was an immense change compared to recent days where I pushed food around my plate and barely ate a morsel. My appetite had all but disappeared since I'd heard from John, and I was definitely a few pounds lighter if my loose skirt was anything to go by. But I'd always been a little overweight so could afford the loss.
My aunt took me to the milliner's, where I left with a thoroughly practical and sensible new hat in dove grey with a button detail. Although it would have been quite a different story had I let the shop girl have her way.
"I'm so very relieved you didn't choose that first hat, Ella," Aunt Margaret said, laughing.
"The one with all the feathers you mean? Goodness, while I appreciate the artistry, I would have been too afraid of wearing it lest I be shot at."
Laughing at my near escape we wandered companionably down the High Street through the bustling crowds, and I was pleased to note the clouds I had been worried about earlier had almost disappeared. In their place a hazy sunshine was valiantly attempting to cast its rays down to street level.
We stopped periodically to peer in shop windows if a particular item caught our eye, and it was in front of the newly established delicatessen, where an impressive range of French cheeses were on display, that my aunt remembered her recent correspondence. My mother had moved to the South of France, and judging from her periodic letters and postcards, was having a perfectly wonderful time.
"I received a letter from your mother a couple of days ago, it seems she's caught the interest of a retired British Colonel out there and he's making gallant attempts to woo her, much to her amusement."
"Really? Is it serious do you think?"
"Oh, I doubt it, well certainly not on your mother's part, although heaven knows how the Colonel feels. He's probably smitten; men usually are around your mother you know."
"Well, I'm sure she knows what she's doing and will let him down gently if needs be."
"I expect you're right, Ella. Now what do you say we enter this fine establishment? I've recently been gifted a rather superior port, which is crying out for a special accompaniment."
Twenty minutes later, my aunt having purchased enough cheese to feed the Foreign Legion and the British Army combined, we exited the shop and continued to the end of the street, where I was expertly steered left in the direction of a small art gallery. I knew the gallery existed, but had never visited during the times I had lived with my aunt.
"Are you of a mind to purchase a painting, Aunt Margaret?" I asked, as we crossed the road.
"Not at present, dear. Although it has been known for me to leave this particular gallery with a piece I didn't know I wanted," she said with a laugh. "Now tell me, what do you think?"
I gazed at the artwork on display in the window.
"Well, art isn't normally my bailiwick, Aunt Margaret, I feel it's quite subjective. I find I like things because of what they are as opposed to what is deemed fashionable."
"Quite right too."
"But he does have an accomplished hand, and a unique style."
I gazed at the pictures in the window, each one a depiction of hard northern life painted in monochrome. Men in large overcoats and flat caps slogged up cobbled roads on their way to work, huge old factories in the background, grey and dull, belched smoke into the atmosphere, the plumes rising to join the miasma of fog overhead.
Urchins playing in the street in boots too big for their feet and rags barely covering their skeletal frames looked out with huge eyes and cheeky grins. While mothers, babes on their hips and toddlers grasping at their skirts, stared defiantly out of the canvas, proud and strangely regal despite their reduced circumstances. They were a peculiar combination of dispiriting and uplifting, and I found I liked them. One, an impish little girl, reminded me of my very first case at an orphanage in London, and unexpectedly I felt a pang at the family John and I had thus far missed out on.
There was one painting, however, tucked into the bottom right hand corner as though it were an afterthought to place it on display, which I disliked immediately. Unlike the others it was bright and colourful, and at first glance it appeared to be an image of a beautiful young woman sitting on a park bench with an old church in the background. On closer inspection however she appeared to be a woman of two halves.
It was remarkably well done, and was testament to the prowess of the artist that I had such a visceral response to it. The left side of her face was perfect in every way, from the rich cornflower blue of her long lashed eye, the finely arched brow and the rosebud pink of her smiling mouth, she appeared happy and carefree. A woman who was selfless, an open book and one you'd be glad to call a friend. But with a few clever strokes of the brush the right side was transformed. The eye became malevolent with a hard glint suggesting an underlying animosity, the mouth a sneer as though full of contempt for the viewer and above the top lip an ugly and exaggerated black mole grew, as though the rottenness of the core were attempting to burst through the skin. I gave an involuntary shiver, as though evil had crossed my path and glanced at the title, 'From Mistress to Wife.'
I straightened and looked at Aunt Margaret with a raised brow.
"Very clever, isn't it?" she said.
"Undoubtedly. But I can't say I like it, and I find I'm hard pushed to believe anyone in their right mind would want to hang it on their wall."
She laughed. "Come along, let's go in."
I followed her into the shop and smiled as I glimpsed a black cat, wearing a purple collar with a silver bell, curled up asleep in the window.
***
The little bell above the shop door signalled our arrival, and we entered what I can only describe as an Aladdin's Cave. I had expected a light and airy space, with bright walls and strategically placed easels showing off the paintings to their best advantage. Instead we were greeted with an interior more akin to an antique curiosity shop, with the artist's work adorning every imaginable surface. Propped up against large bureaus, on the shelves of a book case, on several occasional tables and even displayed on a velvet chaise-longue. And everywhere I looked there were ladders of all sizes.
To the rear of the room was a floor to ceiling curtain in a heavy rich purple fabric with gold tassels; however, of the proprietor himself there was no sign. But before I could convey my astonishment to my aunt I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Toward the back of the room, hidden behind a large oak chiffonier, was a wing-back chair upholstered in turquoise satin, and it was from this a man of diminutive stature suddenly moved. I'd failed to notice him previously so perfectly camouflaged was he against the background, but at least it explained the ladders for he must have been no taller than three feet.
He hopped down from the chair dressed in a matching turquoise satin smoking jacket, and a gold and purple brocade fez, replete with a gold tassel which hung jauntily over his right ear.
"Maggie! What a deeelightful surprise, ma chére," he intoned in a heavy French accent and bent to kiss her outstretched hand. "It has simply been toooo long."
I glanced at my aunt waiting for her to scold him; I knew how much she despised the shortening of her name, particularly to Maggie. But to my surprise she remained silent.
"And who might this be?" the dwarf continued.
"No, don't tell me. Mmmm, let me see."
My aunt smirked but still said nothing.
Dragging a small step ladder directly in front of me, he proceeded to climb until we were at eye level, then grasped my chin and tilted my head from side to side.
"Mmmm, not a classic beauty, rather plain at first glance."
Well really, how rude!
"But there is something about her. The bone structure is good, and the face pleasing, if oddly asymmetrical. But it is the eyes that speak to me! Such eyes and such depth. Ah yes, there is an interesting story behind those eyes. You see the world differently perhaps. Yes?"
I frowned wondering what he meant by that comment. He couldn't possibly have guessed about my special gifts. As he jumped down from the ladder and went to peruse my rear, I hissed at my aunt.
"What on earth is going on? Who is this insufferably rude little man?"
"Don't worry, dear, it means he likes you," she whispered back.
"Oh, my word! Whatever is he like with those he doesn't care for?"
"Terribly flattering," she replied.
Having completed his inspection of my physique and deemed me becoming, but rather on the heavy side to be fashionable, he strode forward to face me.
"So what is it you do, ma chère?"
"Do?" I asked, nonplussed for a moment.
"Yes 'do,'" he repeated in an exasperated tone. "What are your interests, your hobbies? What are your hopes and dreams?"
I frowned. "As a matter of fact I am a consultant detective with Scotland Yard."
The small man clutched his chest and staggered back, eyes wide as though he'd been shot.
"Oh my gawd, you're 'avin a larf, ain't ya?"
I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Obviously not as much as you are Mr…?"
"Oh dear, well that's rather let the cat out of the bag," Aunt Margaret said. "Ella, I'd like to introduce you to the world renowned artist, Monsieur Pierre DuPont. Formerly known as Norman Sprout, master forger of Brick Lane, London."
"Maggie, I can't believe you've brought a copper to me door, after all we've been through," said the thoroughly dejected artist. He moved to the chaise-longue and sat with his head in his hands.
"Oh, stop being so melodramatic, Norman, I've done no such thing. Ella happens to be my niece and is currently taking a few days holiday to visit her old aunt."
"What, so you mean you're not the old bill?"
"I'm exactly what I told you, Mr Sprout, I'm not in the habit of lying. However, unless you have an inclination to murder your customers I doubt our paths will cross in a professional capacity."
"Murder! Gordon Bennet, Maggie, what is this? I ain't never murdered anyone in me life! I'm just a simple artist tryin' to earn a crust. All right, I admit I started on the wrong side of the tracks, but I've been straight as an arrow ever since that incident with The Duke of Bainbridge and 'Desdemona with Sheep.'"
I raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"It's a painting, dear," Aunt Margaret explained. "A long story and I won't bore you with the details, but it's how Norman and I met. And, Norman, do you really think after all this time, not to mention the investment, I would do anything to jeopardise our friendship?"
"Oh, Maggie, please forgive me, I wasn't thinkin' straight."
"No matter, I shall put it down to artistic temperament. However if you are as you say, 'on the straight and narrow,' I do believe your reaction was a little over the top, don't you?"
Norman sighed and rose to his feet shaking his head.
"Only I could have gone into partnership with the cleverest woman in Christendom."
Partnership? This was certainly news to me and I glanced at my aunt in wonder. There was obviously a lot I didn't know.
"There's been rumours," continued Norman. "Come on, I'll shut up shop and put the kettle on, we can discuss it over a pot of Rosie Lea. It's a new blend from Carnaby’s Emporium which I think you'll appreciate, Maggie."
"That sounds like a splendid idea. Ella, remind me to take you to Carnaby’s on the way home, it's a magnificent place and the teas are superlative."
***
The tea was indeed superlative, the smell and taste conjuring up images of exotic climes under palm trees and the allure of the East, however if I'd thought the conversation would provide me with a wealth of revelatory details about my aunt's life I was sadly disappointed.
"Now, Pierre, tell me about these rumours which were cause for your agitation earlier. And please do dispense with the accent, dear, you're no more a Cockney than I am."
Pierre waved his hand in dismissal and chuckled.
"I overreacted, Maggie, nothing more. It was the shock of finding the law on my doorstep after all this time, I'm afraid I put two and two together and came up with five. I haven't been Norman Sprout for many years. As far as anyone knows he went abroad and hasn't set foot in England since."
I stared at the little man in wonder, for while at my aunt's request the rough Cockney accent had disappeared, so too had the French one. Instead the voice was that of refined gentry and would have been perfectly at home announcing the BBC news on the wireless. Even his movements had been subdued according to character, instead of the flamboyant and over-the-top artist, a calm, tidy and slightly arrogant English aristocrat sat before me. It was quite extraordinary.
"Pierre is a positive chameleon, Ella," my aunt explained. "His acting skills, mimicry and disguises are superlative, and I have no doubt if he hadn't chosen art as a profession he would have been a celebrated actor."
Pierre twinkled at Aunt Margaret with fondness. "You're too kind, Maggie. Officially there is only Pierre DuPont now and I'd like to keep it that way."
This last was directed at me and I nodded.
"I understand, Monsieur DuPont, and rest assured I have no intention of speaking about our discussions today with anyone else. As far as I am concerned my aunt thinks highly of you and considers you a friend. That's enough for me. However there is one thing I would dearly like to know."
Both my aunt and Monsieur DuPont looked at me expectantly.
"How on earth did you two meet?"
And so between them, they told me the story of the summer ball held by the Duke of Bainbridge at his country retreat in Oxfordshire.
"I was dancing with the duke at the time, a rather invigorating Pasadena if I'm not mistaken, when we were quietly interrupted by his butler. He informed us a thief had been caught in the long gallery attempting to steal a painting."
"Desdemona with Sheep?" I hazarded a guess.
"Quite right," confirmed my aunt. "It's a very famous painting by the Dutch master, Johannes Van-der Bleck, and quite priceless. So the duke and I quietly made our way to the gallery so as not to arouse suspicion, and once there we were greeted by the sight of dear Pierre, or Norman as he was then, halfway up a curtain and clinging on for dear life, while one of the duke's dogs stood guard below."
"It was the size of a horse!" said Pierre, shuddering at the memory.
"It was a Pomeranian," corrected my aunt. "Of course I could see immediately he was innocent."
Pierre chuckled and shook his head.
"Only Maggie could have seen my innocence while in that predicament. I'd been caught halfway out of the window, my rope was still in place, my tools were in a bag on the floor and the spoils were at my feet. I'd been caught red-handed and it was only a matter of time before the police arrived and I was thrown in a cell."
"But however did you manage to escape?” I asked.
My Aunt once again took up the narrative.
"Oh, he didn't need to escape. As I said before he was entirely innocent, not that the duke thought so. Of course a discreet word in his ear about certain matters soon had him seeing my point of view."
"You mean to say you blackmailed him?" I asked in astonishment.
"Of course not. I just gently reminded him of the incident between his son, a local tavern maid and Lord Ellesmere's prize race horse. I'd been instrumental in keeping it quiet, you see. But of course that's a story for another time. Back to Desdemona."
Pierre rose at this point and collected the tea things.
"I'll leave your aunt to explain while I make more tea."
"That reminds me, why on earth are you playing housemaid?" asked my Aunt. "Where's that girl of yours?"
"Hilda? It's her day off. Why do you suppose you found me in the shop and not in the studio."
When Pierre had gone I asked Aunt Margaret to explain how she knew immediately he was innocent of the crime when all evidence said otherwise.
"Well you see, Ella, the duke and I had been friends for a long time and I had visited the gallery on many occasions. It was on one such visit that I realised the painting in question was actually a rather masterful forgery. Goodness knows how long it had hung there without anyone noticing, rather a long time I suspect. The duke had grown up in that house, you see, and had passed through the gallery numerous times. It's amazing when you see something every day for years just how little notice you take of it, it becomes nothing more than background."
"So Pierre had actually stolen a forgery?"
"Goodness me, no. Pierre can spot a forgery a mile away, it was his stock-in-trade at the time. No, the original was hanging in its rightful place on the wall. That's how I knew he was innocent."
I sat back in amazement as it all became clearer.
"But why on earth would he go to all the trouble of replacing a forgery with the original, knowing he may be caught? And who painted the forgery? And for that matter who stole the original in the first place?"
"Oh, Isobella, so many questions," my aunt said, patting my knee. "I doubt we'll ever know the answers."
I doubted that was the case but knew better than to pursue it, I would get nothing more from Aunt Margaret.
"So you became his benefactor."
"I did."
"A known art thief, forger and criminal?" I said in wonder.
"In my experience the world is very rarely black and white, but instead various shades of grey. Norman needed my help and I gave it to him. And not once have I ever regretted the decision. Ah now, here's the tea."
"But how did the duke explain it all to his butler?" I asked, rising to take the tray from Pierre.
"Oh, something about a test designed to find any flaws in the security. Everyone went away with a pat on the back and a hefty bonus. Now be an angel and pass me some of that delectable looking cake."
I poured the tea and cut the fruit cake while Pierre explained the rumours he'd mentioned previously.
"As your aunt knows, the professional art world is remarkably small, Miss Bridges, and the underside of that world even more so. I keep my ear to the ground and hear various murmurings, and once in a while I am contacted by a most trusted confidant for information. He contacted me last week to ask if I'd heard anything about a British gang targeting the French. Apparently there are plans afoot to attempt the most audacious of crimes, a theft from the Louvre."
"My goodness!" exclaimed my Aunt. "And what have you heard, Pierre? I can't for one moment imagine how they expect to succeed in such an endeavour; the Louvre is as well guarded as the Crown Jewels."
"I agree, Maggie. It would take an exceptional mind to pull off that particular job and the risks are high. In my opinion it's impossible. As to what I've heard, well that is even more peculiar, for I have heard nothing at all. The grapevine is deathly silent."
"Well, wouldn't that indicate your chap has got it wrong?" I asked.
Pierre stroked his graying goatee absentmindedly and nodded slowly. "That is possibly so. But I shall keep my ear to the ground and make some discreet inquiries nonetheless."
I continued to sip my tea while Pierre and my aunt discussed the art world. I knew little of it myself, which is undoubtedly why I didn't realise how important my meeting with Pierre would turn out to be. Not only with regard to the imminent murder inquiry, but also to a worrying telephone conversation I would soon have with my mother.
***
In the excitement of the conversation both my aunt and I had lost track of the time, and it was late afternoon when we left.
On the way out Pierre stopped me.
"How do you think of my work, Meez Bridges?" he asked, once again reverting to his impeccable French accent.
"As a matter of fact I said to Aunt Margaret earlier how much I liked it. Well, apart from one that is."
"Oh? And which one is it that you do not care for?"
"I'm afraid the one of the woman in the window isn't much to my liking. It's a personal choice, you understand, the work itself is exceptionally good but the subject matter just doesn't appeal I'm afraid. I hope I haven't offended you?"
"Oh, but of course not. You are the niece of Maggie, no? So all is well. If you had been any other though? Pfft! Who knows? But what is this painting, I cannot place it?"
"The two-faced woman."
"Mon Dieu! Theese should not be in the window! It is the fault of the idiotic Hilda, no doubt. It shall be removed at once."
He hurried to the display, removed the offending painting and deposited it deftly behind the curtain.
"There, order and beauty is once again restored," he said with a smile, which didn't quite mask the panic in his eyes. "Now I shall bestow upon you a gift, Ella."
"Oh, there's really no need."
"I insist. Now stand there and do not move so much as an inch, there is something most perfect here for you. I shall know it when I see it."
My aunt smiled at me, and moving aside a painting of a boy throwing a stick for a small scruffy dog, sat on the chaise-longue to wait.
"You'd better do as he says, dear, there's no talking him out of it."
So I stood patiently while Pierre ran up and down ladders with amazing agility looking for the perfect piece. Every so often Aunt Margaret and I shared a smile as the small man muttered, "No, not this one," and "Oh thees will never do," but eventually it seemed the perfect painting was indeed found.
"Aha! Thees is the one."
He scurried down the ladder, approached me, and with a flourish presented me with a small painting approximately ten inches square in a gilt frame. I gasped when I saw it was a beautiful rendition of a small urchin girl sitting on a stoop with a black cat on her knee. I eyed Monsieur Dupont closely. He couldn't possibly know I could see spirits, yet this was the second time he had intimated he knew of my unusual way of seeing the world. Nor could he know I had a black ghost cat, yet his prescience at choosing such a remarkably apt painting was uncanny, and I wondered if there was more to this diminutive little man than I had first thought.
"Thank you, Pierre, it is perfect, as you knew it would be. It appears I am not the only one who views the world differently."
Pierre inclined his head in agreement, and with eyes twinkling in amusement deftly wrapped the picture for me to take. I already knew the perfect place to hang it once I returned to the cottage.
With promises to meet again soon, my aunt and I left Monsieur DuPont to what remained of his day and continued back up the high street to Carnaby's Tea Emporium, from whence, armed with several dark green and gold boxes emblazoned with the Carnaby name, we caught a taxi back home.
CHAPTER TWO
The few days I spent with Aunt Margaret were exactly what I needed to restore my equilibrium, and prevent my mind from dwelling on matters over which I had no control. She had kept me busy and entertained throughout the week, but all too soon our time together came to an end. However in her usual show of intuition she detected my slight trepidation in returning to the cottage.
"Now, Ella, as you know I have been meaning to visit you on Linhay as soon as time allowed, and as it turns out I have some free time toward the end of the month. Mrs Shipley has informed me her church has cancelled the usual fundraiser this year, therefore my managerial skills are not needed. I never used to attend of course, you know my views on organised religion."
"So why help if you don't believe?" I asked.
"I didn't say I don't believe; however, my housekeeper believes and that's all that matters. Besides the building is old and I do believe for both history and posterity's sake it needs to be maintained for future generations. Now as I was saying, it presents a perfect opportunity for me to come and stay with you, so you can expect me in two weeks’ time."
It was exactly what I needed and I agreed immediately, and so it was with a lighter heart I boarded the train to begin my journey home. Of course the plans I had for gentle excursions and exploration of the island together never transpired, because not long after her arrival I was once again embroiled in a murder investigation.
I had telephoned Mrs Shaw the evening before to inform her of my arrival and she had insisted on meeting me at the station.
"It will be dark by the time you arrive, Miss Bridges," she had said. "And I don't think it wise for you to walk along the coastal path alone."
I sighed inwardly but acquiesced. She was right of course and the coastal walk would still be quite pleasant with the two of us. Imagine my surprise then, when she met me off the train, took my bag and proceeded to steer me to a small motor car. She stowed my bag in the boot, settled in the driver's seat and after pulling and pushing on a bewildering array of levers and pedals, expertly manoeuvred the vehicle into the lane which would take us home.
"I had no idea you could drive, Mrs Shaw. Is this your motor car?"
"It comes with the job, Miss Bridges."
"You mean your real job as opposed to the position of lowly housekeeper you have with me?"
"That's the one," she agreed cheerily, completely unperturbed at my slightly sarcastic tone. "My boss considered it wiser to have a vehicle on hand in case of emergencies, and now you know who I really am there was little reason for me to say no."
I glanced out of the window, although there was nothing to see in the dark, giving me time to gather my thoughts.
"Mrs Shaw, I believe I owe you an apology."
"It's really not necessary, Miss Bridges, I understand."
"Oh, but it is. I behaved dreadfully when I found out the truth, and I'm afraid being nearest, you took the brunt of my anger. I realise now you were only following orders but at the time I felt quite deceived and I was furious. I am awfully sorry, Mrs Shaw."
"Apology accepted, Miss Bridges."
I nodded gratefully.
"Could you bring yourself to call me Ella now, do you think?"
She laughed; it would seem she had felt the previously difficult atmosphere between us too.
"If I could be honest for a moment, I would prefer to keep things as they are. It is easier for me to play my role if things are done properly."
"Of course I understand. But I'm afraid I no longer feel comfortable with you in the role of my housekeeper. I'm certain Tom's mother would relish the opportunity to be once again employed, there's little for her to do now she lives in Harriet's house. Especially considering her husband's health has, against all the odds, improved dramatically. Consider yourself promoted to the lofty position of my secretary. I assume you have the required skills?"
"I do. I started out in the typing pool as a matter of fact."
"Excellent. Well, your first job will be to procure a suitable typewriter. Albert Montesford has tasked me with compiling a working document to assist the police. It's to teach them how to identify when a person is lying, and I believe it would be a perfect project for us to work on together."
Mrs Shaw nodded. "I'll speak with Mrs Parsons tomorrow, and I already have a suitable typewriter. Will there be anything else?"
"Yes," I said. "I would like you to teach me how to drive."
***
The next day with breakfast over and Mrs Shaw already on her way to see Mrs Parsons, I decided to go for a bicycle ride. I set off down the track as fast as I could, my mind blissfully blank and with no idea where I was going.
Half an hour later I found myself at the quiet south beach, where I dismounted and wheeled my bicycle over the tussocks of grass and down onto the sand. It was a wonderfully warm day with summer just around the corner, and watching the sun glint off the water and with a mild, slight breeze on my face I felt peaceful and relaxed.
I was day-dreaming quite happily when I noticed the appearance of small prints in the sand steadily making their way toward me. There was no sign of the owner of course and I smiled.
"Hello, Phantom," I said, and in a shimmering of air he materialised next to me and sat down to watch the waves break on the shore, his feline gaze steady and unblinking.
He'd made himself scarce during the last few days I'd spent with Aunt Margaret, and I found now I was terribly pleased to see him, although it was difficult to tell if the feeling was mutual. I settled down with my notebook and began to organise my thoughts for the project Albert had requested. Unfortunately it was more difficult than I imagined, either that or I simply wasn't in the mood. Regardless, before long I found the page blurring and my eyelids getting heavy, and I am ashamed to say I fell asleep.
I woke with a start some time later as a shower of pebbles and sand rained down upon my head. Glancing behind me I saw Phantom standing a few yards up the bank, the epitome of innocence. When he was certain I had seen him, he turned and trotted away only to stop and look at me again seconds later.
"I suppose you want me to follow?"
I swear if he'd had the ability to roll his eyes, at that moment he would have done so, instead he pinned me with a stare which spoke volumes as to my stupidity. To be honest, considering how I had had the wool pulled over my eyes recently I couldn't fault his reasoning.
I stood up, dusted the sand from my clothing and retrieving my bicycle, followed my demanding feline friend.
Back upon the coastal path Phantom jumped into the basket mounted on the front of my bicycle and I set off. I had every intention of returning home but as was his wont Phantom had other ideas, and before long I was pedalling up the hill toward St. Mary's Church on the East side of the island.
Before she had left, due to my previous case up at Arundel Hall, Harriet Dinworthy and I had been researching my home and she had shown me various historical maps. One such map showed this area of Linhay and the church, and I had been meaning to explore here but complications in my life had meant I had never found the time until now.
The area was similar to other parts of the island, with rows of stone-built terrace housing with small gardens at the base of the hill, giving way to larger abodes which sat behind private hedges and walls the further up I rode. At the top of School Lane I spied the building which gave the lane its name, a quaint stone structure with a clock tower and a wrought iron fence. I could hear the shouts of children playing in the yard as I cycled past and smiled to see them playing the games I had as a child, hop-scotch, marbles and an energetic game of leap-frog.
At the prow of the hill I stopped to catch my breath.
"Well, Phantom, that's the hard bit done. Now for some fun. I can't remember when I last free-wheeled down a hill like this. Hold on tight," I told him, although he ignored me as usual.
I hopped back on my bicycle and hurtled down the hill at breakneck speed. As I swung around the bend in the lane the wind was in my face and my eyes were beginning to water just as I approached the second bend. I got past the blind spot and was back on the straight, when a few yards ahead I saw a woman armed with several flower baskets, and she was right in my path.
"Look out!" I yelled.
The woman dropped her baskets and froze in shock. I barely had time to register the large owlish eyes behind thick-lensed glasses or the carpet of flowers across the road. Slamming my feet to the ground and pulling on the brakes I swerved to avoid her and careened to the right, where my fall was softened slightly by a well-established yew hedge. Leaving my bike on the ground, I got up and rushed over to the woman who was still staring at me, a wild look on a face which seemed to have been drained of all blood.
"Oh, my goodness, I am most terribly sorry. Are you all right?"
"Oh yes, I'm quite all right. Sorry, you startled me," she said in such a quiet voice as to be little more than a whisper.
"No need for you to apologise, it was entirely my fault. Are you sure you're all right?"
She tittered nervously and wrung her hands. She couldn't be much older than thirty but she was as tiny and nervous as a mouse. Magnified brown eyes peered myopically from beyond her spectacles, frizzy brown hair escaped from beneath her lopsided hat and it was all topped off by a misshapen cardigan in an unflattering shade of green.
"Sorry, yes, I'm fine."
"I'm sorry about your flowers," I said.
"Oh no, the flowers!"
Her shaking hands flew to her mouth and to my shock her lower lip trembled and tears welled.
"Well at least the flowers are the only casualty, it could have been worse," I said trying to reassure her without success.
"But you don't understand," she whispered, her horrified gaze still resting on the blooms. "Jocasta will be furious."
"I don't think it's as bad as it looks, here let me help." I hunched down and began to retrieve the tall stemmed white lilies and pink carnations, gently placing them back in their baskets. "See, a few broken stems and a little bruising, not much damage at all really. Who's Jocasta?"
But she didn't have time to answer before a sharp voice interrupted us.
"Shepherd! What have you done? I trust you to do one simple job for me and you can't even do that properly. Honestly, I can't fathom how you've got on in life so far. Look at my beautiful flowers, they're completely ruined."
This must be Jocasta.
Shepherd stood up, wringing her hands, "I'm so sorry, Jocasta," She whispered.
"Oh, Shep. Whatever am I to do with you?" Jocasta sighed, giving her an exasperated half-smile.
I quickly glanced at Shepherd's ring finger.
"Actually, Miss Shepherd is truly faultless, the blame is entirely mine. I was coming down the hill at a tremendous speed and couldn't stop, faulty brakes as it happens." I could feel the start of a blush at the tarradiddle, but realised this explanation would be received better than admitting I was freewheeling down the hill whooping like a child. "Unfortunately Miss Shepherd was directly in my path, but if it hadn't have been for her quick wits I would have run her over completely. I'm terribly sorry about your flowers, although they are far from ruined if you don't mind me saying so, but at least neither Miss Shepherd nor myself were injured. A blessing, I'm sure you'll agree," I said with a smile.
Jocasta stared at me, nonplussed for a moment.
"Well yes, quite," she said. "Right, well there's nothing for it but to see what we can salvage from the mess. The vicar is due back today and I'll just have to do my best to ensure the arrangements are up to par. I'll be in the Church meeting room when you're ready."
Miss Shepherd and I bent to retrieve the remaining flowers.
"Thank you," she said in her pale voice. "Although there really was no need to make me sound heroic, I froze like a fool as you well know."
"Oh no, that was absolutely the correct thing to do under the circumstances, don't you see? If you'd have moved an inch I wouldn't have been able to avoid you and catastrophe would have been absolute."
She tittered again. "Well, thank you anyway; you may possibly have redeemed my reputation in Jocasta's eyes. She means well but she's just so terribly good at everything and very efficient. I think she genuinely can't see why others aren't like her."
Personally I thought she was giving her too much credit but I kept quiet. However, I agreed with her assessment. Jocasta positively oozed competence from every pore.
"I'm Isobella Bridges by the way; call me Ella," I said, rising with a full basket and offering my hand.
"Agnes Shepherd. But of course I know who you are."
"You do?"
"Oh yes. I saw the story of how you solved the murder up at Arundel Hall in the Parish News. Actually it was in the Island Gazette too along with your photograph, although it wasn't a very good likeness. You're quite the talk of the island, you know."
Oh dear. I hadn't seen either publication but I daresay that had been intentional. However, Mrs Shaw and I had reached a sort of harmony and I preferred not to rock the boat; the interference was probably her following orders anyway. I retrieved my bicycle from the hedge, none the worse for wear, but Phantom had already disappeared. No doubt he would turn up when he was ready, at least as a ghost cat he wouldn't have been hurt.
"It must be terribly exciting being a detective," Agnes continued as we made our way through the lych-gate into the church yard, and continued up the stone-flagged walkway.
"I'm afraid it sounds much grander than it is. I'm only a part time consultant, you see, so a lot of the time I'm not actually detecting anything at all. My life is quite ordinary really."
"Still it must be wonderful to be good at something so important. I'm afraid Jocasta is right, I'm not very good at anything much at all. The meeting room is to the side, we just follow the path this way."
Rounding the corner we came across the largest yew I had ever seen, which quite dominated the setting.
"My goodness," I exclaimed.
"It's beautiful, isn't it? It's believed to be the oldest in the country, nearly two thousand years apparently, with a girth spanning nearly nine yards."
"And was that a sundial I saw carved into the front wall?"
"Well spotted. Oh, but of course you'd need to have good observational skills in your line of work, wouldn't you? Yes, it's actually one of four, they were used for the timings of the services prior to mechanical timepieces. St Mary's has a wonderful history, you know. And talking of the time we had better go in before Jocasta thinks we've abandoned her."
***
The meeting room was obviously a much later addition to the church, which was the oldest of three on the island and the only one of Catholic denomination, the others being Anglican. I'd read it was built some time during the thirteenth century when a large part of the island on which the previous church had stood was lost to the sea. The meeting room, however, couldn't have been much older than twenty years. It was quite poorly constructed, as well as being utterly bland and lacking in character. It was also frightfully cold.
"Sorry. It's quite awful, isn't it?" whispered Agnes. "Luckily it's only temporary, we're hoping to raise enough funds to build something more in keeping with the original architecture. We're quite close to the target as a matter of fact; a big push at the May Day Fete should see us hit it."
"Oh, there you are at last," Jocasta called from behind a trestle table groaning with the weight of greenery. "I was beginning to think I'd need to send out a search party. Come along then, no lolly-gagging, we've a lot to do and we're already behind."
Agnes and I deposited the baskets on the floor, and as I peered under the table I spied Phantom curled up asleep on an empty Hessian sack.
"I see you've brought a new sheep to the fold, Shepherd. I'm Jocasta Blenkinsop. And you are?"
"Ella Bridges."
"Bridges? Now where have I heard that name before? Mmmm, no I can't think, I'm sure it will come to me eventually. So how are you at flower arranging, Ella?"
"Oh no, Jocasta," said Agnes breathlessly. "Ella's not here to help, we only just met outside."
"Oh, drat it, really? We're short one person. Anne has had to run some errands and can't come."
"Oh, I don't mind. I have nothing planned, and it's the least I can do," I said.
"That's the spirit. Now, Shep, perhaps you can rustle up some warming tea? As you can tell the boiler's on the blink again. You would have thought they'd at least try to organise some heating, it's like Siberia in here."
Agnes disappeared while Jocasta and I set to stripping the greenery, but a moment later she was back.
"Sorry, Jocasta, but it seems we have run out of tea. Would coffee be all right instead?"
"No tea? Honestly, Shep, whatever next? Coffee gives me a dreadful headache as you very well know; it will have to be tea. I tell you what, nip along to the vicarage and get some of the vicar's stash, I'm sure he won't mind this once."
She turned to me and explained.
"He orders it in specially from somewhere or other, goodness knows why, our tea is perfectly fine. One of his little foibles. Shep?"
Agnes was still hovering, wringing her hands.
"Jocasta, I couldn't," she whispered.
Jocasta sighed and dropped the stem she was snipping on the table. Wiping her hands on her apron she strode to the door.
"I'll go, you make coffee for two. I'll be back lickety-split."
"Sorry, Ella. Is coffee all right with you?" Agnes asked, blushing with embarrassment at her friend.
I nodded. "Coffee is fine. Can I help?"
"Oh no, it won't take a moment."
Fortified with warm drinks, the three of us set to with earnest, and before long we were making real headway with the floral arrangements. I learned that Jocasta and Agnes had been friends since early childhood and had attended the school I had passed earlier. The more time I spent with them the more I realised how much their friendship was based on a genuine affection for one another. Jocasta was a sporty type, good at games, head girl and popular among her peers, whereas Agnes was shy and studious, academically inclined and socially inept. It was a pairing born initially of mutual need, with Jocasta preventing Agnes from being bullied and in turn receiving much needed help with academic matters, but somewhere along the line it had morphed into something more, a shared solidarity perhaps. Jocasta was the mother of two boys who were away at boarding school, and had a husband who was something high up in banking in the city. Agnes was unmarried, and had moved back into the familial home to look after her elderly mother after her father had passed away eight months ago.
Half an hour later Jocasta placed the final stem and leaned back to stretch.
"Finished!" she declared. "And a job well done I must say, girls. Now I think we'll have another drink and call it a day."
Agnes was once again dispatched to the small kitchen while Jocasta made a final raid on the vicar's tea, and some moments later we were seated on a bench outside, letting the much needed warmth of the afternoon sun seep into our chilled bones. With the sound of birdsong on the air and the sun warming my skin, my thoughts once again turned to John. In such interesting company and with something to do, I'd pushed the distressing situation to the back of my mind. Now, once again sitting idle, it came rushing back and my stomach fluttered with nerves. I idly wondered if the sun was shining where he was.
"You say the vicar, is due back today. Has he been away?" I asked conversationally, in an attempt to counteract the building anxiety.
"Actually he's hardly been here," Jocasta said. "He first arrived about ten months ago wasn't it, Shep?"
Agnes nodded in agreement and Jocasta continued.
"He was only here for a couple of months or so then went on some sort of sabbatical. We've had a temporary chap here ever since, pleasant enough, but ancient and terribly forgetful. But at least Father Michael is back now and we can resume normal services, as it were."
We had chosen a seat beneath the bell tower, and as the chimes struck three each of us jumped in shock.
"Golly, I didn't realise the time, I must be off. Now, Ella, don't forget the May Day Fete meeting on Friday, I'll pop you down for the Bric-a-Brac stall, it's usually our most popular. Shep, I'll catch up with you before then, let's do lunch tomorrow. Thanks for your help, girls. Toodle pip."
Agnes and I went back inside to wash up the crockery, then armed with several bags of discarded greenery set off to the vicarage a short walk away, to deposit them in the compost pile. On our way out she once again apologised.
"I'm awfully sorry, I feel you've been rather steamrollered into volunteering at the fete. Jocasta, has a heart of gold and quite frankly we wouldn't be half as successful without her ability to rally the troops, but she is a tad forceful. If you can't do it just say so."
"Well, I must admit it caught me by surprise, but actually I'm rather looking forward to it," I said.
As we walked back down the path I spied Phantom sitting patiently in my bicycle basket; it was obviously time to go. I was rooting in my bag for a card to give to Agnes when suddenly and without warning I was knocked to one side.
"Terribly sorry," a woman's voice said as she hurried on down the path without a second glance.
We stared open-mouthed at the slim departing figure dressed head to toe in black with a net veil obscuring her face.
"Gosh, I wonder what that was about. Are you all right, Ella?"
I nodded, looked back in the direction the woman had come from and saw the figure of the vicar in the church doorway, a very worried look on his ashen face. And to the right under one of the yews I spied an older man in smart tweeds with a walking cane. The woman's husband, I supposed. It wasn't until much later I realised I had been both right and wrong about that assessment.
"Well, it looks as though your vicar already has a troubled parishioner to cope with, and he's not been back more than five minutes," I said.
Agnes frowned. "Actually I'm not sure she's one of Father Michael's flock, I've not seen her before. But of course he will help if he can. Anyway I'll see you on Friday at the meeting, and thank you for helping and being such a good sport about everything. Oh, and do take care cycling home."
"I'll try to avoid knocking down any residents," I said, and with a final wave Phantom and I made our way back to the cottage.