3 Service for Two (3 page)

CHAPTER
3

Stunned, Cecily could only stare at the unfamiliar face in the coffin. For a moment she had the wild idea that perhaps Dr. Gordon McDuff wasn’t dead at all, and this was all part of some elaborate joke on his part.

Then common sense took over. Although Cecily had enjoyed the good doctor’s dry wit, she was as certain as the ribbons on Phoebe’s hat that he would never stoop to such vulgar chicanery in the name of humor. Besides, the young man lying in the coffin was most certainly real, and most certainly deceased.

A quiet moan at her side brought Cecily out of her stupor, as Phoebe gently and elegantly slipped to the floor in a dead faint. Algie’s yelp of distress seemed to stir everyone back to life.

Cecily glanced at him as she fell to her knees at Phoebe’s
side. He was deathly pale, his eyes wide and staring behind the lens of his spectacles. One hand clutched his stomach as he looked from the dead body to his mother in a distracted way, as if everything was happening far too fast for him to comprehend.

P.C. Northcott touched his arm, and the vicar swayed, saying in a choked voice, “It cannot be. It cannot be.”

The constable gripped Algie’s arm and said briskly, “Come, man, pull yourself together. It’s only a dead body.”

Algie whimpered. “But it’s … ah … the wrong dead body.”

That raised the question of the whereabouts of the right body, Cecily thought, as she turned her attention to Phoebe.

Madeline settled on the other side of the unconscious woman. “Leave her to me,” she said softly, and slid her fingers to the back of Phoebe’s neck. Almost immediately, Phoebe opened her eyes.

She stared at each of them for a full second or two, then said sharply, “Don’t sit there staring at me! Help me get up.”

Thankful that her friend seemed to have regained her full senses, Cecily helped the still trembling woman to her feet. “I think it wise to retire to the vestry until you feel better,” she suggested, frowning at Algie, who seemed unable to do anything except hover and mutter, his hands feverishly tugging at his cassock. “Perhaps the vicar can assist you.”

The constable, after one look at Algie, stepped in and offered his elbow. Phoebe took it with a flutter of her lashes. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Most kind, I’m sure.”

“Would you ask Baxter to wait for me outside, please?” Cecily asked Madeline. “And perhaps it would be better if you say nothing about this to anyone. At least for the time being.”

Madeline, after a last glance at the body in the coffin, gave a swift nod and glided away.

With the constable on one side and Cecily on the other, Phoebe was escorted to the vestry, followed jerkily by Algie, who was still muttering under his breath.

Once inside the quiet, somber-looking room, the vicar’s
mother was settled onto the only chair, with her son hovering at her side.

“I don’t understand it, I simply do not understand it,” Algie muttered, looking aghast as P.C. Northcott took out his notebook and pencil.

“Well, now,” the constable said in his officious voice, “perhaps you can tell me where you were when Dr. McDuff’s coffin was delivered.”

“Right here. Right
here
,” Algie squeaked, his finger stabbing at the floor. “It was right … ah … after choir practice. I was talking to young Jamie when the hearse arrived. I had them bring the … ah … coffin in here as I always do.” He nodded at the long, narrow table lining one wall. “That’s where they have their last … ah … long rest on this earth. On that table. It’s been in the family for centuries….”

“Centuries,” Phoebe echoed mournfully.

“Quite, quite,” the constable interrupted. He stuck out his tongue and slowly licked the end of his pencil with a relish usually reserved for something a little more edible. “H’and may I presume that you confirmed that the doctor’s body was in that there coffin when it arrived?”

Algie gave a vigorous nod of his head, once more dislodging his glasses. He snatched at them with his hand, missed, and was forced to bend to the floor to retrieve them. He came up with his face flushed from the unaccustomed exertion.

“I did indeed. I always give the … ah … dear departed a final blessing before closing the coffin for the … ah … last time. I can assure you, Constable, when that coffin arrived here in my … ah … church last night, Dr. Gordon McDuff’s earthly remains were inside it.”

Phoebe moaned and began fanning herself with a lace handkerchief. Cecily absently patted her on the shoulder, her attention fastened on the two men. She didn’t want to miss one word of the conversation.

“You saw him yourself?” P.C. Northcott asked, moving his pencil painstakingly over the page.

“Yes, yes, of course I did.” Algie mopped his moist
forehead with the back of his sleeve. “I told you, I … ah … gave him his last blessing.”

P.C. Stanley Northcott said in his ponderous voice, “H’and may I also presume that the coffin was right here the entire night?”

“As far as I can tell, Constable. I do know it’s the same coffin, since it has the doctor’s initials carved on it.” Algie nodded appreciatively. “A very nice touch, I thought.”

“It would seem,” Cecily put in, “that someone switched the bodies during the night.”

“That would be my assumption,” the policeman agreed, “though why anyone should do that, I cannot for the life of me imagine.”

Cecily often wondered how long it took Northcott to write out a full report. He wrote like a child first learning the skill. At times, when he really had to concentrate, his tongue protruded from the corner of his mouth, as if seeking inspiration on its own.

Again the pencil scratched across the page. Then the constable snapped the book shut, lifted the flap of his pocket, and tucked it away. “I think that will be all for now … though I daresay I shall return in order to ask some more questions in the near future.”

Unable to curb her impatience any longer, Cecily took advantage of the small pause. “Tell me, P.C. Northcott,” she said, giving him her best smile, “how did you learn that it was not Dr. McDuff’s body in the coffin?”

“H’ah, well, that one was simple enough.” The constable puffed out his chest, putting even further strain on the brass buttons of his uniform jacket. “As it happens, some of the village lads were sliding on Deep Willow Pond this morning. And as you might suppose, one of them fell in. If it hadn’t been for Joe Salter passing by, right at the opportune moment, young Bernie Briggett would not be alive to tell the tale.”

“Oh, my,” Algie said, clutching his throat. “How perfectly dreadful. I trust the poor boy is unharmed?”

“Quite unharmed, thank you, Vicar,” P.C. Northcott assured him.

“But what has that to do with Dr. McDuff?” Cecily
persisted, determined not to let the conversation stray off course.

“H’ah well, yes. It appears that whilst the boy was under the water, he spied a dead body. At first no one believed him, but then Joe and a couple of his mates had a look. And lo and behold”—he paused for effect—“blowed if it weren’t the good doctor hisself. Dead as a blinking doornail, of course—” He coughed. “Begging your lady’s pardon that is, ma’am.”

He’d addressed Cecily with his apology, but Phoebe automatically murmured, “Quite all right, Constable.”

“Yes, well, he would be dead, wouldn’t he,” Cecily said, a trifle impatiently. “After all, Dr. McDuff died several days ago.”

The constable cleared his throat. “Er … yes, well, anyhow, if it hadn’t been for the fact that the doctor’s body had been weighted down with a branch from that old oak tree, we might never have found him. Rotten right through, that limb were. Snapped like a chicken’s neck as soon as it hit the water, and up floats the body.”

“Oh, my heavenly father,” Phoebe moaned, fanning herself even faster.

Algie shot a nervous glance at his mother, but his attention remained on the constable.

“H’oh, yes, like I said,” P.C. Northcott went on, oblivious to Phoebe’s distress, “if it hadn’t been for that, Dr. McDuff could have laid on the bottom of that there pond forever and ever.”

“And ever,” Algie added solemnly, folding his hands together.

“I really do not feel at all well,” Phoebe said faintly. “I do think I shall have to go home and lie down.”

Concerned, Cecily noted the woman’s greenish complexion. “I do think that would be a good idea. Shall I come with you?”

Phoebe shook her head. “It’s only a few steps. I shall be quite all right. I think I would prefer to be alone.”

Guessing that her home was not as immaculate as Phoebe would prefer it for visitors, Cecily nodded. The kind of
domestic help that Phoebe could afford left much to be desired. Luckily, the vicarage was right next door to the church.

“I’ll see you to the door, Mrs. Carter-Holmes,” P.C. Northcott said. “If you will permit me? I’ll be passing by that way.”

Phoebe brightened considerably. “Oh, would you? How kind.”

A little belatedly, Algie patted his mother’s arm. “Will you be all right, Mother?”

“Perfectly, thank you, Algie.” As if to prove it, Phoebe rose magnificently to her feet. “You get on with your duties, my dear. I shall have a quiet lie-down.”

Algie gave a relieved nod.

“The body of Dr. McDuff will be brought here this evening, Vicar,” the constable said, moving to the door to open it. “Whereupon we will take into custody the body in the coffin.”

“Have you any idea who he is?” Cecily asked as Phoebe began fanning herself again.

Northcott shook his head. “Not at the moment, no, ma’am. We’ll have to wait until the new doctor arrives probably, before we can h’ascertain the identity. I don’t think the inspector would want me to cart the corpse all the way into Wellercombe.”

There were some disadvantages, Cecily thought, in living in a village like Badgers End. The entire constabulary consisted of P.C. Northcott, alone and practically unaided, except for urgent matters which were occasional and reluctantly taken care of by Inspector William Cranshaw.

The inspector’s jurisdiction covered the much larger and undoubtedly more interesting town of Wellercombe, seventeen miles to the south.

Since Cecily and the inspector often failed to see eye to eye on certain matters, however, she considered the situation a mixed blessing. Cranshaw could be quite caustic when irritated.

“Have you met the new doctor?” Phoebe asked, looking more animated by the second.

“No, ma’am. But I hear tell he’s a good one.”

“Is he a young man?”

“Middle-aged, so I’m told. Sent him in from Wellercombe, until they get a permanent replacement for Dr. McDuff.”

“Oh,” Phoebe murmured, obviously disappointed. “Then we shall have to wait a while before we know who our permanent new doctor will be.”

“I reckon as how you will,” the constable agreed, stepping back to allow Phoebe to pass through the door.

“Just fancy that,” Algie said after they’d left. “If that poor boy hadn’t fallen through the … ah … ice, I would have buried the wrong man.”

He shook his head in a fussy way that vividly reminded Cecily of his mother. “Oh, my, how dreadful. How utterly, perfectly dreadful. What a ghastly predicament. Can you imagine if the doctor’s body had never been found? Everyone would have been mourning at the gravesite of the wrong man, and the poor doctor would have been denied his proper burial.”

“Not to mention the young man,” Cecily said thoughtfully. “I wonder how many people would have spent the rest of their lives wondering what had happened to him?”

“Oh, dear heavens, yes. I hadn’t thought of that.” Algie picked up a hymn book from the whatnot in the corner and began fanning himself with it.

“Well, hopefully we shall find out once the body has been identified.” Cecily frowned. “Though that might prove to be somewhat difficult, in view of the absence of clothes. They won’t have many clues to work with.”

“Clues? Oh, my!”

Cecily stared at Algie’s stricken expression. “What is it? Have you thought of something? Is it something the constable should know?”

The vicar smoothed a distracted hand over his smooth, shiny pink pate. “Ah … no … at least I don’t think so … oh, I do hope not, I really didn’t think it was … ah … important. …”

Her interest thoroughly aroused now, Cecily tried to curb her impatience. “Perhaps if you tell me what it is?”

“Yes … no … I’m sure it’s not … it was just a piece of paper.” He looked hopefully at Cecily for reassurance. “I thought perhaps one of the choirboys might have … ah … dropped it last night … there was really nothing on it except …”

The hymn book flapped back and forth in his hand, without having much effect on his perspiring forehead.

“Except … what?”

“Well, it was just a list, really.”

“What kind of list?” She hoped he hadn’t noticed the fact that she gritted her teeth.

“A list of food. Different … ah … meals for different days. It looked rather appetizing, from what I can remember.” He let out a nervous giggle. “I’m not accustomed to eating … ah … exotic food, and it all sounded marvelous. Anyway, I threw it in the fire. I didn’t think anyone would want it.”

He peered anxiously at Cecily over the top of his glasses. “You don’t think anyone would want it, do you? It can’t have anything to do with the … ah … body in the coffin, can it?”

“Probably not,” Cecily told him. She was feeling decidedly deflated. For a moment or two there she thought he might have found something important, something that could lead to the answers to the puzzle.

“Made me feel hungry, if the truth be known,” Algie said, looking a little more relaxed now. “Poached haddock, deviled kidneys, and pork sausage, served with … ah … nectarines and melon. And that was only Sunday’s breakfast.”

He smacked his lips loudly, a most inelegant gesture, but Cecily barely noticed. It had to be coincidence, and yet … “Do you remember anything else on the list?” she asked with an air of indifference that masked her sudden uneasiness.

He lifted his head and stared at the ceiling. “Well, now, let me think. Thursday, I remember. It was ptarmigan pie and … ah … pheasant, with lobster roes and brioche for tea. And Figgy pudding. That’s why I remember. My favorite sweet is Figgy pudding.”