English Tea Murder (18 page)

A body! What was she thinking? This was a crowded tourist attraction; it was hardly the place you’d expect an assault to take place. Except that it wasn’t very crowded today, and there was that weird lighting that created contrasting patches of light and dark. For a public place, it sure had a lot of nooks and crannies, spaces tucked behind displays of stone carvings, ancient coins, and other artifacts.

“Any sign of her?” Rachel and Sue had caught up with Lucy in the sweat room.

Lucy shook her head.

“Come on, let’s finish the tour. Maybe she went on ahead of us,” said Sue.

“With that bad ankle?” Lucy was wondering if it would be possible to slip off the observation deck and explore the far corners of the sweat room.

“Maybe. She might have stuck to the ramps and walkways.”

“Or she might have fallen behind and been attacked,” said Lucy. “What if she’s down there somewhere, bleeding or concussed? And how come there are no security guards here? What kind of place is this?”

Sue was holding her arm. “I have a feeling you’ll find out if you venture off this viewing platform. I’ll bet you fifty pounds they’ve got closed-circuit surveillance cameras.”

“And if anything happened to Pam, they would have seen it,” said Rachel. “Come on. We’ve checked back here and now we have to continue on.”

“Okay,” grumbled Lucy, following her friends back past the large open pool and on to the Sacred Spring, where water gushed from an underground source. The Germans Lucy had so rudely brushed past were there, listening to their audioguides and blocking the exit. This time, she could tell from their expressions that she wasn’t going to get past them.

It seemed to take them forever to listen to the recording, and then they had to discuss what they’d heard; at least that’s what Lucy thought they were doing. Maybe they were talking about rude Americans. She didn’t understand German, and she was beginning to think she didn’t much like these particular German people either. Then one very large-hipped lady turned, and Lucy was able to slip past, into the hall outside the restrooms and gift shop. And there, sitting on a bench, was Pam.

“What took you guys so long?” she asked.

Chapter Eighteen

“W
ell, actually, we were looking for you.” Lucy sounded rather annoyed. “That’s what took so long.”

“It’s my fault,” admitted Pam. “I got separated from you guys. I figured this was the best place to catch up with you.” She tilted her head toward the door of the ladies’ room.

“Good thinking. In fact, I think I’ll . . .”

“Go ahead. I’m not moving,” said Pam, catching sight of Sue and Rachel emerging from the exhibit and giving them a wave.

When they’d all used the facilities and gathered again in the lobby outside the gift shop, Sue suggested they go on to the Pump Room. “Our ticket to the baths entitles us to a free glass of Bath water. . . .”

“My mother told me not to drink the bathwater,” quipped Pam.

Sue gave her a look. “And we can have tea. A real afternoon tea.”

“I’m not really very hungry,” protested Lucy.

“This may be our only chance,” warned Sue. “We can’t go back home without having a real English tea.”

“If you say so.” Rachel shrugged. “I could use a reviving cup of tea, and I guess I could nibble on a scone.”

“Perhaps we could share one,” suggested Pam. “Just to get a taste.”

But after working their way through the gift shop and emerging outside the Pump Room, they found themselves blocked once again by the German tourists—and a long line of others.

Sue scowled. “Where did they all come from?”

“All over. It’s a famous tourist attraction.” Rachel was pulling out her guidebook. “There’s lots to see: the Royal Crescent, Regency architecture, a covered market, the guild hall. . . .”

“And the shops.” Sue was brightening.

“I’m not really up for a lot of walking,” said Pam. “But you all should go ahead. I’ll go sit in the Abbey and read my book.”

Lucy wasn’t about to leave Pam on her own. “I’ll go with you,” she said. “I love old churches.”

Sue gave her a quizzical look. “You do?”

Lucy nodded. “I never knew, until I got here. I like the way they, uh, smell.”

“If you say so.” Rachel was doubtful. “Come on, Sue. I see a National Trust gift shop across the way.”

“You know where to find us,” said Lucy, watching them depart.

“You don’t have to do this, Lucy,” protested Pam. “I’m fine on my own, and I feel guilty keeping you from seeing the city.”

“Don’t be silly.” Lucy took her arm. “Bath Abbey is the Lantern of the West, and I don’t want to miss it.”

Inside, the Lantern of the West definitely had that musty old church smell and seemed a bit shabby. At least that’s what Lucy thought after she installed Pam in a pew and began to look around. Maybe, she decided, it was simply that those famous windows let in more light than the smaller windows in the other churches they’d seen. And that light revealed the effects of age, just like a sunny day coming after a rainy spell illuminated unnoticed dust and cobwebs in the house. Or maybe it was the fact that history hadn’t treated the Abbey well: It had been stripped when Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries and left to fall into disrepair. Various restoration projects had been undertaken through the years, but it was once again damaged by German bombs in World War II.

Still, it was a beautiful and active church, as the brochure describing its architectural features took pains to point out. Lucy was walking along the side aisles, studying the enormous windows and the graceful vaulted ceiling, when she noticed Laura Barfield, bent in prayer. She didn’t wish to disturb her and continued on her way, but Laura called out to her.

“Lucy! Are you on your own?”

“My friends wanted to shop, but I’m out of money,” she said. “And besides, Pam can’t do much walking because of her ankle. She’s sitting in the back.”

“It’s a beautiful place to spend a quiet hour.”

“They call it Perpendicular Gothic,” said Lucy.

“Whatever they call it, it’s good for the soul.” Laura cocked her head. “Are you a person of faith?”

“Not really.” Lucy slipped into the pew beside Laura; maybe she could turn the conversation toward Will. Most mothers were eager to talk about their kids. “How about you? Are you a churchgoing family?”

“Not so much the family, but I am.” She raised her eyes to the intricately decorated ceiling high above them. “Church is the only place I find peace.”

Lucy was all sympathy. “Tell me about it. My daughter, she’s in college, is driving me crazy. And I’ve got two more at home. They say boys are tough to raise, but I think girls are worse.”

“Oh, I’m not troubled about Will. Boys will be boys—that’s what my husband says. He’ll sow his wild oats and settle down.”

This attitude surprised Lucy. From what Quentin had told her, the college considered him to be at risk; that’s why he was in the special support program. She had expected Laura to be eager to discuss her son’s problems, but now it didn’t seem she thought he had any. Lucy wasn’t quite sure how to continue when Laura solved the problem for her.

“No,” she said with a sad smile, “it’s not Will that troubles me. It’s my mother.”

“Mothers and daughters,” said Lucy cautiously, feeling her way. “It’s a special relationship.”

“I adored my mother.”

Lucy was pretty sure her daughters didn’t adore her, especially Elizabeth. But they seemed to get along most of the time, which was a big improvement over the relationship she had with her own mother. Lucy had been a Daddy’s girl, and her mother hadn’t appreciated her daughter’s claim on her husband’s affection. “My mother died some years ago,” was the best Lucy could come up with. “Alzheimer’s.”

Laura turned to her, her eyes brimming with tears. “Mine, too. It was awful. Early onset.”

“Hard for the family,” said Lucy, remembering her mother wandering around a posh assisted-living facility in a happy haze, imagining herself the lady of the manor. “My mother didn’t know what she was missing.”

“I didn’t want to put her away—I tried to care for Mom at home.”

“That would be difficult.”

“It was impossible, especially after I got pregnant with Will. I had to put her in a, you know, one of those places.” This was a wound that hadn’t healed; tears were trickling down Laura’s cheeks.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself. I found that my mother was much happier at Wonderstrand Manor than she would have been with me. They had special programs, wonderful meals. And she was safe there. They kept the doors locked so the residents couldn’t wander off.” Lucy hadn’t thought about this in a long time and found her resentments had lessened; she was remembering her mother fondly. She smiled. “She loved the sing-alongs, all those old songs like “How Much Is that Doggie in the Window?” and “Wunderbar.”

“That place sounds wonderful.” Laura had placed her hand on Lucy’s arm. “We couldn’t afford anything like that. We had to depend on Medicare.”

“But even so . . .” protested Lucy.

“No. This was almost twenty years ago. Things were different then. This was a Medicare mill. The patients were kept strapped in their beds; they got minimal care. It was terrible.”

“I’m so sorry.” Lucy knew her father had provided well for her mother; there had even been a modest inheritance left for her after her mother’s sudden death from a stroke.

“The worst part is that Mom had money.” Laura’s chin vibrated. “She should have been in a place like Wonderful Manor, whatever it was called. But Dad trusted an old friend with his investments. . . .” Laura stopped suddenly. “It was that savings and loan crisis. Maybe you remember?”

Lucy remembered. “My father believed in T-bills.”

“Smart man.”

Now Lucy felt tears pricking her eyes. She’d never really had a chance to say good-bye to her father, never had a chance to tell him how much she loved him. He’d survived a massive heart attack and was convalescing when he suddenly developed pneumonia. Her mother had been caring for him at home. She’d discouraged Lucy even from visiting and had disregarded his symptoms. Lucy had often felt she should have insisted on visiting; she should have realized her mother was already suffering from Alzheimer’s, which she’d tried to hide.

“We have to remember that hindsight is twenty-twenty,” she told Laura. “Of course we should have and could have, if we’d only known, but we didn’t. We have to forgive ourselves.”

Laura’s eyes were huge and she cast them upward. “That’s what I pray for, all the time: forgiveness. But I don’t think He does forgive me.”

Lucy was no theologian, but she had attended church enough to pick up the general gist. “Of course He does.”

Laura shook her head. “No. I saw my mother’s body—the undertaker showed me. He was so upset, said he’d never seen anything like it. Bruises and bedsores and marks from the restraints, her skin rubbed raw. She looked as if she’d been tortured.”

“Did you report the nursing home to the authorities?”

Laura’s eyes widened. “I was so ashamed—I didn’t say a word.” She sobbed. “But I can’t forget. I’m haunted. Whenever I close my eyes, that’s what I see.”

Lucy was beginning to feel out of her depth. She furrowed her brow and patted Laura’s hand. “Maybe you should talk this over with a professional.”

“That’s what my husband says. He keeps saying how lucky we are, how Will has grown up to be so fine and he goes to a great college and we have a nice house and no money worries. He says I should get over it and enjoy life.”

“That’s easier said than done—but he does have a point. You can’t change the past, only the future.”

Laura brushed away her tears with the backs of her hands and then clasped Lucy’s hands with both of hers. “Oh, Lucy, thank you. You’ve made me feel so much better.”

“I’m glad I could help,” said Lucy, standing up and looking back toward the pew where Pam was sitting, absorbed in her book.

“Really,” insisted Laura. “I think you have a calling. Have you considered the ministry?”

Lucy was chuckling, about to admit the thought had never crossed her mind, when she jumped, hearing a sudden enormous crash. Her first thought was for Pam, but Pam was fine, looking about curiously for the source of the noise. Turning the other way, she saw Will in the center aisle, bending down to replace a kneeling stool.

“That boy is so clumsy,” said Laura, giggling as her son advanced down the aisle toward them.

“Aren’t they all?” said Lucy, deciding to head back to Pam.

“But don’t you want to see the museum?” asked Laura.

“Thanks, but I need to get back to my friend.”

“Oh, well, now that Will’s here, I can go with him. He loves old things and museums. Isn’t that right, Will?”

“Sure, Mom.”

Will was smiling agreeably enough, but Lucy wasn’t convinced. Her experience had taught her that teens could be less than honest when they were engaged in achieving their own ends. They pleaded for permission to spend the night at a friend’s house, declaring that “of course her parents are going to be home,” and you got a call from the cops at one in the morning advising you to pick up your kid at the police station because neighbors had called complaining of a drunken party. Or you found a charge on your cable bill for an adult movie that your teenage son swore must be a mistake because he’d never do anything like that. Never. Not ever. And fools that we are, thought Lucy, watching Laura and Will going off together, parents want to believe their children are telling the truth.

“What was that all about?” asked Pam when Lucy joined her on her pew. “It looked intense.”

“You can say that again. She’s guilt-stricken over her mother’s death. She feels she didn’t do enough for her.”

Pam sighed. “I guess we all feel that way when our parents pass on.”

“Not like this. Laura really feels guilty. She needs help.”

“I hope she gets it,” said Pam, a mischievous glint in her eye. “You know, I believe I spotted an ice-cream place in the plaza outside.”

“I believe you’re right,” said Lucy.

“And I think I could just about manage to hobble over there.”

“Well, let’s go,” said Lucy, taking her arm. “I’ve had it with churches.”

“You said you loved them.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” said Lucy, stepping through the door and taking a deep breath of fresh air.