Never Laugh as a Hearse Goes By: A Penny Brannigan Mystery (11 page)

His wife struggled to sit up.

“Don’t get up, pet. Just listen to what I’ve got to say and brace yourself. Something terrible happened at the Library today around lunchtime. We saw the ambulance arrive and a punter came in a bit later and said someone had been taken away with a bad case of food poisoning.”

Constance closed her eyes and her lashes started to glisten.

“I’m sorry, love. I guess I’d better just come out and say it.” He leaned forward and took his wife’s hand. “It’s Minty. She ate some kind of shellfish apparently and had a bad reaction. Very bad. They took her to the hospital and they did everything they could for her, but she died.” He paused for a moment to let it sink in. “They said she wouldn’t have suffered. I’m really sorry, pet. I couldn’t think of any way to tell you that would make it easier for you.”

Constance opened her eyes. “My sister? Minty? But how can that be? She was always so careful. There must be some mistake.”

“The police said it was her, love. They asked if I would identify the body and I did. That’s why I’m late getting back. It’s her, all right.”

His wife glared at him. “Lunchtime, was it? I’ll never believe this was an accident. She was always so careful. She knew how serious that allergy was and she always carried that pen thing, that device that you inject yourself with, in case she should eat some seafood by mistake.” She glared at him. “What did the police say? What do they think happened?”

“They said they’re investigating.”

‘”Well, they’d better be.” She thought for a moment and then her eyes widened slightly. “You two always hated each other, you and Minty, and you know what Mother thought of you. That’s why she left everything to Minty, so you couldn’t get your hands on it. Did you have anything to do with this?”

Elwy looked shocked. “Of course I didn’t.”

“But you knew she’d be at that conference. You knew about her terrible allergy to shellfish. It would have been easy for you to slip over to the Library on your lunch hour and tamper with her food.”

“How would I do that?”

“It would have been easy. You could have borrowed a white coat from the kitchen at the pub, walked to the Library, entered through the kitchen entrance, and while everyone was busy with lunch service, they’d have taken no notice of you. I saw that in a movie, once. And then you hide something deadly on Minty’s plate and slip out before anyone even knows you’ve been there.”

“What a load of old rubbish! How could you even think such a thing?”

His wife’s eyes hardened and glittered. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to this,” he said, getting up. “Look, I’m sorry your sister’s dead. You’re right, she and I never did get on, but kill her? Never. Why would I?”

“Because now everything belongs to me. Everything that Mother left and now Minty’s estate as well, what there is of it. Even Granny’s pearls. Well, you needn’t think you’ll ever see one penny of any of it. So if you did kill her, you’ve just gone and done it for nothing. Nothing!”

The sitting room door slammed behind him. Exhausted, Constance leaned back in her chair and began to weep.

A few minutes later the door opened and Elwy crept in carrying a cup of tea. “I have to say I’m really hurt that you could even think such a thing, Constance. It’s true that Minty and I didn’t get on and we’ve fallen out over the years. But you’ve had a terrible shock and you’re not yourself. I know that. You’re just lashing out because you’re upset.”

He took a few steps into the room and set the cup on a small table beside her chair. “Thought you might need that. I put lots of sugar in it. For the shock, like. I came back to tell you the police said the postmortem would be tonight and they’ll release the body as soon as they can.” He waited for a response and when there was none, he asked, “Do you want me to leave you alone now?”

Constance shook her head so he eased himself slowly onto the sofa to be near her. His wife’s frail body convulsed as racking sobs overwhelmed it. He reached out for her hand and his heart almost broke as he picked it up. The hand that used to hoist luggage, roll out pastry, and hang out wet laundry on a summer morning now felt like a soft bag filled with bird bones. She clasped his as tightly as she could.

*

Penny opened the door to the Library chamber. Although she had thought the Library would look its best in the full light of day, she was mistaken. Bathed in the soft glow of table lamps that tempered the harsher illumination of overhead fluorescent lighting, the Library at dusk was a magical sight. With its warm oak fittings, rows and rows of multicoloured books, leaded windows, statuary, hidden alcoves and recesses, and brown leather straight-back Parsons chairs it was an awe-inspiring, yet practical, place. The upstairs level, where deep shadows gathered in the corners, was dark, mysterious, and slightly forbidden. She stood in the doorway, taking it all in, then let the door close gently behind her, thinking that by candlelight, which would never be allowed, this chamber would be enchanting.

Twenty

“Pamela Blaine must have given up on the conference,” Bronwyn remarked to Penny as the two sat finishing their coffee. Breakfast service had ended and they were the last ones left in the dining room. “She wasn’t down for breakfast and I haven’t seen her since, oh, since Minty was taken ill at that awful lunch, I guess. And that seems like ages ago.”

When Penny did not reply, Bronwyn added, “She may even have gone home, for all I know.”

“I saw her yesterday coming out of the Robinson Room,” Penny said. “But I didn’t speak to her.”

“Well, to change the subject,” Bronwyn said, “What do you think we should do this morning? Or are you going to stay on for a bit? I suppose you could go home any time you like, really.”

“I could,” agreed Penny. “And I should be getting back to the Spa. Mrs. Lloyd and Florence and I talked it over and we’re taking the train home together this afternoon. So this morning I thought I might walk through the parkland as far as Hawarden Castle. You can’t get too close to it as the Gladstone family still lives there, apparently, and it’s all private land, but I would like to get out and walk a bit further. I’ll take some materials with me and if there’s anything worth sketching, I’ll spend some time doing that.”

Bronwyn nodded. “Well, I have my book, so I think I’ll stay inside and read. In the Library, I think. Seems funny to bring your own book to a place like this. But this Library is mainly for theologians and philosophers, so there’s not too much fiction about. And if you’re only here for a day or two, you can’t read a book in that length of time, can you?”

She peered at Penny who did not seem to be listening to her.

“Penny? Did you talk to him? Did you talk to Gareth?”

“I did. We had a bit of a chat and then he got a phone call and had to leave. However, after talking it through with you, I do have some clarity and know what I must do. I have to be honest with him and tell him that I don’t see marriage in our future. As you suggested, I have to be very clear about it so I don’t lead him on. And then it’ll be up to him what he wants to do when he knows how I really feel.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Penny. Thomas and I had such high hopes for you and him. We really wanted to see you get together. I suppose that’s us being hopeless old romantics. And then there are the practical considerations. He will retire on a pension that would see you comfortable for the rest of your days, and many women would view that kind of financial stability as a huge attraction. In marrying him you might also be entitled to British citizenship, if that appealed to you. Still, you must do what is in your heart and what is right for both of you and in the end, being honest with him is probably for the best. I’m sure it will all work out. It will be what it’s meant to be.”

Penny sighed and stood up. “I hope so. I do feel better now that I’ve got some clarity on my feelings. I was a bit confused for a while there.” She stood up. “Right. I’ll be back about eleven thirty, I reckon. See you in a couple of hours and we can talk about what we want to do for lunch.”

*

A couple of hours later, after a long thoughtful walk, Penny stepped through the gate that led from the Hawarden parkland, crossed over the A550 motorway and turned toward the small stretch of road called Gladstone Way, directly in front of the Library’s main entrance. A small group had gathered on the pavement as if waiting for the arrival of an important personage or a passing parade. When she got closer, she recognized all the conference attendees, bundled up in coats and hats against a north wind which had turned surprisingly cold for this time of year. She joined the group and planted herself between Davies and Bronwyn.

He smiled down at her. “Good walk?”

She nodded. “What’s all this? What’s happening?”

“Minty’s body is being moved to the local funeral home. The bishop wanted everyone from the conference to come out and pay their respects because they probably won’t all be able to attend the funeral.”

A moment later a black hearse drove into view, making its way slowly down the street. The little group’s heads all turned in unison to watch its approach and as it neared the bishop removed his hat and bowed his head slightly. His wife stared straight ahead, with an inscrutable expression on her face.

As the hearse approached, Reverend Shipton, who was staring at a small mobile telephone device in his hand, let out a low chuckle.

“Well, really,” muttered Mrs. Lloyd. “Some people.”

The hearse drove past and in its wake, the group broke up. The bishop and his wife said their good-byes and made their way up the path directly to the car park. The rest of the group straggled back toward the Library’s main entrance.

“I’ll be heading over to Colwyn Bay now,” Davies said. “There’s masses of paperwork waiting there for me. You’ll be all right to go home with Mrs. Lloyd and Florence?”

Penny nodded. “I’ve still got some packing to do, but yes, I’ll be fine.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry for the way our getaway turned out. With us. I know it wasn’t what you wanted.”

“It’s all right,” Davies said. “I understand. Really. It’s early days, as relationships go and taking things slow is just fine with me. But you’ll find I’m a very patient guy. And no matter what happens, we’ll always be friends.”

“Of course we will. There’s nothing I’d like more,” said Penny. She watched as he followed in the bishop’s footsteps to the car park.

“So, Penny, you’re coming home on the train with us,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “I suppose we’ll have to take a taxi to the station as that policeman of yours has more important things to do than make sure we get there safely.” She turned to Florence. “Honestly, Florence, I was that shocked when that horrid little man started to laugh. I simply couldn’t believe it. Whatever happened to old-fashioned manners and behaving in a respectful fashion?”

“I guess he’s never heard the old saying,” Florence said glumly.

“What old saying?”

“Never laugh as a hearse goes by, or you will be the next to die.”

Twenty-one

Florence and Mrs. Lloyd stood in the hall near the reception area, while Penny spoke to the receptionist. A moment later, she joined them.

“The taxi’ll be here in thirty minutes,” she said, “so that’s plenty of time. I’ve got a bit of packing to do and then I thought I’d spend a few minutes in the Library before we go. I didn’t see as much of it as I should have. I’ll have to come back another time, I guess.”

“That suits me,” said Florence. “I’m all packed. I’ll be in the Gladstone Room skimming the newspapers. What about you, Evelyn? Coming with me?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Mrs. Lloyd trudged after her, pausing to examine a print of William Gladstone and Queen Victoria having what looked like a one-sided conversation.

Penny returned to her room. With Thomas and Bronwyn at the conference, and with the uncertainty of the depth and nature of her feelings for Davies, she had not felt comfortable to share a room with him, and they had agreed to take separate rooms. She folded the last of her clothes and placed them in her small suitcase. She checked the bathroom to make sure nothing had been left behind and after one last look around, closed the door behind her.

At the bottom of the stairs she tucked her suitcase out of the way and walked down the hall to the Library. She pulled open the heavy oak door and stepped into a quiet, book-filled world of learning and contemplation. The sun pouring in through leaded windows lit up the room, highlighting alcoves and niches that had not been so discernable the night before.

The library’s main chamber, with its soaring, vaulted cathedral ceiling, was built on two levels. The ground floor housed books on religion. The second level, open in the centre, ranged like a minstrels’ gallery around all four sides of the room, with a narrow spiral wooden staircase leading up to it. The room gave off a faint hint of the distinctive, remarkable smell of old books that is neither pleasant nor unpleasant—a combination of paper ageing over a very long time and slight dampness with a weak underlay of mustiness. After breathing the Library air for a few moments, Penny no longer noticed the smell.

Penny had always loved libraries. In the midst of a dysfunctional, burdened childhood she had found solace and escape in books, and the first place she had ever gone on her own was the small public library in the Nova Scotia town where she grew up. Walking along the summer streets in ugly, ill-fitting hand-me-down shoes as an emotionally neglected seven-year-old girl, clutching two Dr. Doolittle books under her arm, she navigated her way through the streets, retracing the route she had been shown two weeks earlier. She handed the books to the woman at the returns desk and wandered into the children’s section, drinking in the bright colours of children’s art displayed on the walls. For most people, a library is the introduction to a world of books and reading. For Penny, those had been just a delightful side effect. For her, the library had been the place where she discovered who she was and who she was meant to be. She had discovered the world of art when a kindly librarian noticed her examining the children’s drawings on the walls and asked if she would like to come to the special art classes, held every Saturday morning. Penny nodded shyly and the librarian then showed her the selection of books in the adult section dedicated to art history.