Never Laugh as a Hearse Goes By: A Penny Brannigan Mystery (20 page)

Bronwyn smiled. “Well, Thomas would let you look, I’m sure. He keeps his record in a locked cabinet in the vestry, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t wondering about his, but I was wondering where Shipton kept his.”

“I expect Thomas could find that out for you. Until a replacement can be found for Shipton, the bishop is sharing out his work amongst all the other parishes. In fact, Thomas is doing a wedding on Saturday that was originally scheduled to be performed by Shipton. You might want to come.”

“Why would I want to see people I don’t know get married?”

“I think it would interest you. An international couple. Thomas has concerns about the validity of the relationship.”

“Really? Why?”

“Just come. Two o’clock. You’ll see.”

“Well, I’m intrigued. Will you be there?”

“Yes, Thomas has asked me to go. Apparently I’m to be a witness.”

“A witness? You? Don’t they have any friends? I thought the best man and bridesmaid were the witnesses.”

“This is a little different than most weddings. Just turn up. You might be sorry if you don’t.”

“I’ll do my best. Depends how many bookings we have. Saturday afternoons can be busy at the Spa.” They ate for a few minutes in silence, and then Penny asked, “What parish did Shipton have? I don’t think anyone told me that. Where was his church?”

“Oh, he had a very pretty church in Abergele. St. Michael’s. Lovely old place.”

“Is there anything more you can tell me about him, Bronwyn? I don’t feel I’ve got the complete picture of him.”

“Well, you know about his gentleman friend from Nigeria and how cross the bishop was about that. But no one cares these days that he was gay, although some church officials still take a dim view of it.”

Bronwyn put her fork down.

“But the interesting thing is that he was married for over twenty years and had a couple of children. Daughters, I believe.” She nodded. “Yes, it’s true. He was from that generation when most gay men remained closeted. It may be they were in denial. And I think, sadly, there was a lot of shame associated with it.” She shrugged. “Of course it wasn’t talked about then. So many of these men married and had families. And then they went through a kind of midlife crisis, admitted to themselves that they were not living their authentic lives, told their families, and went on to establish relationships with gay partners. Of course, by the time all this happened, times had changed and society had become much more tolerant of homosexuality. More accepting, I should say.” She sighed. “Thomas has done a bit of counseling on that issue.”

“The men came to him for counseling, did they?”

“No, not the men. They were quite content once they were out and got on with their lives. It was the wives who were understandably devastated. How could I not have known, they asked themselves. Was there something I could have done differently? And of course they felt humiliated and embarrassed.”

“So how long ago did this happen with Shipton? And where is his wife now, do you know?”

“It was, oh, two or three years ago. Judith, I think her name was. I don’t know what happened to her. She used to be very active in the parish. Had a special interest in unwed mothers, as we used to call them. Single women having babies.”

“Why did the bishop let Shipton keep his job?” Penny asked.

“There’s a real shortage of rectors nowadays, Penny. Christianity numbers are dropping and very few young people are choosing to go into the church. Or go to church, for that matter. Practically everyone in our congregation is over fifty. No one has time for church anymore. In the old days, it used to be the centre of family life and everyone’s social lives. Anyway, these days, a parish lucky enough to have a rector all to itself is very rare. Most rectors have to serve two or three parishes.” She folded her hands in her lap.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you, if you don’t mind. When you discovered Shipton’s body, what did he look like?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” replied Penny in a low voice and looking around to make sure no one could overhear. “I think it must have been especially awful for him. He was twisted slightly in his chair as if he had heard someone approaching, then turned around to see who it was and saw the assailant coming toward him. He almost had a surprised look on his face.”

“Well, he would be surprised, wouldn’t he? No one gets up in the morning expecting to be murdered by lunchtime. I expect for most murder victims there’s an element of surprise.”

“Maybe. But I think he knew his attacker, and then a few terrible seconds later realized he was about to die.”

Bronwyn shuddered. “That’s too awful to think about. The poor man.”

“I think I’m going to take an extra-long lunch today and hop on the bus to Abergele. I’ve a hankering to visit Shipton’s church, and I’d also like to see if I could have a look at the parish records. Pretend I’m researching some family history. You know, I believe my great-aunt Henrietta came from these parts. There might be a caretaker or clerk or somebody about who could let me in.”

“Penny, why would you want to do that? Why do you want to look at the records?” Bronwyn reached for her handbag and pulled out a tissue.

“It’s just a hunch. I think Shipton was hiding a secret, and because he was so open about his personal life, I think it had to do with his work. It could be just a wild goose chase, though. Complete waste of time.”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I might be able to save you some time. Thomas has brought over the parish records and they’re locked away in our safe in the vestry that I told you about. He wanted to check if Shipton had made an entry for the wedding on Saturday already. You see, you have to record if the marriage is taking place by banns or licence and Shipton should have recorded that. Of course, he didn’t. Thomas was annoyed, but not surprised. He’ll have to ask the couple on Saturday if they have a licence, although he doubts the couple will understand the question.”

“Why not?”

“Because neither of them speaks English.”

“Oh.” Penny thought for a moment. “Hmm. Seems there’s more to getting married than you’d think. You mentioned banns or licence. What does that mean?”

“Calling the banns means the rector makes a public announcement of a forthcoming marriage, in the couple’s parish church, for three Sundays in a row prior to the wedding and this gives an opportunity for anyone to object to the marriage—for example, because one of the parties was already married. Or a couple can get a licence if they don’t want the banns read. Whatever the couple decides to do is recorded in the parish record.”

“And Shipton should have recorded that.”

“Yes.”

“But he didn’t?”

“No. Maybe he hadn’t got around to it.”

Penny thought about that for a moment and then set down her knife and fork.

“But will it make a difference if they arranged to get married in one parish—that is in Abergele—and now they’re getting married in another—here in Llanelen?”

“It might, under normal circumstances but it probably won’t matter in this case,” Bronwyn said.

“Why not?”

“Because this wedding isn’t going to take place,” said Bronwyn with an enigmatic smile. “But that’s enough. You’ll see. Anyway, after we’ve finished lunch, let’s go and talk to Thomas.”

Half an hour later, they scrambled into their jackets, settled the bill, and left. While they had been having lunch, a light drizzle had begun to fall. The sky above them was dark, but across the valley a line of palest blue sky streaked across the hills bringing a promise of clear weather, and maybe even an early summer.

Bronwyn snapped open an umbrella and the women hurried across the bridge, past the Spa, and on to the rectory. “I expect he’s in his study,” said Bronwyn as she pushed open the door. “Have a seat,” she said as they entered the warm kitchen. “I’ll be right back. With him, I hope.”

A few minutes later she reappeared with Rev. Thomas Evans right behind her and Robbie, her adored cairn terrier, trotting along in front, tail wagging. The little dog approached Penny, who was seated on a kitchen chair, and put his front paws on her knee. She bent down and scratched his tufty ears.

Reverend Evans smiled hello at Penny. “Bronwyn says you’d like to see the Register of Marriages from St. Michael’s,” he said, laying a large, green volume on the table. “I’ve found it makes pretty interesting reading myself.”

Penny slowly lifted the front cover. “Turn to the most recent entries,” said Reverend Evans. “Look at the names of the brides and grooms.”

Each handwritten entry contained the date of the marriage, first and last names of the marrying couple, their marital status—in all cases, single—age, their addresses, the occupation of each, whether the marriage was taking place by banns or licence, and the name and occupation of the fathers of the bride and groom. Also included was the name of the person who performed the marriage.

“Look at the names,” said Reverend Thomas, “and there are hundreds of them just like that.”

Penny ran her finger down the pages. Women with first names like Ania, Rasa, Viktorija, Biata, Irina, Ludmilla, and Zusane were marrying men with first names like Azeem, Hussain, Wahee, Tariq, Abdi, and Akono.

“What is this?” Penny asked looking at Thomas while Bronwyn busied herself at the sink filling the kettle. “These people aren’t Welsh. Or even British.”

“They’re no more Welsh than you are,” said Thomas. “It could mean that Shipton was running a sham-marriage scam. He was taking in thousands of pounds performing sham marriages.” He pointed to the names of one couple. “The woman, here, is Polish. She holds a European Economic Area passport. The man comes from Pakistan, I would say. More than likely, he’s living in the UK illegally and wants the right to remain, to work and to collect benefits. A marriage broker, for a very large fee, probably put up by this man’s family, arranged for him to marry this woman. She was probably paid about two thousand pounds to marry him. They will never live together in a genuine, committed relationship. And when all this blows over, enough time has passed, they will divorce and his family will arrange a marriage for him with some poor young woman from his native country. We’ve been asked to be on the lookout for this kind of thing.”

“And Shipton would have known this?”

“Certainly he would have. He’d have known it over and over again.”

“And Minty, would she have known about it?”

“She probably figured it out at some point. I expect Shipton recorded the marriages in the register, as required by law, and may have included some of them in his parish reporting, but he did not record the corresponding income from the marriages he performed. That would have gone straight in his pocket.” He folded his arms. “The bishop was always on at Shipton about his sloppy and late record-keeping, and maybe now we know why. I heard that the bishop threatened a few to times to send Minty over to Abergele to sort Shipton out, but I don’t know if she ever went.”

“I need to think this through,” said Penny, smiling her thanks briefly at Bronwyn, who placed a cup of tea in front of her. “I’m not sure it makes sense. You’d think that if he was up to something like this he would ensure his record keeping was immaculate. The last thing he’d want is the bishop complaining about his record keeping or Minty coming round to go through his books with a fine-toothed comb. But first things first. Have you informed Gareth about the wedding on Saturday? He’ll know what to do.”

“Yes, I have,” replied Thomas. “He told me to say nothing to the couple. To just let them turn up thinking everything is all right and he’ll take care of everything else.”

“He and the UK Border Agency people,” added Bronwyn. “They’re coming to the wedding, too.”

“But of course there isn’t really going to be a wedding,” said Thomas.

“I don’t quite see what this means in terms of Shipton’s death,” said Penny, “although I’m sure that it’s connected to it, in some way.”

“At least we know Minty couldn’t have done it,” said Bronwyn. “She was already dead.”

“Hmm,” said Penny, preparing to close the record book. She lifted the heavy cover and let the large pages cascade closed. As they fluttered by a name caught her attention just before the page turned into the next one. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “What’s that? I just saw a name I recognized.”

“What name?” asked Bronwyn.

“Shipton,” said Penny.

“Of course you saw his name. He performed all the marriages,” said Thomas.

“No, it wasn’t in that section. Wait. Let me find it. It was right here, about a third of the way down the page.” She leafed slowly through the pages, until she came to the entry she was looking for.

“Look at this!” She checked the date. “Eight years ago. Bride: Rhosyn Grace Shipton. Groom: Hywel Leonard Stephens. Occupation: accountant.” She looked from Thomas to Bronwyn. “Did you know that? Did you know that Hywel Stephens was married to Ros Shipton?”

“No,” said Thomas. “I didn’t know the family all that well. Or if I did know, I’d forgotten.”

“Oh, the poor girl,” said Bronwyn. “First she has to go through that business with her father, coming out as a gay man and leaving her mother, and then her husband setting up house and having another family with the Spanish woman.” She glared at Thomas. “This is too much! It’s enough to put you right off men.”

She turned to Penny. “Now that you know all this, I’m sure you wouldn’t miss the wedding on Saturday for the world. But don’t waste one minute worrying about what to wear.”

Thirty-five

Apparently the bride hadn’t spent too much time worrying about what to wear, either. Danuta Jaworski’s thin collarbone peeked out from an unflattering, creased, limp wedding dress in off white duchesse satin that had obviously been worn a few times without the benefit of dry cleaning between each wearing. The hem, which trailed on the ground, was rimmed with dirt. She had the pale, sallow face of a longtime smoker with heavy wrinkles around her lips, and her breath reeked of stale alcohol and cigarettes. Her age, as given on the marriage licence she produced, was thirty-six. She looked at least ten years older, as if she’d been ridden hard and put away wet. She had arrived at the church alone, nervous and unsmiling, clutching a cheap bunch of supermarket carnations. Thomas and Bronwyn had shown her into a small anteroom adjoining the rector’s study, and gesturing to a chair, offered her something to drink and asked her to wait. Bronwyn had remained with her while Thomas returned to the main door of the rectory. A few minutes later Davies arrived. He extended his hand to Thomas and, after a whispered conversation, entered the rector’s office and sat in one of the visitor’s chairs. Next to arrive was Penny, and Thomas directed her to join Bronwyn and the Polish bride. When Sgt. Bethan Morgan, dressed in a plain black suit, slipped in through the Evans’s kitchen door and joined them, Penny and Bronwyn gave her a relieved smile. The bride gave the three women a bored look, raised two slightly-separated fingers to her lips in a universal smoking gesture, handed her shabby bouquet to Bronwyn, and left the room.