Up from the Grave (13 page)

“I’ve never been fond of truffles, really.” Berdie partook in the general sentiment. “The earthen ones that is. Umm, but I do love the chocolate ones.”

She and Hugh enjoyed an easy laugh. He put his arm around her shoulder.

“What say we grab a quiet snug at the Pork and Barrel? And a three layer double chocolate cake for afters.”

“I’ve always thought the Pork and Barrel a fine eating establishment,” Berdie quipped.

“To the off then.”

Arm in arm, Berdie and Hugh made their way out of the crowd towards the bottom of the road.

“Did I say?” Berdie asked. “I’m invited to tea with the contessa tomorrow.”

“Indeed. I was invited as well, but I have a meeting with Reverend Wainwright in Mistcome Green.” Hugh didn’t look very disappointed. “You must tell me all about our mystery benefactor.”

A large pig, carved into a wooden half-barrel sign, came into view. It confirmed the presence of the Pork and Barrel.

Berdie and Hugh walked with an easy rhythm, anticipating their comely but appreciated evening meal. Actually, Berdie coveted this time alone with her life partner, and now it was just the two of them in the April dusk. Berdie squeezed Hugh’s arm.

“I love spring evenings,” she breathed.

Hugh placed a light kiss on Berdie’s cheek. “And it is a fine evening.”

****

A steady drizzle of rain wetted the windscreen of Berdie’s car as she turned into the short drive of Bampkingswith Lodge, the temporary home of Contessa Santolio. The thoroughly wet two-story house was modest compared to its great cousin that sat at the top of the road. Still, the lodge looked a fit guardian, keeping watch over the entry to the spreading grounds of the Preswood estate.

Lillie was standing at the bottom of the front garden walk, umbrella in hand, just where she said she would be waiting for Berdie to arrive. “Good,” Berdie said aloud.

After the telephone conversation she had with Lillie this morning, she wasn’t at all sure her friend would be keen to socialize. Following last evening’s events, Lillie confessed she had gone straight home, burrowed under multiple quilts where she swilled mugs of Horlicks, watched a Jane Austen DVD, and refused to answer calls. Even today, she was still reeling. Though apologetic for the dramatic departure, her simply put, “I don’t want to talk about him, or her, or any of it,” squelched any conversation Berdie had hoped to have on the matter.

“Berdie.” Lillie gave Berdie a hug watching carefully that umbrellas did not collide.

“Better spirits, then?” Berdie asked wryly.

Lillie became enlivened. “You know I’ve decided this could be a great deal of fun, discovering who this contessa is, what she’s about.”

“Indeed.” Berdie noticed the ravishing not-seen-before scarf that graced Lillie’s neck. “That’s new, and it suits you.”

“He sent it.” Lillie sniffed as if unaffected. “A parcel from White Window Box Gifts and Garden Shop, and three dozen red roses arrived this afternoon.” Lillie lifted her chin. “Typical. Flowers and gifts are supposed to put everything right. A reconciliation it is not, but it is lovely. She ran her fingers across the scarf. “And the roses do fragrance my home remarkably.”

“It’s a step in a forward direction,” Berdie quickly pointed out with an eye to getting on. “Now, onward to our discovery then.”

They walked to the entrance where Berdie rang the door chime. Almost instantly, a young woman was at the doorway.

“Please come,” she invited warmly. She stopped momentarily and drew close. “If you excuse,” the woman whispered. “The Contessa invites six people to tea. You are the only ones who come.” Her demonstrative brown eyes pleaded. “Contessa Santolio ees a good woman.”

Berdie sensed the tender heart of a caring person, modest and loyal. “Yes.” She nodded.

The woman stood aside so Berdie and Lillie could enter the quaint hall laid with earth-colored natural floor tiles. The walls were painted a handsome russet shade graced with paintings of the hunt. And the furnishings were fit for a country home.

The greeter took Berdie and Lillie’s umbrellas. She deposited the wet implements in an equine-shaped ceramic stand designed for that purpose.

The greeter’s coal black hair was pulled back in a French roll. She wore a bright yellow sundress that, Berdie decided, quite matched the sunny attitude of this woman. Her intense olive tone skin contrasted beautifully.

“The contessa ees een the drawing room,” she announced with a sense of decorum.

With gracious movement, she guided Berdie and Lillie the few steps needed to enter the room where the contessa stood near an antique sideboard.

“Mrs. Elliott, Meess Foxworth, thees ees Contessa Carlotta Francesca Santolio.”

Berdie wasn’t sure if she should curtsy or applaud after that royal introduction. Instead, she simply smiled. “Thank you for inviting us to tea, Contessa.”

“Yes,” Lillie added.

“I’m so glad you could come,” The contessa spoke with only the slightest of Italian accents.

Her fashionable dark hair just touched the shoulders of her silk print dress that was bright with the colors of a Mediterranean village. The rose of her cheeks plus shimmering lips brought drama to the light tan skin that appeared casually kissed by the sun. “And you’ve met my assistant, Ortensia.”

The yellow clad aide offered a swift tip of the head.

“Please, sit down.” The contessa waved her hand towards the leather couch where Berdie and Lillie seated themselves.

“
Ortensia, porti gli antipasti per favore
,” the contessa gently directed.

Ortensia left the room.

Elegantly, Contessa Carlotta positioned herself in the leather chair opposite the couch.

Though the meeting was formal, Berdie didn’t have an overwhelming sense of pretense from the woman. In fact, the aristocrat seemed fairly grounded. But a nagging uneasiness also attended the meeting.

“It’s gracious of you, Contessa, to invite us to tea. Are you enjoying Aidan Kirkwood?” Berdie asked politely.

“It is a respite.” The contessa turned her face to a nearby window that overlooked the garden road. Even in grey light the contessa’s striking eyes shone lightest of liquid green. This was not unusual for an Italian, especially if their roots were Northern Italy.

“Italy is lovely as well.” Berdie worked at establishing some kind of conversation.

The contessa turned her face back to her guests. “My husband and I lived in Milan.” The lovely woman paused. “Count Santolio died eighteen months ago. He was a wonderful man.” Her voice held a solemn note.

“Oh, I’m sure he was. I am sorry,” Berdie consoled, “I wasn’t aware.”

“No. Nor I,” Lillie added. “So, have you been on a tour then?”

“Tour?”

“What I mean is,” Lillie’s verbal pace slowed some, “when a friend of mine lost her husband, she went abroad, just after, to ease her grief.”

“If you are asking why I am in Aidan Kirkwood, no, I am not touring.”

Lillie rubbed her hand on the arm of the couch. “I see.”

The contessa arose and stood by the window. She clasped her hands together. “Just after my husband received word of his critical health diagnosis, we came to England. It was for business, but we prolonged our stay. It was a holiday, a momentary reprieve from his demanding work. We spent a quiet day in your village: unattended, peaceful. It was a gift.”

Ortensia entered the room with a tray of chocolate truffles. The contessa nodded. The aide offered the silver tray of delights, along with gold-colored linen napkins, to Berdie and Lillie.

“Thank you,” they said almost in unison.

When Ortensia offered the tray to the hostess, she waved it away.

Berdie bit into the truffle and nearly swooned. The rich chocolate was liquid silk that clung to the tongue and slid down the throat, after which an edge of orange sweetly tingled in the mouth.

“These truffles are very good,” Lillie gushed.

The contessa returned to her seat. She smiled. “I’m happy you like them. It is a special order from a French restaurant in Timsley.”

“I see.” Lillie showed somewhat less enthusiasm.

“
Chocolate du la Fleur
,” Berdie remembered from Charles Swindon-Pierce carrying on. “No wonder Robin ate every bit.”

“I’ll send some home with you.” The host spoke to Ortensia in Italian and the aide left the room. The contessa appeared delighted that her guests were enjoying themselves.

“Very generous, thank you.” Berdie wiped a smudge of chocolate from her lip. She laid the napkin in her lap. “Contessa, I’m pleased that Aidan Kirkwood is a pleasant memory for you. How did you come to be a patron for our church garden, if I may ask?”

The door chime sounded. Oh, bother, who could that be? Berdie wondered. She caught a flash of yellow sundress through the sitting room door. Loyal Ortensia was about her duties.

“Ah, the church garden. Yes, a question I expected from the vicar’s wife. It is very simple,” the host began.

Berdie could hear the familiar voice of Pat the Postman, curt and efficient, making an attempt to discuss something with Ortensia in the hall. A bang of the door announced Patricia’s departure.

Ortensia entered the sitting room holding a small parcel.

Carlotta Santolio gave a hard stare to her aide. “Yes, Ortensia.”

“Thees come for you,” she stumbled in English. “
Importante, molto importante
.”

Berdie could just see the large red words
open immediately
stamped on the box.

“Excuse me.” The host redirected her gaze. “Yes, open it, Ortensia.
Aperto
.”

Adeptly, Ortensia worked her fingers to open the parcel. She unsecured the top and removed a piece of white tissue.

All three women now watched every nuance of the aide for a clue concerning what she was discovering.

Ortensia furrowed her brow. She brought the box closer to her face. Her eyes became slits then widened with intensity. Attended by a horrified gasp, Ortensia threw the box to the floor. A string of Italian words even Berdie could recognize as expletives gushed from the woman’s lips.

Startled, Lillie dropped her half-eaten truffle on her lap.

“Ortensia?” The Contessa abruptly stood.

That’s when Berdie saw it, there in the box, an eerie dark object against the white tissue.

In a flash, spindly appendages began to awaken and move. Berdie blinked, working to comprehend what she was watching.

The creature erected itself on its coarse legs and instituted a spine-chilling sway, as if presenting itself in utter domination. The dance of death. The great, terrifying spider, in one electric movement, leaped from the box and fastened itself onto Ortensia’s leg.

The woman shrieked. She shook her leg with such intensity Berdie thought it would dislocate. But the creature couldn’t be dislodged.

The contessa recoiled in horror. “Holy Author of Peace,” she entreated.

Lillie repositioned herself to stand on the couch, alternating fretful yelps with gasps of repulsion.

Instinctively, Berdie stood and gathered herself. She vowed the creature would not prevail. Umbrella! She determinedly dashed into the hallway and pulled her umbrella from the stand with such force, the ceramic rack fell to the floor shattering into a hundred pieces.

Berdie approached the aide with haste. “Watch out Ortensia,” Berdie screamed above the bedlam. “Dear Lord,” she invoked the Almighty. Putting all her weight into it, Berdie used the pointed end of the umbrella, and in one precise stab, sent the ghastly spider tumbling onto the floor where it lay stunned. The blood-red mark on Ortensia’s leg was decidedly visible.

Ortensia screamed, tears plummeted down her face, and profuse perspiration was already raising the flag that something horrific sent it’s shockwaves through the servant’s body. She escaped into the hallway.

“Lillie, get your mobile, go to the kitchen, and call nine, nine, nine,” Berdie commanded while she warily inched her way towards the still spider. “Get a jar, a bowl and bring it promptly.”

Lillie leapt off the couch and moved like a frightened gazelle.

“Contessa, carefully, get Ortensia to lay down on the couch, now!”

Berdie was close enough to the arachnid now to see it beginning to rouse. “Stand clear,” she yelled. She knew the blow must be ferocious. Berdie gripped the umbrella, engaged every muscle, every ounce of stamina within her and sprang the implement forcefully upon the creature. Once, twice, and on the third strike, the umbrella busted apart. Berdie judiciously lifted the debunked umbrella to find the corpse of the offender. She released a long, heavy sigh then turned her attention to Carlotta Santolio and her aide.

The contessa had just settled the wailing Ortensia on the couch.

“Contessa,” Berdie prompted, “please do your best to calm her. The spider’s dead.”

The royal put her hand on the shoulder of her loyal helper and spoke Italian words in a soothing tone. And though Ortensia’s panic began to appease, her tears were sincere. In between sobs, Ortensia verbalized something to the contessa.

“She’s complaining of pain,” the contessa reported. “Her foot is trembling.”

Berdie observed the red spot that now sat atop a growing red mound. “Poison, deadly poison.” Berdie quietly swallowed the words.

Lillie reentered the room holding a large empty bowl. Berdie grabbed it and placed it over the dead perpetrator. “You made the call?”

“Yes, and I called Dr. Honeywell, too.”

“Good going.” Berdie moved closer to her friend and whispered. “Lillie, I want you to think Girl Guides. Remember the emergency aid training? How do we treat a poisonous bite?”

“Poison!” Lillie gulped. “Yes, poisonous bite. Clean the wound with soap and water. Um.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Place a cool cloth on the bite.” Her eyes popped open again. “Elevate and apply a tourniquet above the lesion.”

“A tourniquet, what can we use as a tourniquet?” Berdie eyed Lillie’s new scarf.

“Of course.” Lillie responded in an instant. She untied the beautiful fabric that hung about her neck. “This should do for now.”