Up from the Grave (17 page)

Berdie and Lillie assured him it was no problem and ascended the large stairway.

“At least it’s not nine floors,” Berdie commented when they reached the first landing.

Lillie sniffed the scent of a large spring bouquet on a table nearby. “Nor does it smell like yesterday’s take away.”

It was then that they realized the first floor hall extended to the right and left. There were entrances to the various rooms on both sides of the hallway.

“Second door left.” Berdie glanced down the hall on her left, then to the right. “Go left and then the left side of the hall, second door?”

Lillie observed the situation slightly puzzled. “I should say we turn left and then, clearly, we have two choices.”

Berdie thought to question the gentleman, but when she peeked down the stairway, he had disappeared.

“Turn left, second door on the left,” was Berdie’s decision. She and Lillie moved down the hall and paused in front of the door they expected to be Rosalie’s room.

“Hello.” Berdie made her presence known. She knocked and the unlatched door opened.

“Is she there?” Lillie asked.

“I think we’d all be quite taken back if she were.” Berdie stepped aside to let Lillie peer into a cavernous bathroom.

“Quite,” Lillie agreed glancing about.

She and Berdie stepped into the luxurious space where they took in the two large windows dressed in floral fabric that allowed the sun to reflect off the freestanding roll top Victorian bath. A marble splash back sat elegantly between the ample sink and a framed mirror that ran nearly to the ceiling. A small crystalline pink chandelier clung to the ceiling like a cherry atop a cake.

All this was home to a full-wall wardrobe, brocade slipper chair and matching chaise. A small end table held a petite lamp and several stacked books. And under it all, lay a gracious parquet floor that was clad with a pastel woven rug in the seating area. Even the rubbish bin had a gold edge. And it was this that caught Berdie’s eye.

“Far too pretty to hold rubbish.”

“Of all the lovely things and you’re interested in the rubbish,” Lillie scolded while running her hand over the bath.

Berdie spied two pieces of glossy paper inside the gold-edged receptacle. She picked them out of the basket. “Well, what have we here?”

“Oh, really, Berdie.”

“Look.” Berdie placed the two pieces side by side in her palm and showed them to Lillie.

“It’s a photo.”

“It’s a torn photo,” Berdie corrected.

Lillie’s eyes sparked. “We’ve seen this before.”

Berdie nodded. “The twins, just after discovering a mud puddle, being served a bit of refreshment. Remember the pink satin photo book?”

“Why would someone tear it?”

“Why, indeed.” Berdie held the pieced picture closer and pulled her glasses down her nose. “Yes, indeed.”

Lillie pointed to one of the large windows. “Look there, isn’t that Mr. Raheem walking away from the back garden?”

Berdie observed momentarily. “So it is.”

“Found the guest bathroom then?” Rosalie Darbyshire’s voice made Berdie and Lillie start.

“We’re thinking of living in.” Lillie nervously chuckled.

“Yes.” Rosalie nodded. “A bit ostentatious.”

Berdie pushed her glasses back to their appropriate place. “We got a bit lost.”

“My room is just cross the hall.” She pointed.

“Ah,” Berdie nodded. “Turn left and second door on the right.”

“Are we ready to go then?” Rosalie caught sight of the ripped photo in Berdie’s hand. “What’s this?”

Berdie reluctantly held it out to her.

Rosalie’s face went scarlet. She grabbed the damaged treasure. “What are you doing with this?” Her green eyes bored into Berdie’s face. “What’s this all about?” She frowned. “You didn’t…”

Lillie balked. “I should say not.”

“We discovered it here in the rubbish, just as you see it,” Berdie said with unwavering resolve.

“Who would destroy it? It’s so very precious.”

“Apparently there’s someone who doesn’t agree,” Berdie stated matter-of-factly.

Rosalie’s first flush of anger turned into perplexity, and she eased herself into the slipper chair. “Aunt Flora never liked the picture, but to destroy it, no. Robin was embarrassed by it, but then all our early snaps embarrass her.” Rosalie stared at ragged edges that ravaged her favorite photo.

“Your uncle?” Lillie asked.

“I doubt very much if he’s even aware the snap exists. Besides, no one in the family uses this room.”

“Have you had guests recently?” Berdie glanced through the window to the now empty back garden. Rosalie lifted her chin and paused.

“Charles, really, I mean overnight, but that was a few days back. Contessa Santolio made a momentary stop.” The young woman shook her head. “That’s grasping at straws.”

“Straws are often worth the grasping.” Berdie had a hint of play in her voice.

“Grasp away. It won’t mend my photo.” Rosalie stood and sighed, still poring over the snap, aligning it to fit together.

“Perhaps there’s some professional photo repair service,” Lillie offered.

“Yes, perhaps,” Rosalie said wistfully.

“The important thing, it has quite inadvertently been rescued and is back in the hands of the person who treasures it most.” Berdie touched Rosalie’s hand. “Where it belongs.”

Rosalie Preswood smiled timidly. “Yes, well.”

“Perhaps I can find a service to mend it, as Lillie suggested.”

“That’s a very kind offer.” Rosalie appeared to waver. “Do be very careful, won’t you?” The young woman relinquished the torn snap.

“I’ll handle it like hidden treasure,” Berdie assured as she accepted it. “We’ll have it repaired in no time.”

“I need to get my jumper.” Rosalie pointed towards her room. “I’ll meet you downstairs in the hall, and we can get on with the tasks at hand.”

“There’s a dear,” Lillie breathed.

Rosalie entered her room while Berdie and Lillie made their descent.

Lillie, it seemed, could hardly contain herself. “Who do you think did it and why?” she tittered in a low level.

“I don’t know,” Berdie whispered, “but I’m going to find out.” She paused on a stair and put the torn pieces in her bag. “Now, let’s say a person who doesn’t want this snap around retrieved it, tore it perhaps hastily, and then stashed it in the guest bathroom rubbish. It’s a somewhat nondescript spot anyone at any time could use. Yes, I should think it gets cleaned daily, the rubbish would be removed.” Berdie perked. “But, the gentleman said the cleaning lady has been out ill this week.”

Lillie inhaled. “He did. Yes, he did.”

“Still, what’s the motive”? Berdie leaned closely towards Lillie. “I haven’t worked it all out yet, but a detail I noticed along with something Rosalie said, has given me an idea on that front.”

“Mrs. Elliott,” The man in black’s strong voice broke way into the conversation. “Did you find Miss Darbyshire?”

“Yes,” Berdie answered, “Thank you.” She and Lillie continued their descent just as Flora Presswood entered the large entrance hall.

“Bradford, once again those silly men who are to raze that dilapidated greenhouse have not kept their appointment, no doubt satisfying their thirst at a nearby pub.”

“Yes, madam.”

“Oh, and Bradford, there’s a delivery in the kitchen. Could you see to it?”

“Yes, madam.” Bradford hadn’t finished the words when he had already departed.

Berdie and Lillie were at the bottom of the staircase.

“Mrs. Elliott, Miss Foxworth, I didn’t realize you were here.” Mrs. Presswood spoke with a hint of displeasure.

“It was rather sudden, I’m afraid. We’re here to gather Rosalie, she’ll be down presently,” Berdie explained.

“She’s going to arrange the flowers at church,” Lillie added with a disarming smile.

“I see.” Flora lifted her distinctive chin. “She didn’t say.”

Lillie gave Berdie a slight nudge. “Chin,” she whispered.

Berdie, in return, gave Lillie a discreet nod while Flora Preswood came near to them.

A moment’s silence played itself into an opportunity.

“These are quite fetching.” Berdie pointed to a lighted shelf in the nearby cabinet that she had noticed when she was previously here for dinner. The shelf was home to two opulent pieces of stemware.

“You’re taken by them?” Flora drew near the pieces. “They are splendid. It’s the iridescence you know, Venetian.”

Berdie nodded.

“Colonel Presswood’s great-grandfather purchased them in Italy. They’re eighteenth century, I believe.”

Lillie’s eyebrows elevated and her jaw dropped.

“I should love to see them more closely.” Berdie knew it was slightly rude, but she had to try it on.

“Oh, no.” Flora Presswood lost her smile. “This is a locking cabinet, and Randal has the key.” She admired the stemware. “There was a time when we displayed them on the Venetian table you know.” She pointed to the shapely end table near the bottom of the stairwell. “They’re irreplaceable, sadly.”

“Sadly?” Berdie asked in an innocent manner.

“It was originally a set of three, but a piece was stolen. Horrible.”

“Dreadful,” Berdie commiserated. “So you never found the thief?”

“Oh, we know who took it. Well, my sister Rose was aware and informed the colonel and me. A young maid, actually quite trainable.” She shook her head. “One can never tell. Of course she insisted she was innocent. Sadly, I had to dismiss her.” Flora lifted her nose and sniffed.

Berdie caught a glimpse of Lillie from the corner of her eye. The choirmaster, still agog, eyed the top of the stairs. She went pale.

“Your sister must have been astute,” Berdie plied.

“Yes, she and the girls just arrived here at Bampkingswith Hall from overseas, trying to find safe haven, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“And the twin’s father? He wasn’t with them?” Berdie continued to peel back the layers.

“The colonel wouldn’t allow him in the house.” She scowled. “But you see, my husband was on special assignment at the time. As he often was. No, Rose noted, and told me later, that the domestic was dusting the display on the table one evening and in the morning, the glass was missing. While the cats away as they say. It was quite obvious who did it.”

“With your grand sense of order Mrs. Preswood, you didn’t notice it missing?”

Mrs. Presswood looked at the floor. “I,” she ran her hand across the bodice of her dress, “I was visiting friends in London.” She paused and observed Lillie. “Are you all right, Miss Foxworth?”

“What?” Lillie looked at Flora and blinked.

“You’re quite pale.”

“Lillie’s feeling a bit queasy,” Berdie offered on behalf of her friend.

“Not flu, I hope.”

“No,” Berdie answered while Lillie, again, just blinked.

“So you didn’t press charges against the domestic. What did you say her name was?”

“I didn’t actually.” Mrs. Preswood put a finger on her chin. “Grainger, I believe. Yes, Lolly Grainger. And no, we didn’t press charges. Too messy, bad for the colonel’s business.”

“Ready to go?” was accompanied by Rosalie’s rapid footstep.

“I should deposit Miss Foxworth at her home right away,” Mrs. Preswood advised.

“Yes, please,” Lillie spurted and caught her breath.

Berdie took Lillie by the elbow and led her in the direction of the outside exit.

“Let me get that for you.” Bradford re-entered the room and stepped lively to the door.

He carried an enormous basket of fruit. Lemons, limes, grapefruit, and oranges of all varieties were wrapped in rosy pink transparent wrap. A large yellow bow was tied to the handle. “A gift for the Misses Darbyshire.”

“Whatever for?” Mrs. Presswood eyed the basket with a certain distain. “Really. Who from, Bradford?”

“It doesn’t say, madam.”

“Rubbish bin,” Rosalie instructed the gentleman. “Lovely but intolerable.”

“Yes, Miss Darbyshire.” Bradford spoke without any hesitation, and opened the door for the departure.

Rosalie gave her aunt a peck on the cheek. “I shouldn’t wait for me.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Preswood.” Berdie continued aiding Lillie who just nodded.

It seemed but a snap of the finger that Lillie was safely deposited in her home with the promise of getting together to talk after church tomorrow. Then a minute’s drive until Berdie and Rosalie reached the church.

Berdie marveled at how gracefully Rosalie was able to create the elegant floral arrangements. However, it did take a great deal of time.

When Rosalie was finished, it was nearly four thirty and time for tea. So, Berdie invited Rosalie to join her and Hugh at the vicarage for Panzanella with toasted almonds, courtesy of Mrs. Raheem who created and sold the custom mix at the produce store. Berdie added an olive cheese loaf, and a sticky toffee pudding to round the meal. It was the least she could do in gratitude for Rosalie’s availability.

It was approaching dusk when Hugh dismissed himself to go back to the church following the meal. It was even later when Berdie and Rosalie were on the road back to Swithy Hall.

As they turned into the drive past the lighted lodge, Rosalie told Berdie she understood Ortensia, still hospitalized, to be improving after the awful spider ordeal.

“Yes, well, by God’s grace.” Berdie was appreciative and relieved.

“You know, after living in South America, my mother was terrified of spiders, even the little tiny ones. She and Little Miss Muffet.” Rosalie laughed.

“I’ve wondered, Rosalie, how is it that you came, once again, to live in England?”

“It depends on who you ask. According to mummy,” Rosalie smiled, “she always said that she wanted Robin and me to live on ‘the isle that rules the waves,’ as the song says. Now, Aunt Flora’s version is quite different.” Rosalie half smiled. “She says that our father got tangled up in some oil scheme gone bad that put the whole family in jeopardy, and we fled to England, to the safety and security of Bampkingswith Hall.” The young woman sighed. “Whatever the reason, my father eventually abandoned us. Rosalie sounded matter-of-fact. “I dare say Aunt Flora and Uncle Randal have been our refuge, for which I’m grateful.”

“Yes, wonderfully generous, and a well-provided-for home to grow up in, I should think.” Berdie perked as she thought of her pledge to Rosalie. “And I’ll have your precious photo repaired and to you as quickly as possible.”