Up from the Grave (7 page)

The black clad butler waved his hand towards two large oak doors embellished with carved details. “If you please, make your way to the drawing room where refreshments are being served,” he directed. “Colonel and Mrs. Preswood will join you shortly.”

Berdie clung to Hugh’s arm praying she’d make it across the polished floor without going “head over backside,” as Lillie had put it. The trio’s distinct clatter of footsteps on marble echoed as they made their way to the drawing room entrance.

The massive door swung open an instant before Hugh reached for it.

“I thought I heard someone arrive.” Rosalie Darbyshire, the Preswood’s niece, greeted them. The twenty-five-year-old’s warm chestnut hair enhanced her green eyes and kind smile. “Vicar. Mrs. Elliot. I’m so glad you came. Lillie, you look lovely.”

Rosalie was often seen at St. Aidan of the Woods Parish Church. She not only sang in the women’s chorus but also was first alto in the church choir.

“And it’s very pleasant to see you.” Hugh tipped his head.

“Please sit down.” The young woman picked up a tray of stemmed glasses sparkling with refreshment. “Raspberry Pimm’s anyone?” She stretched out the tray towards Berdie.

“Oh, yes, thank you.” Berdie took the Pimm’s cordially, as did Lillie and Hugh.

“Raspberry Pimm’s are one of Robin’s favorites.” Rosalie took a glass for herself and waved toward the grand sofa. “Please, do sit down.”

All three seated themselves watching not to spill on the gold brocade.

“Where is that sister of yours?” Lillie held her Pimm’s with both hands. “Someone said she’s in from London.”

“She is, indeed, but Robin went down to greet an overnight guest staying at the lodge this evening. She’s seeing to their comfort and should arrive back in a tic.” She paused. “Have things in the church garden quieted now? I mean, being a crime scene and all,” Rosalie asked politely.

“A bit.” Hugh cleared his throat. “We still have officials hovering about.”

“I see.” A wide grin spread across her light pink lips. “Did Aunt Flora tell you why we’re gathering here tonight?” Her eyes beamed.

“Actually, no. Your aunt just said there was something of importance to be discussed with us and asked us to dinner.”

“I see.” Rosalie looked almost puckish.

“Perhaps it concerns the Easter Special number, something to do with new choir attire?” Lillie chirped with a note of hope.

“No, I’m afraid not. But I certainly don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“Oh, I do love surprises.” Lillie took a dainty sip of her Pimm’s.

As long as they’re pleasant
. Berdie was not up to any unpleasantries. She eyed Rosalie’s shoes, dark ballerina flat slippers. Now that footwear is sensible, Berdie thought, just as she felt a slight cramp in her left arch.

Rosalie wore a modest spring dress, and the shoes fit the style of it nicely. Her attire wasn’t lavish, but it suited her. Rosalie Darbyshire didn’t go in for all the trendy looks like Robin, her fraternal twin. Although Robin garnered all the beauty acclaim, Berdie decided that Rosalie, in her own simple way, was genuinely beautiful.

“What’s this?” Lillie gestured to a large pink satin book lying on the small polished table next to where they sat.

Rosalie directed her gaze at the object. “Oh, Aunt Flora retrieved that from the library this afternoon. She and Robin were perusing the snaps.”

“May I?” Lillie asked Rosalie.

“Of course. As long as you don’t mind witnessing sun-kissed nine-year-olds displaying missing teeth and dripping lollies.”

“Childhood pictures.” Berdie enjoyed discovering what people were like as youngsters.

“A bit embarrassing really, but there it is.” Rosalie had a merry tone in her voice.

“Our Clare hid the children’s photo album one time, when she was thirteen,” Berdie stated. “It took us weeks to find it.”

Hugh chimed in. “Actually, Nick, he’s our younger son, found it and brought it out for the entire world to see. Clare was embarrassed to the point of tears, and it caused a horrible row in our house.”

“Not difficult to do amongst siblings.” Rosalie gently laughed.

Lillie opened the satin book. “Look at those chubby little cheeks.”

Berdie chuckled and pointed to a photo that displayed two toddlers smudged with mud head to foot. “You girls look ready for the bath. I see you found your way to a spring mud puddle no doubt.”

“That’s one of my favorite photos. It was taken one day after we arrived at Swithy Hall.” Rosalie giggled. “Aunt Flora’s not especially keen on it though. As chairperson of the county Family Heritage Circle, her two darling nieces looking a bit like lost waifs just won’t do.”

“Is that your mother giving you the glasses of lemonade?” Berdie asked of the young woman in the picture who held a laden tray.

“Good heavens, no, not lemonade and not Mummy. No, that was the domestic. The picture next is Mummy.” She looked over Berdie’s shoulder at the photo of the tall, shapely woman. Rosalie’s voice went wispy as she continued to speak. “She was an entertainer, a dancer, and a cabaret singer. But she gave that all up for Robin and me. Wonderfully caring Mum, I loved her dearly.” The young woman went on. “Of course Aunt Flora isn’t especially keen on this photo either.” Rosalie now whispered. “It was taken at Blackpool near the cabaret where Mummy performed, you see.”

A chuckle rippled amongst the three women. They were aware that Flora Preswood took great pride in a family lineage of great distinction.

“She’s an attractive woman,” Hugh offered. “Where the picture was taken is of no matter. She was your mother and undoubtedly devoted.”

There was that generous spirit for which Hugh was so highly regarded.

“Good evening, Reverend, Mrs. Elliott, Miss Foxworth.” Mrs. Flora Parks Preswood had arrived and in full authority.

Hugh stood and the nearly six-foot woman stepped gracefully towards the group. Her coiffed hair, flawless makeup, and tailored dress declared her eminent urge for all to be neat and in appropriate order.

“Please sit down, Vicar. I see Rosalie is taking good care of you. Is everyone comfortable?”

“Yes,” Hugh answered.

“Colonel Preswood received an important telephone call, business of course.” Flora Preswood ran a well-manicured finger across her distinguishing chin. “If he’s not in the London office, he’s speaking to the London office. He’ll join us at dinner.”

She noticed the pink satin book open in Lillie’s lap. “Rosalie, I’ll look after our guests. Would you please get Charles? I believe he’s reading in the library. Make sure he gets to the dining room.”

“Right away, Aunt Flora. If you’ll excuse me.” Rosalie swept across the room and out the massive door.

“I see you’re perusing the twins’ photos.” Mrs. Preswood’s voice sounded more candid. “As you can see, there is precious little of them before they came to live here at the hall with Colonel Preswood and myself.” She exhaled deeply and sat in a large brocade chair. “Rosalie showed you the ghastly picture of my precious but wayward younger sister, I’m sure.”

Berdie, Hugh, and Lillie all nodded.

“She’s quite pretty,” Hugh said.

Mrs. Preswood raised a brow. “Yes, well, pretty though she may be, my dear sister never had the best judgment, frankly. Especially when it came to men. She married a loathsome con artist, John Darbyshire, who carried her off to Venezuela on some oil cache scheme that went terribly wrong. The girls were born there, you see. One morning, twenty-five years ago, I received a postcard from overseas in the morning mail from my sister. ‘Dear Flora, you are the aunt of twins’ was hastily written across the back.” Mrs. Preswood took a deep breath. “At least Rose did have the decency to have the girls christened here the moment they set foot on English soil. When Darbyshire deserted Rose, leaving her desperately alone to care for the girls, she came to live with us. Shortly, she became ill. It was only a matter of months, and she was placed in hospital where she eventually succumbed. We assumed responsibility for Robin and Rosalie. We raised them as our own.” The woman, as if just unloading a large basket of wilted flowers, sighed. “I do ask this information to stay in confidence.”

“Of course,” Hugh assured, “you needn’t worry on that account.”

She needn’t worry
, Berdie thought,
because everyone in the village, at least those at the Copper Kettle, are already aware of it anyway.

The man in black stood in the drawing room doorway.

Berdie was expecting him to snap his heels.

“Dinner, madam.” He bobbed his head, and Mrs. Preswood stood. She recovered the photo album from Lillie’s lap. “To the dining room, shall we?”

The group made their way into the entry hall where they found Robin eying herself in one of the large lavish mirrors.

“Robin, you’re in.” Flora Preswood stated the obvious.

The young woman’s outfit, surely from Harrods, was the epitome of London chic, and it suited her model-thin body well. It was complemented by very Italian and, by the look of it, very expensive high-heeled sandal shoes.

Robin pushed a long black fringe back from her aqua-colored eyes, and it was then Berdie realized how flushed the young woman’s cheeks were.

Robin turned to face them and shaped her satin lips into a smile. “Good evening,” she said. “Sorry I wasn’t able to join you earlier.”

Robin ran her hand across the neckline of the stylish outfit she wore. Berdie thought she caught a sparkling glimpse flutter with Robin’s movement.

“Come along, my sweet. We’re just going to the dining room.” Mrs. Preswood put her free arm across Robin’s shoulder and placed a tender kiss on her niece’s cheek.

Robin’s smile went sour. “Oh, Aunt Flora, I thought you put that awful thing away.” Robin grabbed the satin photo book from her aunt’s fingers and held it tightly to her chest.

“Roberta! We have guests,” Mrs. Preswood admonished.

“My point exactly.” Robin looked piercingly at Hugh, Lillie, and then Berdie. “You haven’t…”

“Oh, come, Robin, you were darling little girls,” Lillie proffered.

“Still.” She didn’t smile. “How careless Aunt Flora,” Robin scolded. The twin spun away from her aunt. Her jaw tightened and moisture appeared in the corners of her eyes, heavy with dark mascara. “These are quite personal, to say nothing of embarrassing. You should have returned them to their shelf. And I will not have them displayed on some mundane table at a whipped meringue wedding.” Robin’s tone was less than gracious. “I simply want to wed Charles. Not months away, I want to marry him now.”

Marry who?
Berdie questioned.

Mrs. Preswood’s stern face softened. “Of course you want to marry Charles. I know all the planning is hectic my sweet. Be patient.”

Robin clung to the pink satin book. She appeared to find no solace in her aunt’s words. “I want to marry him now, Aunt Flora. Why should I wait any longer? I love him. He’s everything to me.” Robin nodded to Hugh. “Please excuse me.”

“Are you okay, Robbie?” Rosalie’s voice echoed across the hall.

Berdie turned to see Rosalie and a young man standing near the stairs.

Without a word, Robin moved briskly to the stairs and began a rapid ascent.

“What’s going on here?” the young man asked. Though he looked to be just shy of Robin’s height, he possessed a certain air. Both his hair and suit were a classic style. The tailored fabric clearly said moneyed.

“Well?” he asked.

“She’s just a bit stressed, Charles. We’ve been working on plans for the wedding.” Mrs. Preswood gestured toward the staircase. “A few moments to herself, and she’ll be right as rain.” She looked at Hugh. “Oh, do excuse me. Charles, this is Reverend Hugh Elliott, his wife Berdie, and our church choirmaster, Lillian Foxworth. May I introduce Mr. Charles Swindon-Pierce.”

The young man stepped along to Hugh and shook his hand. “Vicar.” He nodded politely to Lillie and Berdie.

Mrs. Preswood continued. “Mr. Swindon-Pierce is Robin’s fiancé.”

The man smiled and tipped his head courteously.

“They wish to marry here at the church. Isn’t that wonderful, Vicar?” Mrs. Preswood continued.

“I see. It would certainly seem right to do so. Congratulations.”

“We’re so looking forward to it,” Mrs. Preswood sounded resolutely confident.

Hugh went on. “You are aware I ask couples who wed at St. Aidan’s to do two one hour pre-wedding sessions with me at the church? Wonderful guidance in navigating the waters of marriage. That’s what I’ve been told by those who have done them.”

Charles’s mouth lost a corner of its smile. “Robin and I are doing just fine, thank you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are. No, I’m just saying that the couples who have completed the course found the information extremely valuable, a good footing.”

“Robin and Charles are aware that a meeting with you, Vicar, is a prerequisite and are happy to oblige.” Mrs. Preswood looked directly at her niece’s future husband. “Aren’t you, Charles?”

The groom-to-be simply lifted his chin.

“Well then.” Hugh was warm but subdued.

“Yes. Well,” Berdie added. Judging by the snapshot of the family dynamics so far this evening, she could clearly see the young couple needing every available advice to ward off shipwreck on those waters of marriage.

“And you’ll be in charge of our music,” Mrs. Preswood directed towards Lillie.

“How exciting.” Lillie lit up. “It’s all a very pleasant surprise. Oh, I do love weddings.”

“Robin’s over the moon,” Rosalie piped and stepped next to Charles. “And I’m excited about having Charles as a brother-in-law.”

Mrs. Preswood moved to the center of the group. “I had hoped to announce this properly with an appropriate toast at our special dinner. But it seems to have now gone by the wayside.”

“A quick toast with the meal will do nicely, I should think,” Charles presented as a peace offering on his fiancée’s behalf.

Flora Preswood wasn’t responsive.

“It’s a happy occasion.” Rosalie all but danced. “Let’s enjoy it.”

The gentleman in black reappeared. “Is there a delay for dinner, madam?” echoed across the great hall.

The disappointed Mrs. Preswood gathered herself. “No.” She straightened her shoulders and resolutely led the party to the dining room of Bampkingswith Hall.