Bobbles and Broomsticks Page 9

  As they had in the churchyard, the people who came to Rafe’s house tended to stay in groups of people they knew, as though they could find safety that way. Or maybe it was just comfort they were looking for. The vicar went from group to group offering sympathy. At one point, he was standing by himself, and I decided to get to know him a little bit better. I was no longer here as a bridesmaid. I had changed roles to that of amateur sleuth.

  I just kept that to myself. I suspected people would talk more freely to a bridesmaid in a pink dress than they might, say, to the police.

  I approached the vicar. He smiled at me in a tired fashion, and I could almost see him girding up for a tearful interview. Perhaps he thought I’d throw myself on his chest, sobbing, as I’d seen Beatrice do. Not that she could help it. She was obviously more emotional and, almost certainly, less accustomed to sudden and mysterious death than I was.

  Had anyone offered the vicar any sympathy? He was another victim in today’s tragedy. To have a suspicious death occur during his wedding service was a terrible blow both to the church and, I suspected, to him. Would he always wonder how things would have turned out if only he’d spoken a little faster? Begun the service two or three minutes earlier?

  But, of course, if Rafe was right and there was nothing accidental about the falling beam, then likely that wouldn’t have mattered in the end. Someone would still be lying dead in the church.

  “Philip. How are you holding up?” I asked him. Since no doubt he’d been the one offering sympathy so far this afternoon, he blinked in shock at my words. He seemed to gather his thoughts.

  “How kind of you to ask.” I could see him dredging through the names for mine. “It’s Lucy, isn’t it?”

  Even in tragedy, he had quick recall. I was impressed. “Yes. That’s right.” I gestured to my dress. “One of the bridesmaids.”

  “What a sad and tragic event. Alice is fortunate to have good friends to turn to at such a time of crisis.” That sounded like a line he’d delivered any number of times in the last couple of hours.

  “Philip, I’ve watched you ministering all afternoon. Do you have friends who will support you? I think this will be a difficult time for you, too.”

  Did he start slightly? It wasn’t that he looked guilty so much as surprised. Had it not occurred to him that his church would be closed for some time and awkward questions would no doubt be asked? I wasn’t entirely sure how the clerical hierarchy worked, but I suspected he held a position of authority within his parish and probably had made the final decision on whether the church would continue to operate while the funds were raised to repair the roof. I wondered if that beam would kill his career as surely as it had killed Rupert Grendell-Smythe.

  “It’s a terrible tragedy, of course. But who can truly understand God’s plan?”

  “Have you been at St. John the Divine for long?”

  Once more, he seemed startled by the question. “Not so very long. Just over two years. I don’t think you’re one of my parishioners?”

  “No. I live in Oxford.”

  “I was very happy to receive the call to relocate to Moreton-under-Wychwood.”

  “It must be a nice, quiet life.” He was fairly young. I wondered if he ever got bored.

  “Not always,” he said with an ironic twist to his mouth, and in spite of myself, I laughed. He had a sense of humor.

  “I was in London before this, so the change did take some getting used to. Every flock has its personality.”

  I thought that getting moved from London to the wilds of Oxfordshire wouldn’t be considered a promotion in most industries. Quite the opposite. Was it true in the Anglican Church? And if he’d been demoted, I had to wonder why. Emily Bloom had suggested burnout, but I wondered.

  How to ask that without seeming to? I wasn’t always the most subtle of people, plus, being North American, I tended to be more direct than most Brits. I settled on, “Do you miss London?”

  “Oh, yes, sometimes. I miss the theater and symphony. However, my parish wasn’t always the easiest. I was in a high-crime area, one of those parts of London that’s gentrifying but still had plenty of problems.”

  Problems? My sleuthing nose began to twitch. “What kind of problems?”

  “Addictions, mostly. Alcohol, drugs, gambling, all of which lead to crime, poverty, violence. It’s a vicious circle, but if it can be broken, lives can begin anew.” As he spoke, I saw the gray pallor begin to lighten. He sounded genuinely enthusiastic. Why, then, had he left work he obviously loved?

  Then we were being called to the terrace, and I didn’t have an opportunity to ask more. It was time for the speeches.

  Wellesley waited until we were all standing around the terrace. It was still warm, and I could smell the late summer roses, the grass that had recently been mowed, and someone’s perfume. Waiters went around with glasses of champagne and sparkling water.

  Me? I went straight for the champagne.

  I felt the shifts of feeling, like a breeze that rustles the leaves, but it was an emotional rustle. None of us were ready for celebratory speeches, but this was still Charlie and Alice’s wedding. What to do? I looked over at the happy couple, and they didn’t look as happy as they should have. Still, I could see that they were sad together. There was a closeness about them that was touching.

  Wellesley waited until we all had our drinks and then said, “Alistair was Charlie’s best man. Not me. He asked me to stand in for him. He even gave me the speech he wrote.” Wellesley waved a couple of printed sheets of paper in the air so we could all see them. “Trust me, it’s a brilliant speech, full of witty anecdotes and a few jabs at Charlie. I would love to have read it to you while we were all full of good humor and the kind of happiness that a wedding brings. I would have loved, even more, to have heard Alistair read it. He assured me, as he did Alice and Charlie, that he wants the celebration to continue as planned.”

  He sighed and shook his head. “But a man died today.” Before our eyes, he tore the speech in two. It was shocking to watch and another reminder that this wedding was like none I’d ever attended.

  Wellesley put the torn pieces of paper into his suit pocket. Then he looked at the wedding couple. “Don’t worry, Alistair has a copy on his hard drive. One day, he’ll give that speech, maybe on your fiftieth wedding anniversary. But not today. Because today a man died. He was a lovely man. Rupert Grendell-Smythe loved life. He loved a party, and he genuinely loved Charlie. He loved him so much that he was always giving him tips on which horse to back. Rupert took a keen interest in horse racing. He’d never give me any tips, only Charlie. That’s how we knew he was special.”

  Charlie called out, “Yes, but those horses never won. They always bobbled long before they hit the finish line.”

  There were a few chuckles. “I truly believe Rupert is with us at this moment, looking down, wishing he could have a glass of this lovely champagne. And what I think Rupert would want me to say to Alice and Charlie is that life is short. And, as Rupert would no doubt add, you never know how short.”

  Someone, somewhere clapped, but no one joined in, and it stopped as abruptly as it had started.

  “You two have been lucky enough to find the person who makes you a couple. Who makes the two halves whole. Rupert had that kind of marriage, and when his wife, Lydia, died, he was lost. Now he’s with her again, and for that, at least, we must be happy.

  “What Rupert and Lydia taught all of us who knew them is that marriage is a true partnership. It’s about sharing. This is awkward for all of us, but it’s still Alice and Charlie’s wedding. I’m going to suggest we offer one minute of silence to Rupert, a man who welcomed all of us to his dinner table and was so thrilled to see one of his adopted sons marry such a lovely woman.”

  As we stood there on the terrace in silence, I held on to the image of those brand-new shoes worn by the man who’d come to Charlie and Alice’s wedding, so looking forward to a wonderful day of celebration. He’d held Alice back to congr
atulate her on her wedding day. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so anxious to give her his good wishes, he might be here with us now. And if Charlie hadn’t hustled his bride away, Alice might not.

  During that minute of silence, I contemplated the quirks of fate and how just a minute or even a few seconds can make the difference between life and death, and who can ever know ahead of time how things will turn out?

  It was touching and beautiful when, after a minute, one of the musicians played the First Call. And then Wellesley continued, “And now, Rupert, we wish you Godspeed.”

  There was a pause, and I thought Wellesley was doing an incredible job of letting us mourn Rupert and still honor Alice and Charlie.

  “Lydia and Rupert modeled the kind of marriage we all wish for you, Alice and Charlie. It was one of mutual respect, of bringing up their children to be good people and of welcoming friends and neighbors like family. Lydia’s kitchen always smelled like baking, and she was always happy to set an extra plate at the table.

  “Alice and Charlie, you’ve already shown us what an incredible couple you are, and I’ve already seen firsthand your kindness and hospitality here in Oxford. I’ve rarely seen a couple I believe in more. May you live a long and happy life together, and may your marriage prosper. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Alice and Charlie.”

  And we all raised our glasses and toasted the bride and groom. As I sipped the excellent champagne, I wondered if there was someone drinking champagne even now who knew perfectly well that it wasn’t fate who had killed Rupert.

  Chapter 11

  The Watt sisters had taken an almost unheard of day off together to attend the wedding, leaving their hired help in charge. Their kind faces were creased with worry as they walked up to me. “What a dreadful thing to happen. Poor Charlie and Alice,” Mary Watt said.

  “Still,” Florence added, “Look at how close they are. If they can withstand this tragedy together, they can do anything.”

  “And wasn’t Wellesley’s speech amazing?” I asked, knowing how fond they were of the stand-in best man.

  “Oh, he’s a treasure, and so was Rafe, to offer his lovely home for the ceremony.” Florence helped herself to a tiny quiche on the tray of appetizers offered to us.

  “The food’s very good, too,” Mary said, helping herself. “I’m almost tempted to find out who catered this affair and see if they’d like to come and work for us.”

  I laughed. “William is the genius behind this feast, and he runs Rafe’s household. I doubt you could pry him away.”

  “Oh, goodness, no. And one wouldn’t like to take anything from Rafe. He’s such a lovely man.”

  The lovely man in question came up at that moment and said hello to Florence and Mary and asked them how they were faring. “Oh, well, it’s a dreadful thing to witness a death, but we must also celebrate life. Alice and Charlie have had their marriage begin on a sour note, but one can only believe that it will all be sweeter from now on.”

  “There’s William now,” I said, seeing him walk past, checking that everything was as perfect as it could be, given the circumstances.

  Mary said, “I’ll go and congratulate him on this excellent spread.” She looked at me with a twinkle in her eye. “And perhaps he’ll share his recipe for those wonderful quiches. Perhaps we could experiment with some new flavors in Elderflower.”

  Anything that encouraged them to expand their menu sounded good to me, since I ate there quite often, being right next door.

  As they went off to speak to William, Rafe said, “How are you holding up?”

  I glanced around to make certain we wouldn’t be overheard, even stepping closer to the edge of the terrace so a huge flower arrangement blocked us from view. “I tried to talk to Philip Wallington, the vicar, to see if there was any reason he might have been the real target.”

  “And?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t learn much. He left London to come here. He’d been working in a rough area of London, but he seemed to enjoy his work. Doesn’t that seem like a demotion to you rather than a promotion?”

  “I have no idea. Shall I ask Theodore to do some digging?”

  “Yes, if he wouldn’t mind.”

  “Theodore loves keeping his old skills alive.” Theodore had been a policeman in life, long before things like CSI and forensics. He was one hundred percent old school, except for computers, but it was amazing how much he could find out doing things like talking to people and asking the right questions.

  From up here, I could see people milling around in the gardens below. Not everyone had decided to come to the reception, but a gratifying number had shown up. I was happy that they were putting the upset aside and supporting Alice and Charlie.

  Among those on the lawn were a couple I was surprised had come. “Look who decided to show up,” I said, directing Rafe’s attention to a trio below.

  It was Sophie and Boris Wynter standing with Giles Brighouse. For the first time all day, Sophie Wynter’s black clothing and tragic demeanor fit with the surroundings.

  “If you’re planning to speak to them, hold me excused. Her excess of inappropriate sentiment rather put me off her.”

  “Me, too. But I also want to know what she has to say for herself, given your suspicions.”

  I didn’t beeline it for the trio but meandered my way, stopping to chat briefly to the people I knew and smile and look pleasant to those I didn’t. Beatrice was back to sobbing, this time on Wellesley’s shoulder, so I gave them a wide berth.

  When I got to the bottom of the wide, stone terrace steps, I headed in Sophie’s direction. She was talking in a low, anxious voice. Her back was to me, so she couldn’t see me coming, but Giles did and he said quite loudly, talking over her, “Oh, look. Here comes Lucy.” Sophie immediately stopped talking. I wanted very much to hear what Sophie Wynter had been saying to her brother and their friend and why she was so anxious I shouldn’t hear any of it.

  She turned and glared at me as though I had no business being in Rafe’s garden. I wanted to tell her that I had a lot more right to be there than she did. At least I was celebrating Charlie and Alice’s wedding. At least I wished them happy.

  “How are you holding up?” Boris asked in his bluff way. “I hear you were right in the thick of it.”

  I shook my head. “It was such a terrible shock.”

  I’d probably uttered the word “shock” more often in the past two hours than I had my entire life.

  He nodded. “Yes. Dreadful thing.”

  “Worse for Alice, though. She was nearly killed.” I looked directly at Sophie. “You were lucky. You missed all the drama. I think you left the church before the ceremony ended.” I let my words trail up in an interrogative way. I thought for a moment she might deny walking out during the wedding vows, but, obviously knowing I must have seen her leave, she sighed. “If you must know, I couldn’t face it.” In a low, angry tone, as though she couldn’t keep the words back, she cried, “She’s not meant to be with him.”

  If Rafe could see her deadly earnest, he might believe, as I did, that Sophie was the most likely murderer and that she’d missed her target.

  “Steady on,” Giles said in a warning tone, and I wondered if he had suspicions about his old friend, too.

  “Why shouldn’t I speak about it? It’s true.”

  “We’re all a bit unnerved by what happened. We all grew up together, you see. We were great friends with Alistair and Rupert.” He shook his head. “Poor Charlie.”

  In contrast to Giles’s very dapper appearance, Boris’s suit looked like he’d dragged it from the back of his closet. And where Giles’s shoes shone with a fresh polishing, his were covered with dust and grime.

  “I don’t know how they can stand it,” Boris said, motioning his head to where Charlie and Alice were doing the rounds.

  They did it because they had class, I wanted to explain to him. But I thought it would be like explaining advanced geometry to a turkey.

  And speaking
of fowl, I spied Henri standing on a wall in the garden, staring in at the party. The peacock looked like a wedding ornament perched there, his plumage glowing in the fading light of late afternoon. I excused myself and slipped away to feed him a bit of beef I’d scoffed. Henri was very partial to beef. His tail feathers rested on the wall as though his finery was dragging him down.

  “I know how you feel. These fancy shoes are killing me.”

  The bridal couple found time to speak with everyone, and I could see the strain in Alice’s eyes when they came to me, where I was still standing with Henri. “Thank you so much for all your help today,” she began, looking like a woman who’d barely escaped death and now had to pretend everything was fine.

  The chamber orchestra had been informed of the tragedy and had modified their selections. Even so, the music was beautiful and as suitable for a wedding reception as a wake. And in a way, that’s what this was turning out to be, some strange hybrid of both.

  I stopped Alice with a hand on hers. “Alice, drop the act. This is me, Lucy. I don’t know how you’re still on your feet.” Even Henri looked interested in Alice’s predicament.

  She gave me a grateful smile. “I’ve never felt like such a fraud in all my life.”

  “This should be the happiest day of your life,” I said, feeling my heart break for her.

  She bit her lip and glanced around to make sure no one could hear us. “That’s why I feel so terrible. I’m devastated about what happened to poor Rupert Grendell-Smythe, of course, but Lucy, this is the happiest day of my life.”

  I didn’t know what to say, but I saw Charlie’s face, and the way he smiled at her said it all. “I’m so glad you said that, because it’s mine, too.”

  And I knew in that moment, whatever happened, these two were going to be okay.

  I didn’t know how to tell them about my suspicions, that Alice might have been the intended target, so I said, “You are so lucky to have found each other. Make sure you look after each other. Especially now.”