A Simple Country Funeral Read online

  I headed down the street, the package tucked beneath my arm. It was rather quiet, for a Monday afternoon. The shops weren’t bustling like they usually were, especially not the grocer, which surprised me as I walked past. Their pulldown doors were rolled all the way up, and all the fresh produce was sitting in boxes, just waiting to be purchased by any of the families in town.

  “That’s strange…” I said, stopping just outside, peering in. I couldn’t even see any of the workers back behind the counter. “Where is everyone?”

  I kept walking, a tingle of apprehension making the small hairs on my neck stand up.

  I turned onto Blackwood Street, where Irene’s tea shop was located, and was startled by the sight of several dozen people gathered in the middle of the road.

  Slowly, I approached, realizing they were all staring into the narrow alleyway between Mr. Englewood’s house, and the butcher’s shop, which were at the far end of the street, at the very edge of town. The green hills and the sheep fields belonging to the farmers outside of Brookminster lay beyond, deep green and lush after the rain.

  I saw the butcher standing just outside his shop, talking with one of the police constables, wearing his usual blood-stained apron. I saw the end of his cleaver sticking out of the front pocket, and the expression on his face told me he was none too pleased about being interrupted in the middle of the day.

  I also noticed a few of the grocer’s helpers standing nearby, their heads bent together as they stared and pointed down through the alleyway.

  Another familiar face revealed itself to me in the crowd. Nathanial Driscoll, Irene’s husband, stood there with his arms folded across his chest, his brow furrowed, almost a head taller than anyone around him, and twice as wide.

  I walked over to him, trying to see past the police and the other curious bystanders.

  “Hello, Nathanial,” I said as I got nearer.

  “Oh, hello, Helen,” Nathanial said, an effort at a smile spreading across his face, although he was clearly distracted by something. “Nice to see you.”

  “You as well,” I said.

  “Were you on your way to see my wife?” he asked. “She’s still over at the tea shop.”

  “I was, yes,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at the shop I had passed to investigate the crowd. I showed him the package. “I actually was bringing this to Mrs. Trent.”

  “I see,” he said.

  “What’s, uh…what’s happening here?” I asked. “Though from the expression on everyone’s faces, I’m not certain I want to know the answer.”

  Nathanial shook his head. “You may not, no,” he said, seeming apprehensive.

  I looked over in the direction of the alleyway, and saw a small building nestled between the others, one that I had never noticed before. Some sort of shack, or perhaps a shed for storage.

  The police were stepping in and out of it, one with a camera, and others with gloves on their hands.

  I noticed the police inspector, Sam Graves, standing off to the side, scratching notes on a pad of paper. The crease in his brow told me just how unhappy he was about the circumstances in which he found himself.

  “Well, it must be something serious,” I said, staring around at the grave expression on one particular police officer’s face. “They all look as if they’ve seen a ghost.”

  “They’ve seen too many…” Nathanial said. He sighed heavily. “There was a body found in that shed back there. Apparently the shed belongs to Mr. Englewood, but as he was out of town visiting his sister in Brighton, he has no idea what happened.”

  My stomach twisted, and the fear snatched the breath right from my chest. “So how did someone discover it?” I asked.

  “It seems the butcher was the one who discovered the body,” Nathanial said. “Went out into his garden for some eggs from his coop, and from what I’ve heard, thought something smelled off…”

  The bile churned in my stomach, and my face flushed.

  “Naturally, he would be one to know when…well, when something was beginning to spoil. And I know Ronald. He does his very best to ensure that his meat never spoils, always tries to ensure that his customers are getting the very best of what he can offer.”

  Nathanial looked down at me, and became rather sheepish.

  “I’m sorry, Helen. I don’t want to disturb you with these troubling images,” he said, scratching the back of his head nervously.

  “No, it’s quite all right,” I said, staring past him at the shed between the two honey-colored buildings.

  A body. Another death in this town.

  I glanced over at Inspector Graves, who seemed absorbed in the notebook in his hands, as well as talking with the constable that had just walked up to him. He nodded solemnly, and when he lifted his head to look my direction, I swiftly sidestepped behind Nathanial.

  I knew that Sam Graves would be rather displeased to find me near another body…especially just weeks after Mrs. Martin’s death. I did not need to give him any reason to suspect me of meddling.

  Or worse yet, to think that I was some sort of curse upon this little village.

  “It’s quite a shame, really,” Nathanial said, apparently entirely unaware of my inner musings or fears about Sam Graves. “With the war happening, you would think that a town like ours would be insulated from any further grief than what we already must endure. Is it so hard for people to try and keep peace?”

  My heartbeat quickened. “Are you saying…this was a murder?” I asked.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “That I’m not sure of. But it seems likely, given the place the body was found. If it was someone who had died of some sort of sudden illness, then they would have likely been discovered in their home, wouldn’t they?” he asked.

  “Wait, are you uncertain who the person was?” I asked.

  “Well, yes,” Nathanial said. “The police haven’t let anyone near. And we know for sure it wasn’t Mr. Englewood or any of his family; as I’ve said, they were all on holiday.”

  I furrowed my brow, fighting the nausea growing within me, as well as the curiosity that was making my mind whirl.

  “It’s probably best if we make our way from here, though,” Nathanial said. “I’m certain we will hear about it all soon enough.”

  “Yes, I imagine we will,” I said, somewhat distracted. “Nathanial, please tell your wife that I will be at the shop shortly. There’s another errand I must take care of first that I suddenly remembered.”

  “Well, yes of course,” Nathanial said with another one of his kind smiles. It was no wonder why Irene adored him so much. “We will see you soon. Oh, and would you care to stay for dinner this evening? Irene was hoping to make a cottage pie.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” I said, the thought warming my heart a little, lessening some of the fear. I was so glad that I had found Irene and her family, who were quickly becoming like a family to me.

  He smiled again and headed on his way back up the road, toward the tea shop.

  I waited until he was far enough away before following after him, but only a short ways. I ducked between the next two buildings, between Mr. Englewood’s home, and another home that had been sitting empty for some time.

  Goose pimples spread across my arms as I walked through the cool, shadowy space between the houses.

  What in the world are you doing? A voice somewhere in the back of my mind asked. This is utterly crazy. Are you hoping to give yourself nightmares again, especially when they have just started to taper off?

  I was well aware that the voice was rational, and that I should listen to it.

  What did I gain by getting a look at the body? What advantage would I have from glimpsing this person?

  It was fear. Fear that it was someone I knew. Fear it was someone I cared for.

  I had lost too many people, and while many in this town were still new to me, I couldn’t imagine having to lose any of them, my friends, the people who were helping me to feel at home.

  Sidney Ma
son’s face flickered across my vision, as well as that of sweet Mrs. Georgianna. I feared it might be any of my customers, or perhaps one of Irene’s regular customers.

  I reached the back of the houses, and found myself staring at the backs of two other houses that sat on the street parallel to Blackwood, with nothing more than some narrow patches of grass and another stone walking path separating them, a path that went all the way back to High Street. I glanced up and down the way, ensuring the coast was clear, and headed back south, back toward Mr. Englewood’s opposite side yard where the shed stood.

  As I reached the back of Mr. Englewood’s house, I heard the low voices and the distinct snap of a camera from around the corner. The police were very close, and if I made one misstep, they would likely see me and chase me out of there.

  And if Sam Graves caught me snooping around another body…

  I gathered my courage, peering around the corner.

  They were standing at the front of the shed, the door swung wide open. There was an unpleasant smell hanging in the air, and it took me a moment to realize what it must be.

  I pulled a handkerchief from the inside of my sleeve and covered my nose with it, my eyes watering as I tried to keep what little breakfast I had eaten down.

  The officers’ backs were turned, and the door was almost enough to obscure the space between the side of the shed and the side of the house.

  I counted to three in my head…and dashed across the gap to the safety of the back of the shed.

  My heart pounded in my chest as I pressed myself against the cool, weathered wood. I did my best to keep my breathing quiet as I looked around.

  There was no one back here.

  I looked to my right and saw a small, clouded window that looked as if it had not been cleaned in years.

  Slowly, I moved toward it, careful to keep my ears tuned to the police, in case any of them came around to the back.

  I peered in through the window, and was just able to make out a shape on the floor of the shed. At first, it looked like nothing more than a pile of old rags…but a moment later, I saw a hand, limp against the ground, stained with dark, dried blood.

  My stomach clenched, and my mouth went dry.

  My eyes moved through the rags, horror keeping my gaze pinned to every detail; the tear in the front of the jacket, dark blood staining all around it. The plain wedding ring on the bloody finger. The stillness and unmoving chest –

  And then my gaze fell upon his face, and I gasped.

  It was the Polish refugee.

  4

  I hadn’t worn my black dress since Roger’s funeral. It had hung in the back of my closet, still tucked away in its garment bag. I had hoped it would never see the light of day again. It wasn’t as if the dress itself was anything special. It was rather simple; fell to the knees, with wide pleats and a clean hem, stitched with black. The collar was scalloped, white, and the only contrast to the whole outfit. The sleeves, long and straight, were unadorned. Two simple buttons, also black, finished the neckline.

  My sister had picked it out. She said it suited me. But how could a dress suit a person whose heart had been broken? Was there a particular way that a woman who had just lost her husband should look? Was that what this dress said to those who saw me?

  Memories washed over me as I pulled that dress back on. Every nerve in my body rejected it, cried at me to take it off. In my mind, I saw the graveside, the dirt damp and fresh, the mahogany casket lying down inside it…the last time I would ever see the final resting place of my Roger. I saw the dress hanging on the back of the closet door in my old bedroom at my parents house, my mother in tears as I told her that I was leaving Plymouth to start my life over, my voice so loud as I yelled in anger at her that my throat felt as if I was tearing it. I saw the dress folded up in my suitcase as I prepared to leave, as if I somehow cherished it like the other few things I had decided to bring with me to my new life…when in reality, I just couldn’t imagine parting with something that I had worn to honor Roger and his life.

  When I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in my bedroom, I had to remind myself that I was not, in fact, going to Roger’s funeral. The pain, fresh again, roiled around inside me, the same heaviness weighing on my heart just as it had that day.

  That happened months ago…I reminded myself. Roger has been gone for almost six months. I am doing much better now. The days are easier. Sleep is easier. Yes, I miss him. All the time. But I am healing.

  I continued to remind myself of these truths as I finished getting dressed, pinned my hair up in a jeweled barrette that Roger had given me before we were married, and added some simple, black heels. I found a small enough purse to tuck my handkerchief and my lipstick inside before leaving the house.

  The wind had picked up overnight, causing me to clutch at my skirt to prevent it from blowing up at all as I walked.

  The church, beautiful in its ancient stone, stood atop the hill nearer the center of town, its steeple stretching high into the sky, taller than any of the trees around it. Bells began to chime just as the hour of noon arrived, echoing all through Brookminster.

  I received some strange looks as I went, from acquaintances as well as others. One such person was the butcher’s wife, Annie. She was busy minding her young son and daughter, yet she gave me a kind smile as I drew nearer to them. “Good afternoon, Helen,” she said, her eyes immediately dipping down toward my somber appearance. “My goodness, you look as if you might be headed to a funeral…is everything all right?”

  “Oh, well, that is precisely where I am going,” I said.

  Annie seemed stunned. “Who was it that passed away?” she asked. “Is it anyone I know?”

  I glanced down at her children, the boy sticking his tongue out at his older sister when neither she nor her mother were watching, and chose my words carefully, so as not to upset young ears. “It was that poor refugee that your husband – ” I began, but both pairs of little eyes darted up toward me at the mention of their father.

  “Good heavens,” Annie said, her eyes widening. “I had no idea they were having a service for him…”

  “Yes,” I said. “I imagine it will be rather small, perhaps not well attended. I don’t think he knew anyone in town.”

  “Why are you going?” Annie asked, her brow wrinkling. “Did you know him?”

  I shook my head. “I met him very briefly a few days ago. He was looking for someone, and wanted help. My neighbor, Sidney Mason, took him down to the police station, but something tells me he was never able to find who he was looking for.”

  “How sad,” Annie said, concern clouding her pretty, delicate features. She was a dainty woman to be married to a butcher. “I will head home at once and tell Ronald, but I am certain he won’t be able to leave the shop on such short notice…”

  “It’s quite all right,” I said, shaking my head. “There’s no need to explain that to me. Besides, it isn’t as if he will know who was able to come or not…”

  Annie gave me a sad, yet understanding look.

  “Well…regardless, it was good to see you, Helen. Perhaps we should have tea at Irene’s soon?” she asked.

  “I would like that,” I said.

  “Very good,” Annie said. “I’ll be seeing you!”

  “You as well,” I said, and continued on down the road toward the church.

  Concern began to creep up within me. I had thought for certain that the butcher would have attended the funeral, given he had been the one to find the poor man…

  I had heard about the funeral that Sunday during church, even if Mr. James had only mentioned it briefly. I had imagined that a great deal many more would have heard, as the news about his death had spread across town like wildfire. Before the day was through on the morning he had been found, everyone knew what had happened. Many suspected murder, given the strange location of the body, but some were convinced that he had wandered in there in the middle of a drunken stupor and had accidentally shot himself
, although no weapon had been found in the shed.

  All of this I had heard through secondhand sources, mostly the wives of the police officers, or those who were too nosy for their own good. Irene, however, working at the tea shop, had heard more details about it than anyone.

  She and Nathanial were unable to attend the funeral due to their shop being open, and Nathanial being away on business in London to retrieve a fresh supply of tea from the shipyards. They had a special supplier that liked to be paid in person.

  “But come right here afterward, all right?” Irene urged me as we had left church together two days before. “I’ll make sure to brew you up some fresh tea to soothe that tired, sad soul you’ll be bringing back with you.”

  If I was honest with myself, that was all that was helping me to get through, knowing that I could much more easily move past this funeral than I had Roger’s, and that I could be with a friend and relax later.

  When I reached the doors of the church, however, my sadness returned as I stared into a very empty sanctuary.

  My footsteps echoed off the vaulted ceiling overhead, the pale light of the day filtering in through the stained glass windows depicting different stories of the Bible; David and Goliath, Joseph and his brothers, Abraham and his son Isaac…

  A simple table was set up just before the altar. A bouquet of flowers, small and simple, sat upon it. Two candles burned on either side of it.

  “Ah, Mrs. Lightholder. I’m surprised to see you here.”

  I looked around and saw the vicar, Mr. James, stepping out of his office, off to the side of the sanctuary.

  He was a rather handsome man, thin and lean, with dark hair that was greying around his temples. Thin faced and narrow jawed, he had the features of a man who spent a great deal of time reading, and not nearly enough caring for himself. He wore tortoise shell spectacles that complimented the green of his eyes, and a long dark robe.