skeletons-in-the-cupboard-cosy-british-mystery-series

Cosy British Mystery Book Series

Skeletons In The Cupboard Series by A.J. Griffiths-Jones

Series Excerpt

Olive had been going to church in the village for some time now and had come to think of her attendance as second nature. Not a Sunday went past when she didn’t dress up in one of her pretty frocks, polish her best shoes and occasionally leave instructions with Geoff on what time to put the meat into the oven for roasting. On three out of four Sundays, Geoff would join his wife just to appease her, but he had little religious inclination himself, preferring to believe in fate rather than some higher being. Besides it being her main weekly social event, Olive also enjoyed the time away from her family responsibilities and looked forward to the ten minutes or so of pleasant chatter with her fellow church-goers afterwards. With both of her girls at Sunday school for the duration of the service and little Godfrey settled in his pram while his father tinkered in the garage, Olive could fully relax, reflect on the week behind her and give thanks for all the wonderful things that the good Lord had bestowed upon her.

The fact that the church was in full view of Marilyn, or perhaps Martin Roberts’ cottage and vice versa, was a slight embarrassment to Olive. She hadn’t quite recovered from the shock of learning that she had frequently been sharing afternoon tea with a man. Geoff had ribbed her about it for days afterwards but, keen to exonerate herself, Olive had been quick to point out that Geoff hadn’t noticed the fact that her friend was a cross-dresser either. On the rare occasion that Olive did catch a glimpse of someone in the cottage garden she would raise her hand in a quick wave, then hurry on her way. She had been too shocked to go and speak to the man, after all she felt deceived, but Olive bore no hard feelings, and instead missed their afternoons of laughter. And so, it was with a heavy heart that she strolled through the graveyard to meet her fellow parishioners.

Reverend Todd was a wonderful vicar. He always seemed to choose a topic for his sermon that was either close to Olive’s heart or relevant to some incident that had happened recently in the village and with which she could connect personally. On their way out of church at the end of service, the entire congregation would shuffle slowly out through the huge arched doorway as the person in front of them paused to shake hands with Reverend Todd and thank him for yet another thought-provoking service. Olive was definitely not alone in her admiration for the Parish priest, as each and every villager would be full of compliments from the choice of hymns to the Reverend’s compassion for the sick and elderly.

It also did no harm to the vicar’s female follower’s that he was also charming and handsome, with only slightly greying hair at his temples giving away a hint of his true age. The ladies of the village hung on to the clergyman’s every word and Olive was no exception. It was such a refreshing change to meet a vicar with modern ideas, instead of the stuffy old relics who had conducted the repetitive services in the villages of Olive’s youth. She remembered many a Sunday morning being gently pinched by her mother as she fell in to a light doze, head nodding gently as the preacher in the pulpit scorned the Devil and urged the parishioners to confess their sins before emptying the coins in their pockets on to the enormous collection plate being handed around. Wasn’t it funny, she had asked her mother, how churches were always in need of funds for repair? Olive’s mother had laughed and said something about money for the elderly priest’s drinking habits too. It wasn’t until now, with the wisdom that can only come with maturity, that Olive fully appreciated that comment and it still made her smile.

Mrs. Todd was revered just as much as her husband in the community. She had taken on the responsibility of teaching Sunday school in the village hall, organised fetes and whist drives, and visited those in need of company and a sympathetic ear. Olive always thought that Mrs. Todd fitted the stereo-typical mould of a vicar’s wife to perfection. She never dressed too ostentatiously, preferring twin-set and pearls to any garishly printed dresses, and wore her long dark hair neatly in a bun which show-cased her smooth complexion and make-up free skin. Despite the villagers always being encouraged to call her Cynthia, a name that both suited her and was easy to remember, most people called the Reverend’s wife by her married title which was both a mark of respect to her husband’s status and a way of showing how much they appreciated her singular efforts at fund-raising and boosting community morale. Mrs. Todd was certainly very easy to get along with and seemed just as amiable with the senior citizens in the parish as with the children to whom she imparted Bible classes. Olive was certainly very impressed with the way in which her own two daughters showed enthusiasm for their Sunday school lessons and Barbara, who was very often stubborn when it came to tuition, had even been heard singing hymns in the bath.

The vicarage was quite a grand but slightly run-down house which stood in immaculate gardens directly opposite the church. Although not modern by today’s standards, it was built far more recently than most of the other village dwellings and stood out as such, with its perfectly square windows and red brick exterior. It was quite a large place for just three occupants, the third being the Todd’s pretty young daughter Caroline, but they seemed content enough with their lot and went to great lengths to ensure that their door was always open should any parishioner feel the need to drop by.

As with most rural communities, significant religious and seasonal festivals were always a time for the villagers to pull together in an effort to show their support to both their local church and to each other. Harvest Festival was one such occasion and for weeks before the main event of distributing hampers to the elderly and adorning the church interior with wheat sheaves and flowers, the women of the village would hold numerous meetings to delegate tasks and to work out schedules for polishing the large amount of wood and brass that needed constant upkeep.

Olive was only too happy to volunteer her services, and was delighted when she was included in the pre-Harvest Festival meetings held at the vicarage each Monday evening for a month beforehand. She hadn’t really known what to expect when she had eagerly signed up to join the other women in their duties, but was happy just to be a part of the gatherings and was willing to undertake any given task. At the first meeting, Olive had nervously knocked at the vicarage door, wondering exactly what the women would be talking about and how formal these discussions were. If there was ever a moment of doubt about her acceptance in to the group, it was banished from Olive’s mind within thirty seconds of stepping in to the magnolia hallway. Reverend Todd greeted her with a wide pearly-white smile, took her coat and scarf, and then ushered Olive in to the large and comfortable sitting room where nine other women chatted informally over cups of steaming Earl Grey tea.

The vicarage sitting room was high-ceilinged and spacious, with oil paintings depicting country scenes adorning the walls and heavy drapes hanging across both of the south-facing windows. Olive couldn’t help but notice the abundance of newspapers and periodicals that had been crammed in to the magazine rack, and the groaning bookshelves holding everything from 19th century poetry to a teach yourself book on watercolours. It was exactly how she had imagined it would be, homely, large and comfortable.

In the centre of the room stood Mrs. Todd, smiling at the ladies around her and holding a huge catering sized teapot which she now held out towards her new guest. Olive gratefully picked up a clean china cup and saucer from the sideboard and allowed her host to fill it to the brim. A couple of buxom ladies now quickly shuffled together on the sofa, making room for Olive to sit down and join the lively conversation. With cups replenished and biscuits handed around, Reverend Todd cleared his throat and the meeting began.

‘My dear ladies”, he began, “Let me first thank you all for coming. Without you, our Harvest Festival celebrations would not be possible. Each and every one of you are absolute angels.”

There was a murmur of consent as the women absorbed the compliment and then each item on the agenda was carefully addressed with actions and delegates quickly being decided.

It seemed to Olive that the Reverend and Mrs. Todd were used to conducting discussions full of constant interruption and intermittent laughter, but the ladies in attendance meant no disrespect, they were simply excited at the prospect of being a part of the upcoming event. For over an hour the agenda was perused and agreed, with Olive volunteering to help with the colossal task of cleaning the church artifacts, aided by her neighbour Mrs. Hargreaves. With headway made, more tea was offered and the conversation took a more general turn, with several of the women now complimenting Mrs. Todd on her beautiful home and exquisite taste in tea. Olive was starting to feel a real sense of camaraderie with the other ladies and soon found herself chatting about her children and the district from which she and Geoff had moved the year before. Each new piece of information was accepted with a smile, a courteous nod or a murmur of approval, and Olive enjoyed the attention a great deal.

The next meeting followed pretty much the same format, with cups of tea and platefuls of biscuits being consumed before getting down to business. The women seemed to be sitting in exactly the same seats as on the previous occasion, which caused Olive to smirk slightly as she made her way over to her place on the sofa. The rigid ways of these country folk never ceased to be a source of amusement to her, even Geoff had started to comment on how the same people caught the bus to town every Saturday morning and that the men of the village always appeared at the same time every Sunday to mow their lawns and trim their hedges.

“Everything okay Olive? You seem miles away?’

Olive lifted her gaze to where Reverend Todd stood looking down at her.

“I’m fine thank you, just wondering which Harvest Festival task I’m best suited for.”

The vicar smiled and patted her shoulder gently, “

“A talented young lady such as yourself would be an asset to us in any capacity.”

Olive blushed and took another sip of tea. She had never met such a charming man of the cloth before, he certainly had a way of chatting to the ladies. Her thoughts were soon interrupted by the sound of Mrs. Todd coughing loudly in an attempt to get the meeting underway. She wore yet another jumper and cardigan combination, this time in powder blue, and had carefully selected a thin belt for her skirt in the same hues. Olive would never cease to be amazed at the pride in their appearance that these villagers took. It was like a never-ending fashion parade! Still, Olive was a great lover of clothes and looked forward to Geoff giving her the weekly housekeeping money, from which she would save a few shillings in order to buy new outfits for herself and the children but she also enjoyed comparing fashion and beauty tips with the ladies of the village too, and she now glanced around the room to see which women were sporting a new hairstyle or shade of lipstick. Such an amiable group, she thought, and I’m delighted to be a part of their community.

The following weekend, Olive found herself in the company of Mrs. Hargreaves as they walked briskly towards the church with one basket full of brass cleaning fluid and cotton rags, with which they intended to fulfill their nominated task and another containing refreshments for their lunch. Olive couldn’t help but think her neighbour was a rather over-dressed for the task at hand, with her fashionable mauve dress and cream patent shoes, but she made no comment. A wide patent belt cinched in Mrs. Hargreaves’ waist, which only caused more emphasis on her ample bosom and shapely behind. Her own choice of clothing had been much more practical and Olive sported a light cotton blouse, loose fitting trousers and a pair of flat leather pumps. She would have the last laugh later on, as Mrs. Hargreaves was bound to complain about her sore feet and stained attire. It never ceased to amaze Olive, the lengths that some women would go to for the sake of fashion.

It was a warm and sunny morning, and both women were in good spirits considering the arduous task that lay ahead of them that day. They chatted happily as they left their homes behind and stopped for a few minutes to say good morning to Peter Bristow who was already half way through mowing the grass in the cemetery. Peter was a cheerful fellow and his obvious devotion to keeping the grounds looking neat ensured that the little church looked in pristine condition. Olive looked around admiringly. This was certainly what life in a close-knit community was all about, everyone pulling together and helping to maintain the very heart of the village.

‘Morning, ladies” Peter bellowed over the top of the buzzing machine, “Lovely day for it.”

Olive and Mrs. Hargreaves nodded in agreement.

“He’s a cheerful soul”, enthused Olive’s companion, “Always got a smile on his face.”

“He certainly seems like a very decent sort” she replied, smiling.

The huge oak door was unlocked as usual, even at this early hour, as such peaceful community churches had no need to have their doors secured against thieves in these tranquil little parishes. Mrs. Hargreaves took Olive’s basket from her and gently placed it on a pew in the front row. On their journey down the lane, the two women had decided it would be most productive if one started at the rear of the church, polishing candlesticks and the collection plate, while the other began cleaning the numerous decorative crosses on top of the altar, that way they could meet in the middle to share their flasks of tea and parcels of sandwiches half way through the day.

As she began her work at the altar, aided by the beams of sunlight which now shone through the elegant stained glass windows, Olive marveled at how just being inside a house of God could humble a person. She felt as though the Lord were constantly watching over his flock with tender care, and now looked down upon the two women as they started their menial tasks with vigour and diligence. The eerie lack of noise added a theatrical quality to the inside of building too, with the only audible sounds being soft thuds as the two ladies moved around in companionable silence.

After an hour of rubbing and polishing, there was a loud click as the door was opened and Reverend Todd stepped inside. He greeted the women with his usual warmth and gratitude, complimenting them both on their work with the brasses and thanking them again for taking time away from their busy households to assist with the necessary duties in the church. Olive wondered how the vicar always managed to give the aura of a movie star, with his silky soft voice and handsome good looks.

‘I was wondering if you ladies would like to join me for lunch at the vicarage today,’ the Reverend asked ‘I’d be grateful for the company, as my wife has taken Caroline in to town to buy new shoes’.

Mrs. Hargreaves shot a glance in Olive’s direction, they had already decided to stop for minimal time to eat their packed-lunches today, as both wanted to return home in order to relax for an hour before preparing tea for their families. Olive gave a little shrug. It would be impolite not to accept the vicar’s offer, especially if he needed some company. Mrs. Hargreaves mimicked her friend’s gesture and told the Reverend that they would be happy to join him, providing he agreed to share the food which they had already prepared.

‘Excellent’, nodded the vicar, smiling even more eagerly than usual, ‘But I do insist that I make us all a nice pot of tea and throw in some of my wife’s delicious Bakewell tart. Shall we say one o’clock?’

‘One o’clock it is’, replied Mrs. Hargreaves, “We’ll be there, don’t you worry about that.”