A Grave Inheritance (12 page)

‘I miss you,’ Jake said, long lashes shielding his expression.

‘Yeah, I bet. Like a hole in the head,’ Grace said, pleased and breathless with pleasure. Gwyneth’s voice broke the moment and Grace turned away from Jake, her cheeks still pink.

‘Mr Jones here has just been telling us his grandparents originated from Wales, although I knew he had Welsh blood in him as soon as he began to speak,’ Gwyneth gushed.

‘Glyn Ceiriog they lived, a beautiful part of North Wales. My grandfather owned a farm up there. Dead now, so Bryn my younger brother runs it.’ Mr Jones looked around at their faces. ‘Call me Joe, not Mr Jones.’ This was said more to Gwyneth.

‘This is the Joe I was telling you about, our new gardener.’ Amelia introduced Joe to Jake.

‘My father moved over the border into Cheshire when he was a young lad. He worked with horses mostly, for a Mr Leo Deverell at Tapscott Manor. He met my mother, a local girl, and they settled here.’

‘Deverell, I’ve heard that name before,’ prompted Grace, taking the opportunity to find out more.

‘Land owners on a large scale they were at one time, but not anymore. Sophia Deverell is the only one left of them now.’

‘You married a local girl too Joe, your Janet,’ Amelia said.

‘Yes. But Janet’s been gone now for five years and I’ve decided to get on with my life. Life’s too short to stuff a mushroom, so they say. Make the most of every day, that’s my motto.’ Joe glanced in Gwyneth’s direction and gave her a knowing look. Gwyneth responded by touching Joe gently on the knee.

Amelia felt left out. She still didn’t know what had happened to Janet and it didn’t look as though Joe was about to tell her. She sipped her wine and watched them all sitting around the table. Grace talked animatedly to Jake while he hung on her every word. Gwyneth and Joe, despite their difference in years, had obvious chemistry between them, which was electric. Amelia glanced away, feeling lonely. She looked around the room full of people. There were a few men alone at the bar, some talking to mates, but mostly the crowd was made up of couples. Amelia wondered what was wrong with her. Why didn’t anyone find her attractive enough to talk to? David Lanceley came into her mind and remembering his face, she felt better.

‘Hi, we’re off now.’ Pamela and Nathan ambled over to say goodbye.

‘Don’t forget, every Friday about nine we’re in here,’ Nathan said, smiling at them all.

‘Nathan’s giving me a lift home on his motorbike,’ Pamela told them and put on a crash hat. Gwyneth looked on in dismay, remembering what was in store for her later.

‘You’ve got a motorbike, mate?’ Jake stood up with sudden interest, and with a show of camaraderie he followed the couple outside to inspect Nathan’s machine. Grace watched them go, realising where she had seen Nathan before. He was Doreen Brock’s grandson.

‘That Nathan’s a real charmer,’ Amelia said, watching them leave.

‘He’s a bit young for you, sis. Anyway, I thought you had set your sights on the vicar.’

Gwyneth was in deep conversation with Joe but her ears pricked up when she heard this and she rounded on Amelia. ‘What’s this, Amelia? Have you been holding out on me?’

Mortified, Amelia sat and fumed while Grace gave Gwyneth and Joe chapter and verse about their first meeting with Reverend Lanceley. Thankfully she omitted to tell them the reason why they had gone to the cemetery in the first place.

Chapter 14

By the time Jake returned last orders had come and gone. Amelia invited them all back for coffee and because Joe knew a shortcut home he led the way. Like in a parade they all followed him to the back of the pub where a path led directly into Oakham Wood. Joe assured them that eventually it ran alongside the back of Primrose Cottage.

Five minutes later Joe stopped. ‘There’s a gate along by here somewhere,’ he said, shining a small torch over the bramble hedge. ‘Here we are.’ Joe pushed his arm into the brambles and pulled hard. A loud creak and scuffing noise followed and the brambles parted to show a low gate, now opened. One by one they passed through and found themselves behind the shed in Primrose Cottage’s garden. The ground consisted of broken bits of twigs and Grace nearly tripped over a ladder lying lengthwise on the ground along the inner hedge.

Soon they were all in the cottage and the kettle was on for coffee. It came as no surprise when Gwyneth and Joe sat side by side, thigh by thigh next to each other on the sofa. Grace took the armchair nearest to Joe and settled back comfortably. Jake sat on the floor near Grace’s knees and rested his head against the arm of the chair. His legs were stretched out parallel with the sofa.

Grace decided now was a good time to quiz Joe, so before Amelia came in with the coffee she asked him, ‘Do you ever do any work at the vicarage, Joe?’

‘Not a lot, no. I fixed a leaking radiator a few months ago. The whole house needs painting and decorating, inside and out, and I wouldn’t say no to that job either. I offered to give the vicar an estimate for me to do the work, but he wasn’t interested. Doesn’t want to pay out good money on a house he doesn’t own, he said.’ Joe turned to Gwyneth. ‘A big job like that would keep me going for a few months,’ he said emphatically.

‘What about the cemetery. Have you ever done any jobs there?’ Grace persisted.

‘Oh no, that’s the council’s responsibility. Their workmen do all the grave digging and maintenance. Why do you ask?’

Jake raised an eyebrow and said, ‘I was just wondering that.’

‘Just interested, making polite conversation,’ Grace said.

‘For one minute I imagined you had a grave that needed digging,’ Joe said jokingly, his swarthy face red and puffy from the effect of alcohol. Gwyneth and Jake laughed too, joining in the joke, waiting for her reply. Grace was saved by Amelia who timed it just right to bustle in carrying a tray with five steaming mugs on it. She set the tray down onto the coffee table and took the other armchair near Gwyneth.

‘What have I missed?’ she asked, looking from one to the other.

‘Joe’s been telling us about work he’s done at the vicarage.’ Before Joe or Gwyneth could enlighten Amelia further, Grace went on, ‘I was thinking – is it advisable for Jake to ride his motorbike home tonight?’

Jake stirred and looked round at Grace, trying to judge her line of thinking. For a wonderful moment he had the idea she might fancy him after all and wanted him to stay the night so they could be together. Grace soon knocked that notion on the head.

‘You’ve been drinking all night,’ Grace said to him, ‘and one coffee isn’t going to sober you up. Anyway, I think Gwyneth would prefer not to have to ride home on the back of your bike at this time of night.’

‘I’ve only had a couple of lagers,’ Jake stated, outraged she should think he was drunk.

‘It has gone a little chilly,’ Gwyneth ventured, taking the opportunity to put her oar in.

‘If Jake doesn’t mind sleeping on the sofa, I can make a bed up for you in the office, Gwyneth. We have sleeping bags and spare pillows and the futon is very comfy,’ Amelia offered, agreeing with Grace’s suggestion.

‘If Gwyneth prefers she could stay the night with me,’ Joe told them.

Four pairs of raised eyebrows turned to look at Joe. Flustered, he began to stammer, attempting to set the record straight. ‘I don’t mean sleep with me. I have a spare bedroom at home. What on earth are you all thinking?’ Gwyneth’s pink cheeks went a deep shade of rose and she giggled. ‘Tomorrow I’ll drive Gwyneth home to Llangollen and we could stop on the way and have a pub lunch somewhere. It’s just an idea. I don’t want to offend anybody.’

‘It’s a marvellous idea and I accept. Anything to save me from getting on a motorbike again gets my vote,’ Gwyneth said, still flushed. ‘Shall we make a move now Joe and let these young people get their beauty sleep?’

Still a bit miffed, and on principle, Jake decided to go home. He finished a second cup of strong black coffee then put on his biker’s jacket and fixed his helmet. After a short goodbye to the sisters he rode off for Llangollen.

‘I think you upset him,’ Amelia said, watching him go.

‘Whatever,’ Grace replied with a shrug, secretly disappointed.

Chapter 15

The day after the barbecue, it was lunchtime before Grace ventured out of her bedroom. She took a shower and then went downstairs for breakfast. Tucking into her cornflakes she heard the sound of doors opening and closing upstairs. Amelia was on the move. Quickly, Grace put the handwritten notes she’d made at the newspaper office on the coffee table in the living room. Returning to the kitchen she noticed the polo mints on the worktop and slipped them into her pocket for later. The scrap of paper was still underneath and Grace was scrutinising it when Amelia finally made an appearance.

‘What’s this?’ Grace held up the piece of paper.

‘I found that in your trouser pocket when sorting your clothes for washing. I was going to ask you the same thing.’

‘I’ve never seen it before. I wonder what these oblong squares mean and the initials JF?’

‘When was the last time you wore your beige chinos?’

‘Oh yes, I remember now. I visited the cemetery again the other day. The storm had played havoc with the flowers, they were scattered everywhere. I just picked this up to help tidy the place.’

‘Let me have another look.’ Amelia took the piece of paper out of Grace’s hand and studied it. ‘These oblong squares could be grave sites then.’

‘Actually, I was outside the cemetery wall when I picked this up. There were four graves there, so yes, you’re right. The initials JF could stand for John Farrell. I think it’s time we made another visit to see your vicar.’

‘I don’t know,’ Amelia answered half-heartedly. ‘You’re jumping to conclusions again.’

Amelia finished breakfast and began tidying up. She started in the living room first, as Grace had predicted. Mugs with dregs of coffee dotted the carpet and crumb-spotted plates covered the coffee table. Amelia plumped up the cushions on the sofas and then carried the crockery into the kitchen and piled it onto the draining board. Armed with a duster and spray polish she returned to dust.

Grace left her to it, giving Amelia a chance to discover her notes, and it didn’t take long. She stood at the door, studying Amelia’s face, trying to fathom what was going through her mind.

Amelia, sensing Grace watching her, looked up. ‘So this is what you found out at the newspaper office.’

‘What do you think?’ Grace asked, taking her notes from Amelia. ‘This section of newspaper is dated July 1911,’and without waiting for a reply, she began to read out loud.

‘John Farrell, Head Woodsman and Gamekeeper for the Deverell family, was taken in for questioning in connection with the death of Laurence Deverell. Farrell, who has worked for Sir Deverell for over ten years, did not resist arrest. Detective Chief Inspector Lambourne is asking anyone who has information which may help him with his enquiries, to contact him at the Chester Police Station, as soon as possible.’

Unwillingly Amelia listened. ‘Okay, I agree it is logical to assume he is related to us because of the name. But we don’t know that for certain, do we? There could have been any number of Farrells living in this area around that time. For instance, if John Farrell lived in Primrose Cottage on Sir Edmund Deverell’s estate, we can assume it was a tied cottage that went with his job. So how could Lillian have owned it?’

‘Good point.’ Grace nodded in agreement. ‘Did you read this too?’ She held up her notes taken from the February 1912 article.

Amelia reached out and took it from her. ‘Oh,’ she said, frowning, and then read the article again. ‘It states that John Farrell committed suicide, and according to this the police viewed it as confirmation of his guilt for the murder of Laurence Deverell.’ Amelia looked up with a shocked expression. ‘If what you think is true, we’re related to a murderer.’

‘It looks like it, yes.’ Grace was beginning to understand Mrs Brownlow’s position on the Farrells.

‘The initials JF on the piece of paper, written on the oblong that we presume is a grave, probably mean that’s where he’s buried.’ Amelia thought for a moment. ‘Do you remember all the stuff we had to sort out when we moved in, paperwork and such?’

‘Yes, most of it was rubbish,’ Grace muttered, still thinking about the newspaper article.

‘Most of it was, yes, except for some legal looking papers in one of the dresser cupboards, which I kept in case they happened to be important. Also, there were a few old books. It crossed my mind that they could have belonged to granddad, so I didn’t have the heart to throw them away,’ Amelia explained.

‘Why didn’t you mention them before?’ Grace couldn’t believe her sister had just forgotten.

‘I don’t know. I’ve been so busy fulfilling my curtain orders; I haven’t had time to think of anything else.’

Grace was exasperated. She turned to Amelia with a forced smile. ‘Where are they?’

‘Up in the attic,’ Amelia grimaced.

***

Neither of them liked spiders so they argued about who would go up. In the end Grace was nominated; after all she’d found the headstone and claimed to have seen ghosts. While Amelia held onto a rickety ladder Grace shone the torch into the attic and wafted away cobwebs, trying to avoid getting them in her hair.

‘I see it, I won’t have to go all the way in,’ Grace called out, stretching into the opening. Her feet left the ladder, leaving her lower half suspended in mid-air, and with just her head and shoulders above the trap door she managed to reach the box. ‘Okay! Okay! I’m coming down.’ Grace pulled the box up to the opening.

Amelia grabbed Grace’s feet and guided them onto the top rung, then teetering on top of the ladder Grace handed down the box. Amelia carried the box downstairs and into the living room, amused by her sister’s antics.

Grace ran her fingers through her hair and brushed away imaginary cobwebs from her jumper and jeans. ‘Yuk, I’ll have to go and change my clothes now,’ she squirmed. ‘Don’t start without me.’ Grace dashed in to the bathroom and fifteen minutes later she came downstairs. ‘I think we’re in for another storm; it’s black outside,’ she said and went over to the windows to draw the curtains. ‘As much as I hate creepy crawlies, I’m going to have to go and have another look in the attic. Not today though,’ Grace uttered, giving her sister a look of disgust.