A Grave Inheritance (27 page)

‘Nathan’s already told you how you’re related to Sophia, so I won’t go over it again,’ Doreen stated matter-of-factly.

‘Is there anything else you can tell us? Did you know about the grave in the garden for instance?’ Grace asked.

‘No, I didn’t, and I don’t feel up to talking now. Is that tea ready yet?’ Doreen enquired, pouring milk into a mug. ‘I came to tell you something else. Sophia’s been killed and I saw who did it.’ When Doreen placed the milk jug back onto the table, her hand shook

‘Don’t worry, Doreen, you’re safe with us, and Sophia isn’t dead. The attempt on her life failed and she’s recovering in hospital. We’ll take you back to the nursing home later when you’ve rested a bit.’ It was then that Amelia noticed Doreen was still in her nightdress and dressing gown and wearing slippers.

‘Not dead?’ Doreen grabbed Amelia’s arm in a vice-like grip.

‘Try not to get upset, you’re safe here with us,’ Grace repeated gently. She’d sat down opposite Doreen. ‘You said you saw someone. Who was it?’

‘It was such a shock seeing her by Sophia’s door. She’s never visited before in all the years I’ve known her.’ Doreen’s voice dropped to a whisper. She lifted her mug to her lips with shaking hands and tea slopped over the side of the mug onto her clothes. Grace looked meaningfully at Amelia.

To Amelia’s mind it was imperative they get Doreen back to the nursing home as quickly as possible. Amelia was also fully aware how important it was to let the police know Doreen was safe, and if they drove Doreen back to Tapscott Manor themselves, it would give them the opportunity to go into Sophia’s room and get the diaries.

Grace was thinking along a different line. ‘Do you normally go along to Sophia’s room in the evening, Doreen?’ Doreen sipped her tea and didn’t answer. Grace suddenly remembered how a part of the book implicated Doreen’s father in John Farrell’s supposed suicide, and she wondered if Doreen had found the diaries. Grace was just about to ask when a shadow fell across the table. Another figure stood in the doorway, blocking out the morning sunlight.

Amelia first thought it was David, come to apologise for the previous evening’s rudeness, but when the dark figure walked away from the open door, she realised it wasn’t David after all but his sister, Leonie. Leonie, the female version of her twin brother, stood facing them. Her gaze, full of hate, distorted her features.

At the sight of Leonie, Doreen began to tremble and Amelia and Grace put down their mugs with a clatter and stood as one to defend her. Grace placed a protective hand on Doreen’s shoulder. Leonie’s livid face was enough to frighten anyone.

‘Well, this is a nice family gathering,’ Leonie spat, speaking for the first time.

‘Hello Leonie, what brings you here?’ Amelia said.

‘You couldn’t leave well alone, could you? Poking your filthy Farrell noses in where they weren’t wanted.’

‘We had to know whether anything was buried underneath the gravestone. What would you have done under those circumstances?’ Amelia pulled herself up to her full height. But as tall as she and Grace were, they didn’t match Leonie’s stature.

Doreen began to jabber. ‘It was her. She was the one I saw smother Sophia.’

Grace frowned and gently lifted her hand away from Doreen’s shoulder. No one had mentioned the word smothered.

‘That’s right, Brock; shift the blame onto someone else, your family is good at that. It’s true I’ve no love for Sophia or any of you Farrells come to that, but if I was going to get rid of her, I’d be sure to make a good job of it.’ Leonie walked in and stood a few feet away. Amelia was confused. Leonie appeared to blame Doreen for the attack on Sophia.

Doreen stood up slowly and moved around the table. She stepped away a few feet and then turned to face them. She squared her shoulders and evil shone from behind her thick lenses.

‘Doreen?’ Amelia gaped at the frightening transformation speechless.

‘Shut up,’ Doreen snapped. ‘Who do you think you are, showing up here after all these years to take away what’s rightfully mine?’ Doreen pointed at Leonie. ‘And I know all about your precious family, the Deverells.’

‘It’s all right, Gran. I’m here now.’ Suddenly Nathan was there too, standing behind his grandmother.

‘Nathan, thank goodness. I think Doreen has had some kind of a breakdown.’ Amelia made to stand, but gave up when she saw the knife in Nathan’s hand and a coil of rope over his arm. Lillian’s diaries were wedged under his armpit.

Doreen stamped her foot petulantly. ‘Sophia’s still alive.’

Nathan frowned at this news. ‘What have you done, Gran?

‘I tried to take care of your inheritance, but I failed. I’m sorry, son,’ Doreen sniffed.

‘Nathan, what on earth is going on? We should be calling for an ambulance. Doreen is obviously ill,’ Amelia pleaded with Nathan.

Nathan ignored Amelia and stepped forward, holding the knife in front of Leonie’s face, forcing her backwards. ‘Don’t worry, Gran. I’ll take care of everything. Any menacing move and I’ll have your eyes out.’ Nathan directed his words to Leonie, who he reckoned was his biggest threat. ‘All of you move into the hallway and go up the stairs. Go on.’

As soon as Leonie’s back was turned Doreen rushed forward. She grabbed the heavy teapot and smashed it into the side of Leonie’s head. With a groan Leonie fell and lay in a heap on the floor at Doreen’s feet. ‘Serves you right, serves you right.’ Doreen gave the prone figure a kick.

Nathan passed the rope to Doreen. ‘Tie her up and make sure it’s tight. I’ve wanted to do that for months, Gran, but you beat me to it.’ He nodded towards Leonie and smiled.

While Doreen finished securing the rope around Leonie’s ankles and wrists, Nathan spoke quietly to his grandmother. ‘Are you sure you want to go through with this? There’ll be no turning back afterwards. Perhaps there’s another way.’

‘Just get on with it,’ Doreen snapped at him. ‘I’ll keep watch outside.’

Terrified, Amelia and Grace ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs. At the top of the landing they hesitated, unsure where to go next. Amelia, bringing up the rear, heard the sound of liquid sloshing about downstairs. She stood for a moment, trying to judge whether she’d be able to get past Nathan and run for help. Then as if reading her mind Nathan appeared at the bottom of the stairs and began climbing up to join them. The knife was in his left hand and in his right hand he carried a can. With a sickening feeling Amelia realised the pungent smell emanating from it was petrol.

Nathan reached the landing and motioned for the sisters to go into the office, the only room in the house to have a lock on the door.

Amelia and Grace rushed inside, not necessarily to do his bidding, but to get away from the knife. Grace had rubbery legs and felt as though she was walking on the moon, so she plopped down onto the futon. Nathan threw Lillian’s diaries into the room after them, and they lay scattered over the floor. ‘Read yourselves a story while you’re burning,’ he shouted.

‘Nathan,’ screamed Amelia. ‘Have you gone out of your mind? You won’t get away with this. Joe is expected any minute.’

‘Nice try. Joe’s over at Morris’s farm today. We will get away with it. Everyone knows how much Leonie hates the Farrells. It will look like Leonie tried to kill Sophia and then set fire to Primrose Cottage to get rid of you two, and got caught in the flames herself.’

‘Let us out please, this is a mistake. Please, Nathan, I’m begging you,’ Amelia yelled. Nathan ignored her. Not giving up, she remembered that the arched window had a small opening vent. At least that would give them some ventilation, Amelia thought, panic beginning to set in. She rushed over to the window and then remembered she’d nailed the vent down. It was the only thing she could think of doing at the time, to stop Grace going on about a cold draught. ‘Damn,’ Amelia cursed.

They heard Nathan’s footsteps going down the stairs. A long stillness followed and Amelia strained to hear. A sudden whoosh caught them by surprise and it wasn’t long before they could hear the crackle of fire. Amelia pounded on the window and then on the door, shouting for help.

1912

End of March

Leo Deverell looked at his wife with genuine concern. He’d been appalled when his mother suggested they bring the wedding forward to February, and he’d refused outright to be rushed. Now, thinking back on the last two months of marital bliss, he wondered why he’d hesitated. Sylvia was everything he’d ever dreamt of in a woman. Gently Leo lifted his wife’s limp hand to his lips and brushed a soft kiss across her knuckles. The colour of Sylvia’s face matched that of the ivory bed linen. A purple tinge shadowed her closed eyes and dark blonde lashes rested in an uneasy sleep. Leo gently stroked her dishevelled array of fair hair. ‘Sylvia,’ he whispered softly. Receiving no response, Leo put her hand back down on the covers. Moving away from the bed, he stood for a while looking out of the bedroom window. The room, situated at the front of the manor house, had good views and he looked at the gardens with approval. A path went through an arch in the garden wall and carried on through a buttercup meadow before curving out of sight and into the wood. A curl of grey smoke in between the branches of the trees drew his attention. Leo watched the smoke dwindle and realised it came from one of the tied cottages dotted about the estate. Out of his field of vision he heard horses led out into the yard and he listened to the grooms’ muffled curses. On the main lawn, conveniently placed in partial shade underneath the wide branches of apple trees and lilacs, were groups of tables and chairs. Beds of tiny alpines and heathers softened the flat expanse, and almost hidden amongst the flowering rhododendron and hydrangeas, ornamental marble statues peered out. Leo sighed. The garden was his responsibility to maintain now, but his first priority was to carry on the Deverell line by providing an heir.

Sylvia stirred and Leo quickly moved back towards the bed. ‘Sylvia dear, you’re awake at last.’ His wife’s eyelashes flickered at the sound of Leo’s voice and opened. Tears dampened her cheeks.

‘I’m so sorry, can you forgive me, Leo,’ Sylvia implored, taking hold of his hand.

Leo made to answer and then hesitated. Sylvia, at eight weeks pregnant, had taken the grey mare from the stables and ridden to a friend’s house in Delamere, with no regard for the safety of her unborn child. The foetus aborted three days later. Leo did blame Sylvia’s irresponsible action for her miscarriage, but seeing his wife so full of remorse, magnanimously he decided to forgive her. Before Leo had time to reassure his wife a tap on the door distracted him. He turned to see who had disturbed them. Pritchard his butler entered, striding boldly into the room. ‘Yes, Pritchard, what is it?’

Having worked for the Deverell family for over fifteen years Pritchard was not intimidated by the harsh tone of the young Mr Deverell and after the customary bow, he cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me for disturbing you, sir, you have a visitor.’

‘I thought I’d made it perfectly clear that my wife and I don’t want to be disturbed. Tell whoever it is to make an appointment.’ Leo waved the servant away and turned back to Sylvia. Whispering words of comfort, he eased her up into a sitting position and pumped up the pillows. Sylvia relaxed back against them, lifting her arms to smooth her rumpled tresses away from her brow. The movement seductively lifted her full breasts. At the sight of his wife’s protruding nipples, clearly visible through the transparent muslin nightgown, Leo became aroused and felt a familiar ache in his groin. He sat on the bed and pressed his face against the soft mounds, kissing them gently, and breathing in Sylvia’s feminine perfume. A slight cough disturbed the couple’s intimacy.

‘For God’s sake, man, can’t you leave us alone? Am I not allowed any privacy in my own home?’ Leo shouted, angrily voicing his embarrassment.

Leo’s harshness would have sent any other servant scuttling, but Pritchard stood his ground. ‘I am very sorry, sir, but the young man refuses to leave. He’s waiting in the hall.’

Astounded by his servant’s gall, Leo stood glaring. ‘You’ve asked him in? How dare you ignore my instructions? I will not tolerate this impertinence.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Pritchard replied, remaining unmoved.

‘Well, what are you waiting for, man? You have asked him in; now ask him out, if you please,’ Leo said exasperated. ‘Tell whoever it is my wife and I are indisposed.’

‘It’s young Jim Farrell, sir, and as I said, he refuses to go. He’s in a bit of state.’ His words trailed off as Leo stormed towards him.

Hearing his visitor’s name made Leo’s blood turn first cold, then boiling. He pushed past Pritchard and walked out onto the balcony overlooking the main hall. Below him stood Jim Farrell, his upturned face returning Leo’s glare with one of equal hatred. Leo descended the main staircase slowly until he reached the bottom few steps. Then before Jim could react Leo sprang down the remaining stairs and grabbed the young man by his shirt collar and began to drag him towards the main door. Leo screamed into Jim’s startled face, ‘How dare you come into my house? Get out now.’

Jim refused to be dragged. He twisted away and in doing so loosened Leo’s grip, then with a powerful push he thrust the older man away from him. ‘I’m not my father or Charlie for you to push around. I’d listen to what I’ve got to say first, before you try strong arm tactics.’ Jim leaned against a marble pillar, regarding Leo, trying not to show his nervousness.

Jim’s muscles bulged beneath his rough plaid working shirt and as he stood clenching and unclenching his large fists, Leo glanced up towards the balcony, wondering where Pritchard was. He might need his servant’s help if Farrell decided to get nasty. Jim’s eyes were so like Amy’s, Leo couldn’t meet them. He did see desperation hidden behind the young man’s arrogant stance though, so taking control of the situation Leo began smoothing down the front of his coat, brushing off imaginary fluff from his sleeves.

‘Farrell, you’ve obviously got a bee in your bonnet about something, but today is not the day. My wife is very ill and you are keeping me from her. You’ve nothing to say that I want to hear, so I’ll tell you again. Get out. Or do I have to call my men to remove you?’ Leo knew his threat was weak. His men had watched Jim and his siblings grow up. Some even felt a responsibility towards them after what had happened to their father.