A Grave Inheritance (32 page)

‘Oh, there you are,’ said Lillian, a little breathless after the long climb up the narrow stairs. ‘What have you been up to now; your mother is in a right pickle?’

Sophia giggled at Lillian’s choice of words and followed her back into the nursery. ‘They won’t let me go to the fete with Freddie. It appears Cyril Gerrard has formally requested my company and father is insisting Cyril takes me. Can you imagine it?’

‘He’s not such a bad looking chap, quieter than the rest of the Gerrards.’ Lillian steadied the rocking chair and eased herself into it, placing her feet on the small footstool in front of the chair.

‘But that’s just it, he’s too quiet, he never speaks. He just looks dopily at me.’ Sophia sat on the high single bed, her feet, barely touching the floor, swinging back and forth. ‘What am I going to do?’ she asked.

‘You mustn’t disobey your parents, Sophia. If you don’t want to go with Cyril, explain nicely to him you have already promised to go with his sister. Then if he persists and tags along, you will still have some fun with the other girls.’

It was a good idea, and Sophia found herself warming to it at once. ‘Oh you are clever nanny, Lillian. But what about Freddie, I’ve already promised to go with him.’

‘You will have to explain the same to him. I’m sure he’ll understand, Sophia, and in any case you can see him another day.’

I’m going to see him on that day, Sophia decided, no matter what. Changing the subject, she asked dutifully, ‘How is your mother?’

Lillian shook her head sadly. ‘She’s getting worse. Doctor Thackaberry wants to put her into the Deva mental hospital in Chester. He’s brought the papers to the cottage for me to sign, but I just can’t do it.’

Lillian didn’t tell Sophia the state her mother was in that morning, before she’d left. Ellen had lost most of her hair and her eyes protruded from her face, giving her a gargoyle expression that was emphasised by her heavy jowls above her neck. Her voice had changed too. Ellen’s speech had become so toneless that the sound of her voice was almost unrecognisable. Instead of the high pitched whine Lillian had become used to since the death of her father, now whenever her mother wanted attention, she sounded more like a man, hoarse and gravelly. Lillian dreaded going home and wondered what lay in store for her later that day.

***

On the day of the summer fete in the grounds of the estate, the July sun shone down its blessing. The new motorbus service in and out of Chester was bringing relatives from as far as Liverpool, and this fete, the first at Tapscott Manor since the end of the war, was expected to be the biggest and best ever. Tents were erected to hold the tables for refreshments and drinks, and during the course of the morning the villagers arrived to put up their stalls, ready for the afternoon.

At twelve o’clock Mr Leo Deverell and his wife Sylvia, Leo’s sister Beatrice and her husband, Reverend Simon Lanceley, appeared at the door of the Manor’s grand entrance. They made their way down the wide stone steps and along the drive towards the crowds who were waiting patiently for the opening ceremony. Accompanying them was the Mayor of Chester and his wife, who had arrived in their new motor car, causing much excitement, along with numerous other dignitaries. As the elite group drew near, caps were doffed, and the village women dipped a neat curtsey as the gentry passed by. It was a mark of respect no one really felt, especially towards the Deverells, but as their livelihoods depended on this wealthy family’s condescension, they made an outward show of deference.

It hadn’t been appropriate to hold the fete before. Nearly all the families in the village had lost loved ones during the war and the country’s economic state repressed any enthusiasm for enjoyment. Now was the right time though, and Leo Deverell glanced around with satisfaction, breathing in the fresh smell of crushed grass. It took him back to his school days and he had an almost irresistible urge to smile. The small cluster of local personages made its way around the grounds trying to show an interest in the fete.

A newspaper reporter from the fortnightly Chester
Centurion
followed in their wake, commissioned to take photographs and write a column about the afternoon’s success. The young man, dressed in a frayed brown suit and black bowler hat, awkwardly carried his tripod with him. He knew enough to keep his distance and hovered patiently for an opportunity to speak to someone of importance.

The group passed a small bandstand and as if on cue the band began to play. The musicians wore bright blue waistcoats and red bow ties and played brassy marching music, which made people want to fall in step and stride out in time to the beat. Sylvia stopped to watch some children pay a farthing at a Lucky Dip tub and chuckled at their faces. With wonder they pulled out bags of sweeties or lollipops, or, if really lucky, coloured chalk. The small elite group carried on past a stall laden with plants and cut flowers and then a stall selling freshly baked scones, plain or with currants, or topped with cheese. One stall sold homemade biscuits, and a variety of cakes with coloured icing filled another. Molly and Tom Pritchard stood behind an array of homemade chutneys and jams and Molly waved to the group as they passed. Sylvia, who had allowed Molly to use the Manor’s kitchen and had donated the contents of its storeroom to help with their contribution, smiled and nodded in acknowledgment. Leo and the other dignitaries looked the other way.

A few older children had set up makeshift stalls on wobbly tables. These held all kinds of jumble, broken or chipped oddments of bric-a-brac and old toys and books. Some of the poorer villagers rummaged through the bits, while kids with sticky faces held toffee apples on sticks and ran around playing tag.

A large striped tent shaped like a big top was the tea tent and after their dutiful walk round, Mr and Mrs Deverell, Reverend and Mrs Lanceley, the Mayor and the other members of the group, plus the newspaper man, made their way towards it. It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust after the glare of the afternoon sun, and the shade inside was welcoming.

The interior was cool and peaceful and surprisingly tidy. Small tables covered with plain red tablecloths were dotted here and there and had posies of white roses set in their centres. The canvas flapped in a light breeze and did a good job of filtering out the noise from outside.

Daisy Treweeks, red-faced and obviously flustered, fussed around as she offered them all scones and jam. In a corner, Sophia sat with her cousin Philip Lanceley, aged four, Louise and Cyril Gerrard, and other friends. Their parents sat separately from them, trying to ignore their boisterous laughter. A couple entered the tent and ambled over to join Leo’s group. Other people, including Doreen Treweeks who was there to help her mother serve the refreshments, stayed on the periphery of the tent, not sufficiently wealthy or socially confident enough to join in.

At one o’clock, after making polite conversation with her friends, Sophia discreetly slipped away. She had arranged to meet Freddie in the topiary garden which was set out like a giant chess board. On each side kings, queens, knights, bishops, castles and pawns sculpted in privet were set in rows in weed free soil. The empty central area was made up of squares filled with different coloured gravel. Sophia saw Freddie dwarfed beside one of the privet knights and she rushed towards him eagerly. Their eyes met and held: Freddie’s in a gaze of eager anticipation, Sophia’s sparkling with excitement. Freddie’s arm circled Sophia’s waist, and she felt his strength when he pulled her towards him and brushed her lips with his own. As his kiss deepened Sophia broke free from his embrace and glanced around nervously.

‘We can’t stay here for too long, we could be seen.’ Sophia felt a slight pang of guilt. She didn’t often disobey her father.

Freddie glanced at her, his hazel eyes merry. ‘Where would my lady like to go then?’ He swept off his cap in a deep bow, his voice mimicking the prim and proper Pritchard, her father’s butler.

‘Wherever you may take me, kind sir,’ Sophia giggled and dropped a low curtsey. She was wearing a pale pink silk mid-calf dress with short sleeves. A deeper pink cloche hat shaped her head and from under it spilled her long golden hair. The hat was meant to be worn with the new shorter hairstyles and flapper dresses, but her father had forbidden a haircut. With her mother’s persuasion, however, he had allowed her a dress which showed her lower ankles.

Taking her hand Freddie led her out of the garden, keeping to the far side of the topiary away from inquisitive eyes.

‘Where are we going?’ Sophia asked.

‘It’s a secret place, but you’ll see soon enough,’ Freddie answered, making for the wood. Inside the wood, Freddie followed the main path with Sophia holding his hand. The path narrowed and they continued along it until they reached a small clearing. Sophia knew eventually the path would come out on the road leading back to the main gates of her home. To their right another path branched off and disappeared deeper into the wood. Sophia glanced around her nervously. She had never been this far into the wood before. Not on foot. Her father had forbidden it. She looked at her new dress, purchased especially for the fete, and worried briefly if anyone would notice the soiled hem. Sophia lifted the delicate material and began brushing off the dust.

Amused, Freddie watched her quietly, noticing the edge of her white embroidered petticoat and a length of white stocking. He bent down to help clean the tips of her wine-coloured shoes, marvelling at Sophia’s tiny feet. He felt a swell in his chest as he soaked up her beauty and knew he would never love anyone else like he loved Sophia. Standing he pointed to a small clearing.

‘Look, Sophia, a fairy ring.’

Years before a ring of trees had been cut down. They made a circle and some of the stumps were now overgrown and covered in ivy. Tall trees surrounded them and sunlight pierced through the branches, spotlighting small areas within the circle. Leaves flipped from silver to lime and then olive as they twisted in and out of the light.

Sophia held her breath, her eyes taking in every detail. ‘It’s magical,’ she said, glancing at Freddie.

‘Yes, it is.’ Freddie moved into the circle and sat down on one of the ivy free tree stumps. Sophia followed him. She lifted her skirts and sat down on Freddie’s knee, putting her arm around his neck for balance. Freddie held her safe. Neither spoke. Words were unnecessary. Sophia knew in her heart today was special, and for Freddie too.

Freddie held her close, touching her gently to smooth away her fears, and she was unable to resist the burning desire so new to her. Sophia shed her inhibitions as easily as she shed her clothes. Her hands explored the planes of Freddie’s thighs and the ripples of muscle on his chest and back. While he whispered softly of his love and gently kissed her small soft breasts, his fingers found her most intimate of places. Their bodies had intertwined naturally, as though one.

‘I will never forget today Freddie,’ she told him shyly as they lay together.

‘Nor me,’ Freddie chuckled, lying beside her on the soft grass.

Sophia looked at him and blushed, knowing that whatever happened now, she would love Freddie Brock forever.

Sophia had arranged to meet her group of friends outside the refreshment tent at three o’clock and they raced back to the fete hand in hand. Sophia ran alongside Freddie, laughing and gasping for breath. Now and then she blushed, remembering their recent intimacy, amazed at her daring.

Near the edge of the wood, Freddie gave Sophia a quick kiss and ran off along the path leading to Woodbury village. Sophia watched Freddie until he disappeared out of sight, then she continued on towards home.

Out of the wood Sophia had a good view of the fete across the meadow and stopped in surprise as she drew near. Most of the stalls were dismantled and were waiting to be stored. The large refreshment tent was a heap of canvas and rope on the grass. Rubbish overflowed and people were clearing up. Outside the main entrance to the house, groups of people chatted and drinks were still being served from a stall turned into a makeshift bar. ‘It must be later than I thought,’ Sophia mumbled as she ran towards them, knowing she would be in trouble for missing the fete, but in her euphoric state she felt ready to face the music.

Louise Gerrard grabbed her arm as she passed and pulled her to one side, away from the others. ‘Where have you been?’

‘I forgot the time, that’s all. I never expected it all to be finished so early; where is everybody?’

‘It’s gone four o’clock. Mr Gerrard forecast rain and by the look of those dark clouds I think he’s probably right. Nearly everyone of importance has either gone home or is in your drawing room. I’ve been looking out for you to warn you before you go in. Your father is seething, so you’d better have a good excuse.’ Louise smirked knowingly, weighing up Sophia’s flushed face and sparkling eyes, and added, ‘although I don’t think the truth will work: more likely get you shot.’

‘Oh Louise, have you guessed?’ Sophia held her cheeks.

‘I think so. My brother is going to be mortified when I tell him.’

‘Please don’t tell anyone,’ Sophia implored.

Louise shook her head and looked towards Cyril who was making his way across the lawn to join them. Doreen Brock was with him but hanging back a little. Suddenly Cyril stopped and attempted to scrape dog muck off his shoe with a stone, but ended up getting it on his hands as well. Unaware he was about to stop Doreen continued on and bumped into Cyril, sending him headlong into the grass. Sophia and Louise exchanged a glance and giggled. Doreen joined in the laughter, which resulted in her getting a withering stare from Louise.

Sophia smiled at Doreen and waved her over to them. ‘Have you had a good time,’ she asked kindly, ignoring Louise’s exasperated huff. Before Doreen could answer Sophia heard her father’s loud roar.

‘SOPHIA.’ Her name rang out over and above the steady gabble of conversation. Every eye focused on her and Sophia cringed, half-heartedly turning towards the crowd and her father. Leo emerged blustering and red-faced.