“Treasure,” chortled Hetty.
“Yes, he didn’t find any of course although he did find this.” Zac picked up the knife from the grass where it lay and passed it to his great aunt.
“Oh dear, what a shame,” tutted Hetty, “that would have been a beauty in its day.”
Zac laughed. “That’s just what Sid said.”
“Great minds,” reflected Hetty. She handed the knife to Lottie and then sat down on the bench.
“Any news about the chap who used to live here? I can’t remember his name.” Grace asked as she sat down beside Hetty.
“Simon Berryman, and yes, we’ve got his phone number and his address. It was Daisy from the charity shop whose brother was friends with Simon.”
“And still is,” Lottie added.
“Well done you. So is he still living in Cornwall?”
“Yes, in Truro so hopefully we’ll be able to visit him quite soon.”
“Good work, ladies,” Grace enthused, “and I met someone of interest today too. Staying next door is a chap called Malcolm Jackson. He teaches history and sounded quite enthusiastic when I told him about the suitcase, so he could be useful in your search for David Tregear as well.”
“That’s interesting,” agreed Hetty, “and is he also on his own?”
“Oh no, he has a stunning wife called Belinda whose hands tell me she’s never done a physical day’s work in her life.”
On Tuesday morning Zac went down to the village to help Kyle and a few others put the finishing touches to their raft and to discuss ideas for costumes before Kyle went to work at the Crown and Anchor at eleven thirty.
Just before midday, Zac arrived back at Primrose Cottage and began to shovel the old plaster into the bottom of the pond. Hetty and Lottie offered to help him but he insisted on doing it himself.
“No Emma this afternoon?” Lottie asked.
“No, she’s gone shopping with her mum. They’re going round the charity shops in Penzance looking for things we can use for our pirate costumes. They asked me if I wanted to go as well but I said no because I wanted to get this done while the weather’s good.”
Lottie looked to the blue sky. “Very wise. It’s lovely at the moment but we all know it can change at the drop of a hat.”
Zac laughed. “You do say some funny things, Gran.”
“Funny things.” Lottie was puzzled.
“Yes, you said the weather could change at the drop of a hat. Why a drop of a hat?”
Lottie shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve absolutely no idea.”
Hetty standing nearby dead-heading her favourite dahlia, took out her phone from her pocket and Googled it. “Apparently it comes from the American West where the signal for a fight was often just the drop of a hat.”
“Well I never,” chortled Lottie, “You learn something new every day.”
Zac cupped his left hand behind his ear. “Is that a lorry I can hear?”
“Hmm, sounds like it,” Hetty agreed, “I’d better go and see. It might be building stuff for the chaps.”
To her delight it was the builders’ merchants with a delivery of plasterboard sheets and so once it was unloaded and carried indoors, Basil and Mark abandoned the attic, carried it upstairs and began to put up a new ceiling in Zac’s room.
Chapter Eight
On Wednesday morning, Hetty and Lottie, delighted with the progress being made in the attic, Zac’s bedroom and with the pond, contemplated how best to spend their day. After toying with several ideas, they agreed that since both were eager to track down any Berrymans with connections to Pentrillick that a trip to Truro was their best option in order to look up Simon Berryman. However, they decided not to phone in advance to check that he was in because by doing so they would have to explain who they were and why they wanted to meet him and it was agreed best to do that in person rather than over the phone.
Hetty drove because Lottie insisted as she’d never driven to Truro before she would most likely get lost, even though Hetty assured her that was unlikely to happen as the route was clearly sign-posted.
They found the house with ease and parked a few doors away on the opposite side of the road in order to weigh up the neighbourhood. The area was well kept, gardens were tidy and there was not a hint of graffiti anywhere. After walking a short distance along the slabbed pavement, they opened the Berrymans’ garden gate, stepped onto the path and then Lottie feeling a little tense, knocked on the door. After what seemed like several minutes but was in fact only fifty seconds, a man in his sixties with thick white hair answered.
“Mr Berryman,” gushed Lottie, nervously, “Mr Simon Berryman?”
The man frowned. “Yes and what can I do for you, ladies?”
“We’d like to ask you some questions about your family history,” gabbled Lottie, “You see, we found some things that relate to your ancestors. The Berryman side of your family, that is and we’re pretty sure you will be interested to hear what we have to say.”
“Really, that sounds fascinating, you’d better come in then.” He opened the door wide and they went inside.
“This is my wife, Sheila,” he announced, as he led them into the living room where a lady sat crocheting by the window. “Sheila, these ladies are here because apparently they’ve some information about Berrymans from years gone by.”
“And some questions to ask,” Hetty calmly added.
Sheila put down her handiwork. “Sounds interesting. Would you like a cup of tea?”
Hetty and Lottie both nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you,” said Lottie, “both white, no sugar.”
“Okay, please sit down and I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
“Better wait for Sheila before you tell me your news,” suggested Simon, who himself sat once the sisters were seated, “she’s so much better at retaining facts than I am but you can at least tell me how you found out where I lived.”
“Through Daisy,” Hetty divulged, “and I’ve just realised that we’ve known her for a year now but I don’t know her surname. Anyway, she lives in Pentrillick and works in the charity shop there. Apparently you’re a friend of her brother.”
“Oh yes, that’ll be Clive, he has a sister called Daisy,” Simon laughed, “Clive and I have known each other for longer than I care to remember.”
When Sheila returned with mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits, Hetty and Lottie in turn told of the discovery of the suitcase in the attic and the results of their neighbour’s delving into the family history of the Tregears and how the Tregears were related through marriage to the Berrymans.
“Good heavens,” muttered Simon as the news sank in, “I must pay you a visit and have a look at that suitcase and its contents, if that’s alright.”
“Of course,” exclaimed Hetty, “we’d be delighted to show you. I’ll give you our address before we leave.”
Simon chuckled. “But I already know it. You said you live at Primrose Cottage. Well, that’s where I was born.”
Hetty tutted. “Yes, of course. Kitty told us you lived there when she was young and you used to walk to school together.”
“Kitty, what Kitty Vickery?”
“Yes, only she’s Kitty Thomas now.”
“So she did marry. Last I heard she was living on her own in the house her family have owned for years.”
“She married earlier this year and her husband is a very nice man called Tommy.” Hetty put down her tea and took a biscuit from the plate.
“Well, I look forward to seeing her again,” chuckled Simon, “we were quite good friends when we were little.”
Hetty smiled. “So we’ve heard.”
“Right, so what do you want me to tell you?”
“Well, I suppose anything you can remember about living at Primrose Cottage would be a good place to start,” said Lottie, feeling it was time that she got in on the conversation.
Simon nodded. “Okay, well my dad was called George and obviously was a Berryman and he bought Primrose Cottage in
1939 just before the war broke out. Harold, his father, gave him a nice wad of money for the deposit and if I remember correctly, Dad told me his sister, my Aunt Polly, looked after the house for him until 1948 when he married my mother.” Simon paused to take a sip of tea.
“So until 1948 your father lived at Primrose Cottage alone?” Hetty surmised.
“Yes, yes, no actually no, I don’t think he did. I vaguely remember Dad saying something about a chap who drove the hearse lodging there during the war. He avoided conscription because he worked on one of the farms and was also a volunteer for the lifeboat. I can’t remember his name though. But then I probably never knew it and it might only have been for a few months anyway.”
“Never mind, I don’t expect it matters,” said Hetty.
“Unless it was Jimmy,” suggested Lottie, “Remember the postcard, Het. Peter said he hoped old Jimmy was behaving.”
“Good point,” Hetty agreed, “Does the name Jimmy sound at all familiar, Simon?”
“Well, I can’t say that it does. Jimmy,” he mused, “no it doesn’t ring a bell.” He closed his eyes, “I’m trying to recall if Mum ever mentioned him, because she and Dad were together for some time before they married so she must have known him. Well, they’d actually known each other since they were kids. Mum was called Betty, by the way, but sadly I don’t remember a great deal about her. She died when I was six years old. Well I was nearly seven. In fact it was a week before my seventh birthday. It was very sad. Poor Mum must have tripped on a loose bit of carpet on the landing or something like that because she fell down the stairs and broke her neck. No-one was in the house at the time so she wasn’t found for a while. I was at school, you see, and Dad was at work and I suppose the lodger chap was as well. Damn, I wish I had some inkling as to what his name was.”
“Yes, we’re really sorry about what happened to your mother,” sympathised Lottie, “Kitty told us what little she remembered and how sad it was. It must be dreadful to lose a parent especially at such a young age.”
Simon nodded. “Yes, it was but Dad was brilliant and so I never felt neglected or anything like that.”
“So can you tell us anything about your father’s stepbrothers, the twins, Peter and David Tregear? Peter obviously died before you were born but what about David? Have you any idea what happened to him?”
Simon shook his head. “No not really. I asked Dad about him once because Grandma Florence who was actually my step-grandmother had a picture of David and Peter on the mantel piece in her room at the hotel. They were a nice looking couple of lads but they weren’t identical like some twins are. He said that no-one knew where David was but it’s thought he might have run away because he was afraid of being called-up to go to war and of course having already lost his brother that would have made him afraid, I suppose.”
“If that’s the case,” said Lottie, “David was definitely still alive in 1942 when Peter died but it seems a little odd that David didn’t attend his brother, Peter’s funeral.”
“Is that right?” Simon asked, “I mean, how do you know that?”
“Because our next door neighbour, Alex, looked at a local newspaper article about the funeral on-line and he wasn’t listed amongst the mourners.”
“Hmm, very odd.”
“Yet the brothers must have been close because Peter sent David a postcard in January 1942 which was a month before he died.”
Simon appeared to be nonplussed. “In which case if David was still in Pentrillick when Peter died he must have disappeared soon after.”
“Very soon after,” said Lottie, “If he didn’t attend the funeral because he’d run away.”
Simon shook his head. “Actually, I very much doubt that that was the case because train drivers were exempt from conscription and he was also crew on the local lifeboat, same as the lodger chap.”
“How about your father?” Hetty asked, “What did he do during the war?”
“Dad stayed at home and ran the family business. He couldn’t go to war, you see, because he was medically unfit. Poor chap suffered from asthma and had flat feet.”
“Oh dear,” sympathised Lottie, “I take it he didn’t serve on the lifeboat either then.”
“No, but I always got the impression he wished he could have. The Pentrillick lifeboat was quite a big thing once upon a time but it must have shut down either before or soon after I was born because I can’t remember there ever having been one when I was a boy.”
“So was Peter ever crew on the lifeboat?” asked Hetty.
Simon shook his head. “No, because apparently he was afraid of the water and had a fear of drowning but I don’t know why.”
Lottie smiled. “Well, I can understand that. It’d take a strong stomach to be out on choppy waters and I know my poor old tum couldn’t take it.”
Hetty frowned as she tried to make sense of information received. “Now what you’ve told us, Simon, is really interesting, because if it’s highly unlikely that David would ever have been called up because of his occupation, then the running away story was either pure fabrication or just a wild guess by someone.”
“Hmm, I must admit it’s starting to look that way,” Simon conceded, “The fact he’d have been exempt from conscription never occurred to me before. But then when I first heard about David I was only a kid so I took what was told to me as fact.”
“By why?” Hetty was confused,” Why would someone make it up?”
“No idea,” said Simon. “It makes no sense at all.”
“It’s just struck me,” blurted Lottie, “Would the lifeboat you’ve mentioned be the one whose house is along the coast and has now been converted into a studio?”
“Yes, the very one. It’s not been a lifeboat house for some time now but as I said I can’t remember exactly when it closed, not that it matters. Not as regards the family history anyway.”
“I’ve just remembered something,” said Lottie, as she reached for her handbag. From it she took a brown envelope containing the picture that was in the suitcase. She handed it to Simon. “I know you’ve seen a picture of David and Peter before, albeit a long time ago, but you’d still probably like to see this.”
Simon opened the envelope. “Ah, this must have been taken around the same time as the one Grandma Florence had because I recognise the twins instantly. And the boat, Goliath I remember being told that was David’s fishing boat. Fishing was his passion and he’d be out at sea whenever he had the time. I wonder what happened to the boat.”
“Yes, you saying that has reminded me that’s something else we must look into as well,” said Hetty.
Simon handed the photograph to his wife. “You’re a clever woman, Sheila. What do you make of all this?”
“Well, I’ve never heard about these members of your family before but looking at it as an outsider I’d agree that it seems highly unlikely that David would have run away without just cause and if he had he most certainly wouldn’t have left behind his identity card and personal possessions. I mean, surely back during the war you’d have been in real trouble if you couldn’t show an identity card if asked.”
Simon nodded. “Yes I daresay you’re right. I’ve never had reason to question any of it before but in the light of the suitcase’s discovery, I’d certainly like to know what really did happen now.”
“What can you tell us about your grandfather, Harold Berryman? We know he was a widower and married the twins’ mother, Florence Tregear who was a widow and owned the Pentrillick Hotel. Did you know him at all?”
“Oh yes and he was lovely. Funny, generous and a fantastic mimic. He taught me to play cricket and used to take me river fishing. In retrospect I think he wanted to try and make up for the fact I’d lost my mother. I often stayed at the hotel with him and Grandma Florence. I suppose it also helped Dad out. Dad had the business to look after, you see. As you already know he was an undertaker.” Simon laughed. “Used to get my leg pulled at school for that. Funny though but death isn’t something I
’ve ever feared and that must be because I thought nothing of seeing coffins and suchlike. I mean, to me the hearse was like a tractor must be to a farmer’s son.”
“So did your grandfather Harold not work at the undertakers when he got older?” Lottie asked.
“Occasionally he did but most of the work was done by Dad and Aunt Polly. Granddad helped out if they were really busy and I suppose he did more during the war but I think he preferred to help at the hotel. He’d worked at the funeral parlour since he were a teenager, you see, and then when he was twenty five he took over most of the responsibility from his father who suffered from poor health. It was his father who started the business but I couldn’t tell you when that was or even what he was called. Not that it matters. I think Granddad was glad to do something different. He liked to do the hotel gardens. I remember helping him, as a boy. I got to know the names of flowers through him. Wild and cultivated. He taught me the names of birds too and lots of other wild creatures that live around here. He was a real countryman at heart.”
“And what about your father’s sister, Polly? What happened to her?”
Simon shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t really know. As I just said, all I remember is her helping at the undertaking business and she helped at the hotel too but then she moved away. I don’t know why but she probably wanted to do something a little more interesting. I don’t really remember her much because she left when I was quite young. I can’t remember when exactly but I was still at primary school. I liked Aunt Polly though, she had a lovely smile and used to make cakes. She read me stories too. I’ve often thought it’d be nice to trace her but it’d be impossible if she married which I hope she did because she’d have made a great mum and housewife.”
“Ouch,” laughed Hetty, “not politically correct to say things like that in this day and age.”
Simon smiled. “No, I suppose not.”
“I’m beginning to get a picture now,” said Hetty, “but sadly none of it solves the mystery as to where David went so I guess we’ll never know.”
The Suitcase In The Attic Page 6