“Out of curiosity, when did you and your father leave Primrose Cottage?” Lottie asked.
“Sometime in the nineteen sixties after Granddad died and that was in 1964. Grandma Florence was already dead, she died in 1961. Dad inherited the hotel and so sold the cottage and the hotel, closed up the undertaking business and we moved to Penzance. Needless to say we were quite wealthy then but Dad frittered most of it away because when he died ten years ago there was nothing much left apart from the house. Still, good luck to him. At least he enjoyed his premature retirement.”
Hetty frowned. “But surely some of the money raised through the sales of the hotel and undertaking business should have gone to your Aunt Polly, her being your father’s sister.”
“Do you know I’d never thought of that before. Of course the money would have been shared with her as I expect Granddad left everything to them both in his will anyway. Thank you, Hetty, because now I understand why there was less in the coffers than I’d anticipated. It also means Dad didn’t squander his inheritance after all.”
“And it’s probably why he sold everything,” said Lottie, “so the money could be shared equally, that is.”
“It also means that if your father shared the inheritance with his sister he must have known where she was in 1964 when your grandfather died,” said Hetty.
Simon frowned. “Another good point and now you come to mention it I vaguely remember we used to get Christmas cards from her when I was young. But I don’t remember any in later years.”
“Probably took the money and went to live somewhere hot and sunny,” said Lottie.
Simon nodded. “Yes, and who could blame her?”
“I wonder why your dad never remarried?” mused Sheila,” after all he was only a young man.”
“He would have been thirty nine when he lost Mum. I know he was greatly saddened by her death and perhaps he didn’t think it right to replace her.”
Hetty and Lottie each had a second cup of tea and then left soon after with Simon and Sheila promising to call very soon to see the suitcase and its contents.
When they arrived back in Pentrillick, the sisters went to the Crown and Anchor for a late lunch hoping to see Bernie the Boatman in order to ask if he recognised David’s boat, Goliath, while they had the photograph with them. He wasn’t in and so as soon as they had eaten they walked down to the beach. To their delight he was there chatting to some holidaymakers.
“Have you finished for the day?” Hetty asked.
“Yes, I only go out once a day as it can take several hours for my enthusiasts to catch any fish. I don’t think I could face going out twice anyway and of course what time I go and come back is down to the tide.”
Hetty nodded. “Yes, I suppose so although it’s all gobbledegook to me. You know, ebbing, flooding, spring tides, neap tides and suchlike. To me it’s just low or high water.”
“Anyway,” said Lottie, taking the brown envelope from her handbag, “what we’re really here for is to see if you recognise this boat.” She handed Bernie the photograph of Peter, David and the Goliath.
“Goliath,” mused Bernie, scratching his head, “can’t say that the name rings a bell, but it’s definitely the beach here because there’s the pub in the background. When do you reckon it was taken? It must be a few years back because it’s before the pub’s terrace was built and that was in the nineteen sixties.”
“Sometime before 1942,” answered Hetty, “because that’s when Peter died and David went missing.”
“Yes, that figures because there hasn’t been any fishing in Pentrillick since the nineteen fifties. Not commercially anyway.” He handed the photograph back to Lottie, “Nevertheless, I’ll make a few enquiries and see if anyone knows what happened to the old girl.”
“Girl,” blurted Hetty, “surely Goliath is a chap’s name.”
Lottie tutted and looked heavenwards. “Oh, Het, all boats are referred to as she: even I know that.”
When they arrived back in Blackberry Way, they found Grace leaning on the five bar gate of the field opposite their cottage. She waved as she saw them approaching.
“Hi, I called round to see you earlier but assumed you’d gone out because your car wasn’t here. I didn’t knock to find out though because I thought if Zac was out too then it’s a fair way downstairs from the loft for the chaps to answer the door.”
“We’ve been to Truro,” gabbled Lottie, her voice tinged with excitement, “and Zac is in but he’s in the back garden cutting the hedge. At least he was when we left.”
“We’ve been to see Simon Berryman,” explained Hetty, as she locked up the car, “You know, the chap we told you about who is friends with Daisy-from-the-charity-shop’s brother. We hoped he’d be able to tell us a bit about the history of this place and the people who lived here.”
“And did he?”
Hetty wrinkled her nose. “Yes, he did, and what he said helps a bit but on the whole I think we’re probably even more muddled now than we were before.”
“Without doubt,” agreed Lottie. “My head’s spinning.”
“Nevertheless, do tell.” Grace tilted her head to one side in anticipation.
“Of course. Come on, let’s go inside and have a nice cuppa and a piece of cake.”
As they approached the door, Grace nodded towards the feathery plumes swaying in front of the sitting room window. “That’s a spectacular clump of pampas grass you have there.”
“Do you like it?” Hetty asked. “It was already here when we moved in but I can’t make my mind up as to whether I like it or not. It blocks out some of the light from the window, you see and it can look a bit messy.”
Grace giggled. “Well I like it but I wouldn’t grow it. Not in this day and age anyway.”
“This day and age,” Hetty repeated. “What do you mean?”
“I’m referring to the fact that it’s very much out of favour right now and sales of it have plummeted.” Grace laughed in a schoolgirl manner. “You’re never going to believe why though.”
Lottie and Hetty both stood with blank expressions on their faces.
“Well,” Grace continued, “from what I’ve read its popularity has declined because it’s now regarded as a secret signal to passers-by that its owners are happy to indulge in swinging.”
“Indulge in swinging,” Hetty was flabbergasted, “you’re pulling my leg, Grace.”
“I’m not, check it out and you’ll find that a lot of nurseries have actually stopped stocking it simply because gardeners don’t want it anymore.”
“Hetty’s been threatening to chop it down for some time,” laughed Lottie, as she opened the front door, “I’ve always objected but I think you’ve changed my mind.”
Once indoors they sat in the sitting room and while they drank tea, the sisters brought Grace up to date.
“So, what’s this Simon Berryman like?” Grace asked.
“Really nice,” said Hetty.
“And so is his wife,” Lottie added.
“That’s good to hear. I wonder if he has any pictures of his family.”
Hetty nodded. “He has but sadly there aren’t many and what there are aren’t very good. Apparently a whole album of pictures got damaged when they were stored in a damp cupboard and so they had to be thrown away.”
“Oh, that’s sad,” sighed Grace, “because old photos can’t be replaced.”
“Yes, and the ones that were unharmed weren’t in the album because they were inferior,” sighed Lottie, “Simon’s going to look them out anyway and bring them when they come to see us.”
“Excellent, I’m sure it will help if we can put faces to the names we have so far.”
“Meanwhile, I think we must take another wander round the graveyard,” Hetty suggested, “this time looking for Berrymans.”
In the evening Simon Berryman phoned to say that he and Sheila had booked a room at Tuzzy-Muzzy for three nights on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. He said he thought the gods were on his sid
e because the guest house had just minutes before had a cancellation because one of the two people due to stay in a double room had broken a leg.
“Brilliant,” said Lottie, who had answered the phone, “we’re really looking forward to your visit and no doubt we’ll have come up with another list of questions by then.”
“I look forward to trying to answer them,” laughed Simon, “and I can’t wait to see the house and village again.”
Shortly after Simon’s call, the phone rang again. Lottie answered it but there was no-one there. She cursed as she returned to the sitting room, sat down and picked up her knitting. Five minutes later it rang again. Lottie answered but as before there was no-one there. She slammed down the receiver. “Sodding nuisance calls, they really are a nuisance.”
As Hetty laughed at the angry expression on her sister’s face, the phone rang yet again.
“I’m not answering it,” snapped Lottie, emphatically, picking up her knitting again and attacking it with vigour.
“All right, all right, keep your hair on.” Hetty walked into the hallway and picked up the phone. There was no-one there. She dialled 1471 and was told the caller withheld their number.
“Perhaps it’s a fault on the line,” muttered Hetty, as she returned to the sitting room, “and for some reason it keeps making our phone ring.”
But when she sat down and the phone rang again, she too felt angry. With a look of exasperation, Hetty entered the hallway and picked up the phone. “What the hell’s going on,” she bellowed down the receiver. She was shocked when her ear was met with heavy breathing. And then it stopped. There was a brief pause and then a piercing scream rang through the receiver. Hetty screamed also and dropped the phone onto the floor. When her heart stopped thumping loudly she picked it up. The line was clear and there were no more calls that night.
Chapter Nine
The following morning, Hetty and Lottie took the old carpet from the garage which had been in Zac’s bedroom and carried it into the back garden ready to line the pond. Most of the plaster in the bottom of the hole had been broken into small pieces and Zac had sprinkled soil over it to fill in any gaps to make a smoother surface. With the aid of a sharp knife, the sisters cut the carpet into large strips and laid them over the plaster by slightly overlapping each one until the whole area was covered. To their delight there was just enough and nothing left over. When they returned indoors, Hetty ordered a pond liner from the supplier recommended to them by Chloe’s brother, Alfie.
The sisters were in a good frame of mind despite the mysterious phone calls received the previous evening for they had concluded after a brief discussion that they must have been made by mischievous children who rang a number at random which just happened to be theirs.
In the afternoon, Hetty, who was sitting on the bottom tread of the stairs putting on her shoes to take Albert out for a walk, suggested Lottie come too and then they could wander around the churchyard to see if they could find any Berrymans. Lottie jumped at the idea and within ten minutes the three of them were walking down Long Lane towards the village.
They found several graves whose memorial stones told of Berrymans that predated the period they were interested in; they instantly disregarded them as they would not help with their investigations and walked on by. To their delight, a short distance away, they came across the graves of Harold Berryman and his second wife, Florence, who they knew to be mother of twins, Peter and David Tregear. A little further along they found the graves of Simon Berryman’s parents, George Berryman and his wife, Betty whose death occurred in 1956 after a fall down the stairs.
Lottie tutted. “Poor Betty. Look, Het, she was only thirty four when she died.”
“Yes, and I’ve just realised something. She died in our house.”
“Oh dear, so she did. Primrose Cottage doesn’t appear to have a very happy past, does it?”
“No, but perhaps we can change all that,” Hetty suggested, “and we can turn it into a happy house.”
“Well, it’ll be happy for as long as Sid’s there doing the plumbing. I’ve never known anyone so jovial.”
“Absolutely. Anyway, we’ve seen all we set out to see here so we might as well go home now. Do you agree?”
As Lottie opened her mouth to reply something caught her eye. “Surely I’m mistaken. Look, Het. Look over there. Isn’t that Peter’s grave?”
Hetty frowned. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Lottie. I mean, we know Peter’s grave is over there. What of it?”
“Yes, but look what’s on it. Follow me.”
Hetty followed as Lottie marched across the grass to the final resting place of Peter Tregear. On his grave a dozen white roses graced the vase attached to the polished granite headstone.
“I’ve gone all goosepimply,” whispered Lottie, rubbing her arms, “I mean, who can have put them there?” They weren’t here the other day and there are no Tregears in the area now.”
Hetty frowned. “Not that we know of. How peculiar. Perhaps then David really did run away and eventually married up-country somewhere. If so he may have had children and they or one of them are now living in the area having returned to their roots.”
“Yes, could be, and he, she or they, put flowers on the grave of their Great Uncle Peter. But if that were the case then surely locals would know there were Tregears here again.”
“Not if David had changed his name,” reasoned Hetty.
“Or he might have kept his name but had a daughter who has now married and so changed her name.”
“Or perhaps it was just a distant relative visiting.”
Hetty cast her eyes all around the graveyard. “Well whatever the motive it means that someone in our midst has reason to remember him and I find it a little unnerving that we’ve absolutely no idea who that someone might be.”
Simon and Sheila arrived at Tuzzy-Muzzy on Friday afternoon and as soon as they had unpacked their things they walked round to Primrose Cottage.
“Before we see the suitcase, may I have a look round?” Simon excitedly asked as Hetty held back the door and beckoned them to enter. “I’m itching to see the old place again.”
“I can understand that,” said Hetty, closing the door. “You’ll be surprised when you get upstairs though because we’re having the loft converted, so it’ll look very different to how you remember it.”
“Yes, you mentioned it the other day because that’s how you found the suitcase.”
Hetty tutted. “Of course. Silly me.”
Simon found looking round the house brought back many memories and he gave a running commentary on how things used to be as he went from room to room. “I vaguely remember this being done,” he cried, when he peeped inside the bathroom. “It was a bedroom before, you see. I must have been very young at the time, in fact no older than six, because I remember Mum being excited when it was finished and the thrill of having my first bath in here.”
Inside Zac’s room, Basil was plastering the new ceiling. “Oh my goodness. This was my room although it doesn’t look as big as I remember. But I would’ve been much smaller then.”
He crossed the landing and looked into Lottie’s room. “This was Mum and Dad’s room.” He crossed to the window. “How well I remember that view. It’s changed very little.”
Hetty’s bedroom, Simon recalled was the spare room in which Aunt Polly often slept.
At the top of the stairs he paused. “It must have been from here that Mum fell. I remember the carpet was frayed in places but of course it wasn’t a lovely fitted carpet like you have now. It was just a long runner which ran along the middle of the bare floorboards.”
After the tour of the house, Hetty made coffee while Lottie showed Simon and Sheila into the sitting room.
“I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate you having invited me here,” said Simon as he took a seat near to the window. “It’s brought back so many memories. I feel quite emotional.”
“And hopefully seeing th
e contents of the suitcase will bring back even more,” said Hetty as she walked into the room with a tea tray, “although I realise the case goes back several years before you were born.”
“When were you born?” Lottie asked, “I don’t think we’ve established that yet.”
“1949,” Simon replied as Hetty handed him a mug of coffee.
“Ah, that makes you three years older than us then,” calculated Lottie, “we were born in 1952.”
“You’re the same age as me then,” said Sheila, nodding in the direction of the sisters, “I was born in that year too.”
Hetty stood her coffee mug in the hearth and then left the room. She promptly returned with the suitcase which she laid at Simon’s feet. “I’ll leave you to look through it.” She picked up her coffee and took a seat by the fireplace.
“There’s also a pair of shoes and an overcoat,” Lottie revealed, “they were in the loft alongside the case and we assume they were left out as there wasn’t enough room for everything.”
“And probably to spread the weight,” reasoned Hetty, “as I’m sure if everything had been crammed in the case the ceiling would have come down long before now.”
“Oh, and I’ve just remembered,” Lottie sprang to her feet and picked up the old teddy bear from a stool in the corner of the room. “This little chap was also under the floorboards.” She handed the bear to Simon. “The poor thing was stuffed in an old pillowslip.”
“Goodness me,” gasped Simon, as he turned the bear over in his hands, “this little fella would have belonged to David because I have one exactly the same. Grandma Florence gave him to me when I was a kid and asked me to take good care of him. He was very special, you see, because he used to belong to Peter. Apparently, her husband, Frank, bought Peter and David both identical bears for their third birthdays and the boys treasured them because they reminded them of their father who died soon after.” Simon chuckled. “Peter’s bear is called Gingerbread. He was named that by his father but I don’t know why.”
The Suitcase In The Attic Page 7