The Suitcase In The Attic

by Daphne Neville

  Inside Primrose Cottage, Hetty frowned. “Who’s that outside shouting?”

  No-one answered but Zac nearest the sitting room door, jumped to his feet and switched on the light. “I can smell smoke and hear crackling.” He opened the door and looked into the hallway. The doormat and the hall table were on fire and flames were rapidly spreading across the floor. As everyone followed Zac into the hallway, Alex dialled 999 on his mobile phone and asked for the police and fire brigade. Tommy meanwhile suggested they all make their way into the kitchen to get out of the back door, but when they got there, the door was locked.

  “Where’s the key?” Tommy shouted, his hands in the air.

  “It should be in the lock,” screamed Hetty, in panic, “we never take it out.”

  “Well it’s not there now.” Tommy looked on the floor and lifted up the doormat.

  Emma’s eye’s filled with tears. Zac squeezed her hand.

  “The clicking sound,” whispered Emma, biting her bottom lip, “the clicking sound you heard must have been someone locking the door.”

  “The dining room or living room windows,” shouted Lottie, leading the way, “We can get out of one of them.”

  “Not the dining room,” groaned Tommy, “the door’s blocked because the carpet’s on fire.”

  They all rushed into the living room where Lottie yanked back the curtains. Everyone screamed when they saw the pampas grass outside the window was engulfed in flames.

  Luke, torn between chasing the arsonist and helping the victims of the fire chose the latter and frantically ran around outside the house looking for water. He jumped when Grace carrying a bottle of wine suddenly appeared through the gate.

  “What the hell’s going on?” She screamed. “What are you doing here? What have you done?”

  “Done,” shouted Luke, “I’ve not done anything apart from trying to find water to put the damn fire out. There are people trapped in there. Listen, you can hear them screaming.”

  Grace threw the bottle of wine into a lavender bush and rushed forwards. “There’s a tap down the side of the house. Come with me, I’ll show you.”

  Luke followed Grace to the tap. He shouted with relief when he saw it had a hose attached. Without wasting another second he turned the tap on full and ran to the front of the house. With a mighty kick he knocked the door open and doused the flames with water.

  Trembling, Grace stood by his side biting her nails and praying that the fire would be extinguished. When she heard the sound of sirens ringing through the night air she fell to her knees and wept.

  Chapter Twenty

  The following morning as Lottie and Hetty washed down the kitchen walls, blackened by the fire, both expressed their thanks that the house was not at all badly harmed as only the hallway was in need of repair work. Basil had already been round to survey the damage and they were grateful, for it had occurred to them after the fire brigade and police had departed that they had forgotten to take out a policy for house insurance. Apart from the hallway, the rest of the house was just blackened here and there; something the sisters agreed would respond well to some elbow grease and a coat or two of paint. The smell of smoke was also prevalent in every room and so they opened all of the windows throughout the house including the new rooms in the attic and thanked God that the sun was shining and there were no grey clouds looming.

  To their amazement just before lunchtime a team of volunteers arrived from the village to help clean the walls, along with neighbours, Tommy and Kitty and Chloe from Tuzzy-Muzzy, who had just finished the guests’ rooms.

  “No Grace?” said Hetty, as Chloe pulled on a pair of rubber gloves.

  Chloe shook her head. “No, poor thing, she looked really pale during breakfast and said she was going to lie down for a while so not to bother with her room today. She thinks she might have inhaled too much smoke.”

  Hetty scowled. “Really, but she arrived late and I never set foot in the house.”

  “I expect if the truth be known she’s still in shock,” said Lottie, sympathetically, “It must have been dreadful for her seeing the flames and realising we were all trapped inside.”

  Chloe looked at the remains of the burnt-out door. “Have you got anyone to fix that yet? I mean you can’t live here with no door.”

  Hetty smiled. “Yes, it’s all in hand. In fact Basil’s out getting us one right now and he’s promised it’ll be done by the end of the day.”

  “And he’s going to re-plaster the hallway next week,” Lottie added, “and for that we’re extremely grateful.”

  Meanwhile, the police were confident that there would be CCTV footage on one of the petrol stations in West Cornwall showing someone filling a petrol can in recent days. And as Vince’s garage was the nearest to the scene of the crime, they made his business their first call. Vince, already familiar with the malicious acts against the sisters - the brakes in particular - was more than willing to oblige and provided the footage requested. To the delight of the two officers sent out to investigate, they hit the jackpot first time. For the previous afternoon someone had driven onto the garage forecourt and filled up a red five litre petrol can identical to the empty one they had found discarded over the garden wall of Tuzzy-Muzzy along with a black hooded top, size 14 which still bore the price tag. The person in question was a dark haired female and the police instantly recognised her as someone who had been present at Primrose Cottage on the night of the fire. Furthermore, she was someone who they believed to be a friend of the two ladies who lived in said house.

  Inside her room, Grace hastily pulled out her suitcase from the gap beside her dressing table and the wall. All she could think was that she must pack and leave Cornwall as quickly as possible. Things had got out of hand and she needed to make a hasty exit before the police put two and two together and made four. Hurriedly she grabbed every item of clothing which hung in the wardrobe and tossed them into a heap on the bed. She then knelt down on the floor but before she even had time to unzip the suitcase, she heard a knock on the door. With fingers crossed hoping that it was just Chloe knocking to see if she was feeling better, she cautiously went to the door. Chloe’s husband, Colin was standing on the landing and with him were two uniformed police officers.

  Inside the police station, Grace sat with her clasped hands resting on her lap. Her face was pale and her eyes red from crying. After intense questioning she had finally admitted to starting the fire at Primrose Cottage but she refused to say why she had done so. In fact apart from confessing to the arson attack she refused to say anything at all.

  When Hetty and Lottie heard the news they were devastated. Both sat in a daze as they tried to make sense of Grace’s actions. Even the thought of a cup of tea was, they considered, not a helpful remedy for their distress.

  It was the police who had told them of Grace’s arrest. They had called just before five o’clock when the last of the volunteers had returned home for the day and Basil was in the throes of handing over the keys to the newly fitted door. Zac was already out having gone to join his friends who were having a barbecue on the beach.

  “Strange, isn’t it,” whispered Hetty, when she finally found her voice, “that someone we thought to be a friend has turned out to be a foe and the person we thought to be a foe has turned has out to be a friend? I’m obviously referring to Luke.”

  “Yes, Luke has turned out to be our saviour. As for Grace, I can’t for the life of me see why she did it,” Lottie croaked.

  “Me neither and if she’s saying nothing then we’ll probably never know for sure. Having said that, it must be something to do with the suitcase but as far as I can see there is nothing at all to connect Grace to the Berrymans or the Tregears and as yet we have no concrete reason to believe that anything untoward happened to David anyway. It’s all most peculiar.”

  Feeling in need of company other than that of each other, Hetty and Lottie walked down to the Crown and Anchor in the evening hoping the atmosphere there might lift their sp
irits. As they sat down with their drinks, the first person they saw was Luke Burleigh playing darts with Vince Royale from the garage.

  Hetty gulped. “Oh dear. I think it’s time to eat humble pie,” she said, rising from her seat, “I didn’t get the chance to say anything last night with all the flashing lights and pandemonium and I really do need to clear my conscience.”

  Lottie rose also. “Me too and so I shall go with you.”

  “I suppose the Grace thing means you won’t want to have a pond warming party on my last night now.” Zac looked a little downcast as he sat in the kitchen the following morning with a mug of coffee. “I can’t say as I blame you. I liked Grace even though she must be bonkers.”

  “Oh Zac, of course we’ll have the party,” said Lottie, patting his shoulder affectionately, “Don’t you agree, Het?”

  “Absolutely, because when all’s said and done nothing has really changed. I mean we know Grace started the fire but there’s no way she did the other things, especially the brakes because she was with us in the car when they failed.”

  Zac looked puzzled. “But why did she start the fire? I was talking about it last night with my friends and we all agreed it was a weird thing to do unless she’s a compulsive arsonist and none of us knew that. I mean it’s hardly something she would tell you about, is it? If she was, I mean.”

  Lottie actually laughed. “I know it’s not funny but imaging someone as lady-like as Grace being a compulsive arsonist conjures up a comical image.”

  “Yes, it does,” sighed Hetty, “Perhaps looking after her aged mother had a strange effect on her for some reason.”

  “No, I can’t believe that,” said Lottie, “and even if it had, the lady has gone now and with her passing any stress Grace might have encountered should have gone too.”

  “Well, whatever it is or was, the pampas grass is no more,” chuckled Hetty, “and I’m grateful for that.”

  “Yes, but I daresay before long it’ll send up new shoots and end up even bigger and healthier than before.”

  “Humph, it won’t” grunted Hetty, “because after poor Peter Tregear’s funeral tomorrow, God rest his soul, I shall be digging it out once and for all.”

  Lottie chuckled as she stood up to put the kettle on. “And I think I shall give you a helping hand.”

  In the afternoon the new furniture arrived for the attic bedrooms and so Hetty and Zac assembled the beds, one double and two singles, while Lottie hung the curtains she had made and cleaned the windows also. When everything was in place, they made up the beds and then all walked down to the village where Hetty and Lottie went to the charity shop to look at pictures and Zac went to the Crown and Anchor to meet Kyle and Emma.

  No customers were in the charity shop when they arrived but Maisie and Daisy were on duty. They both apologised for not helping with washing down the paintwork but said they couldn’t get away as they were both working in the shop. Nevertheless, they were keen to hear the latest news about the fire and to hear if there were any more developments regarding David Tregear. Hetty and Lottie willingly brought them up to date and said there were still many questions that needed answers.

  “One thing you might be able to help us with though is Jacob Wheatley,” said Hetty, “Does the name mean anything to you? I keep meaning to ask Kitty but so far haven’t remembered as my poor old brain is cluttered up with names and dates.”

  “You might never have heard of him though because Simon thinks he might have drowned during the war while out on the lifeboat,” added Lottie.

  “Old Jacob, no he didn’t drown,” smiled Daisy, “at least the Jacob we knew didn’t but he was on the lifeboat, wasn’t he, Maisie?”

  Maisie nodded her head. “Yes, he was because he used to tell us about it when we were kids, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, the lifeboat house had closed down by then of course. He worked up at Grange Farm as well and he lived to be a ripe old age. In fact I think he was ninety two when he died. He outlived Emily that I do know. Emily was his wife and they lived in one of houses along the main road here.”

  “Why do you want to know?” Maisie asked.

  “No reason really,” Lottie was determined not to let on they had suspected him of murdering David and hiding his body in Peter’s coffin. “It’s just his name cropped up because he lodged at Primrose Cottage during the war.”

  “Did he really? A bit before our time.” Maisie looked thoughtful. “He and Emily had a couple of children but I can’t remember their names. Neither of them are in the area anyway now.”

  “They were Stephen and Rebecca,” said Daisy and they’d be around eighty years old by now.”

  Maisie groaned. “I suppose they would. How time flies.”

  When several customers came in Hetty and Lottie went to look at the pictures. They found four they liked, paid for them, took them home and hung them on the walls.

  “Finished at last,” said Lottie, “and I’m as pleased as punch.”

  Hetty smiled broadly. “Yes, me too.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sid Moore, having finished an arduous plumbing job in Penzance the previous day decided to take a day off work, relax and do a bit of gardening. With spade in hand he went to his vegetable plot to dig over the area where broad beans had been, in order to put in a row each of lettuce and spring onions. As he dug he was thinking: his thoughts dominated by the peculiar case of David Tregear.

  “I dunno,” he said to a robin perched on a nearby branch, “whatever can have happened to the lad? Did he do a runner as rumour suggested or did he meet a more sinister end? And as for Grace Dunkerley I’m completely miffed as to why such a friendly and likable lady as she would do something as daft and evil as to try and set light to Hetty and Lottie’s place.”

  As he pushed his spade into the rich brown earth he was conscious of a few people gathered in the churchyard opposite where the remains of Peter Tregear were to be re-buried. He sighed. “And as for poor Peter, it’s such a shame the lad were disturbed from his sleeping after all these years for no good reason but hopefully he’ll be able to rest in peace now.”

  The robin watched as Sid continued to dig. When his spade hit something solid, he scraped earth to one side and then pulled out a stone. Beside it was a wishbone no doubt from a chicken or a turkey which had long since been part of someone’s dinner. “A distant cousin of yours no doubt,” he chuckled to the robin who had flown down to peck over the crumbly rich soil. Sid tossed both stone and bone to one side; as they hit the ground, a crystal clear vision flashed through his mind.

  “Oh my God,” he shouted, as an icy shiver ran down his spine, “Oh my God, why didn’t I think of it before?” And with spade in hand, he ran from his garden, crossed the road and climbed over the wall into the oldest part of the churchyard. He then ran, jumping over graves, flower vases and small shrubs towards the area where the funeral party were gathered beside the grave of Peter Tregear.

  “Stop,” he shouted, waving his spade. “Stop, don’t bury the lad. At least not for a minute or two.”

  The small gathering stared at the plumber who was trying hard to catch his breath.

  “Are you okay, Sid?” Alex asked.

  Sid nodded. “Yes,” he panted, “it’s just that.” He looked at Vicar Sam. “Forgive me, Sam, reverend, vicar, sir.” He then leaned forward, pulled out the green fabric lining the grave and jumped six feet down.

  Hetty and Lottie gasped; both felt light headed and linked arms to support each other. Vicar Sam dropped his prayer book, the pallbearers lowered Peter’s coffin down onto the grass, Tommy’s jaw dropped, and Kitty quickly sat down on Peter’s upturned headstone before her legs gave way. No-one in the small group spoke but gradually they all moved closer and peered into the deep hole where Sid gently dug into the compacted earth with his spade. Slowly a mound of loosened soil piled up around his feet. Hetty gulped when she and everyone else gathered realised the reason behind Sid’s extraordinary behaviour and no-one was su
rprised when Sid put aside the spade, knelt and gently pushed away the loosened earth with his hands. For he had struck something solid and as he scraped away the earth it was clear for all to see that that something was a skull.

  Sid scrambled to his feet and looked up to the faces peering down at him and Vicar Sam offered his hands to pull Sid back up to the surface.

  “I think,” muttered Alex, as Sid clambered onto the grass, “that the mystery of David Tregear is part-solved at last.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  In the early evening, Hetty and Lottie along with Zac and Emma left Primrose Cottage for the short walk to their neighbours, Alex and Ginny’s house. As Hetty locked the front door a look of satisfaction crossed her face as she glanced at the spot where the pampas grass was no more. The scorched clump had not been easy to remove: in fact it had taken the sisters considerably longer than they had anticipated but they considered their exertion worthwhile and looked forward to buying something they both liked to fill the gaping void.

  It was the same group of people that had gathered a few nights before that sat together at Hillside with glasses of wine eagerly waiting to see the films found in the attic. The change of venue from Primrose Cottage to Hillside was because Hetty and Lottie felt their home wasn’t welcoming with its scorched hallway, cracked plaster and the persistent smell of smoke.

  The films were in black and white; the first began with two young men: the same two as on the old photograph in the suitcase. They were on a beach instantly recognisable as Pentrillick. One of the young men, they knew to be David, was painting his boat Goliath, and the other, Peter, was sitting on the sand carving a small piece of wood. The camera then must have been handed to David for now a woman was on the beach. An older woman who they assumed to be, Florence, their mother. She was sitting on the sand beside Peter, laughing self-consciously.