The Secrets of Palmerston House

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  “You know, I’m feeling overwhelmed by the new salon, and the wedding, and dealing with... well, some memories. I’d love a distraction.” She let go of Charlotte’s hand with a warm smile. “And I’m really good at hypotheticals so don’t even need to know names.”

  “Do you draw stick figures?”

  “Umm, mind maps. But not stick figures.”

  “Good. Trevor does and it kind of freaked me out.”

  Christie decided she didn’t need to know about Trev drawing stick figures. And why. “So, in fifty words or less, tell me about this person with an unhealthy interest in the past of our little town.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bernie stood in the long hallway leading to the kitchen, studying the photograph of Eoin Ryan hanging on the wall. Thief. He’d loved to have met him face-to-face. Sorted him out for the damage he’d done to Harry. And his descendants.

  “Hello, Bernie. Would you like the light on?” Elizabeth approached, carrying a large basket of washing.

  “Let me help.”

  “No, dear, I’m fine, really. Though if you’d open the back door, it would be wonderful.”

  “Here, you open the door,” he said, taking the basket. “I’ll bring it out.”

  “Thank you. For some reason the outside door of the laundry is sticking.” Elizabeth ushered Bernie into the backyard. “Over there, please.”

  Bernie nodded and crossed the lawn to the clothes line tucked near the corner of the house. “I can take a look at the laundry door for you.”

  “Goodness, Bernie. You are my guest! What a sweet man you are, but no, it will be taken care of. Just pop the basket onto the little stand if you will.”

  Sure, why not? Mother would be amazed. As soon as he put it down, Bernie reached into a peg bag and started hanging washing. “I’ve been to the library in Green Bay. I was actually a bit disappointed.”

  “Why?”

  “There is some information about Palmerston House and the foundation families of River’s End, but lots missing.”

  Elizabeth rehung a shirt Bernie had pegged. He scowled, then picked up another and hung it the way she had. “A few tantalising little details but when I searched, a dead end. And I wanted so much to get copies of old photographs for my book.”

  “Have you spoken to George? His family had a lot to do with the library, particularly with his knowledge of local trade. He’s been on local council for as long as I’ve been here. Probably has all sorts of things tucked away in his house.”

  “Doesn’t he live behind the shop?”

  “No. His father built a nice house on the next block over back in the 1950s... or was it 60s?”

  Bernie sighed. “I have spoken to him but he’s a bit defensive about the old grandfather clock. Almost as though he thinks I’ll steal it.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t, dear. He loves talking about the past and has such a good memory. Would you like me to let him know you are my guest, and quite genuine?”

  “He did say I could photograph the clock, so maybe I’ll visit the bakery first and take him something nice as a peace offering.”

  “You are a sweet young man.”

  You won’t think so for long. “Elizabeth, something intrigued me from the library. There was mention of a timber trunk here in Palmerston House that arrived with Henry Temple and his family. Would it still be here?” Bernie stopped pegging and stared at Elizabeth, willing her to say yes.

  She finished hanging the last of the washing, brow furrowed. Then, after picking up the empty basket, she started back toward the house. Bernie walked with her. “A trunk. Most likely Lilian and Patrick Ryan took it with them when they moved to Ireland. Or their eldest daughter, Dorothy, may have taken it when she moved to Melbourne.”

  Bernie dropped his head. If it was in Ireland he had no hope of finding the key. He already knew it wasn’t in Dorothy Ryan’s estate.

  “Unless—” At the back door, Elizabeth hesitated.

  “Unless what?”

  “Now, I am probably completely wrong, but there was a trunk with a tie to Palmerston House. It is in the old stationmaster’s cottage. Somebody hid Thomas Blake’s letters to Martha in it sometime in the 1960s and it was only discovered last year. But I’m sure it won’t be the same one.”

  She disappeared inside. Bernie followed, his mind elsewhere. Time to pay the cottage a proper visit.

  ***

  As Christie turned into her street she spotted the Range Rover on the far side of the railway line, parked outside the cottage. Angus! She sprinted the rest of the way. The front door was closed so she let herself into the kitchen. Laughter led her down the hallway, where Randall met her.

  “Where are they hiding?”

  “Is that you, dear?” Martha called from the lounge room.

  Angus stood just in time to open his arms as Christie flew into them. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’m so happy you’re home.”

  He released her with a wide smile. “So am I.”

  “Morning, Christie.”

  “Oh, Thomas, I’m sorry. Good morning to you both.” Christie grinned and flopped onto the sofa. “I didn’t disturb you when I left?”

  “Yes. Old men need their sleep.”

  “Take no notice of Thomas, dear. I’m going to make some coffee so you two catch up and we’ll be right back.” Martha stood, tapping Thomas on the shoulder as she did. He joined her with a sigh, but winked at Christie on his way to the kitchen.

  Angus settled himself next to Christie. “You look well.”

  “So do you. When did you arrive?”

  “Early last evening. I am sorry I didn’t call but the opportunity presented itself to take Elizabeth out for dinner.”

  “And?”

  “A gentleman doesn’t give secrets away.”

  From the sparkle in his eyes, Christie didn’t need him to say a word. “You both deserve every happiness.”

  “Still early days. Now, I believe Martin returned early this morning from a trip away. How is he?”

  “Tired, which is hardly surprising considering he spent almost a week managing a group of disadvantaged teens. He’s getting some sleep then we’re talking about the wedding.”

  “Ah. Which reminds me. Elizabeth extends an invitation to you both, as well as Thomas and Martha, to join us at Palmerston House for dinner tonight. Apart from allowing us to catch up, there is a matter I need to discuss with you all.”

  “Are you alright?” Christie grabbed his hand.

  “I am. It is about Miss Dorothy’s estate, and whilst it hasn’t changed anything, I’d like to apprise you all of a rather odd claim made – the reason, in fact, for my absence.”

  “A claim? I thought Gran’s will was already finalised? Is there another relative I don’t know about?”

  Angus laughed. “So many questions. I will answer them all. So, seven o’clock tonight?”

  “What’s happening then? Sounds like my dinner time.” Thomas carried a tray in, followed by Martha with a plate of cupcakes. “And I do insist on having a decent dinner. At my age—”

  “You sound as though I don’t feed you, old man.” Martha offered Angus a cupcake. “I know it’s almost lunchtime—”

  “Another of my favourite meals of the day.”

  “But this recipe is a little bit indulgent and really goes well with the coffee.” Martha shook her head at Thomas who had put the tray on the coffee table. “And we would love to come along tonight. Shall I bring anything?”

  “Me.” Thomas tried to take a cupcake but Martha whisked the plate away. “Tell me again why I waited for you at the jetty?”

  “Because I was worth the wait.”

  Thomas nodded, managing to get a cupcake as Martha began pouring coffee. “These are worth the wait.”

  “Thomas, do you know anything about Henry Temple’s grave?” Christie watched as Thomas bit into the cupcake and closed his eyes in pleasure.

  “Mmm. The bride was worth waiting for. It
’s a grave. What’s to know?”

  “How did he end up buried in River’s End?”

  “You know, I’ll be pleased when you marry Martin and move out.” Thomas raised his eyebrows and took another bite of cupcake. Martha looked at him in horror. Christie burst into laughter.

  “This cottage is a bad influence. Every time you come up with some new mystery to solve, you’re here.”

  “Except this time I was at Henry’s grave, Thomas. With Charlotte.”

  “Oh dear. Now there’s two of you. May I have another cupcake, beloved?”

  ***

  Trev arrived back in River’s End after lunchtime and headed straight to the car park at the top of the cliff. Whenever his mind was worrying about something, he’d go there, to the top of the stone steps. The view was every bit as good as the one from Martin’s house, though for him nothing beat the rugged scenery in the mountains. Up there though, the air was rich with the scent of gum trees and ash, cooler high-altitude smells. Here, his senses would fill with the sea.

  He parked the patrol car and got out, stretching after the drive. The chance meeting with Martin stirred him up. His friend was a man in love, a man whose protective instincts were at the fore wherever Christie was concerned. And there was a deep contentment in him. Since Martin rode off, Trev’s mind had spent way too long on Charlotte Dean.

  The ocean was a reflection of the sky. Perfect blue. Unlike the night of the storm. He turned his eyes to the beach, where he’d run at break-neck speed to join in the rescue effort. He’d never forget Charlotte appearing from nowhere as Randall lay on the sand, soaking wet and barely moving. She’d told Trev what to do and how to do it. And with such authority he’d never questioned it. She saved the dog and as she did so, a part of him was lost.

  Behind him, he heard a sob. His heart went out to whoever was distressed by their grave side visit. How much we love and hard we take their loss. The sob came again and he turned his back on the sea. There was nobody in sight, so he wandered around the graveyard until he followed the sound to the oldest part. Where the founders of River’s End were buried.

  Charlotte sat cross-legged near a grave, head in her hands.

  With a deep sigh, she wiped her face and looked up. Straight at Trev. Her eyes filled with confusion, or conflict. He couldn’t tell. Then she scrambled to her feet.

  “Hey, Charlie. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “You didn’t. What are you doing here?”

  “I came here to think. To the top of the steps, actually.”

  “Oh.”

  “I heard a sob or two and wanted to be sure nobody was hurt. Or too upset. It’s a high cliff.”

  Charlotte raised her chin. “I’m not about to throw myself off.”

  “I didn’t know it was you.” Trev read the headstone. “Henry Temple. Okay, now I’m curious. You’re not his relative by chance?”

  “Of course not! I just... happened to stop here.”

  “Right.”

  “What were you thinking about? On the steps?”

  “The storm. Town being down there all helping rescue Christie. You.”

  “Me?”

  “Bossing me around as you worked on Randall.”

  “Sorry.” Charlotte smiled a little. “Not sorry.”

  “Funny.”

  “But you said you came here to think. Surely not about that?”

  “No. Now, why were you crying? Has someone upset you?”

  Charlotte looked away.

  “I’m here for you.” Trev moved a step closer and Charlotte looked up. “I’m your friend.”

  “I can’t.”

  Trev was certain there was hesitation in her voice. Time to change tactics. “I’ve been on the road for hours, to the mountains and back. Have you eaten?”

  She shook her head, eyes unsure.

  “Cool. Pies on me at the bakery, or whatever you want. No more questions, okay? Two friends having lunch.” Trev watched her, expecting her usual refusal.

  Instead, she smiled. “Friends having lunch. I’d like to.”

  “Come on then.” Not willing to let her change her mind, Trev started walking to his patrol car. She joined him.

  “In that?”

  “In that. I’ll let you turn the lights and siren on if you like.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Charlotte was fascinated by the equipment inside the patrol car. Radios, a small computer, lots of interesting dials and switches. Not to mention the man driving it. She snuck a sideways look at Trev. His shirt fitted well around a strong chest and abs. As he turned the steering wheel, his triceps caught her attention. Being so close to him made his physical presence obvious. He kept his body in good shape. Great shape. He glanced at her, and she was sure he smiled ever so slightly at catching her checking him out.

  “You must have been in one of these before?”

  “No, actually never. Although I once wanted to go into forensic psychology.”

  “Work with criminals? What stopped you?”

  “Stuff. I still might, particularly if I could be away from an office a bit more.”

  Trev drove over the bridge into River’s End. “Happy to put you in touch with someone. We need more people like you.”

  “Perhaps. Thanks.” She wasn’t going back to her practice, Charlotte knew with sudden clarity. This might be worth exploring, a change of direction and being able to be more hands-on with people who needed it. More than Bernie Cooper did. Being in this little town suited her soul more than Brisbane. Although a beautiful city, she’d craved space and quiet. And a chance to reinvent herself, for what it was worth.

  Trev pulled into a parking spot close to the bakery. “I had breakfast before the sun made an appearance and now all I want is one of Sylvia’s pies and even more coffee.”

  Out of the patrol car, Charlotte and Trev strolled to the bakery. They’d never done this before, hung out together. It felt... nice. Two friends getting lunch together. Like with Christie. Except this was a red hot police officer who knew a bit too much about her soft spots. And had just seen her crying at the grave of a stranger. Charlotte slowed as they reached the door. Maybe not such a good idea.

  With a push, Trev opened the door and held it for Charlotte. Too late now. It would be rude to back out.

  “Hi, Sylvia, got anything left for a couple of starving people?”

  “What’s your fancy?”

  Trev tilted his head to look at Charlotte. “You first.”

  “Oh, those pies look nice. Any flavour is fine thanks.”

  “And same for me. But I’ll have two. And coffees. Flat whites.”

  “Inside or out?”

  “Outside, if you’re happy?” he asked Charlotte and she nodded.

  “You find a table and I’ll have lunch out in a jiffy.” Sylvia reached for plates. “But later, would you mind if I tell you about an odd incident earlier?”

  “Tell me now if you like. Charlie, do you want to grab a spot?”

  Charlotte went out into the sunshine and sat at a table looking toward the intersection. From here she could see the real estate agency and George’s shop. She liked George.

  She gazed into the bakery, watching Trev lean on the counter as Sylvia waved her arms around. Upset. How could anyone stay agitated around Trev? His nature was so calm and solid... he resonated strength and compassion.

  “Hello, Charlotte!” Daphne hurried toward her.

  “Would you like to join us? I mean, me at the moment.”

  Daphne glanced into the bakery. “Oh, are you with Trev? How lovely. He’s such a nice boy.”

  “We’re getting lunch. I mean, we ran into each other at the graveyard and realised we’d not eaten. So. Here we are.” What is wrong with you?

  “Well. At least she’s telling him what happened. I told her to make a complaint.

  “What happened?”

  “Oh.” Daphne sank onto a seat, her eyes now on Charlotte. “There was the nastiest man here earlier. So rude t
o Jess and I think he’d upset George beforehand.”

  A sense of dread crept through Charlotte. “To Jess? What man?”

  “The photographer staying at Palmerston House with you. He even threw an empty bottle on the ground and waltzed off as though he was outside the law!”

  “Where’s the bottle now?”

  “What? I think Sylvia threw it away. Why do you ask?”

  “Did you see him?”

  “Did I see him! I saw him slam the door of his car a few times and drive off like a madman the other day. He reminded me...”

  Charlotte’s dread turned to concern as something close to fear crossed Daphne’s face. “Reminded you of Rupert, yes?”

  With a small nod, Daphne gave away the emotions she’d bottled for so long. Her eyes glistened.

  “Listen, you’re safe. And I’m going to come and see you later. Okay? We’ll have a chat, girl to girl, and I’ll give you some tricks to deal with all of those feelings.”

  “You are so sweet. I can see why Trev adores you.” Daphne stood. “I’d better get John his lunch. And I think your young man is heading out now.”

  ***

  “One pepper beef pie, and sauce on the side. Didn’t know if you wanted it.” Trev put a plate in front of Charlotte, pulling her out of her thoughts.

  “Thanks. Yes.”

  Trev sat opposite. “Coffee’s on its way. Once we’ve eaten, I can drop you home if you like.”

  “Oh, I’m fine to walk.” Charlotte sliced into the pie and sniffed the steam as it rose. Her stomach growled.

  “No trouble though ’cos I’ll be going to Palmerston House anyway.”

  Fork halfway to her mouth, Charlotte stared at Trev. “Why?” She knew why.

  Intent on his own pies, Trev didn’t look up. “Have you had much to do with Elizabeth’s guest, Bernie Cooper?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m interested in your take on him.”

  “Why?” Run away. Stop this now. When Trev lifted his eyes to hers, serious and kind and curious, she was overwhelmed by a need to tell him everything.