“Oh, lovely. Thanks, Cass. Come on then, we can restock for tomorrow when we get back. You can stay overnight. Well, we can’t have you falling off your bike in a squiffy heap, now can we? Besides, I want all the latest news.”
Excepting a couple of pieces of information, Lucy knew everything by the evening’s end. She knew about Elfie’s pregnancy and her mysterious daughter, Four Lawns, Father Joseph and his box of papers and photographs, and Jack’s sister, Beth. I even told Lucy about the “bacon butty” episode by the coppice, and Elfie’s private office that Beth had guided Jack and me to.
“Poor, poor soul. Honestly Cass, we see folk going about their daily business and never give a thought as to their life stories. No-one would ever think that Elfie had been through so much, would they?” I shook my head. “And you say that nun made those poor girls help bury some of the babies? Good grief, what sort of person would do that?”
“Very sick or very evil,” I replied softly.
“But how did Elfie manage to fund the purchase of Four Lawns all those years later, Cass? And why on Earth did she buy it, anyway?”
“Oh, didn’t I say? An inheritance from some distant, childless relative, along with a couple of very large poker wins. Apparently, Elfie’s poker skills were second to none. Jack and I spent a few days going through box after box of, well, her whole life. We discovered a side to Elfie that neither of us had known. Purely by chance she had seen Four Lawns up for sale in one of those posh magazines. You know, the sort where you or I might possibly just afford a roof tile. Anyway, she called the agent and just bought it!”
Lucy let out a low whistle. “Wow.”
“Elfie wanted revenge for herself and all the others subjected to such cruelty over so many years. According to her papers and a diary, they’d had to scrub floors and do masses of laundry, and lug heavy loads of rubbish, almost up to giving birth. Some of the nuns were as kind as they dared be, but they were a definite minority. It was a kind one who gave Elfie papers regarding her daughter. But I need to be absolutely sure of my facts before I let that particular cat out of the bag.”
“Quite so. Still, what a way to exact revenge, Cassie. I bet those nuns are spinning in their graves at the thought of their beloved convent now a party pad par excellence!”
TWENTY-THREE
“Golly, Cass, you must miss Elfie dreadfully. I know she didn’t really take to me back in the summer but I’m really sorry she died. Still, at least she didn’t endure months, or years, of suffering; just went to sleep, as it were, and didn’t wake up again.”
“She suffered for many years, just not the way you mean. I’ll tell you everything later, after dinner.”
Honeysuckle continued unpacking while I went downstairs to check on the food. My friend had arrived that afternoon for a pre-Christmas break. It was only the twenty-third of November but, as she said, The Lion was booked solid with parties until two days before Christmas, so this was her only chance.
Mr. Shepherd (I still had difficulty thinking of him as my father) always closed The Lion when the last overnight guests had departed, after breakfast on December twenty-third. Staff were then free to finish any last-minute Christmas preparations. In the evening they returned, along with their guests, for a sumptuous party all prepared by outside catering. Years ago, I used to tag along with Honeysuckle and her adoptive parents. Mrs. Ellis was still going strong, but I was glad not to have to discuss with the frail, elderly woman details apropos of the past. It suited me particularly well that Honeysuckle had chosen to visit me, given the news I had for her.
“Just the two of us, Cass? I thought you might have invited Brenda to partake of such a tasty tuna bake.”
“She doesn’t like fish, that’s why I cooked it tonight. No, no, I’m not being mean. It’s just that I’ve lots to tell you and…” I struggled to find the words.
“It’s a bit delicate? Needs privacy, perhaps? Maybe I’ll be shocked?”
“All of the above I would think.”
After dinner, snuggled up in our fireside chairs like a pair of bookends, Honeysuckle looked expectantly across at me while I wondered where to begin.
“I haven’t told you that much about Elfie, really, have I?”
“Well, I know she had to go away on some business or other a few times a month, and she was a widow; no children, I think you said. And she helped Brenda a lot when she was newly widowed. Oh yes, and her chicken casserole was the best you ever tasted.”
I smiled across at Honeysuckle. “On the face of it, it doesn’t sound much for a lifetime, does it? But there was a side to Elfie that Jack and I couldn’t believe when we found her papers, post mortem.”
“Whoa, girl! Hold it right there. Who is Jack? Is he dishy? Are you “courting”, as my mum would say?”
“Elfie’s chauffeur. Yes, he is. No, we’re not. Now, listen.”
Because some conversations are not “over the phone” material, I ploughed on with my lengthy tale. An hour or so later, Honeysuckle was up to date. Almost.
“When she had bought Four Lawns, almost the first thing she did was to have all those tiny skeletons reburied, properly, with a funeral service at the coppice. Then, she had a garden seat made and dedicated it “For the Angels”. Here, I took some photos.”
“It all looks so well-kept. Peaceful. Heavens, what a woman.” Honeysuckle’s eyes were rimmed with tears. “And you’ve sat on that seat, Cass?”
“Yes, it was where she made me promise to scatter her ashes in the coppice. Jack and I scattered them together. The bacon sandwiches had long gone by then.”
“Bacon sandwiches?” To lighten the mood a bit, I recounted the story of Jack and the bacon butties. Unable to read my friend’s expression, I went to make coffee whilst she mulled over all I had said, rummaging through the box of papers and photographs as she did so.
We must have chatted on for at least another hour before the question was asked.
“Did you find out anything about Elfie’s daughter, Cass? Did the little mite survive?”
“She did indeed. Look, it’s getting on a bit now and we’re both tired. Let’s continue this in the morning, shall we? Over a leisurely breakfast.”
Somewhat surprised, Honeysuckle nevertheless agreed. “Only if you’re making pancakes, though.”
“For you, the moon.”
“Pancakes will do,” my friend chuckled. “Oh, by the way, this is for you. I nearly forgot. It’s from Mr. Shepherd.” Handing me an envelope, my friend continued, “He’s going downhill really quickly, Cass. It can’t be long now. Poor chap, he’s put up one hell of a fight, but it’ll be a miracle if he’s still here for Christmas.”
“Thanks, sweetie. I think I’ll open it in the morning.” I refrained from saying, “When you open yours.”
TWENTY-FOUR
“My Dearest Cassie,
Ideally, there would be no need of a letter. You could visit and we could talk to our hearts’ content, perhaps in The Orangery. I feel, however, that my time is swiftly running out and I need to tell you a few things before it’s too late.
I have a sneaking suspicion that you may already know the details of your parentage. Possibly pointed in the right direction by Elfie? I confirm, with great pride, that I am indeed your father.”
The letter contained much that I already knew, including the spirit parties and his love of, and devotion to, Ivy. It also detailed George’s devastation at being sent away in, as he put it, “My darling’s hour of need.” I had not known, but was unsurprised to learn, that the Titanic teddy bear had come from him. He had correctly guessed that Annie would not take it for Merry, and had intended it as a nest-egg for me.
“Sorry to say, Cassie, that I have not been a shining example of humanity, particularly of fatherhood. Unfortunately, nothing can be done about that now. All I can do is assure you of my constant love for you, albeit from a distance. That you ended up in Annie and Roger Payne’s clutches was always a bitter pill for me to swallow.”
George Shepherd continued chastising himself at length for his perceived flaws, also admitting to leaving the yellow diamond ring in the snuff box at reception for me. Another nest-egg.
“Do you remember, Cassie, when we stuck pins in a map to find a home for you? I deliberately chose Summerlea West because Elfie lived just a short distance away. Whatever our sibling differences, I knew she’d look out for you. I had hoped that that large mirror would prove helpful, too. Sorry about that!
I have a confession to make, Cassie, and it’s a big one. I’m sure you must have heard about that woman, a retired nurse, found strangled in some back street or other. That was my doing. The Shepherds have always maintained a few contacts here and there. One of mine was emigrating and, suffice to say, it meant a decent sum to help with his, and his family’s, new life abroad.”
My eyes widened in shock. Dear Lord, my own father, some sort of gangster! And a murdering one at that. I suddenly felt very angry. Deathbed confessions were all very well, especially for the near-deceased; but what about those left behind? What was I supposed to do with this information? The instigator was almost dead and the perpetrator was abroad somewhere unknown to me. True, the murdered woman seemed an incredibly bad lot; still, did she deserve to die for her actions? Whilst knowing the course I should take, for now I read on.
Thankfully, there were no more confessions, although George vigorously endeavoured to justify his actions. Concluding that, after his and Elfie’s experiences, my father’s mind was so mixed up that news of the blackmailing backstreet abortionist just tipped him temporarily into insanity, I resolved to let things lie; after all, what would now be gained from bringing everything into the open? Perhaps I was more of a Shepherd than I realised. Sweep it under the carpet, then it hadn’t happened.
“Cassie, when the inevitable happens, fairly soon I should think, my will and other paperwork is lodged with my solicitor. You will be sole owner of the hotel, along with a few other properties in Heatherbridge. Young Haskins will help you with everything. It was a good day when I engaged him. A sterling tower of strength, that one. Frankly, you’d do well to keep him on.”
The letter finished with more apologies and declarations of love. I wiped away a few silent tears.
“You okay, Cass?” I nodded. From the look on Honeysuckle’s face, her discovery that Elfie was her mother had shocked her as much as mine that my father had instigated a murder. We silently swapped letters across plates of now stone-cold pancakes and congealed bacon.
~~~
“Dear Honeysuckle,
In my lifetime I’ve written many letters, but never one this difficult. I am a business woman through and through and, over many years, have learned to hide my feelings. By the time you read this I will have departed this life. I know that you and Cassie are very close, and I expect she’s told you all about me, and Four Lawns. I always called it Forlorn. With good reason.”
I had indeed told Honeysuckle all I knew.
“I suppose, Honeysuckle, that what I’ve most feared throughout my life is rejection. Rather, more of it. I had to keep my distance from you, my dear, just in case. You see, in my dreams and imaginings we met up as mother and daughter and all was wonderful. I was just so afraid to risk it all tumbling down in reality, because it’s all I’ve clung to for years; all that’s kept me going.
Marrying Jack Patterson was one of the best things that ever happened to me. Finding that one person who loves, wants and accepts you just as you are is a powerful and wonderful thing. I hope you also experience the same, one day. Jack and I couldn’t have children but, even if we’d had a dozen, we would have loved to have had you with us, Honeysuckle. I must say, though, that the Ellis’s gave you a superb upbringing. I’ve heard so much about you from Cassie, and you’ve turned out just as I would have hoped; a beautiful, talented, hard-working young woman. And, that gorgeous red hair, so long and luxuriant! Years ago, mine was like that. When the nuns chopped it off I wouldn’t grow it again. I dyed it brown for years, too, to avoid any possible gossip. I only stopped when it turned grey.
The day they took you from me, the same day you were born, was the worst day of my life. You were just whisked away, I never even got to hold you. I just heard you howling as you were taken off down the corridor. I vowed then and there to get revenge on those nuns and build up a life and business so that, if we did meet some day, you might at least have a little pride in your birth mother. Possibly.
I turned that dreadful place into a den of iniquity. You may think me wrong and without charity, but I have always enjoyed the thought that no nun’s spirit would wish to haunt Four Lawns now. And, sure as hell, if any of them did they would know no peace! I have hosted some of the most lavish parties, orgies, some might say, ever to be held. I even had the smaller wing converted for those with, shall we say, tastes beyond the usual. “Kinky” would be an understatement. Discretion is the key. My parties have never been advertised, as such. Word of mouth only.
Honeysuckle, you inherit the whole thing! What you do with it is entirely up to you. If you fancy outlandish parties, by all means keep it going. As far as I’m concerned, though, you can raze it to the ground. If you sell the land with planning permission, you’ll make a killing.
My chauffeur, Jackson Jackson, is eminently trustworthy. Cassie’s keen on him, and he on her, whether or not they admit it, to you or each other. You may need to bang their heads together at some point, and good luck with that. Jack will help and advise you. If, like me, you can’t stand spiders, I’m sure he can be persuaded to bring my will, and other relevant papers, from the loft at my cottage.
I think that’s about it, Honeysuckle. I could witter on for days about what might, or should, have been, but it doesn’t, unfortunately, alter anything. Rest assured, Honeysuckle, that I never forgot you or ceased longing for you.
Love always, Elfie.’ Xxx
~~~
The twenty-seventh was cold and grey. Honeysuckle and I had spent the previous few days trawling through Elfie’s belongings. Brenda had rescued the box containing the will, amongst other items, from the loft. Having heard nothing from Jack, busy honouring the remaining Four Lawns’ party bookings, Brenda was the only one of us brave enough to risk an arachnoid encounter.
“I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ll miss her. She’s been like a sister to me all these years.” Brenda had begun to weep again. “And God alone knows what I’ll do when you girls get back to your usual routines. I tried those computer classes but I couldn’t really get on with it, all those passwords and icons and things.” Shaking her head, Brenda had looked tenderly across at Honeysuckle. “To think, dear, that Elfie could have had one last, wonderfully happy, summer with you. If you don’t mind me asking, what will you do with her cottage?”
“Heaven knows. I’ve not yet thought about that. Do you have any thoughts, Brenda? After all, you’ll be living next to whoever comes along.”
Brenda had hummed and hawed for at least two seconds. “Well, if it was mine I’d let it out for holidays. Always plenty of tourists around here, Honeysuckle, and you could make a tidy sum.”
“Good idea. Would being the letting agent-cum-cleaner be a bit much for you, Brenda? I mean, take up too much of your time? Assuming you were interested, of course…” Brenda’s smile lit up the room as Honeysuckle continued, “It will need a complete overhaul. New kitchen, bathroom, a downstairs shower room, stuff like that. By the way, what are you doing over Christmas? Do you fancy coming to Heatherbridge, if you’re not busy?”
“Only if you’ll let me help with the cooking.”
Honeysuckle grinned broadly, hugging Brenda. “Deal.”
TWENTY-FIVE
The Last Picnic of the Year was held later than usual. Two months later, on the twenty-ninth of November. Fortunately, the day was dry with just a hint of crisp autumnal breeze as we sat, once more, on tartan picnic rugs on the otherwise deserted Summerlea West beach.
Brenda had again worked her magic wi
th Cornish pasties and, each lost in our thoughts, we devoured our late lunch. The Last Picnic of the Year had originally been suggested by Elfie a few years ago and had been, until this year, a sandwich-fest whereby we attempted to out-do each other with unusual fillings. There had only been Elfie, Lucy and myself at the first few. Now Brenda, Lucy, Honeysuckle, Trish and I made up the group. Frankly, I preferred Brenda’s pasties. The memory of Elfie’s inedible, to me, anchovy with tomato chilli relish remained pungently strong in my mind, even a couple of years on.
“Extra pasties, Brenda? Who are those for?” Honeysuckle chuckled, tidying away napkins and mugs in the picnic basket.
“Well, one’s for me, hopefully. Sorry I’m late, ladies, the traffic was awful.”
Grinning, Jack helped himself from the basket and tucked in. I sat on the rug, mouth agape, having neither seen nor heard him approach. In my mind I could hear Elfie gently admonishing me. ‘You’ll be catching flies in a minute.’
“Budge up, Cass.” Jack plonked himself down beside me, informing us that Brenda had invited him.
“I did indeed. Jack knew Elfie for a very long time and it wouldn’t have seemed right, somehow, to have had this particular picnic without him.” Nodding, we murmured assent.
“I started off early this morning. Well, I wasn’t about to pass on one of Brenda’s pasties, especially since you told me how good they are. And you’re not wrong. This is superb.” Brenda blushed furiously, bustling around like a mother hen.
“But, there’s still the mystery of the remaining pasty,” chimed in Trish.
Seeing Brenda’s bottom lip tremble, Jack scrambled up, draping an arm around her shoulders.
“Come on, Brenda, we can do this.”
And so, as the sky grew ever more leaden and the now icy, strengthening breeze whipped small wavelets into froth, the six of us stood in a line at the water’s edge. After Jack had read part of Elfie’s favourite poem, The Gate of the Year, we each raised a hand and hurled the six chunks of the seventh pasty into the sea in heartfelt, if unusual, tribute to our dear friend.
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