by Rachel Ennis
‘Hi, Viv. Come in.’
Chapter Two
‘Who was that I just seen coming out of your gateway?’ Viv stepped inside and closed the door.
‘Captain Harry Carveth.’
‘Carveth? Was it his mother lived in Chywoon House?’
Jess nodded.
‘Proper fit, isn’t he? No beer belly there.’ She raised a hand. ‘Before you say anything, I’m married, not dead. No law against looking. What did he want then? A job is it?’
‘See for yourself.’ Jess indicated the portrait and Viv came to stand beside her.
‘Who is she?’
‘That’s what he’s asked me to find out. He’s clearing out his mother’s house and came across the portrait in the attic.’
‘Is he going to sell it then? The house I mean.’
‘I don’t know. He didn’t say. But in any case he’ll need a valuation for his solicitor to apply for probate.’
Viv patted her arm sympathetically. ‘You’ll remember all about that. He’d get a million and a half easy. Worth it, mind. ’Tidn just the house, there’s an acre of garden and paddocks as well. Pam Richards used to clean for old missus. Thought the world of her, Pam did. Awful upset she was when missus died. Stan will miss her too. Kept the garden looking ’andsome he did. I s’pose the Captain will have one of they auctioneers from London down to value the furniture. She had some beautiful stuff, Pam said. Antique chests and cabinets that prob’ly been in the family for generations. Pam didn’t like the paintings. She said she always felt like their eyes was following her. Shame his sister couldn’t come to the funeral.’
‘Australia is rather a long way, Viv.’
‘True. Anyhow Annie said she’ve got some medical wossname that means she can’t fly.’ She nodded at the painting. ‘So how don’t he know who she is?’
‘Because Har – Captain Carveth had no idea the painting existed.’
‘Har?’ Viv’s eyebrows arched.
‘He told me to call him Harry. He said it was daft us being formal when I might be uncovering his family secrets. Anyway, you know how I feel about being called Mrs Trevanion.’
Viv squeezed Jess’s arm. ‘I believe you, thousands wouldn’t.’ She looked at the painting again. ‘Up in the attic you said?’
‘Propped against a wall at the far end.’
‘Out of sight, out of mind.’ Viv gave a knowing nod. She bent to peer more closely then stood back. ‘Could do with a good clean. Be good as a photo then. Lovely, isn’t she? You’d think she’d be happy.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Time you got glasses. Her mouth is smiling but her eyes aren’t.’
Jess’s shoulder brushed Viv’s as she studied the lovely face. ‘You’re right. Why didn’t I see that?’
Viv nudged her. ‘P’rhaps you was too busy looking at the captain.’
‘Stop stirring. Got time for a cup of tea?’ She picked up the kettle and turned to the sink.
‘No, bird. We’re not long back from the hospital. I’ve only popped out for milk. Then I saw this ’andsome man coming out of your gate – Well, you know what I’m like. You can always tell me to mind my own business,’ she added.
‘Waste of breath. What did the consultant say?’
‘Jimmy’s all clear.’
Jess hugged her friend. ‘Oh, Viv. I’m so glad. These past few weeks won’t have been easy for either of you.’
‘Waiting for the results have been a bugger. Jimmy said the op wasn’t too bad. He was a bit sore after. Then the stitches itched awful but he wasn’t allowed to scratch. Anyhow, today Mister said that the tests they done on what they took out showed it haven’t spread. He called it a –’ her forehead creased as she repeated carefully, ‘a Stage T1 contained semolina.’
Jess looked at her. ‘Sure you’ve got that right, Viv?’
‘No, but that’s what it sounded like.’
Jess went to her laptop and conducted a hasty internet search. ‘Seminoma, Viv. A contained seminoma.’
‘Well, I wasn’t far off. Anyhow, he’ve got to have a check-up every three months for a year then every six months for the next five years. He didn’t say nothing to Mister. But on the way home he started fretting. I wasn’t having that. I told ’n straight he was bleddy lucky. I had to go to the ladies’ while we was in the hospital. Stress go straight to my bladder. Anyhow this woman was leaning against a washbasin breaking her heart, dear of her. Her husband had his op same day as Jimmy. Only his have spread so he got to have chemo and radiation then blood tests every two weeks.’ Her voice broke and tears spilled over. ‘That could’ve been us.’
Jess pulled a paper towel off the roll and handed it to her. ‘But it isn’t,’ she said gently.
Viv blew her nose, wiped her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. ‘No, it isn’t. Now I’m going home and make him a nice tea. Then tonight I’ll give ’n a proper seeing-to. He’ll sleep like a baby and tomorrow he’ll be back at work.’
Jess smiled at her. ‘Back to normal, Viv?’
‘Me or him?’
‘Both of you.’
‘Bleddy right. Like I told ’n, it happened, now it’s over and he’s OK. So we leave it in the past where it belong.’ She took another deep breath. ‘Look all right, do I?’
Jess’s gaze swept from Viv’s thick wavy hair caught back in a pink crocodile clip, her low-necked lemon jersey tunic and navy Capri pants to hot pink toenails peeping from multi-striped cork-soled mules. ‘You look fantastic.’
‘I meant my face.’
‘Same goes. He won’t know you’ve been crying.’ Jess hugged her again. ‘He’s lucky to have you, Viv.’
‘That’s what I keep telling ’n. Here, when’s Tom back?’
‘Possibly Saturday, depends on the wind.’
‘Missed him?’
‘Yes, I have. But I’m still no nearer deciding what to do. One minute I’m thinking how lucky we are to have this second chance. Then I remember how much I love this place, and not having to fit my day around someone else’s needs. That sounds selfish.’
‘So what if it do? You raised your boys with Alex away weeks at a time. Then you looked after your nan and grampy and Alex’s father till they died. Of course Tom want you down living with him. Suit him lovely to have his meals cooked, washing done and the house cleaned proper. Oh, no doubt he’d help. He think the world of you. But you got to be sure it’s what you want. Right, I’m gone. I’m making a peach tart for Saturday week. Annie got her hands full with Percy so she’ll bring the cream.’
‘That’s lovely, Viv. Gill’s bringing two kinds of salad, Mor’s making flaky pastry sausage rolls and Claire promised two bottles of Asti. There’ll be enough to feed an army.’ As the word left her lips she saw Harry Carveth’s vivid blue eyes and wry smile.
‘OK, bird. ’Bye.’
‘’Bye, Viv. Thanks for letting me know about Jimmy. Don’t forget to pick up the milk.’
‘Good job you reminded me. I’m all abroad today.’
Sitting down again, Jess logged into the Findmypast website then navigated to ‘Search Forces and Conflict records’, paying for the credits she would need in order to see the records and jotting down the date, amount and site in her notebook. She started by entering the details of Harry Carveth’s father. There were seven Carveths listed under British Army Service Records. The next page gave the regiments and places of birth. Knowing Harry’s father had served with the Blues and Royals she quickly identified him.
The record showed his dates of enlistment and discharge. Jess hesitated before clicking ‘Add to Basket’. Surely Harry would know his father’s service record? Wouldn’t he have postcards and letters as well as medals and other memorabilia? But if she was to provide a complete record following the Carveth male line back to whenever the portrait was painted, he had to be included. She submitted her order and paid, entering the amount in her notebook, then downloaded the document and printed it.
Staying on the website sh
e went to the British Army birth, marriage and death records and looked in the indexes to regimental registers. Because she knew the regiment her search was quick and straightforward. The index gave the name, place, year of marriage and the regiment. She found the entry and ordered a copy of the certificate from the General Register Office, paid and entered the fee in her book.
Now she was familiar with the process, it didn’t take her long to find Harry’s grandfather, Major Frederick Roland Carveth. Born in 1884, he served in the 1st Life Guards, seeing action at Ypres. Jess remembered her nan talking about women in the village who had lost fathers, brothers, husbands and fiancés in the First World War.
Pleased that she was making faster progress than she had expected, she stopped for ten minutes to stretch and make a cup of tea. But when she sat down again and started her search for Harry’s great-grandfather she couldn’t find him. Might he have been born abroad?
Births, marriages and deaths overseas came under the British Army Chaplain’s registers. She checked the index, found the right man and learned he was born in 1842 in Lucknow, India, and had served with 35th Scinde Horse regiment. In 1872 he married childless widow Judith Elizabeth Wearne who gave him three daughters then a much-wanted son, Henry James, and reached the rank of Lt Colonel before his accidental death in a rock fall.
Jess rotated her neck and shoulders to loosen them. Glancing at the clock she was startled to see it was after six. Switching off her laptop, she got up and went into the kitchen, automatically refilling the kettle. She whipped up a cheese omelette with grilled tomatoes and followed it with cherry and apple crumble topped with a dollop of clotted cream.
She had just put the last of the dishes away when the phone rang. She lifted the receiver. ‘Hello?’
‘All right, Jess? It’s Keith Stevens.’
‘Hello, Keith. How are you?’
‘Going on all right. We’re still getting used to Mother not being here. But like Val says, her passing away in her sleep was the best way to go. Anyhow, why I’m calling, you know we’re having a Country Fair and Vintage Rally here at Gwendra?’
‘Val told me. You’ll get people coming from all over the county.’
‘I dearly hope so. We been putting the programme together. Only Sean’ve had a bit of an accident.’
‘Oh no. Is it serious?’
‘Bad enough. He trapped the first two fingers of his right hand in his wheelchair. They aren’t broke, but they was mashed up a bit. He got these thick bandages on so he can’t type. Val said I should ask if you’d have a few hours spare to type up the entries for the tractor section. ’Tidn difficult. All the information is on the forms. Val said you’d know what to do. I’ll pay you for your time.’
Opening her mouth to say she would do it for nothing, Jess remembered she needed to restock the woodshed before winter. Buying the logs now would be cheaper, but a tipper-load would still cost roughly £100.
‘Thanks, Keith. Of course I’ll do it. I can walk up and collect the forms tomorrow morning if that’s convenient?’
‘Proper job, my ’andsome. Don’t you run off now, Val want a word.’
Jess heard the phone change hands.
‘That’s some good of you, Jess,’ Val spoke softly, the receiver close to her mouth. ‘Been fretting awful he has. He’ve had second, third and fourth thoughts about this Show. But I told ’n he only got to look at the number of entry forms to see how keen people are. We was careful to make sure it’s the last one of the season so we won’t tread on no-one else’s toes. Anyhow, I just wanted to ask if you and Viv could run the cake stall like you did at the Summer Fair? I thought to ask you over at the crematorium but that didn’t seem right. Then when we all got back here – well, you remember what it was like. Rushed off our feet we was, keeping the teapot filled and food on the plates.’
‘Normally I’d say yes straight away, Val. But I’ve just taken on a new job. I’m pretty sure Mor would do it, though. The cake stall always sells out first so it would only be for a couple of hours.’
‘D’you think she will? I know she’s helping Ben with Percy and what with the wedding coming up she got her hands full. Not long now. Be some lovely day that will.’
‘Everyone’s looking forward to it and got their fingers crossed that Percy will be well enough to give her away.’
‘When we got back from Penmount we was talking in the kitchen and Mor told me they aren’t going away directly after the wedding.’
‘No, she knows Ben wouldn’t be happy leaving Percy just now.’
‘There aren’t many would put off their honeymoon for a sick old man,’ Val said.
‘Mor says that having waited this long, it’s no bother to wait a while longer. What matters is that she and Ben will be man and wife, even if they have to live apart for a bit.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Val demanded. ‘Live apart?’
‘Someone has to be in the house with Percy overnight. Annie is in and out regularly during the day. But she can’t do nights as well. And Ben’s bed is a single.’
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh.’
‘Why not? Mor was giggling and blushing like a sunset when she told me she’d sooner wait till Ben could move in with her and they could be together without worrying if the bedsprings creaked.’
‘Oh, the dear of her. Right, I’ll leave you go.’
‘I’ll be round in the morning to pick up the tractor entry forms from Keith.’
‘OK, bird. See you then.’
Before she went to bed, Jess fetched an old cotton sheet from her airing cupboard and swapped it for the stained and dusty linen one. Then, remembering the advice on the website, she stood the picture on end and propped it facing the wall.
The following morning she made an early start. Showered, dressed and chores done, she folded the linen sheet so that the embroidery showed, then placed it carefully in a polythene bag and took it down to the shop.
Sandra was serving a customer and both smiled a greeting as Jess walked in. There were a couple of other people in the shop but no one at the post office counter.
‘Hello, Jess,’ Gill said. ‘You’re down early.’
‘It’s going to be a busy day. I’ve got something to show you.’ She passed the bag through the gap in the toughened glass screen.
As Gill opened it, Jess saw her eyes widen. She eased half the bundle of fabric out, her breath catching as she saw the embroidery. She turned it to the light, studying the raised pattern. Looking up, she leaned forward. ‘Where ever did you find it?’
‘It’s a long story. Is it as special as it looks? I mean I know it’s linen and it’s old, but –’
‘It’s not just old, Jess. It’s rare. That embroidery is made up of different layers. I’ve got photos in one of my books. I never thought to see any in real life, let alone hold it.’
‘It was wrapped round a painting that Captain Carveth wants me to identify. Anything you can tell me would help.’
‘I’ll see what I can find out. What’s he going to do with it?’
Jess shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. I can ask him when he phones. It was just a dust sheet to him. It’s the painting he’s interested in. Why? Would you like it?’
‘Oh, I would. But I couldn’t afford it.’
‘It can’t be worth much in that state.’
‘D’you think he’d mind if I washed it?’
‘I don’t see why.’
‘Ask him, will you, Jess? Tell him I know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I can bring it all the way back, but I’d dearly love to try.’
‘C’mon, Jess, move yourself,’ said a male voice behind her. ‘I got a faulty stop-cock waiting.’ Glancing over her shoulder, Jess grinned at the stocky man in blue overalls. ‘Hello, Charlie.’ She turned to Gill. ‘I’ll phone him as soon as I get home and let you know.’
Back in her cottage she put away her shopping, and filled the kettle, rehearsing what to say. ‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ she muttered and snatched up the
receiver. She dialled his number, heard it ring twice. There was a click, but as she took a breath, about to speak, his voice apologised for not being there, and asked the caller to leave a name and number. He’d call back. She hesitated then replaced the receiver without speaking and immediately felt foolish. Why hadn’t she left a message? Why was her heart racing? She was a grown woman, not a teenager.
She made coffee then sat down at her laptop. Harry’s great-great-grandfather, Frederick Justin Carveth, was born 1815 in Vienna. But when she looked up his service record it showed he had served in India. Jess added the information to her folder, scribbling Why India? on her notepad.
Frederick’s father, Harry’s great-great-great grandfather, James Henry Carveth, born in 1778, had married twice. His first wife, whom he married in 1807 in Weymouth, Dorset, was Charlotte Williams. In 1808 she died of fever following the stillbirth of their daughter.
Unable to find any further entry for him in England, Jess returned to the British Army chaplains’ register and learned that James Henry Carveth had married Roxanne Zelie Montclare in Paris in May 1814.
She gazed at the name. Roxanne. Could it be?
Searching ‘British National Armed Forces marriages 1796-2005’, she found the record of their marriage. She ordered a copy of their marriage certificate, and their son’s birth certificate. As she looked at the phone, wondering whether to ring Harry and tell him, it rang, making her jump.
‘Hello?’
‘Jess? You rang?’
‘How did you know it was me?’
‘I dialled 1471.’
‘I was just going to ring you – again,’ she added, pulling a face at the wall. ‘Sorry for not leaving a message.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I loathe talking to machines. What can I do for you?’
‘I think I may have identified the young woman in the portrait.’
‘Good God, that was quick. I certainly didn’t expect – Oh hell, that sounds –’
‘Perfectly reasonable,’ she broke in. ‘I didn’t expect it either. I can’t be certain yet, but it looks hopeful. Your three-times great-grandfather, James Henry Carveth, married Roxanne Zelie Montclare.’ She waited.