In fact, he seemed to be doing guided grisly tours all day, though mostly just to the top of the no-longer-secret stairs, before leaving the various officials and experts to get on with it. But finally, once a pathologist had officially declared life extinct (I could have told them that) and the bones very old, the skeleton was taken away for examination.
Carey, of course, hadn’t mentioned the Confession, or Jessie’s diary, for those were family secrets. He’d simply explained that he and his friends had come across the staircase when searching for more priest-holes.
It looked like the whole affair was officially destined to be an unsolved mystery and a gruesome page or two in the guidebook, which would have to be hastily revised before printing.
Nick and the gang had only really meant to call in on their way elsewhere, so eventually they reluctantly tore themselves away, but not before Carey announced that we were getting married.
‘At last!’ said Nick. I don’t know what he meant by that, unless he had a crystal ball.
‘Let Revells commence,’ joked Nelson, in his lovely, plummy deep voice.
‘I only said I’d marry you so I could get out of that hideous cellar. If you love someone, you don’t have to tie the knot officially, just because of some old traditions designed to hand women over like so much merchandise,’ I said stubbornly.
‘I want to tie you to me with as many knots as possible, traditional or otherwise,’ Carey said. ‘I’ll even promise to love, honour and obey you, if you like: you always boss me around, anyway.’
‘I felt just the same as you about getting married, Angel, until Jorge proposed to me at your party,’ Sukes said, taking me totally by surprise. ‘But I’ll do it, if you will.’
Jorge gave me a pleading look from under his fringe.
‘There we are: you can have a double wedding and we’ll film it,’ Nick said. ‘All sorted!’
‘The film crew filming the film crew getting married?’ said Nelson.
‘And the main subjects of the TV series the film crew are filming,’ agreed Nick. ‘It’ll be a winning episode – the viewers will love it.’
‘My mother will probably have other ideas about the venue,’ Sukes said firmly.
‘And I’m not sure either of us want to get married just because it makes good TV,’ I said, but I don’t think anyone was listening. Carey certainly wasn’t.
‘I think you should have one of those Victorian rings with a band of coloured jewels that spell out a message,’ he told me, slipping his arm around my waist.
‘Help?’ I suggested, but under the onslaught of his blindingly wonderful smile, the last of my resolve was melting away faster than a snowball in summer.
When we were finally alone again, which felt like the first time for at least a week, I told Carey he should take Jessie’s memoir into the sitting room and read it, while I broke out one of Molly’s seafood paellas for dinner.
‘It’s quite short, so it won’t take you long, but there are a few surprises in there – and one or two disturbing revelations.’
‘Oh, no, I’m not sure I can take any more family skeletons at the moment,’ he groaned, but did as I suggested and had just turned to the last page when I took the tray through, laden with two plates of paella and a couple of glasses of rosé.
‘I see what you mean,’ he said, looking up. ‘I’ve skimmed the earlier bits but read all of it from when she gets to Mossby.’
‘It’s a sad story really, but she was happy in her work and I think she understood and forgave Ralph,’ I said.
‘It must have been a shock to her when she realized he was homosexual – and of course at that time, it was a crime. But what really seemed to hurt her was that he’d only married her because he wanted an heir for Mossby.’
‘Yes, that was cruel,’ I agreed. ‘Honoria lived to a good age and seemed to adore the boy, though – your grandfather, you said?’
‘That’s right.’
‘The note she’s added at the end of the journal is illuminating, isn’t it? I think Jessie loved her son, but she loved her work more, so she was happy to spend most of her time in London working with her cousin.’
‘The boy not being interested in glass must have been a disappointment, but I expect he was brought up a gentleman like his father, and was more a Revell than a Kaye,’ Carey suggested. ‘You know, having Revell blood in my veins doesn’t really seem to be anything to be proud of now!’
‘But there must have been many perfectly decent Revells, too, and I think there’s a lot of the Kayes in you,’ I told him. ‘You’re certainly not a typical Revell in any way that I can see, except in looks.’
‘And my love of Mossby … though I love you more,’ he said, pulling me down into his arms. ‘And now I’ve got you for ever, I can have my Angel cake and eat it!’
Mossby, 1914
I ceased my journal at this point, having much to occupy me, but the story of an unexpected inheritance from a godmother was accepted. My husband’s debts were cleared and the remainder of the money invested securely, since when we have gone on very well.
Despite his early arrival, Joshua has thrived under his aunt’s care at Mossby, dividing his holidays there, or at my London home, though to my disappointment he has shown no interest in the business … or indeed, in any business. In appearance he is very much a Revell, having his father’s red-gold hair and deep blue eyes, but bookish and will shortly be going up to Oxford.
Honoria is fit and well, and, though Papa has gone before me, Lily and Michael and their children live happily on in my old home and the business flourishes. Mossby has been a place of holiday to them and the company of his young cousins has been good for Joshua.
I will be sad to leave him at such a tender age … but so it appears it must be. I have secured his comfortable continuation at Mossby and the rest is up to him.
I intend to seal up this account in a tin and make one final brief trip to that dreadful room below the tower. Perhaps one day someone will follow the same path I took and discover it … or perhaps not. I leave that to fate.
My own legacy lives on in my work, my proudest achievement. God gave me the gift of painting with light, and I hope I have used it well.
Jessie Kaye Revell
44
In the Light of Day
I was standing in the courtyard by the fishy fountain on Good Friday, when for the first time, the big oak doors to the Elizabethan wing were thrown open to the ghost trail visitors.
Although only early April, there was warmth in the sun that slanted down through the Lady Anne window and cast a diamond pattern across the stone flags below.
Somehow, the whole of the old wing seemed to have grown lighter and warmer once that terrible scattering of shattered bones had been removed and buried in the Halfhidden graveyard … though not in the family vault.
The macabre story of their finding – suitably edited – had been included in the guidebook and was also scheduled to feature in the next series of the Mansion Makeover, should the first one be a success, which I was positive it would be.
Ella was reportedly improving and Clem had decided to semi-retire to his native Devon and become a jobbing gardener. He thought that when Ella came home, a fresh start in a new area would be good for her.
As for Vicky – well, there she was right in front of me, becomingly dressed in Elizabethan costume and welcoming the visitors at the door. She seemed set to become a permanent character in the TV series and at the moment was living in the Lodge … and so, to my great surprise, was Nelson, whenever the crew were up here. It seemed a most unlikely pairing, but then, the ways of love are often very strange.
I mean, take Carey and me: if he’d been able to prevent blondes throwing themselves at him and I’d not thought the worst each time, we’d have realized we loved each other long ago.
But then, I suppose I wouldn’t have had the happy years with Julian, so I can’t really regret that. And I was certain Julian would be happy that Car
ey and I were forging a future together – and delighted that Angel Arrowsmith Art Glass was flourishing to such an extent that I’d soon be able to offer Grant a full-time job in the workshop.
This was just as well, since a few days ago, Grant had broken the sad news that Nat was selling up the business and moving back to the south.
Apparently, Willow had loathed living in Lancashire and threatened to leave him: the worm had turned.
He was going into partnership with another stained-glass artist and I hoped for his sake that it was one who could design a decent window, since they intended continuing to use the Julian Seddon Architectural Glass Studio name.
But whatever they did, Julian’s legacy would live on unspoiled in his wonderful work and his memory in my heart.
This was not a day for sadness and looking back, however, when the future was so bright with promise.
Carey, who had been in the old wing checking that Louis and his girlfriend, Liz, who were manning the souvenir and guidebook table, had everything they needed, now came back and slid his arm around me.
‘I love the sound of that cashbox rattling,’ he said, his hair a nimbus of red-gold in the sunlight and his wonderful violet-blue eyes shining, as always, with enthusiasm. ‘Especially since I’ve just had the final bill from the electrician.’
‘Well, at least he’s finished now,’ I consoled him. ‘And he’s made a wonderful job of it. Those torch sconces in the Long Gallery look almost like the real thing.’
‘Speaking of the real thing,’ Nick put in, from his precarious perch on the edge of the fountain, from where he could watch the crew circle the visitors like persistent wasps. ‘I’m so glad Carey persuaded you to get married in that really picturesque church in the village – a little Halfhidden wedding will be perfect.’
‘You old romantic,’ I teased him. ‘But I know what you really mean is that you’re glad because it will look good on film. Still, at least it will be a small affair … and you’re not coming to Brisbane with us on our honeymoon.’
‘Too late to back out of the wedding now, anyway,’ Carey told me. ‘I’ve asked Fang to be pageboy and he’ll never forgive you if you ruin his big day.’
Fang, who was sitting at my feet watching the queue file in with the benign expression of a dog who would never, ever bite anyone’s ankles, lolled his tongue and looked up at me with his best vampire smile.
‘OK – I’ll go through with it for him,’ I said gravely, and Carey laughed and pulled me closer.
‘Smoochy kiss for the camera!’ called Sukes, and when we obliged, the stream of visitors queuing behind her broke into spontaneous applause.
Recipes
Angel cake
When I was little I used to love the sweet lightness of an angel cake, baked in a loaf-shaped tin, which we would slice and then butter. The slightly salty butter on the sweet cake was delicious. When I was thinking of a recipe to include in a book featuring a character called Angel, I knew this had to be the one.
Ingredients
180g (6 oz) plain white flour
30g (1 oz) cornflour
350g (12 oz) white caster sugar, plus extra to prepare the tin
12 egg whites
1 tsp cream of tartar
1 tsp vanilla essence
Method
1. Preheat the oven to 160°C/fan 140°C/gas 3. Get your loaf tin and butter it, then dust with a layer of caster sugar.
2. Sieve the flour with the cornflour and add 275g (10 oz) of the caster sugar. Mix to combine.
3. In a separate bowl, whisk the egg whites with the cream of tartar until soft and frothy, then add the rest of the sugar and the vanilla essence and whisk to stiff peaks.
4. Sift the flour mixture into the egg white, folding it in gently with a balloon whisk or metal spoon, then pour into the loaf tin.
5. Bake for about 45–55 minutes, until the cake has shrunk slightly from the edges and is golden on the surface. Cool in the tin for 10 minutes before turning out.
Stained glass window biscuits
These are fun biscuits to make, especially with children, at any time of year, though you can easily adapt them to be pretty Christmas decorations too: simply pierce the top of the biscuit with a plastic straw or skewer before baking, then tie a ribbon on once they’re cool and hang on the tree.
Ingredients (makes around 20 biscuits)
175g (6 oz) butter, softened
100g (3½ oz) caster sugar
225g (8 oz) plain flour
About 20 colourful boiled sweets. Fox’s Glacier Fruits work best.
If you’re making festive biscuits, you might like to add 1 teaspoon of ground ginger and the zest of one orange to the mixture. You will also need Christmassy shaped cookie cutters!
Method
1. Preheat the oven to 160°C/fan 140°C/gas 3. Line two baking sheets with greaseproof paper.
2. Combine the butter and sugar in a bowl and beat by hand until smooth. Then add the flour (and ginger and orange if using) and, by hand, bring the dough together, making sure not to overwork it. If it’s a hot day you can chill the dough in the fridge for half an hour before rolling it out.
3. Roll out on a lightly floured work surface, to a thickness of about 3cm/¼ inch. Use cookie cutters, or the rim of a glass or mug to cut out the biscuits. Then cut out the middle of each shape, leaving a good thick surrounding edge. Arrange on the baking sheets – at this point you might want to make a small hole for threading the ribbon through, if you’re doing that.
4. Separate the boiled sweets into their colours and put them in plastic bags – one colour per bag. Crush using a rolling pin, then pour the grains into the middle of each biscuit.
5. Bake in the preheated oven for about 12–15 minutes or until the biscuits are a pale golden colour and the sweets have melted to fill the holes. Don’t overbake, they’ll continue to harden as they cool.
Bramble jam
Years ago I went through a phase of making jams and pickles, and this blackberry jam was one of my favourites. Plus, if you can find a local hedgerow groaning with ripe fruit, it’s practically free!
Ingredients
1kg (2½ lbs) blackberries
900g (2 lbs) preserving sugar
Juice of 3 lemons
You’ll need some clean, sterilised jam jars – this recipe makes around a kilo (2½ lbs) of jam.
Method
1. Place 2 or 3 saucers in the fridge to chill. Wash the blackberries well. Tip into a large, heavy-based saucepan or preserving pan, add 400ml cold water and bring to the boil. Reduce the heat, cover the pan and simmer gently for about 20 minutes, or until the fruit is soft. Remove the lid, add the sugar and lemon juice and heat gently, stirring all the while, until the sugar has dissolved (about 4–5 minutes).
2. Bring to a vigorous boil and cook for 15 minutes. Be careful that the mixture doesn’t boil over or spit on you – it will be very hot!
3. Remove the pan from the heat and test to see if the jam will set by spooning some onto one of the chilled saucers. Let it cool for a few seconds, then touch the syrup with your fingertip. If the surface wrinkles slightly, it’s reached setting point. If not, boil for a further 2 minutes and test again. Repeat if necessary until setting point is reached.
4. Position a large metal sieve over a large mixing bowl. Fill the sieve carefully with some of the blackberry mixture and using the back of a large, metal spoon, push the fruit through the sieve into the bowl. When you’ve extracted as much syrup as you can, throw away the seedy pulp left in the sieve. Continue until you’ve strained all of the mixture.
5. Spoon the strained syrup into the jam jars and seal.
About the Author
Trisha Ashley’s Sunday Times Top Ten bestselling novels have twice been shortlisted for the Melissa Nathan Award for Comedy Romance, and Every Woman for Herself was nominated by readers as one of the top three romantic novels of the last fifty years.
Trisha lives in North Wales with a very chancy Muse.
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br /> For more information about Trisha please see www.trishaashley.com or visit her Facebook page www.facebook.com/TrishaAshleyBooks or follow her on Twitter @trishaashley.
Also by Trisha Ashley
Sowing Secrets
A Winter’s Tale
Wedding Tiers
Chocolate Wishes
Twelve Days of Christmas
The Magic of Christmas
Chocolate Shoes and Wedding Blues
Good Husband Material
Wish Upon a Star
Finding Mr Rochester
Every Woman for Herself
Creature Comforts
A Christmas Cracker
A Leap of Faith (previously published as The Urge to Jump)
The Little Teashop of Lost and Found
A Good Heart is Hard to Find (previously published as Singled Out)
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
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www.penguin.co.uk
Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Bantam Press
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © Trisha Ashley 2018
Cover illustration by Robyn Neild
Cover design by Beci Kelly/TW
Trisha Ashley has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
The House of Hopes and Dreams Page 39