by Allan Frost
Back at Priorton Hall, Augustus has forsaken Tom and Jerry in favour of mind-numbing soap operas. It’s a small but significant sign of progress.
Tim wants to gather as much information as he can before next summer when, with help from the Shropshire Archaeological Unit, he hopes serious excavation of the ruins will begin. He already has a fairly accurate plan of the layout (drawn with the inestimable help of Prior Thomas, a Global Positioning Device and a powerful torch), so confirmation shouldn’t prove too difficult.
Thomas has also identified the location of an ancient water mill close to where Tricklebrook flows into Corpses Copse (there’s a narrow stone bridge nearby) and confirmed the two pools between the priory and Priorton Hall were, indeed, Medieval fish ponds. Still stocked with fish, as it happens. It’s a wonder Mick didn’t exploit the fact but it seems he had been more interested in birds and animals which yielded higher profits.
Fatima Arkwright and Young Cedric paid a visit to Sarah a few weeks ago.
‘How have you settled in at Blister Grange?’ Sarah had asked.
‘Strange to begin with,’ Fatima replied. ‘Although Cynthia has been marvellous from day one. She treats me like a daughter and, believe it or not, insists Sir Cedric and I have at least one night together every week. I think she wants another child. She really is terribly understanding.’
‘What does Cedric think about it?’
‘Still riddled with guilt, as you’d expect, except when he enters my bedroom. I can’t make out what his feelings are towards me but I do know he wants another child. Several, if he can keep up the stamina!’
‘Good old Cedric!’ said Sarah.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot. We had DNA tests taken. I insisted on it, just to put their minds at ease. They prove Daddy Cedric is definitely Young Cedric’s father, as I knew he was. And another thing: Cedric has decided to formally adopt Young Cedric! We have an appointment with the Adoption Bureau next week. Shouldn’t be any problems as Cedric’s a panel member.’
Young Cedric, resting in Sarah’s cradled arms, woke and gave a little whimper.
‘Here, let him suck this. I’ll just switch it on.’
She rummaged in her bag and handed Sarah what appeared to be a courgette. It vibrated gently in her fingers.
‘What is it?’ she asked, as if she didn’t know.
‘One of Cynthia’s new lines: the Lady Cynthia Self Service Collection, I believe. A vibrator. It looks like a courgette so women can keep it in the kitchen in case of need or boredom. Cynthia’s logic is that husbands or male partners seldom go into the kitchen and wouldn’t prepare food even if they did. She also does cucumbers, bananas, carrots and leeks, if you’re interested.’
‘Reminds me of what my mother said about Wendel the Wickworker,’ commented Elizabeth who was floating around in the background. ‘He made candles of all shapes and sizes from mutton fat. And bespoke ones, without wicks. She said I’d need his services when my husband went away on business or to avoid temptation but, of course, Augustus and I died before I felt the need to visit him.’
‘How are you getting on without Hives and Crimp?’ asked Sarah.
‘Fine,’ answered Fatima. ‘I do all the cooking and housekeeping; it’s the very least I can do. Quite enjoy it, actually. I used to be manageress and cook at the Little Chef near Bridgnorth until it closed down a few years ago. Looking after the Foot-Warts is a doddle and I really don’t mind; it’s lovely being part of a family again.’
‘Do you get paid? I’m not being nosey,’ (she was). ‘Just interested.’
Fatima laughed.
‘Cedric, bless his soul, pays me five pounds every time he leaves my room! It’s what I charged when he visited me at my flat in Wellingley; says it’s a matter of honour! Apart from that, no, I don’t receive any money. In fact, I don’t really need any. My mother’s estate left me comfortably off.’
‘How’s he coping with two women under the same roof, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Like a dog with two tails! He loves Cynthia more than anything else in the world; he’s completely devoted to her. And Young Cedric, of course. And as for me, well, I have the best of all worlds.’
‘How’d you mean?’
‘I’ve always had a thing about older men,’ confided Fatima. ‘And I miss my father; he died when I was in my teens. So, in an odd sort of way, he fills both needs.’
‘I think you’re very lucky,’ said Sarah.
‘Oh, I am, I am! I imagine it’s the same with you and Tim inheriting Priorton Hall; it gives you a warm feeling inside and you have to keep pinching yourself to make sure it’s for real. Which reminds me. Cedric wanted to know if Tim has heard from the Society of Heralds yet.’
‘We received a letter saying they were examining all the papers Tim sent, including Cedric’s statement on the evidence presented before him at the court hearing last year. They said it could take several months, if not years, before they reach a decision.’
‘Does that bother you?’
‘Not really,’ replied Sarah. ‘It’s not as if we need a title. We’re happy as things are. Mind you, I wouldn’t mind being called Lady Sarah, but Tim still feels he’d have to get involved in politics and social events. Not his scene at all. I can’t see Tim taking a seat in the House of Lords.’
‘Have you followed Cedric’s other advice . . . about starting a family?’ asked Fatima. ‘Young Cedric might like someone to play with when he’s older.’
‘We’re having a go,’ Sarah said with a twinkle in her eye. ‘We don’t want to rush things, though. Cynthia has been quite helpful in that department; some of the items he saw at the launch opened Tim’s eyes up more than you could ever imagine! Talking of men having their eyes opened, where’s Sir Cedric?’
‘He’s in court today, and Cynthia’s taken Hilda shopping for new clothes. Hilda’s been on a strict diet since the party and has lost about forty pounds. Doesn’t show yet, but she’s determined to lose at least forty more!’
‘I hear she’s the new president of the Women's Institute.’
‘Yes, and they have a stack of new members. Hilda has introduced a monthly ‘Explore your inner self’ session with Cynthia’s help.’
‘I wondered why George had a spring in his step.’
And what of phantom Police Constable Bud Blossom?
Revellers spilling onto the streets after pub closing time insist they have seen someone wearing bike clips and throwing a shiny plate at ancient yew trees in the graveyard of All Saints parish church.
Of course, no one believes them, and not a single one has repeated their claim after spending a night in dank cells at Wellingley police station.
Everyone knows ghosts don’t exist.
Don’t they?
THE END
but there’s more . . .
Make sure you read the prequel to this novel in
Gunpowder, TREason and Plot
or
How we dug up the Ancestors
When unconfirmed bachelor historian Tim Eason visits Priorton in pursuit of a new lead on England’s infamous Gunpowder Plot, he didn’t anticipate just how close his relationship with pub landlady Sarah Brewer would become, although an ancient juke box in the corner of the bar seems to have some idea.
Nor did he realise his research would attract the attention of bungling conspirators Frank Fiddlit (a dubious solicitor), Tom Bleak (unscrupulous director of Bleak Homes Limited) and Neville Strubble (hapless Council Planning Officer).
With the help of Police Inspector George Young, Tim digs up enough information to attend a Court hearing to determine ownership of Priorton Hall.
Judge Sir Cedric Foot-Wart seems strangely preoccupied and, despite his personal feelings, is legally obliged to find in Frank Fiddlit’s favour.
Until the arrival of an unexpected witness . . .
About Allan Frost
Allan has written two other novels in addition to Gunpowder, TREason and Plot and Prior Engagement. Th
ey are Methtintdour Chronicles: The Stracyl of Unity and Wrekin Wraiths, Rebels and Romans.
The author is a well known researcher and writer specialising in the history of east Shropshire in England. He has written extensively about The Wrekin Hill, Wellington and the Telford conurbation.