by Georgia Hill
It was getting on for six before she eventually reached the church. It sat, fat and somehow complacent, in the middle of a graveyard littered with yew trees and mossy headstones. On the little green opposite was the memorial stone. Rachel went closer. Although small and quite simple, she found it profoundly moving, covered as it was with the names of those who had died in two world wars.
Winding Piglet’s lead in shorter, to keep him close by, Rachel stood in awe of how many names were etched into the stone. She counted at least twelve for World War Two and there were many, many more from the Great War.
‘Too many dead,’ she muttered to the uninterested puppy. Peering closer, she saw a Captain Edward Trenchard-Lewis listed, along with a Private Samuel Jones, who must surely be Sam, the stable boy from Delamere House.
It was nonsense. She had never known these men. They had died nearly a hundred years before and yet, here she stood, a hard lump of sadness forming in her throat, trying not to cry. She brushed an impatient hand over her eyes and told herself off.
Looking closer, hope flared when she failed to find the name she was searching for. There were several sets of brothers listed but no Richard to accompany his sibling.
‘Did he survive? Maybe they did marry after all,’ she murmured to Piglet, who pulled restlessly at the lead and gave a bark.
‘Are you looking for a relative?’
The voice, deep and resonant, made Rachel jump. She turned to face a middle-aged man in a dog collar. He bent and fussed the puppy, heedless of the mud, which was deposited on his trousers.
‘Oh, hello.’ Rachel felt awkward. How did one address a vicar? It was way outside her experience.
The man solved the dilemma by extending a hand and saying, ‘Hello there. Kim Mansell.’
‘Rachel Makepeace.’ She took his hand and shook it. Kim’s was warm and firm – and friendly. ‘And no, I’m not looking for a relative. At least not really.’
‘Ah, our illustrator from Clematis Cottage. How lovely to meet you. “At least not really,” sounds a promising beginning to a mystery and I love a mystery.’ He shivered. ‘Getting chilly out here. I was just about to make myself a coffee. Want one?’
‘Oh,’ Rachel was at a loss. She gestured towards the dog.
‘Oh, don’t mind him. We’ve one of our own. They can play together.’ As if sensing her hesitancy, he added, ‘If you’re looking for information, I may be able to help.’ He winked. ‘I promise I won’t convert you.’
Rachel blushed. ‘I wasn’t thinking that at all,’ she lied. At Kim’s grin she added, ‘And a coffee would be great.’
‘Come on, then. The vicarage is just over there.’ He nodded towards the line of modern houses fringing the green. ‘I can promise a decent cup of Italian and we even have Hobnobs, I believe.’ He patted his stomach. ‘As long as you only let me have two.’ He pulled a face. ‘On. A. Diet.’
Rachel laughed. ‘You’re on.’
The house was large and modern. ‘Gone are the days of the grand rectory manor house,’ Kim explained. They were met by a gentle retriever, who took Piglet under her paw. Kim let them out into the garden, assuring Rachel that it was securely fenced and that Goldie wouldn’t do the puppy any harm.
The vicarage kitchen reminded Rachel of the Llewellyn’s. It was untidy and homely, with children’s artwork and church notices stuck on the wall and was obviously the heart of the home – and the parish. Sat at the kitchen table and nursing a cup of excellent coffee she watched as Kim settled opposite.
‘Enjoying the cottage?’ He opened the packet of Hobnobs and put them on a plate. He groaned. ‘Oh, they’re chocolate ones. Get thee behind me, temptation.’
Rachel laughed, deciding she liked him. ‘I am enjoying living there, thank you. How did you know who I was?’
Kim answered, his hand hovering over the biscuits, ‘Stan Penry. He’s a church regular. Village gossip too.’ He shrugged an apology. ‘The jungle drums ensure not a great deal goes on without everybody knowing about it.’ He smiled. ‘I would have called, but with the crisis I’ve been rather tied up. Besides, not everyone welcomes a dog collar on the doorstep.’
Rachel hid her blushes behind her cup.
‘And I believe you know Sheila Llewellyn? She’s a regular too.’
‘I do know Sheila a little. I haven’t seen her for a while, though. How is she?’
Kim gave her a close look. ‘Coping, I think. And now, my dear, what is it you are looking for?’
‘Do you want the short or the long answer?’ Rachel said, with a smile.
The vicar rubbed a hand over his stubble. ‘Wife and children at swimming club.’ He nodded to the nearly full cafetière. ‘Lots of coffee left. Fire away.’
Lulled by the warmth in the kitchen – and in Kim’s eyes, Rachel found herself telling him the entire story.
‘How completely and utterly fascinating,’ he said, when she’d finally come to a halt. ‘Oh, sorry, look, there are the dogs.’ He rose to let them in from the garden and they collapsed in an untidy heap together in the wicker basket in the corner, bringing chilly air in with them.
‘And the name you were looking for on the memorial?’
‘Richard Trenchard-Lewis. Although it’s not clear what happened to him. Hetty is rather vague on the subject.’ Rachel couldn’t quite keep the disappointment out of her voice.
Kim shook his head. ‘I don’t recollect any mention of him. There’s a roll of honour in the church as well as the memorial stone and he’s not mentioned. His brother is on both, of course.’
‘Oh.’ Rachel sat back, exhausted suddenly. She’d so hoped to find the final piece of the jigsaw here.
‘Of course, I’ve only been vicar here for three years. The cottage was empty when I came. I assume Hetty had died by then?’
Rachel nodded. ‘Or was in the care home.’ She bit her lip. ‘There are so many missing bits of information. Oh, it’s all so frustrating,’ she burst out. She caught Kim looking at her. ‘I’ve become rather interested in her story. Obsessed, even.’
‘Well,’ he said mildly, ‘if you’re writing a book about her, it’s understandable.’
‘Village grapevine again?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ Kim grinned boyishly. ‘It’s awfully efficient.’ He poured out the dregs of the coffee. ‘You know, though, I may be able to help you, after all. I can check the parish records.’ He added, pulling a face, ‘Births, marriages, deaths, it’s all in there. And, of course, it’s possible my previous incumbent may have some knowledge. Certainly of Hetty. He was vicar for over thirty years in the parish before he retired.’
‘Oh, could you ask him for me? Or maybe I could visit him?’
‘He’s living in France nowadays, but I’ll certainly give him a call. Ah, our peace is shattered,’ Kim said, at the sound of the front door slamming open. Twin girls burst into the room. ‘Meet my angels.’
Rachel greeted the chlorine-scented pair and their mother, who followed them in. Piglet was petted and it was only when an offer of dinner was extended that Rachel realised how late it had got. Reluctantly refusing the offer of chicken casserole and a lift, she insisted she needed to get home to feed the puppy and could walk.
‘I’ve got my torch,’ she said and brandished it.
‘Adapting to country living, I see,’ Kim said, as he showed her out. ‘Good girl. I’ll be in touch with any information.’
The light had nearly gone, but it was pleasant walking through the village. Halfway home, however, Piglet protested his weariness by squatting down and refusing to budge.
‘Oh, come on, we’re nearly there now. Only the track to conquer.’ Flashing the torch in the puppy’s direction, she was met with two mournful but determined brown eyes. ‘I suppose I’ll have to carry you.’
She was in the process of lifting Piglet, who seemed a dead weight and all legs, when the Toyota pick-up cruised by. It passed her, but then stopped and reversed.
‘Having trouble?’ said a familiar
voice.
‘Oh, Gabe, it’s so lovely to see you.’ Relief flooded through Rachel. ‘The little bugger is refusing to go any further and he’s got so heavy.’
Gabe laughed. ‘Get in. I’ll give you a lift.’
Rachel grappled Piglet round to the passenger door and put him on the seat. Squeezing in beside him, she gave a sigh. ‘Oh, thank you!’
‘So, Piglet, you been causing problems?’ He ruffled the dog’s ears. ‘What a mutt!’
‘One-hundred-percent bundle of trouble,’ Rachel said. She put on her seat belt and gathered the dog onto her lap, not noticing the muddy footprints on her jeans. ‘And proud of it.’ Piglet licked her ear.
Gabe gave her a penetrating look. ‘He’s really not the sort of dog I imagined you having. If any at all.’
‘I know, I know, I’m supposed to be a cat person.’ Rachel laughed.
There was a beat of silence. ‘You’ve changed.’ He put the truck into gear and moved off.
‘I’ve changed a lot, Gabe. More than you could ever imagine.’
‘What brings you out in the dark? I only just caught sight of your torch.’
Rachel explained.
‘Ah, Hetty again?’
‘Yes, Hetty again,’ she answered defensively. ‘Only found Edward’s name on the memorial, though. No sign of Richard.’
‘The brothers, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe Richard didn’t die in the war? You sure he joined up?’
‘Oh yes, it’s mentioned in a letter and, anyway, he was exactly the sort of man who would’ve rushed off to war. I just want to know what happened to them all.’
Gabe changed gear. ‘You didn’t know these people, Rachel.’
‘I know but –’
‘But what?’ He glanced over.
‘It feels as if I do. Some of the stuff Hetty wrote is so vivid, I can picture completely what they were like.’
They were at the bottom of the track and Gabe made the truck pause before attempting the ascent. He turned to her. ‘Do you think – do you think this is all healthy, Rachel? It’s bordering on obsession.’
Obsession. There was that word again. It echoed so closely her own feelings that it made her angry. She rounded on him. ‘You never really understood, did you?’
He reached out for her hand. ‘I tried, you know I did. But even the last of them died at least five years ago.’
Rachel flopped back into her seat, the temper leaving her. She was too weary to fight. ‘I know. I just want to find out what happened to Hetty, if she really was happy married to Richard. What happened to them? And I know I’m close to that last piece of information.’
Gabe didn’t respond, but gunned the Toyota’s engine as it climbed the track. He parked up, put the hand brake on, but kept the engine running.
Not coming in, then, Rachel thought, morosely.
‘You reckon Hetty got married to Richard, then?’ he said, finally.
‘I think so, yes. It’s the logical explanation.’
‘Church records?’
‘I told you, that’s where I’ve just been. Sipping coffee with the Reverend Kim and his family.’
‘No, not the Stoke St Mary church. This was when Hetty lived at Delamere House, right?’
Rachel stared at him. ‘Yes,’ she said, slowly.
‘The big house probably had its own church. Any records will be in there, I reckon.’
‘Oh, Gabe, you’re a genius!’ Rachel cried. She clasped his face between both hands and kissed him full on the lips. Piglet, squashed between them, gave a whine.
They gazed at one another for a second. It was a moment charged with expectation.
Rachel shrivelled back against the car door. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ he said quietly. ‘It was never a hardship being kissed by you.’
‘Just living with me,’ Rachel bit out.
‘Oh Rach – Rachel.’ Gabe pushed a frustrated hand through his hair. ‘We just rushed into something, I think.’ He looked at her. ‘Good while it lasted, though.’
‘Yes, Gabe. It was lovely.’
Another moment that teetered on something unspoken, some possibility. Then it was broken.
‘Mum would love to see you. She misses you.’
‘I miss her too. How is she?’
Gabe shrugged. ‘Okay, you know.’
‘I’ll pop in. Does she like dogs? I could bring this little rascal.’
Gabe laughed. ‘Mum loves dogs. He’ll be lucky to go back home with you. Just make sure you keep him away from Ned, he gets very jealous.’ He put the car into first, obviously impatient to go. ‘Let me know when you’ll be round. I’ll make myself scarce.’
Disappointment flooded through her. ‘You don’t have to do that, Gabe.’
‘No, I know. It’ll be easier, though, and I’ve always got loads to do. Busy bloke nowadays, you know.’
Rachel managed a smile, thinking of Dawn. ‘I’m sure. She opened the passenger door and twisted to get out. And Gabe?’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t be a stranger, will you?’
‘I won’t, I promise.’
‘And Gabe?’
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you.’
He put his hand up as an answer and, as soon as she and Piglet were clear of the car, swung the vehicle round and disappeared into the night.
Rachel found herself waving. ‘Oh God,’ she said to the exhausted puppy slumped at her feet, ‘I’ve got a horrible feeling it’s not just Ned who might be jealous.’
Chapter 39
She didn’t put off visiting Sheila. As promised, she rang Gabe and he arranged to be out. Mike was absent too. Once Sheila had shut an indignant and spitting Ned out of the kitchen and fussed over Piglet, she settled at the kitchen table and took Rachel’s hands.
‘It’s so good to see you again. Looking too skinny, though!’
Rachel could say the same thing, but didn’t. Sheila looked thin and pale. ‘How are you?’
Sheila batted away Rachel’s concern. ‘I’m fine.’ She looked the younger woman directly in the eye. ‘I’m fine, really.’
There was a moment of understanding of what wasn’t to be mentioned, then Sheila changed the subject. ‘Gabe tells me you’ve progressed with the Hetty story. Are you still going ahead with the book?’
Rachel nodded. ‘I think so, yes. It got pitched to an editor the other week and she was keen.’
‘You’ll have to fit it in around your other work, I suppose.’ Sheila released Rachel’s hands and began to pour tea. ‘I’ve been longing to ask you how you’ve been getting on but, well, it felt a little awkward with you and Gabe splitting up.’ She caught Rachel’s eye and grimaced. ‘Split loyalties, you know.’
Rachel smiled and shook her head. ‘I’ve been meaning to come to see you for ages, but felt the same, really. And then I got talking to Reverend Mansell.’
‘Ah, Kim! Lovely man.’
‘He thinks he may know someone who can tell me what happened to Hetty after the war.’
‘Doesn’t the journal cover that bit?’ Sheila pushed over a mug. ‘Cake? I’ve got lemon drizzle or coffee and walnut.’
Rachel grinned. ‘Would it be too much to have a little of each? I’ve walked Piglet this morning and the fresh air’s given me an appetite.’
‘Ah, I thought he looked tired.’ Sheila nodded to where Piglet had made himself completely at home in the cat’s basket. ‘The little love.’ She cut slices of cake, put them on a plate and put it in front of Rachel. ‘So, this journal only goes up to the end of the war. How frustrating.’
‘It’s worse than that. The last thing I can find is a diary entry written in 1916. It’s as if something happened that was so traumatic it silenced her.’
‘Death of her husband, maybe?’
Rachel shook her head and mumbled through cake crumbs, ‘No, Hetty writes about that. The first one, that is.’
‘But Kim may be some help?’
‘Well, he promised to get in touch with the previous vicar.’
‘Oh yes. Duncan Wilson.’ Sheila nodded. ‘He was here for years.’
Rachel started. ‘Hetty mentions him!’
Sheila grinned. ‘He was the most terrible gossip. If there’s information to be had, I imagine Duncan will have it. He lives in Provence now. No idea why, he hadn’t a word of French.’
Rachel giggled. Until now, she hadn’t realised how much she’d missed Sheila. ‘We never did that garden centre and afternoon tea, did we?’
‘No we didn’t.’
‘How are you fixed for next week?’
‘Oh, Rachel,’ Sheila clasped her hand again. ‘That would be marvellous. My two men just can’t see the attraction of either, I’m afraid.’
They laughed. The idea of Gabe and Mike sipping tea from china cups and eating delicate cucumber sandwiches was hilarious.
‘Oh, Rachel,’ Sheila said, as she wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. ‘You have no idea what a tonic you are. Now, tell me the rest of your news. What’s this about Stan going to Berlin?’
‘He’s going with two friends of mine, Tim and Justin. I feel sorry for him, actually.’
‘Who, Stan?’ Sheila nodded. ‘Well, it might all be a bit much for him.’
‘Stan will be fine,’ Rachel answered, stoutly. ‘It’s Tim I feel sorry for. I don’t think he knows just what he’s taken on!’
More laughter.
‘And what about you, Rachel,’ Sheila asked, once she’d sobered up, ‘still with Neil?’
Rachel frowned at Sheila. ‘Oh, I was never with him, we just meet for a drink or a meal occasionally. We’re just friends.’
‘Really? Gabe will be pleased,’ his mother said gnomically. ‘Do tell me more.’
Rachel pulled a face. ‘Let me fill you in.’
When she’d finished Sheila looked very smug. ‘I told Gabriel there was nothing between you two,’ she said, pouring more tea. Without looking up, she said, ‘You did know Paul and Dawn have got together, didn’t you?’ Seeing Rachel’s startled expression, she said, ‘No? Well, let me fill you in…’
Kim’s phone call came a few days later, just as Rachel and Sheila were getting back in the car at the garden centre. Clematis bought (a gift for the cottage, Sheila insisted) and an extremely nice tea eaten, they were about to head home.