A Grave Inheritance

by Renshaw, Anne

  Amelia looked at the vicar in disappointment. He had known about John Farrell all along. And why the rush, they had all afternoon.

  Grace led the way. Everything was how they had left it, and Amelia and Grace hung back while David and Nathan examined the wooden box in the hole. Carefully they lifted it out and set it down again gently on a flat piece of turf.

  ‘Should we fill in the hole,’ Amelia asked, feeling the need to do something useful.

  ‘Not yet. We may want to bury it again in a minute.’ Inappropriately Nathan laughed. Grace glared at him, finding his flippancy irritating. ‘It’s more than likely one of Lillian’s cats. She was always taking in the odd stray,’ Nathan told them.

  ‘You knew Lillian?’ Grace said.

  Nathan nodded and glanced over at David who was crouched down beside the box and appeared not to be listening. ‘Don’t see what else it could be anyway, she never had a dog,’ he smirked.

  ‘What did you say?’ Grace said sharply, deciding she didn’t like Nathan after all.

  ‘Leave it Grace, we’ll know soon enough, won’t we?’ Amelia said softly. ‘Would you mind opening it now please, David?’ she added.

  David looked up and held her eye for a split second. His expression was unfathomable but enough to convey his uneasiness. He began to ease a screwdriver under the lid. The wood was understandably rotten and gave way easily to the pressure. The middle section came away in one large piece and left a gap wide enough to see inside. Fumbling for his handkerchief David held it to his nose. After a quick glance inside he stood and stepped away from the box, feeling nauseous. This wasn’t what he had been expecting.

  ‘What is it?’ Grace didn’t want him to say a cat or any other animal, and she wished for the only alternative. Grace hoped, if hope could be a fitting expectation in a situation such as this, for answers. Her ghosts needed to be laid to rest and finding the remains of a cat or dog just wouldn’t do it. Also it would justify her insistence on exhuming the coffin. Before David had summoned up the courage to tell them, Grace knelt over the coffin. Amelia looked over Grace’s shoulder, her hands to her mouth.

  A baby’s skull, and minuscule skeletal arms and legs all lay in the disintegrated remnants of a nightgown, but what stunned her was the skeleton underneath the baby’s bones. For the first time since they’d found the gravestone, Amelia began to believe Grace. Speechless she placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder and tried to shake off the feeling they were being watched.

  Reverend Lanceley replaced and secured the lid to the coffin and with Nathan’s help lowered it back into the hole. While the others headed back to the cottage, the Reverend said a quiet prayer over the coffin, then made the sign of the cross and hurried after them.

  Chapter 19

  ‘What shall we do now? Telephone the police?’ Amelia spoke to no one in particular. The others nodded absently. They were sitting in silence inside the warm kitchen, too stunned for normal conversation. Amelia had already made two pots of strong coffee laced with brandy to warm them and compose their nerves. ‘Sorry you’ve been dragged into this Nathan,’ she said kindly. ‘Are you feeling better now?’

  ‘Not really.’ Nathan shook his head in bewilderment, the spaghetti bolognaise still churning in his stomach. ‘I think I’ll head home if you don’t mind.’

  ‘You can’t go anywhere until we’ve notified the authorities and I don’t think we should put it off any longer.’ David glanced at their expectant faces, silently nominating him for the job. With a sigh he went into the hall to use the land line.

  While they waited for the police to arrive, Nathan told Amelia and Grace a little about himself. He wasn’t a student after all as Amelia had supposed, but aged twenty-five and working for solicitors in Chester.

  ‘I live in an apartment overlooking Chester race course,’ he informed them.

  David returned from telephoning the police and sounding as though he envied Nathan, said, ‘Yes, it’s all very modern and minimalistic.’

  ‘I have minimal possessions,’ Nathan responded unpretentiously.

  ‘Now might be a good time to tell Amelia and Grace what you know about John Farrell,’ David suggested, raising his eyebrows, surreptitiously passing the buck.

  Nathan was slouched in an armchair. He reached over to a small table in front of him and lifting a mug of coffee up to his lips he took a sip.

  ‘Yes, okay.’ He looked at Amelia and Grace and added, ‘Don’t get all uppity with me though. I’m just telling you what I’ve been told. It may have gathered a few Chinese whispers along the way, but the gist of it is this.’ Nathan hesitated and took another sip of coffee. They were in the living room. Amelia and Grace were together on the large sofa, perched on the edges of their seats, taking comfort from each other’s presence. David had distanced himself and taken a chair near the window. He sat upright, tensed, as if ready to bolt. Nathan eyed the girls and David over the rim of his mug. He sifted through conversations he’d had with his grandmother over the years, wondering where to begin. Then sensing Grace’s impatience he made a start.

  ‘The year before my grandmother was born, there was a scandal involving the Farrells. The Farrells worked in one way or another for Sir Edmund Deverell at Tapscott Manor. Laurence Deverell, one of Sir Edmund’s twin sons, was found dead in Oakham Wood in the summer of 1911, and John Farrell was accused of his murder and subsequently arrested.

  ‘We know all that,’ Grace interrupted.

  ‘Oh! Do you want me to carry on or not?’

  ‘Yes, please do,’ Amelia said, giving Grace a look that implied patience was needed.

  ‘Okay. The police had no real evidence to incriminate him, so eventually they let him go. However, everybody in the village believed he was guilty. A few months after his release from prison, John Farrell was found hanged in Oakham Wood in almost the same spot Laurence’s body was found. The police took it as a sign of his guilt.’ Nathan hesitated.

  Amelia understood now why her father had never spoken of his grandparents. What was there to impart to his daughters but shame.

  ‘That’s very interesting, but why was he a suspect and blamed?’ Grace said impatiently. ‘Wasn’t there anyone else under suspicion besides him?’

  ‘Let Nathan finish,’ David said.

  Amelia looked at David in surprise. ‘You’ve known about this all along, haven’t you? Why didn’t you mention it before?’ Amelia demanded.

  David looked down at his hands. He was getting fed up with her badgering. ‘What could I say that wouldn’t have upset you? I was waiting for the right time, and this seems it, don’t you think.’

  Nathan sneaked a glance at the time on his mobile. He was parched and could do with a proper drink. He wondered if he’d be able to get away before the Nags Head closed.

  ‘Carry on, Nathan,’ Grace said, giving David Lanceley a seething look.

  Nathan sighed. ‘A few months after John Farrell was found hanged; a woman who worked at Tapscott Manor overheard a conversation between Jim Farrell, John’s eldest son, and Leo Deverell. The gist of the conversation was that John and Ellen Farrell’s baby, a girl named Grace, born a month after John died, was in fact their daughter Amy’s child, and Laurence Deverell was the father.’

  Nathan gave Amelia and Grace a moment to let it sink in. He glanced at David, wondering if he wanted to say anything. David looked back at him briefly, but looked away again quickly, and with folded arms sat hunched in the chair. Nathan picked up his coffee mug but it was empty. He put it back on the coffee table and looked over at Amelia hopefully.

  Amelia shook her head. ‘Not yet. Tell us the rest first, please.’

  Grace frowned when the name of Amy’s baby was mentioned: another Grace. Trying to put the pieces together she asked, ‘Are you saying that John killed Laurence because he had seduced Amy?’

  ‘I’m not saying anything. This is only what I’ve been told,’ Nathan emphasised. Then to David, he said, ‘Do you want to add anything before I say an
ymore?’

  ‘No, leave me out of this, please,’ Lanceley said, unable to meet Amelia’s eye.

  ‘Just tell us, Nathan,’ Grace said, almost shouting.

  ‘Leo had married and his wife, Sylvia, had miscarried. Leo was desperate for an heir so he agreed to exchange the deeds to Primrose Cottage for Grace. As far as Jim was concerned it gave a secure home for Ellen, Lillian and Harry. Leo took the baby, changed her name to Sophia, and brought her up as his own daughter, a Deverell. That’s all I know,’ Nathan concluded.

  Amelia gasped at the mention of her grandfather Harry. It gave the story a credibility which she couldn’t ignore.

  David stood and walked out of the room, and they heard him go upstairs, presumably to the bathroom.

  ‘What happened to Jim?’ Amelia asked. This was the first time they had heard about him.

  Nathan shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. My Gran might know.’ He looked at Grace’s pensive face and taking the opportunity while David was out of the room, said, ‘Do you realise that if Lillian Farrell was Sophia Deverell’s aunt, you are related to Sophia Deverell as well.’

  It took a moment for Grace to get the connection. ‘Grace, or Sophia as she was renamed, was Amy Farrell and Laurence Deverell’s daughter, brought up by her uncle Leo.’

  Nathan nodded. ‘Not was, is. Sophia Deverell is still alive.’

  Amelia and Grace looked at Nathan, stunned.

  A few minutes later David returned, and Nathan got up and went into the conservatory. He stood looking out of the window, glad to stop for breath. He’d said he’d told them all he knew, although that wasn’t strictly true. There was more, but it would have to wait for another day. He saw lights coming along Marsh Lane. Nathan walked back into the living room.

  ‘This will be the police,’ David said, at the sound of car doors slamming outside.

  Amelia stood and went to open the door.

  Chapter 20

  Detective Chief Inspector Peter Montrose and Detective Sergeant Robert Fielding arrived at the cottage about six p.m.; almost an hour after David had telephoned them. Montrose had acted as though they were all country bumpkins and commandeered the living room to use for interviews. One by one each took a turn to traipse in and give a statement. David Lanceley had been first and then allowed to go home.

  Nathan had given his statement soon after David, but hadn’t been allowed to leave, and now he’d been called back to answer another million questions. Evidently Nathan’s statement was not to the detective’s satisfaction because he could tell Montrose wasn’t happy. Nathan watched while the detective paced up and down the room like a caged tiger; Nathan, the proverbial mouse, waited for him to pounce.

  Unconsciously Montrose tapped the end of a biro against his teeth. ‘Run through it with me again, exactly what you did this afternoon,’ he said to Nathan.

  Nathan sighed. He’d already gone over it three times already. ‘I keep telling you, I thought it was likely to be someone’s pet,’ Nathan insisted.

  Montrose waved his biro in the air, dismissive of excuses. ‘So you arrived here on your Yamaha, about one fifty-five, with Reverend David Lanceley as pillion.’

  ‘Yes.’ Nathan gave an exasperated sigh.

  ‘Well, go on lad. What then?’

  ***

  Amelia and Grace sat in the conservatory looking towards the glare of lights set up around the grave. A parade of policemen and presumably a pathologist and photographer shunted in and out and became flickering shadows in between the oak trees. A policewoman stood outside the kitchen door, another on the edge of the so-called crime scene which had been taped off. Amelia looked at her watch. Nathan had been in with the inspector ages and Grace fidgeted worriedly.

  ‘They have to ask questions, it is part of their job,’ Amelia reassured Grace.

  ‘How long does it take? It’s obvious to anyone they’ve been buried there for decades. They’re skeletons for goodness sake.’ Before Grace had finished her sentence the door to the living room opened and Nathan came out, followed by Montrose. Nathan’s face was angled away from the inspector and he mouthed something to Grace and winked. Grace looked back at him blankly.

  ‘Now then,’ DCI Montrose said soberly, not missing the blank expression on Grace’s face, ‘we are going to be making a bit of a mess in the garden I’m afraid.’

  ‘What else do you expect to find?’ Grace asked.

  ‘A clue to help identify the remains and why they’re in your garden and not up in the cemetery as you would expect.’ Montrose glanced out of the window at the fluorescent yellow tape weaving in and around the trees. A time-wasting routine in a case like this, he knew, but procedures had to be carried out. ‘The mortuary van should be here soon and once the photographer has finished, the coffin and its contents will be taken away.’ His eyes rested on Amelia, and momentarily Peter Montrose lost his train of thought, forgetting what he was about to say. Recovering his composure he continued, ‘We need to establish the date and the causes of death. When we have this information we’ll begin by checking our records for persons living in the house around that time.’ He hesitated and took a breath, and as though on a magnetic pull his eyes were drawn again to Amelia’s impassive face. A lamp set on a side table shed a pool of restrained light over her features and flamed her bronze curls. Her downcast demeanour and the shadow from the lamp draped dark circles under her eyes. Seeing how tired both girls were he decided to leave any further questioning until the following day. ‘In the meantime you can contact me on this number if you think of anything helpful.’ With a flourish he produced a card and handed it to Amelia.

  ‘A couple of elderly ladies lived in the cottage after our great aunt died, then went to live in Tapscott Manor Nursing Home. They may be able to help you,’ Amelia told him.

  ‘Thank you, that is helpful.’ Montrose smiled at her and Amelia shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under his gaze.

  ‘When will the remains be released for a proper burial?’ Grace wanted to know.

  ‘We don’t know their identities yet. When we do we shall notify and interview any living relatives. Until then I’m afraid I can’t say.’

  ‘The headstone has a name and date on it, Detective Chief Inspector.’ Grace looked at the policeman contemptuously. He saw the sadness in her eyes so answered kindly.

  ‘Yes, it does. Coincidence isn’t it. Same initial and surname as you, Miss Farrell.’ Montrose glanced at Amelia again.

  ‘The date on the stone is 1912,’ Amelia said, as if this explained everything.

  ‘But it’s logical to assume we’re related to them in some way, isn’t it?’ Grace insisted.

  ‘Yes it is, indeed. But I prefer not to jump to conclusions, Miss Farrell, and I suggest you keep an open mind for the time being. Right then,’ Montrose said again. ‘I’ll have another look around outside before I go and then I’ll be off. If you think of something before I go, I’ll be around for another ten minutes or so.’ Montrose stood, hesitated for a moment as if he felt the need to say more, then started for the door.

  Amelia slipped his card into her pocket, feeling comforted by it.

  ***

  DCI Montrose waved his torch into the coffin. ‘Bloody hell, Fielding, what’s all this about?’ he said with distaste to the plain clothes detective standing by his side.

  ‘Don’t know, sir. It’s come as a bit of shock to everyone.’ The young DS answered sombrely.

  ‘I bet it has. What do we know about these young women? Recently inherited this cottage you say.’ Montrose peered attentively at clods of earth surrounding the open grave. Then he squatted beside the stone slab lying flat and almost hidden in the long grass.

  ‘Yes, sir, but they wouldn’t have had anything to do with this. These bodies have been buried here for decades. I’d stake my badge on it.’

  ‘Would you now? I didn’t know you were a forensics expert, Rob. I’ll cancel Doctor Cartwright shall I, tell him you’ll handle it from here?’

  DS Field
ing’s Adams apple bobbed in his scrawny throat as he swallowed. ‘It’s just a guess, sir, sorry.’ He eyed his boss warily. The rest of the men at the station didn’t reckon much to this new man from the Midlands. They reasoned plenty of local Bobbies were good enough to have got the promotion; some had even put in for it, albeit unsuccessfully. Fielding had kept an open mind and had to admit DCI Montrose knew what he was doing. The young detective was impressed by Montrose’s size and height, a good four inches taller than Fielding and the rest of his colleagues, and from the way Montrose’s shoulders filled his jacket he guessed the DCI was as fit as the proverbial butcher’s dog. It was rumoured he was of Mediterranean descent. Spanish or Italian if the jet black hair, hazel coloured eyes and olive skin was anything to go by. But all in all, if literal push came to shove, Montrose was the kind of man DS Fielding would want on his side.

  ‘Of course you’re right, any evidence would be long gone by now,’ Montrose conceded half to himself, interrupting Fielding’s appraisal of him. ‘Still, it annoys me, Rob. This isn’t right and proper and it’s why I became a detective. I hate unsolved mysteries.’ He kneeled beside the coffin and looked in without feeling. ‘Aim the torch light in here,’ he commanded, pointing inside the coffin.

  DS Fielding obliged and peered in too, his curiosity aroused. A few scraps of material were wedged in a corner and with the end of his pen, Montrose carefully lifted them up to inspect underneath them. Finding nothing of interest, Montrose looked around the clearing and through the trees towards the house. ‘We’re going to find out how a young girl and baby, new-born by the looks of it, came to be buried in someone’s back yard,’ he stated.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ DS Fielding agreed.

  Chapter 21

  After the remains had been taken away, Amelia and Grace had felt emotionally and physically exhausted, so it was nearing eleven o’clock the next morning before Amelia finally slouched down into the kitchen. She looked around in despair. There was a sink full of unwashed mugs, cups, plates, brandy glasses and tumblers.. Bits of leftover spaghetti and mince scraped into a bowl now looked ready to walk. The stale air and rank smell, coupled with the effects of the brandy she’d drunk, made her feel nauseous and she stretched over the mess to open a window.