A Grave Inheritance

by Renshaw, Anne

  Amelia sat on the other side of Sophia’s bed opposite Grace and pushed a carrier bag containing Lillian’s diaries partially under the bed. The envelope containing the photographs she kept on her lap.

  Pauline followed them in, pushing a trolley laden with cups and plates for afternoon tea.

  As soon as Pauline left the room, Amelia spread the photographs out on Sophia’s bed cover and looked at her great aunt expectantly. Sophia placed her spectacles on her nose and picked one up. It was the photograph of the two young girls holding hands. Amelia waited to see if Sophia recognised them.

  ‘This one is Lillian,’ Sophia said, pointing to the youngest girl on the left of the photo. ‘And the other girl must be Amy, her sister,’ Amelia added.

  ‘Can I see it?’ Grace reached out for the photo.

  Before handing it over Sophia examined it further, her gaze fixed on the face of Amy. Finally she passed it to Grace and said, ‘It’s her, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I think it is.’ Grace pointed to the photograph and showed Amelia. ‘This girl on the right is the same girl I’ve seen in our garden. The younger girl is Lillian.’

  ‘Is this upsetting for you, Sophia?’ Amelia asked, taking the photograph.

  ‘No. Lillian has shown me these photos before, but that was a long time ago so I never made the connection. If it is Amy, why does she keep coming here to my room?’

  ‘She’s your mother, Sophia, so perhaps she wants you to know the truth,’ Grace said gently.

  Sophia looked at her sharply. ‘Know the truth about what? I know all I need to know about Laurence Deverell, thank you very much,’ Sophia said, challenging them.

  ‘We looked for Lillian’s diaries like you suggested and eventually found them in the attic.’ Amelia picked up the carrier bag and took out one of the diaries. She placed it on the bed beside the photographs. ‘This one starts in 1912.’

  ‘I see, and have you read it?’ Sophia asked them.

  ‘Yes, and it explains everything. We know now who’s buried in our garden. It’s Amy, your mother. The baby with her is your twin sister, Alice.’

  Tears pricked the corners of Sophia’s eyes. ‘I never knew I had a twin sister?’ Sophia picked up the other photographs and lingered over each one

  ‘Ever since Grace found the gravestone I’ve wanted to leave well alone. But since I’ve read the diaries I’ve changed my mind. To know the truth about the past can alter our opinions of people and help us to understand their actions. I think you should read it too,’ Amelia said.

  Grace nodded in agreement. Sophia’s curiosity couldn’t fail to be aroused now, surely.

  Sophia shrank deeper into her bed, and like a small frightened bird the elderly lady looked back at them, eyes bright with tears and unease.

  ‘Oh, please don’t cry.’ Grace flung herself on the bed and wrapped her arms around Sophia. Sophia had befriended them so readily and now they’d made her unhappy in return.

  Amelia choked back tears of her own. What was she thinking? What right did she have to tell Sophia what to do?

  ‘I told you about Lillian’s diaries because you wanted answers. For myself, I know what I know. My father was murdered by John Farrell and my uncle, who became a father to me, was killed by Ellen Farrell. I didn’t hold Lillian responsible, I loved her.’

  ‘It’s just …’ Amelia hesitated, then choosing her words carefully she spoke. ‘Aunt Sophia, Ellen told Lillian exactly what happened all those years ago. She asked Lillian to write it down, so that everyone would know the truth. The thing is she includes information that we think the police should know. It relates to the skeletons found in our garden, but much more. The name Deverell is mentioned, and so before going to the police we would like your permission.’

  Sophia frowned and didn’t answer straight away. In the following silence Amelia and Grace listened to the ticking of a clock on the bedside table.

  ‘Leave the books with me for a few days. Let me think about it,’ Sophia said eventually.

  Amelia and Grace stood to leave. ‘Yes, give it some more thought, but do what feels right for you,’ Grace said warmly.

  ***

  Sophia had chosen this room mainly because it was her room as a child. She’d been adamant on the positioning of her bed, irritating her carers to the limit, but the window faced west and she’d remembered the rich golden sunsets. Sophia looked through her window now and saw Woodbury church silhouetted on the raised horizon, almost camouflaged against a mackerel sky. Pulling herself up a little she saw a sweep of meadows and squat oak trees on the edge of Oakham Wood and felt calmed by the familiar surroundings.

  Sophia picked up her hand mirror and looked at the face of the old woman staring back at her, hair just wisps of white framing a wrinkled face. Soft hazel eyes, bright and alive, looked back at her with such sorrow and despondency it made Sophia want to cry and she watched her eyes fill with tears. Glancing away towards the window she placed the hand mirror back onto the bed cover and sighed. To stop herself from shivering she pulled the shawl around her shoulders and automatically peered into the corner to see if Amy was there. It was always colder then.

  When she’d first caught a glimpse of the shadowy figure, she’d mentioned it to Lynne, pointing to where the girl stood. Nurse Sykes immediately dismissed her patient’s vision as the effects of her medication.

  ‘But can you see her?’ Sophia insisted, and the nurse had made a point of looking all around

  ‘No, sorry, there’s nobody here,’ she’d said, placating Sophia in a patronising manner. ‘You’re hallucinating, dear. It’s the tablets, nothing to worry about.’

  Lynne probably put it down to dementia, the ramblings of an old woman, so she had retaliated, speaking sharply and saying, ‘You should change my medication then, dear!’

  Nurse Sykes hadn’t altered her tablets, and the girl whom she now knew to be Amy Farrell, her mother, still appeared in the corner of her room periodically. Sophia saw her shadowy figure now, watching from the gloom. ‘I’m not hallucinating,’ she reassured herself, but it was a small comfort.

  Sophia looked at her hands, the colour of old parchment and a stark contrast to the white bedspread on which they lay. Old stiff and claw-like, due to her arthritis, she slipped her hated hands underneath the soft covers to hide them from view and lay quietly, thinking over what Amelia had said. They probably think I’m a gutless old woman, she mumbled. She slid her hand out and picked up one of Lillian’s diaries and looked at the first page.

  Sophia slipped on her spectacles and with a sigh she began to read. She felt tired all of sudden and closed her eyes for a moment. Sophia wondered why Amelia had deemed the ramblings of a mad woman to her daughter so important. Then sitting up straighter she carried on reading, skimming through the pages impatiently. Then something caught her interest. She frowned, seeing her name, and wondered what Lillian meant by referring to her as Grace. The book trembled in her hands and the words became blurred. Spurred on, she picked up another diary and began reading the scandalous revelations. Finally she closed the book and let it fall onto the bedspread.

  Sophia turned onto her side. Pleasant memories of her youth flickered through her mind. She pictured her beautiful mother and tall stern father. She remembered a warm sunny day spent with Freddie and afterwards how angry her father had been with her. An unpleasant recollection swirled around in her head and Sophia shuddered, forcing the distasteful memory away. One of the diaries slid off her bedspread onto the floor. Sophia knew she should put the book away somewhere safe, but her eyelids felt so heavy. She gave way to her tiredness and closed her eyes, letting the soothing relief of sleep wash over her.

  The clock on her bedside table ticked away the rest of the late afternoon. Pauline brought fresh sandwiches and tea but seeing Sophia peacefully asleep she didn’t disturb her. The clock ticked on into evening and Sophia slept soundly, unaware of Amy, her mother, moving out of the shadows and gliding closer to the bed.

  Chapter 30


  Pierre’s, the restaurant David had chosen, was tucked away down a narrow cobbled lane off Whitefriars. David had chosen to wear a light beige linen suit with a white cotton shirt and even though dressed casually every female eye monitored his arrival. Beside him Amelia felt drab in her multi-coloured Monsoon dress.

  The restaurant specialised in French cuisine, and Amelia poked at her undercooked green beans and broccoli in disappointment. David crunched on his hard vegetables with relish; too busy tucking into his own meal to notice she wasn’t enjoying hers. The wine was a good choice and Amelia sipped it and enjoyed the ambience of the restaurant.

  The business with the gravestone and coffin had got them off to a bad start and Amelia wondered if something could be salvaged from it. Could they start over, as if they had just met? She doubted it. They’d spent little time alone together on the few occasions they had met, and they had been far from jolly. Amelia had sensed David liked her; she hadn’t needed Nathan to tell her that. ‘David. Why didn’t you want us to know you are related to Sophia? Beatrice Deverell was your grandmother I believe,’ she said.

  David lowered his wine glass with a serious expression. ‘For the same reason you didn’t want me to know your surname was Farrell, I suppose.’

  Amelia frowned. ‘I don’t know where you got that idea. Why should I be bothered?’

  ‘Oh, come on! John Farrell was accused of murdering my great uncle. Do I need to go on?’

  ‘We found out about that a couple of weeks after we had met you, thanks to Nathan. Anyway, stop trying to avoid the question.’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? The Deverells hated the Farrells and vice versa. I hoped our friendship might do away with all that, so I was waiting until I knew you better,’ David offered lamely.

  Amelia took another sip from her glass of chardonnay. ‘So what is your problem?’ she said, determined not to let it rest.

  David leaned back in his chair, studying her. ‘All right, if you must know it’s my sister, Leonie. She’s got a bee in her bonnet about Primrose Cottage. Originally it was a tied cottage, let to tenants working on Deverell land. The Deverells weren’t known for their generosity so Leonie’s investigating how Lillian became the owner. Also, she’s got it into her head that you’ll be after Sophia’s money once you know how much she’s worth, so Leonie insisted I didn’t tell you about Sophia, and to keep the peace I complied.’ David shrugged and offered her a smile.

  ‘I’ve got the deeds to Primrose Cottage at home. They were among other papers we found belonging to Lillian. Leo Deverell transferred the ownership to Lillian in 1912. You’re both welcome to come and have a look at them.’

  ‘Oh, I see. I’ll tell her, thank you.’ The waitress came over to the table to take away the plates and David ordered an espresso coffee for himself.

  ‘You know, you still haven’t answered my question,’ Amelia said softly.

  David leaned forward and took Amelia’s hands in his. ‘Can’t you guess? Amelia, your beautiful face has affected my heart. Since the day I saw you outside the vicarage, you have been in my every thought. I should have plucked up the courage to ask you out to dinner there and then, but it didn’t seem appropriate and then the moment was lost. This business with the gravestone has got a little out of hand, don’t you think?’

  Before Amelia could respond David’s mobile began playing the hymn ‘Great Is Thy Faithfulness’. Instead of switching it off, he answered it.

  ‘It’s Tapscott Manor,’ he said by way of an apology. Amelia listened to the one-sided conversation and realised their evening had come to an early end.

  David switched off his mobile and hailed a waiter for the bill. Pallor had replaced his previous glow and Amelia waited for him to explain. He ignored her and opted to wait until he’d paid the bill and they were back in his car before conveying the news.

  ‘The nursing home has just informed me that someone has attempted to smother Sophia.’ David started the car and drove out of Chester towards Woodbury.

  Amelia looked at him, speechless with shock. The memory of their last visit to Sophia and the subject of Lillian’s diaries were clear in her mind. She looked out of the car window, too upset to speak. After a while she ventured to ask, ‘You said an attempt was made. Is Sophia all right?’

  Concentrating on the road David didn’t answer immediately. ‘I’m not sure. Lynne Sykes was in a bit of a state and somewhat incoherent. I’ll drop you off at Primrose Cottage if you like and ring you tomorrow to let you know what’s happened.’

  ‘No, I’m coming with you,’ Amelia said quickly, realising they were approaching Woodbury village and near the turning for Marsh Lane. ‘Grace would never forgive me if I go home without all the facts.’

  ‘Well, if you must,’ David said sharply, and doing more than the regulation ten miles an hour his Jaguar sped down the long drive to Tapscott Manor, coming to a sudden crunching stop by the main entrance.

  Vicky Morris held the door open for them to enter. Behind her, DCI Montrose stood with a sour look on his face. Nurse Sykes stood beside him. Montrose listened patiently while the nurse offloaded her anxiety onto the clergyman, again paying attention to her account of what had happened earlier that evening. While he listened he studied Reverend Lanceley and came to the conclusion that there was something going on between him and Amelia Farrell. In view of the recent circumstances it was a bit of a convenient coincidence. The two of them suddenly attracted to each other. DCI Montrose didn’t believe in coincidences. No doubt now they’ll provide each other with an alibi, he predicted.

  Montrose stored this assumption away in the database of his brain for later use and then turned his attention to Amelia. He should have known it wouldn’t take long for a lovely young woman like her to find herself a man. Somewhat jealous and disillusioned he heaved a silent sigh, then with ease and determination Montrose edged in front of the two new arrivals and spoke over his shoulder to the bewildered nurse. ‘How about some tea, love? I take mine with milk and two sugars, thanks.’

  Lynne Sykes pressed her lips together in outrage, daring David and Amelia to ask for the same.

  ‘Not for me, thanks,’ Amelia said quickly. She couldn’t think of anything worse than tea at that moment.

  ‘Nor me.’ David took hold of Lynne Sykes’s arm and drew her to one side, away from DCI Montrose. Although speaking quietly his sentiments could clearly be heard. ‘I’ll come and see you before I leave, don’t worry. Then we’ll have a proper chat.’

  The nurse left them, with Vicky in tow. DCI Montrose walked over to the group of chairs by the door and settled into one of them. He indicated to Amelia and David to do the same. They took chairs opposite to him.

  ‘I need to know where you were tonight between the hours of seven and nine p.m.,’ Montrose stated and then waited for a response.

  ‘Why do you need to know that, Detective Chief Inspector?’ Amelia reacted, annoyed by the policeman’s bluntness and insensitivity.

  ‘Just answer the question please. I will explain the whys and wherefores when I’m ready,’ Montrose retorted tiredly, trying to keep a lid on the sharpness in his voice.

  ‘Your condescending attitude isn’t necessary,’ butted in David. ‘As it happens Amelia and I were together this evening between those times.’

  Amelia eyed David and then cautiously reminded him, ‘Well, not exactly those times. You didn’t pick me up until a quarter past eight.’ Turning to Montrose, she added, ‘Before then, I was getting myself ready. Grace, my sister, can vouch for me if need be.’

  ‘Where did you go?’ Montrose asked her.

  ‘David took me into Chester for dinner. I’m sorry I don’t know the name of the restaurant.’ Amelia looked at David.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Farrell.’ It pleased him that Amelia had told it as it was. Interested to hear David’s account, Montrose turned to him now and watched closely for any signs of nervousness. True enough, David began to tug repeatedly on his shirt cuffs, lining them up with th
e sleeves of his linen jacket, all the time avoiding the detective’s stare.

  ‘Yes, sorry, I forgot. I’ve just remembered I visited my sister first. I must have left the vicarage at about six fifteen.’

  Montrose got the distinct impression Lanceley had said the first thing that had come into his head. ‘The name of the restaurant is?’

  ‘Pierre’s.’ David sighed audibly. Montrose reached into his pocket for a notebook and jotted down the name. ‘Where does your sister live, Reverend Lanceley?’

  ‘Upton, Chester,’ David replied.

  ‘Well, I find it very strange,’ Montrose said, repeatedly clicking the top of his biro on and off. He stared at an oil painting facing him and let the silence drag on for a few minutes. ‘Let me get this straight. You drove all the way to Chester to see your sister, leaving home at …?’

  ‘About a quarter past six I think; I’m not sure exactly,’ Lanceley replied.

  ‘Six fifteen. Then afterwards you drive all the way back to Woodbury to pick up Miss Farrell here. Then you drive all the way back to Chester again for dinner. A waste of petrol, don’t you think?’ Montrose said.

  ‘I never gave the cost a thought,’ David replied sarcastically.

  ‘What time did you arrive at your sister’s and what time did you leave her? I’ll need her full name and address of course,’ Montrose said his biro ready.

  ‘Oh, I can’t remember, you’ll have to ask her,’ David responded, then clipped out Leonie’s full name and address, which Montrose carefully wrote in his little book, checking spellings as he went

  ‘How long were you there?’ Montrose said tightly.

  ‘She wasn’t in.’ David shrugged.

  ‘Miss Lanceley will have a job verifying the times of your arrival and departure then, won’t she?’ Montrose glared at Lanceley. ‘Do you have any idea where she was? Did you speak to her on your mobile phone for instance?’