A Grave Inheritance

by Renshaw, Anne

  Jim raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Yes, all right, including the surrounding land, but only as far as the brook, and none of the wood,’ Leo stated adamantly.

  ‘Employ Lillian as Grace’s nanny as well; the child will settle better with a familiar face around her.’ Jim prayed Leo would agree.

  Leo sighed and rubbed his eyes, deliberating. ‘You drive a hard bargain, especially under the circumstances, but I suppose it does make sense. I’ll not have a Farrell living under my roof, though. Lillian will work on a daily basis and go home each evening.’

  ‘That will suit her. She’ll still have my mother to look after,’ Jim said.

  ‘I shall have my lawyer draw up the papers.’ Leo’s tone was dismissive and he turned to go back into the house.

  ‘When?’ Jim persisted.

  ‘I’ll send a message to my solicitor asking him to call on me as soon as possible and bring with him the necessary paperwork. As soon as all the legal documents have been completed, I shall sign the papers and have them taken over to Lillian. I presume you intend telling her what we’ve agreed before you disappear?’ Leo looked questioningly at Jim.

  ‘Take the papers yourself. It’s the least you can do, and it will give you the opportunity to make the necessary arrangements for Lillian’s employment.’

  Leo looked uncomfortable. He would rather not have to confront Ellen but reluctantly agreed, and after pressing the money back into Jim’s hand he closed the door with a sigh of relief, and excited apprehension.

  ***

  When Daisy Treweeks (née Hope) wasn’t helping Dora in the kitchen she spent her time in the laundry room adjacent to the kitchen, which had easy access to the yard and washing line. Daisy was only allowed upstairs to collect soiled linens and clothes from the laundry baskets, so she used the servants’ separate staircase, located through a door in the laundry room. On the day of Jim Farrell’s visit, it happened that the door to the laundry room was propped open to allow in some air from the kitchen. Dora, who’d taken tea up to Mrs Deverell, had left the kitchen door to the hall open, so when the heated exchange of words began, Daisy cocked her head to one side, wondering what all the commotion was about. She recognised Jim Farrell’s voice immediately and curiosity getting the better of her, she stepped into the hall to listen.

  Back in the laundry room, Daisy rushed through the last pieces of ironing like a machine, expertly smoothing out creases. Her work finished, she walked home in a hurry, going over in her mind the conversation between Leo and Jim. Daisy stayed in the middle of the path where it was smooth and easier under foot, avoiding the deep grooves carved from tractor wheels running along each side of her. Heading away from Tapscott Manor towards the village, Daisy made for the Nags Head pub, her husband Mr Treweeks, and three-month-old baby daughter, Doreen.

  Leo’s refusal to allow her lodgings at Tapscott Manor and his behaviour towards her had almost broken Daisy’s heart. Dora’s cheery ways and good humour had enabled Daisy to continue working there, and even when Dora realised Daisy was pregnant, she kept Daisy on.

  Trudging along the path now, Daisy wondered what her life would have been like if she had married Jim Farrell. I’d have been on my way to America soon, she thought grudgingly. Instead, because of her circumstances, and out of gratitude, she’d married Mr Treweeks. The landlord and Daisy had found comfort in each other’s arms before and during her involvement with Leo, so he’d never questioned when Doreen was born so soon after their wedding, whether or not the child was his.

  ***

  The sun peeped above the church and winked at Lillian as she threw sheets over the clothes line and pegged them on securely. She stopped what she was doing to watch the church spire turn into an orange flame and the sun’s rays’ blaze across the fields, tipping the tops of trees a burnished gold. Deep in thought she continued pegging.

  Lillian knew Amy had died the night she saw Jim and her mother carrying a coffin down the path in the garden. Knew her dead sister and Alice were in it. She’d stood and watched the light from the lamp flickering along the path until it disappeared between the trees, along with her mother and Jim. She’d eventually got back in to bed and cried herself to sleep. The next day when Ellen told Lillian the news of Amy’s death she’d had no more tears left to shed. Her mother had called her hard-hearted and unnatural and didn’t speak to her for the rest of day. Lillian had made straight for the garden searching for Amy, until eventually she found the mound of newly dug soil. Lillian knew that normally when people died they got buried in St Martin’s cemetery, but also knew better than to question her mother about it. When she visited the grave a few days later, a slab of stone stood by the mound and carved on it were Amy’s initial and surname, with the year scratched underneath. Lillian supposed Jim had done it. Every Sunday morning since then Lillian had left flowers on Amy’s grave and whispered a prayer for her sister’s soul.

  Ellen never ventured far into the garden nowadays and seldom down the path to walk amongst the trees. Sometimes Lillian found her sitting on a stool outside the back door, deep in conversation with someone. Lillian once asked who she was talking to and her mother had snapped back, ‘Who do you think, Amy of course?’

  To humour her mother, Lillian had asked, ‘What is Amy saying, Mum?’ And Ellen had replied, ‘She says she’s cold.’

  Lillian looked now towards the trees and sighed, then picked up another sheet. Crows on the roof of the cottage cawed at the chickens and the chickens’ cluck-clucked good morning back to them. The cat, Chutney, weaved in and out of Lillian’s legs, rubbing his fur against her ankles, purring loudly. Inside the house Grace began to cry.

  ‘My, my, everyone wants feeding all at once,’ Lillian muttered. Monday was washing day so she’d left off scrubbing the kitchen floor until later, but other than that, this morning was exactly the same as every other morning. Except that it wasn’t.

  Lillian entered the cottage and was nearly knocked off her feet by the heat. ‘For goodness sake, Mum, we don’t need a big fire.’ In response Ellen threw on another log and glared at her daughter. Lillian opened a window and went upstairs. She scooped Grace up out of a Moses basket and took her downstairs and laid her in the wooden cot. The cot was near where Ellen sat in a chair by the fire. ‘Will you keep an eye on Grace while I get her milk ready and do some breakfast for us, Mum? Are you listening to me?’ Lillian touched her mother’s arm lightly.

  ‘Yes, Yes, I’ll watch her.’ Grace’s faced glowed red from the warmth of the fire. Ellen reached into the cot and began winding a strand of Grace’s fine hair around her finger. As it got tighter, Grace began to cry. Lillian, thinking it a hunger cry, rushed to soothe her and picked her up. Lillian put a bowl of porridge onto the kitchen table for Ellen and settled down in her father’s old armchair to give Grace her bottle of baby’s milk.

  ‘You remember what’s happening today, don’t you Mum? Mr Deverell is coming to sign over the cottage to us.’ Lillian watched her mother use her fingers to wipe up the remains of her porridge, sucking her fingers with relish.

  ‘Where’s Harry gone?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘He’s staying with Anwen and George in Wrexham. Uncle George is teaching him the bakery trade,’ Lillian answered a little harshly, tired of her mother’s incessant questions about her brothers.

  ‘Where’s Jim gone?’

  ‘He’s on his way to Southampton with Sir Edmund and Lady Deverell. Don’t you remember? He’s helping them with their luggage and then sailing to America to make his fortune.’ Lillian sat Grace up and began rubbing her back.

  ‘Ha!’ Ellen scoffed. ‘He’s running away.’

  Lillian didn’t answer. Jim was in effect running away, but at least he had arranged a job for her up at the Manor with Mr Deverell and made sure they would be secure in their home. ‘You will be polite to Mr Deverell, won’t you, Mum?’ she said after a minute.

  ‘Not if it’s him.’

  ‘Who do you mean?’

  ‘You know wh
o. I can’t speak his name.’ Ellen shook some coal out of the scuttle onto the fire and for a minute the blaze subsided and it felt a little cooler in the room.

  ‘Mum, please don’t build the fire up any more, it’s sweltering already.’ Lillian put the teat to Grace’s lips and gave her the rest of her milk.

  ‘Amy’s cold,’ Ellen retorted.

  ‘Amy’s dead, Mum. If you don’t want to see Mr Deverell, you could go for a lie down upstairs,’ Lillian suggested kindly.

  ‘Yes, I think I will dear, just in case.’ Ellen wrapped her knitted shawl around her shoulders and shuffled off towards the stairs. After helping her mother into bed, Lillian washed and put away the breakfast dishes. Then, after she’d had a wash and changed her own clothes, she washed Grace’s face and hands, changed her nappy and dressed her in clean clothes.

  By the time Leo Deverell arrived Grace was asleep and lying snug in her cot, the fire protected by a fireguard. Pritchard, Mr Deverell’s butler, was with him and hospitably Lillian invited the gentlemen inside and offered them tea. They stood in the kitchen. The top of Leo’s head skimmed the low beams on the ceiling and he had to stoop slightly.

  ‘Now then, Lillian, I have the documents ready for us to sign and Pritchard here will witness both our signatures.’ Leo put down the title deeds document in front of Lillian, knowing she could read and write.

  Lillian sat at the table with the papers spread out before her. Slowly she began to read the legal jargon, getting the general gist. According to what was written, Lillian herself would own Primrose Cottage. It would be the Farrell family home for as long as she wanted.

  It was widely known that Edmund Deverell staunchly believed in her father’s innocence, despite the rest of his family’s convictions that John Farrell was guilty. So when Lillian heard Sir Edmund and his wife had decided to move to Scotland, she’d worried the cottage would be taken from them. Jim thought it was only a matter of time before Leo ousted them and put in new tenants. A simple signature on this document would put an end to those worries.

  Mr Deverell pointed to a pencilled cross at the bottom of the document and indicated she should sign there. Lillian beamed up at him and took the pen out of his hand. Careful not to make a mistake, she neatly wrote her name. With a flourish Mr Deverell signed his name underneath hers and Pritchard witnessed both their signatures.

  ‘Primrose Cottage belongs to you now Lillian, and with it the responsibility for its upkeep. As you know I have found a place for you at Tapscott Manor and I want you to start immediately.’ Leo waved a hand at Pritchard and his servant left the cottage and stood outside, waiting by the carriage.

  ‘Thank you Mr Deverell,’ Lillian replied, smiling with gratitude.

  Leo didn’t quite know how to go about taking his daughter. He wasn’t sure if Jim had told his sister the price she had to pay for gaining ownership of her home. Now it was time to take the child he found himself hesitating, stumbling over his words. He’d been unable to talk to anyone about it, for how could he divulge Grace’s parentage without raising suspicion? He couldn’t claim her as Laurence’s child either, because that would throw disrepute on his late brother and tarnish the Deverell name, heaven forbid. The only person he had taken into his confidence was Pritchard, and even he didn’t know the whole truth. With everyone else, especially his family, his reasons for adopting a child had not been questioned. Sylvia’s recent miscarriage and her doctor’s news that Sylvia may not be able to carry a child again, had them in agreement that it was the right thing to do. They all automatically assumed, including Sylvia, that the adoption had been done through the proper channels, above board and in a legal manner, which it had to some extent. Since learning of his daughter’s existence Leo had become a man obsessed, and he was determined nothing would get in his way. Eventually Leo managed to formulate the words he wanted to say, but in his agitation they were spoken in rush.

  ‘Yes. Well, Lillian, now Primrose Cottage is yours, the time has come for Grace to come and live with my wife, Sylvia, and me, as agreed with your brother Jim.’

  Lillian stared at him, her jaw dropping slightly. She had heard the words but couldn’t comprehend his meaning.

  ‘She will be brought up as a Deverell, and we have decided to change her name to Sophia. Sophia is what she will be called from now on, so you must remember that. She will be brought up as a lady and want for nothing.’ He glanced at Lillian’s stricken face and hesitated. ‘Of course, you will want for nothing either, just as long as you continue to know your place and not cause any trouble. This business is to be between you and me and nobody else.’ Leo leaned forward, his face very close to Lillian’s. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘Jim?’ was all Lillian managed to say.

  ‘Yes, between us and Jim. I suppose you know he was well paid.’

  Lillian nodded dumbly, realisation dawning on her. Jim had sold Grace to the Deverells. She couldn’t believe it and yet she did. How else would he have had enough money to buy himself a ticket on the famous Titanic? ‘Jim agreed to this without telling me first. If I’d known I wouldn’t have signed your papers.’

  ‘Why do you think I’m giving you the cottage? You surely don’t think it’s out of the goodness of my heart?’ Leo sneered, and then changed tactics. ‘You don’t need to be too upset, you know.’

  Lillian looked at Leo, knowing he was humouring her. Leo tilted his head forward politely, as if interested in what she had to add. The only sign of his discomfort was the sheen of sweat on his forehead.

  ‘But what will we tell people when they ask where she is?’ Lillian asked, confused.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll think of something. Babies are fragile, they get ill and die.’ Leo shrugged, he didn’t care. As long as Lillian kept to their agreement it wasn’t his problem. He continued trying to placate her. ‘You will see Sophia every day. She will have proper tutors when she is older, of course, but while she is still a baby, you will be there to look after her.’

  Lillian stopped crying, not sure if she’d heard correctly. ‘Are you saying that I will be Grace’s nanny? That is to be my job at the Manor?’ she asked, blowing her nose on her apron.

  ‘Grace will be called Sophia from now on, and you will be Sophia’s nanny, Lillian. Sophia.’ He gave her a minute for this to sink in. As Leo realised that Lillian was accepting the arrangement he felt an immense sense of relief. His gratitude for Lillian’s compliance was apparent in his voice when he told her, ‘Of course you won’t live in; you couldn’t leave your mother alone all night, could you? Shall we arrange your hours when you arrive at Tapscott Manor? Let’s say eight o’clock tomorrow morning?’ For the first time since he had arrived, Leo allowed himself a look at his daughter who had woken up and was staring at him with sleepy eyes. Glancing back at Lillian he made a quick decision. ‘I think it will be best if I send the carriage for you both in the morning.’ Standing, Leo picked up his hat. ‘Goodbye Lillian.’

  Lillian didn’t answer. Tears ran down her cheeks and she picked up the baby and hugged her to her chest. How was she going to explain this to her mother? What would they tell people? Sadly she accepted the inevitable, knowing that she didn’t have a choice. She smoothed the baby’s hair and whispered, ‘I will never leave you Grace, and one day, I promise, you will know the truth.’

  ***

  Pritchard dropped Lillian at the gates to Tapscott Manor and then carried on up the drive with Sophia, who was dressed in a clean nightgown and swaddled in a woollen shawl in her Moses basket. Lillian walked the rest of the way and went straight to the kitchen entrance, opened the door and walked in.

  Dora Stoakley sat at her large kitchen table with a cup of tea in her hand, the teapot under its cosy. She waved Lillian in and set another cup ready. ‘Come in, dear, and have a cup of tea with Dora.’ Dora put a spot of milk in the spare cup and filled it with hot brown tea, topping up her own mug at the same time. Lillian took a sip of tea and relaxed. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be too bad after all.


  On that first day, Lillian listened to the young Mrs Deverell’s instructions in a daze. Lillian could only stare. Sylvia Deverell was the most beautiful lady she had ever seen. Sylvia was dressed in a slim fitting pale mauve silk dress and satin shoes that matched and she glided along the upstairs corridors on their way to the nursery. A long row of pearls swung as she walked, and she held them in check with hands encased in soft kid leather gloves the colour of old ivory.

  Thankfully Sylvia had written Lillian’s duties on a chart. A timetable, which Sylvia emphasised Lillian must adhere to and never deviate from. The chart hung on the nursery wall above Grace’s …, no, Sophia’s, new cot.

  After a few days Lillian settled into a routine. Most of her time was spent in the nursery alone with Sophia, a name she must get used to or be banished from Tapscott Manor. At lunchtime she went down to the kitchen and ate her packed lunch with Dora, who provided tea or lemonade and an abundance of cakes and buns. At two o’clock she took the baby to the drawing room where Mrs Deverell would hold Sophia for fifteen minutes and then hand her back to Lillian. Occasionally Mr Deverell would come up into the nursery and watch Lillian and Sophia together. He never spoke, just leaned on the oak chest of drawers by the door, mesmerized by the baby. All in all life wasn’t so bad. Lillian went about her daily chores and began to enjoy her time at Tapscott Manor with Sophia and the friendly Dora. Lillian’s only concern was her mother Ellen, who had taken a turn for the worse. Mum’s friend Ruth Brock, after hearing what had happened to the baby, Grace, (dying of pneumonia in Chester infirmary) had promised Lillian she would help in any way she could. Lillian encouraged her, thankful for the help, and at the same time felt guilty for the lies. Ruth began to visit Ellen on a daily basis, but for some reason her mother had taken against Ruth and on some days refused to open the cottage door to her.