A Grave Inheritance

by Renshaw, Anne

  Montrose gave them both a piece of his mind for wandering off, but he waited with them for the ambulance to arrive. Grace let Leonie do most of the talking. She didn’t think the DCI was in any mood for ghost stories and bedsides, her leg throbbed and she was beginning to feel woozy.

  ‘I’m beginning to think you’re trying to avoid me, Miss Lanceley. I have questions to ask you regarding the attack on Sophia Deverell’s life last night,’ DCI Montrose said to Leonie.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t me; I thought that would be obvious to you by now,’ Leonie told Montrose with a glare.

  ‘I know you’ve had a bit of rough day, but just tell me please, in your own words, exactly what you did and what you saw when you visited your aunt,’ Montrose requested. DS Fielding stood beside Leonie, making notes in a little book.

  ‘After I heard about the Farrells finding a coffin in their garden, I decided to go and see Sophia.’

  ‘Why, after all this time?’ Montrose interrupted.

  ‘Does it matter? Anyway, when I walked along the corridor I saw Doreen Brock coming out of Sophia’s room with some books. When she saw me she began shouting and the next thing I know, she runs past me, goes down in the lift and is gone. As soon as I entered Sophia’s room I knew something was wrong and I raised the alarm.’ Leonie shrugged.

  ‘Why didn’t you stay and wait for us to arrive?’ the DCI enquired.

  ‘I went after Doreen, but I couldn’t find her. So the next morning I went to Primrose Cottage. I wasn’t sure if Amelia and Grace weren’t in on it too, so I came to have it out with them.’

  ‘We’d never hurt Sophia,’ Grace said indignantly.

  ‘I didn’t know you then. I can see now, you and your sister aren’t that bad,’ Leonie said.

  ‘Thanks for nothing I’m sure,’ Grace replied.

  The ambulance arrived just then, putting an end to the interrogation. Dissatisfaction was written all over Montrose’s face. Leonie climbed up into the ambulance, flashing a “Don’t try and stop me” look at Montrose, but he had already turned on his heels, and with a group of policemen he strode off towards the wood and Nathan.

  While the paramedics made Grace comfortable and attended her wound, Leonie sat near her. She took hold of Grace’s hand.

  ‘I wonder if Amelia’s still at the hospital,’ Grace managed to say before the morphine took effect and the interior of the ambulance stopped whizzing around.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll find her and tell her what’s happened,’ Leonie said quietly, smoothing Grace’s hair away from her still smudged face.

  ***

  Doreen managed to get as far as the meadow before her legs gave out. She’d allowed herself a few quick glances back along the path to put her mind at rest that she hadn’t been followed. Now she needed a place to sit and rest. She was beginning to think Oakham Wood was haunted. What a shock it was, seeing the Farrell girl and Leonie standing behind her. Especially after that demented woman and waif of a girl had appeared out of nowhere.

  Doreen knew it wasn’t prudent to sit in the middle of the path to wait for Nathan, so she walked into the field a few metres and collapsed amongst the tall grass. She lay back and made a hollow, the grassy curtain swishing above and around her. The whole world was spinning and a loud ringing noise deafened her A clutching pain gripped her chest and shot down her arm. She consoled herself with the knowledge that Nathan would be along soon and would be able to see her from the path. He’ll take me home and everything will be all right then, she thought, as she drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 35

  Deep grooves scored the velvet Dralon, and Amelia smoothed the material that covered the arms of the chair in an attempt to hide the damage. She jumped up to meet Leonie when at last she arrived, and although relieved to see her, Amelia’s anger resurfaced.

  ‘Where the hell have you been and where is Grace? I’ve been out of my mind with worry. You should see the damage I’ve done to this chair.’

  Leonie did little to calm her. ‘Chill, I’m here now, aren’t I?’

  ‘Chill,’ Amelia glared. ‘How dare you patronise me. My sister jumped out of a police car to go looking for you. Where is she?’

  ‘You haven’t heard the news then?’ Leonie guided Amelia back to the seating area. ‘Grace and I thought we’d find you at the hospital with Sophia.’

  ‘I was at the hospital. Sophia asked me to fetch her some personal things.’ Amelia nudged the carrier bag at her feet. ‘Vicky insisted I had a cup of tea and a biscuit before I go back.’

  Vicky Morris was at her post on the reception desk. Hearing her name mentioned she waved. ‘Would you like a cup, Leonie?’ she asked. Leonie shook her head in response.

  ‘Have they caught Nathan and Doreen?’ Amelia said earnestly.

  ‘No, not as such. Nathan is dead and Doreen’s still on the run.’

  ‘Oh!’ Amelia said in surprise. ‘What happened?’

  ‘It looked like Nathan fell onto his knife. He can’t hurt anyone anymore, you’re safe.’ Leonie put her hand on Amelia’s shoulder, hoping she wouldn’t insist on details.

  ‘You’ve still not told me where Grace is.’ Amelia knew there was something Leonie wasn’t telling her.

  ‘Don’t go off on one when I tell you then. Grace is in hospital,’ Leonie said.

  Amelia paled and searched Leonie’s face, fearing the worst. Leonie quickly reassured her. ‘She’s all right; well, she will be. Nathan stabbed her and she’s got a nasty gash on her thigh. She’s being stitched as we speak. As soon as she can, she’ll get a taxi and come here. I’m more concerned about Doreen,’ Leonie went on. ‘She was in the wood with Nathan at first, but then ran off. I wondered if she’d come back here.’

  Amelia had a sickening thought. ‘I bet Doreen’s gone to the hospital to see Sophia. Had we better warn the hospital staff to be on the lookout for her?’

  ‘Hang on a minute, I’ll check with Vicky. I’ll get her to call that policeman too, what’s his name, Montrose,’ she added, to calm Amelia’s agitation. While Leonie was questioning Vicky, Grace arrived.

  ‘I suppose Leonie’s filled you in,’ Grace said with a sheepish grin. Careful to keep her wounded leg straight she lowered herself onto a chair. ‘DS Fielding was at the hospital checking on Sophia and he offered to give me a lift here. He’s under strict instructions from DCI Montrose not to let us out of his sight. He’s to escort us all to the station to give our statements.’

  Amelia had intended to give Grace a piece of her mind but when she observed her sister’s wince of pain and grey pallor she resisted. Instead she asked, ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘My leg’s fine, but I can’t stop trembling. Inside me, you know, is all of a quiver.’ Also Grace was worried about what to say to DCI Montrose. She knew he wouldn’t believe it when she told him she saw the ghost of Ellen Farrell push Nathan onto his knife, while her dead daughter and grandchild looked on.

  ‘Probably shock,’ Amelia said. ‘Sophia seems to be taking the attack in her stride.’

  ‘Yes. She was able to give a statement to the police. Doreen threatened to kill her if she even contemplated changing her will in our favour.’

  ‘Trying to smother her was more than just a threat,’ Amelia responded.

  ‘Doreen saw Lillian’s diaries, and after a flick through them she went ballistic. She pushed a pillow over Sophia’s face. I bet she had a shock when Leonie saw her coming out of Sophia’s room,’ Grace said, thinking about it. ‘If it had been someone stronger, Sophia wouldn’t have survived.’

  ‘Poor Sophia, she must have been terrified. Thank goodness Leonie did decide to visit just then.’

  David Lanceley’s story that Leonie was out when he visited her was true, Amelia mused. He hadn’t been in touch with her since that evening, and she was glad. Amelia knew without a doubt that he wasn’t the one for her.

  ‘Vicky’s rustling you up some tea,’ Leonie told Grace, coming back to join them. Grace smiled her thanks and leaned back into
the armchair, trying to relax her pent-up nerves.

  ‘Any news on Doreen?’ Amelia asked, causing Grace to sit upright again.

  ‘No, she hasn’t come back here. Just to be sure, Vicky sent Pauline up to check Doreen’s room but there’s no sign of her,’ Leonie told them.

  ‘Did you telephone the police, in case she’s gone to the hospital?’ Amelia questioned anxiously.

  ‘Yes, of course I did.’ Predictably, Amelia noticed Leonie’s scathing edge creeping back into her voice.

  Within minutes of the call DCI Montrose had rattled off instructions to the sister on Sophia’s ward and was on his way to the Countess of Chester Hospital in his car, accompanied by DS Fielding, both praying they would get to Sophia before it was too late.

  The call came in before they’d reached the outskirts of the city. Doreen Brock’s body had been found.

  1928

  July

  Sophia Deverell stamped her foot in frustration and ran out of the room. She headed as always to the nursery, where she knew she would find Nanny Farrell. ‘Oh bother,’ she muttered. The nursery was empty. While she waited, Sophia sat down in her nurse’s favourite wooden rocking chair. In irritation she rocked the chair forcefully forward and back, almost in danger of tipping herself over. Gradually she let the chair ease into a gentle rocking motion which eventually calmed her and soothed her frustration.

  Freddie Brock had asked her if he could accompany her to the summer fete and she’d accepted. Well, why shouldn’t she go with someone of her choice? Freddie worked in her father’s stables, grooming and trimming the horses, and due to his equine ability he’d made an impression and secured himself a permanent job at Tapscott Manor. He had no airs or graces and was refreshingly different from the sons of her parents’ friends and acquaintances, who like their parents assumed a superior manner, were full of their own importance and openly vain. Motor cars, the hunt or how many birds they’d bagged at the last shoot seemed their only topics of conversation, which Sophia found boring.

  The sound of Lillian’s footsteps on the stair sent Sophia rushing to meet her, leaving the chair to swing violently behind her.

  ‘Oh, there you are,’ said Lillian, a little breathless after the long climb up the narrow stairs. ‘What have you been up to now; your mother is in a right pickle?’

  Sophia giggled at Lillian’s choice of words and followed her back into the nursery. ‘They won’t let me go to the fete with Freddie. It appears Cyril Gerrard has formally requested my company and father is insisting Cyril takes me. Can you imagine it?’

  ‘He’s not such a bad looking chap, quieter than the rest of the Gerrards.’ Lillian steadied the rocking chair and eased herself into it, placing her feet on the small footstool in front of the chair.

  ‘But that’s just it, he’s too quiet, he never speaks. He just looks dopily at me.’ Sophia sat on the high single bed, her feet, barely touching the floor, swinging back and forth. ‘What am I going to do?’ she asked.

  ‘You mustn’t disobey your parents, Sophia. If you don’t want to go with Cyril, explain nicely to him you have already promised to go with his sister. Then if he persists and tags along, you will still have some fun with the other girls.’

  It was a good idea, and Sophia found herself warming to it at once. ‘Oh you are clever nanny, Lillian. But what about Freddie, I’ve already promised to go with him.’

  ‘You will have to explain the same to him. I’m sure he’ll understand, Sophia, and in any case you can see him another day.’

  I’m going to see him on that day, Sophia decided, no matter what. Changing the subject, she asked dutifully, ‘How is your mother?’

  Lillian shook her head sadly. ‘She’s getting worse. Doctor Thackaberry wants to put her into the Deva mental hospital in Chester. He’s brought the papers to the cottage for me to sign, but I just can’t do it.’

  Lillian didn’t tell Sophia the state her mother was in that morning, before she’d left. Ellen had lost most of her hair and her eyes protruded from her face, giving her a gargoyle expression that was emphasised by her heavy jowls above her neck. Her voice had changed too. Ellen’s speech had become so toneless that the sound of her voice was almost unrecognisable. Instead of the high pitched whine Lillian had become used to since the death of her father, now whenever her mother wanted attention, she sounded more like a man, hoarse and gravelly. Lillian dreaded going home and wondered what lay in store for her later that day.

  ***

  On the day of the summer fete in the grounds of the estate, the July sun shone down its blessing. The new motorbus service in and out of Chester was bringing relatives from as far as Liverpool, and this fete, the first at Tapscott Manor since the end of the war, was expected to be the biggest and best ever. Tents were erected to hold the tables for refreshments and drinks, and during the course of the morning the villagers arrived to put up their stalls, ready for the afternoon.

  At twelve o’clock Mr Leo Deverell and his wife Sylvia, Leo’s sister Beatrice and her husband, Reverend Simon Lanceley, appeared at the door of the Manor’s grand entrance. They made their way down the wide stone steps and along the drive towards the crowds who were waiting patiently for the opening ceremony. Accompanying them was the Mayor of Chester and his wife, who had arrived in their new motor car, causing much excitement, along with numerous other dignitaries. As the elite group drew near, caps were doffed, and the village women dipped a neat curtsey as the gentry passed by. It was a mark of respect no one really felt, especially towards the Deverells, but as their livelihoods depended on this wealthy family’s condescension, they made an outward show of deference.

  It hadn’t been appropriate to hold the fete before. Nearly all the families in the village had lost loved ones during the war and the country’s economic state repressed any enthusiasm for enjoyment. Now was the right time though, and Leo Deverell glanced around with satisfaction, breathing in the fresh smell of crushed grass. It took him back to his school days and he had an almost irresistible urge to smile. The small cluster of local personages made its way around the grounds trying to show an interest in the fete.

  A newspaper reporter from the fortnightly Chester Centurion followed in their wake, commissioned to take photographs and write a column about the afternoon’s success. The young man, dressed in a frayed brown suit and black bowler hat, awkwardly carried his tripod with him. He knew enough to keep his distance and hovered patiently for an opportunity to speak to someone of importance.

  The group passed a small bandstand and as if on cue the band began to play. The musicians wore bright blue waistcoats and red bow ties and played brassy marching music, which made people want to fall in step and stride out in time to the beat. Sylvia stopped to watch some children pay a farthing at a Lucky Dip tub and chuckled at their faces. With wonder they pulled out bags of sweeties or lollipops, or, if really lucky, coloured chalk. The small elite group carried on past a stall laden with plants and cut flowers and then a stall selling freshly baked scones, plain or with currants, or topped with cheese. One stall sold homemade biscuits, and a variety of cakes with coloured icing filled another. Molly and Tom Pritchard stood behind an array of homemade chutneys and jams and Molly waved to the group as they passed. Sylvia, who had allowed Molly to use the Manor’s kitchen and had donated the contents of its storeroom to help with their contribution, smiled and nodded in acknowledgment. Leo and the other dignitaries looked the other way.

  A few older children had set up makeshift stalls on wobbly tables. These held all kinds of jumble, broken or chipped oddments of bric-a-brac and old toys and books. Some of the poorer villagers rummaged through the bits, while kids with sticky faces held toffee apples on sticks and ran around playing tag.

  A large striped tent shaped like a big top was the tea tent and after their dutiful walk round, Mr and Mrs Deverell, Reverend and Mrs Lanceley, the Mayor and the other members of the group, plus the newspaper man, made their way towards it. It took a few seconds for their
eyes to adjust after the glare of the afternoon sun, and the shade inside was welcoming.

  The interior was cool and peaceful and surprisingly tidy. Small tables covered with plain red tablecloths were dotted here and there and had posies of white roses set in their centres. The canvas flapped in a light breeze and did a good job of filtering out the noise from outside.

  Daisy Treweeks, red-faced and obviously flustered, fussed around as she offered them all scones and jam. In a corner, Sophia sat with her cousin Philip Lanceley, aged four, Louise and Cyril Gerrard, and other friends. Their parents sat separately from them, trying to ignore their boisterous laughter. A couple entered the tent and ambled over to join Leo’s group. Other people, including Doreen Treweeks who was there to help her mother serve the refreshments, stayed on the periphery of the tent, not sufficiently wealthy or socially confident enough to join in.

  At one o’clock, after making polite conversation with her friends, Sophia discreetly slipped away. She had arranged to meet Freddie in the topiary garden which was set out like a giant chess board. On each side kings, queens, knights, bishops, castles and pawns sculpted in privet were set in rows in weed free soil. The empty central area was made up of squares filled with different coloured gravel. Sophia saw Freddie dwarfed beside one of the privet knights and she rushed towards him eagerly. Their eyes met and held: Freddie’s in a gaze of eager anticipation, Sophia’s sparkling with excitement. Freddie’s arm circled Sophia’s waist, and she felt his strength when he pulled her towards him and brushed her lips with his own. As his kiss deepened Sophia broke free from his embrace and glanced around nervously.

  ‘We can’t stay here for too long, we could be seen.’ Sophia felt a slight pang of guilt. She didn’t often disobey her father.