The Feud
Page 24
‘Gran. She and Granddad are coming down for Christmas. Mum and Dad are coming too, but a bit later. They’ve all booked into a hotel. They’ll use the time to look at a few properties… and see us of course. Not sure you’ll want to see Gran?’
Lavender’s heart stops sinking. ‘Of course I do. As I said, if she was to blame for Morvoren’s death, I won’t think any less of her. Morvoren tried to kill you and was going to try again – she got what she deserved.’
* * *
With Christmas dinner over, everyone retires to the hotel lounge to let their food go down and have coffee. Terry’s already in a comfy chair nodding off, hands clasped over his extended tummy. Elowen’s showing Maria and Johnny the details of a lovely house overlooking the sea, and Matt is pondering on an extension to the cottage. He keeps whipping out a little sketch pad and showing Lavender the details and rough drawings he’s made. A promise to leave the DIY alone on Christmas Day is well on the way to being broken, she thinks. It’s nice that he’s so excited about it though.
A few days ago, she mentioned that he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to look for a house, unlike his grandparents. He’d taken it the wrong way at first, thinking she wanted him out. Lavender had soon put him right, and told him she was happy to have him living with her as long as he liked. Forever, hopefully. He’d then flushed with relief and said he’d been plucking up the courage to ask if he could do exactly that. Then they’d talked long into the night about Matt investing his money from the sale of his London flat and extending and modernising her little cottage. It needed a few structural tweaks, and a new bathroom and kitchen wouldn’t go amiss.
The hotel looks out over the bay and Lavender goes to stand at the huge picture window, watching the white caps ride the tops of the waves. It’s one of those sunny, clear winter days, but bitter sharp with cold. She wants to be out on the beach wrapped in the new red woollen coat that Matt bought her for Christmas, striding across the sand, letting the wind make streamers of her hair. She goes over to the sofa where Matt’s sitting and scoops up her coat.
‘Just popping down to the beach for a walk. I expect you have plans to look through?’ She smiles and drops a kiss on his forehead.
He looks up at her and smiles back. ‘Am I that transparent?’
‘You are, my dear, and I love you just the way you are.’ They’d started saying the ‘L’ word to each other quite often lately. It still felt strange – but good strange.
‘Love you too, Lavender Blue.’
She rolls her eyes and shrugs her coat on. As she’s walking to the door, Elowen calls her over, asks what she’s doing. ‘Just going for a walk on the beach. It’s a lovely day for it.’ Lavender buttons up her coat and pulls gloves out of her pocket.
‘Do you know, I was thinking the same. Can I join you?’
‘That would be lovely,’ Lavender says. And it will. She has an affinity with Elowen – must be the picking history they share. They link arms and head for the beach.
Half an hour later, the wind has put roses in their cheeks and made bird’s nests of their hair. The two of them decide to sit on a huge flat rock at the end of the beach and watch a few hardy surfers take to the ocean.
Elowen shudders. ‘How they can go in the Atlantic on such an arctic day, I don’t know. It’s a wonder they can feel their vitals afterwards.’
Lavender laughs. ‘You wouldn’t get me in there for quids.’
‘Me neither.’
Lavender takes a glance at Elowen and then away. Suddenly it’s become really important for her to know the truth about how Morvoren met her end. The more Lavender’s thought about it over the past few weeks, the more she’s convinced Elowen had a hand in it. But how can she broach it? Tentatively, she says, ‘It’s such a relief that Jamie Penhale has confessed. Matt and I can look to the future with real hope now.’
Elowen links her arm through Lavender’s. ‘It is a relief. And I’m so happy you two are making a serious go of things. The descendants of Kenver Penhallow and Jory Trevelyar are now united in love. At last the Trevelyar–Penhallow feud is dead and buried.’
Before she can stop herself, Lavender says, ‘Yes, like Morvoren. She’ll be spinning in her grave.’
Elowen looks quickly at Lavender and then back at the ocean. ‘She will. I didn’t think it would be appropriate for me to attend the funeral. Sorry, Lavender.’
‘Don’t apologise. I went, but I didn’t want to. It was a tiny affair – she wasn’t well liked, as you know. Dad apologised, but it won’t be the same between us now.’
‘It could have all have been so different.’
‘It could.’ Lavender sighs and wonders how to proceed. Nothing for it – jump right in. ‘I expect you’ll think I’m heartless, but if someone did somehow organise her death, I wouldn’t blame them. She was going to try to kill Matt, after all.’
Elowen stops and stares at Lavender intently. ‘I wouldn’t blame them, either.’
‘But I don’t get how anyone could have forced her to drink the potion… so it must have been suicide?’
Looking away at a surfer bouncing along the waves again, Elowen says, ‘Not necessarily. I could see a scenario whereby Morvoren might have made her tea and then went outside to get something… perhaps she was distracted by a noise out there?’
Lavender looks at the surfer too, her heart thumping in her chest. ‘Okay… then what?’
‘Whoever had the potion might have then sneaked inside and mixed it in her tea – put some in a glass of juice, too, for good measure, and sneaked out again,’ Elowen says to the sea.
‘But how could that person have known Morvoren wouldn’t smell the potion, or take a sip and spit it straight out again?’ Lavender can hardly speak as her breath catches in her throat.
‘That person couldn’t know. They probably just hoped for the best. Morvoren wouldn’t be expecting the tea she’d just made with her own hands to be laced with anything, would she? Perhaps she took a big drink and then realised too late. Perhaps she drank the juice to hopefully flush it out. Who knows?’
Lavender takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself. Has Elowen just told her she was actually the person with the potion? One last push. ‘Funny how you knew the juice was cranberry…’
Elowen smiles at the ocean. ‘Hmm. Matt asked me about that the other week when he phoned. He told me you were puzzled as to how I knew. I told him I had no idea… just came to me. People always did say I was a witch – had a sixth sense, knew stuff others didn’t.’ Then she looks Lavender directly in the eye. ‘I think you have drawn your own conclusion, haven’t you?’
Lavender nods. ‘Yes,’ she says in a small voice.
‘Then I think your conclusions are right. Might be as well not to speak of it again though, my dear.’
Lavender nods again. ‘Your secret’s safe with me.’
Elowen stands and brushes sand from her trousers. ‘Okay, these old bones are getting stiff with cold. Let’s go back for a hot toddy… And I’m looking forward to the spring. We’ll be living here by then hopefully. You and me can go picking together. Won’t that be fun?’
‘It will be wonderful.’ Lavender stands and feels her heart lighten. ‘We can have competitions to see who can make the best potions…’
‘No contest, young’un. It will be me.’ Elowen sets off up the beach, laughing.
‘We’ll see about that!’ Lavender runs after her and links arms with her again. As the sun sinks lower in the sky, Lavender notices their shadows are lengthening and overlapping as they walk. She smiles and leads the way into the hotel.
The End
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Readers who enjoyed The Feud will also enjoy
Death’s Dark Veil by Patricia Dixon
A Fractured Winter by Alison Baillie
Acknowledgments
Thanks as always to the entire wonderful Bloodhound team. A special thanks to Heather for reading and deciding very quickly that The Feud was a winner. Thanks also to fellow Bloodhound writer and big friend, Trish Dixon for reading an early version and for her general craziness and unfailing support. Also to Betsy, Fred and Sumaira for their tireless work behind the scenes.
And last but certainly not least, a huge thanks to my husband and wider family. Without all your incredible support there would be no book.