Mabel’s head wagged. ‘I don’t think he’s done that, sir. I spotted his bag all packed an’ shoved under his bed. Surely he would have taken it an’ told you if he was intendin’ on goin’?’
Jacob silently groaned but managed to maintain his composure. ‘I’m sure he’ll come back for it when he’s good and ready, Mabel. But now would you tell Harry I’m ready to leave. I have to be in court early this morning.’
She bobbed her knee and hurried away, leaving Jacob grinding his teeth in frustration. Glancing at the clock he hurried into the hall where Harry was waiting for him.
‘All set then?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Jacob nodded and followed the younger man from the house just as he did every other normal working day.
The next day, under a large headline, the local evening newspaper reported that the unidentified body of a man had been found floating in the River Anker. The article stated that he had been stabbed, gave a brief description of him and what he had been wearing, and requested that anyone who might know who the man was to come forward to the police.
‘Eeh, yer don’t think it could be Charlie Biggs, do yer?’ Mabel said as she sat reading the paper at the kitchen table.
‘It certainly sounds like it could be.’ Mrs Batley paused. She was stirring a pan of gravy on the range for their evening meal. ‘An’ the description o’ the clothes he were wearin’ fits an’ all. Seems too much of a coincidence to me. The judge has just got home, perhaps we should ask him what he thinks.’
Mabel took the newspaper and tapped at the judge’s study door.
‘Yes?’
Mabel thought he sounded irritated, but then that was no surprise. The judge never went out of his way to be polite to the staff.
‘Sir, I thought perhaps yer ought to see …’ Mabel’s voice trailed away as she saw that he already had a copy of the newspaper on his desk.
‘I was goin’ to show yer the headlines in this evenin’s paper but I see you’ve already got it,’ she flustered. ‘The chap on the front page … the one that’s been murdered an’ dumped in the river … me an’ Mrs Batley were wonderin’ if perhaps it could be yer friend, Mr Biggs.’
He curled his lip. ‘Really, Mabel, you have a very vivid imagination,’ he said sarcastically. ‘The man they found could have been anybody. He was probably some vagrant that was sleeping in the bandstand.’
‘But his description an’ what he was wearin’ matches—’
Jacob held his hand up to stay her flow of words. ‘Please, I really don’t wish to hear any more of this nonsense. I’ve had a very long day so if you will excuse me I would like to finish my drink in peace before you serve dinner.’
Chastened, Mabel flushed and nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’ She flew from the room so quickly, she almost tripped on her skirts.
When she entered the kitchen, she found Harry had just returned from Wales and she smiled at him shyly. They still went out together occasionally, although as yet Harry hadn’t officially asked her to be his girl, which was very frustrating, but then Mabel lived in hope that one of these days that might change.
‘What did he make of it?’ Mrs Batley asked as she attacked the potatoes with a masher. The judge loved his mashed spuds.
‘Huh!’ Mabel tossed the paper onto the table in disgust. ‘I might as well have saved me breath,’ she grumbled. ‘He’d clearly already read it and he won’t even entertain the thought that it might be Charlie Biggs.’
‘Ah well, happen the police will get to the bottom of it. But now get into the dinin’ room and lay that table fer one, would yer. The mistress is eatin’ in her room this evenin’. She don’t feel well enough to come down.’
Later, as Mabel was putting away the clean pots, someone rapped on the front door.
‘Go an’ see who that is,’ Mrs Batley told her. ‘I’ll finish puttin’ these away.’
Opening the door, Mabel found two policemen standing on the doorstep and her heart did a little flip.
‘We’d like to speak to Judge Jacob Kettle please, miss,’ the older of the two informed her.
‘Of course, won’t you step inside.’ They entered, bringing a blast of icy air with them, and politely removed their helmets as Mabel darted off to tell the judge, who asked her to show them into his study.
‘How may I help you?’ he asked the policemen as they stood in front of his desk.
‘You are probably aware that a body has been found floating in the river, sir?’
The judge nodded, his face grave.
‘We have reason to believe that it may be a gentleman who was staying with you. He went by the name of Charlie Biggs.’
The judge looked concerned. ‘Yes, I do have a guest of that name staying here, although he didn’t come home last night …’ He gripped the back of his chair, looking shocked. ‘Goodness me, you don’t really think the body is Charlie’s, do you?’
‘It’s possible. We were wondering if you would come with us to the morgue to identify it. And if it is the said Charlie Biggs we’d like to know why he was staying here and where he is from.’
‘I can answer that quite easily.’ Jacob’s heart was hammering although he was outwardly quite calm. ‘I have no idea where Charlie comes from exactly, except I know he lived in the East End of London somewhere. I met him occasionally in a gentleman’s club I sometimes frequent in London. Then, out of the blue, he turned up here a while back. He was clearly down on his luck so I took pity on him and said he could stay here for a time while he got back on his feet. Rather foolish of me, you might say, gentlemen. After all, he could have been a rogue, but that’s me, I’m afraid. I’ve always been a soft touch for someone who is down on their luck. But now if you like I’ll come with you to look at the body. Unpleasant a task as it is, we may as well get it over with.’ Jacob was fairly confident that they would never trace Charlie Biggs, for that wasn’t his real name.
When he left with a police officer either side of him a few minutes later, Mabel’s fertile imagination went into overdrive.
‘Eeh, yer don’t think the master’s been arrested, do yer?’ she squeaked, much to Mrs Batley and Harry’s amusement.
‘I shouldn’t think so fer a minute but we’ll just have to wait an’ see, won’t we?’ Mrs Batley answered with a grin. What a turn-up for the books that’d be, she thought, then she went back to what she’d been doing.
Chapter Twenty-One
The snow started to fall in Sarn Bach three nights after Grace arrived and when she rose the next morning she was sure that she had never seen anything so pretty. In the town where she lived the snow was turned to dirty slush in no time by the many feet that trod the pavements, but here everything looked clean and fresh, as if nature had taken an enormous brush and painted the landscape pure white while they all slept. However, once she was dressed and had made her way down to the kitchen, she found that Aunt Gertie wasn’t quite so enamoured of the weather.
‘It doesn’t take much for us to get snowed in here sitting at the bottom of the valley as we are,’ she grumbled. ‘Still, at least we have plenty of food in for ourselves and the animals for a few weeks at least.’ Her aunt prided herself on their self-sufficiency.
Grace yawned as she took a seat at the table. She had not been sleeping particularly well since her arrival. There were so many memories of Myfanwy everywhere she looked and it made her sad. No one had really mentioned her much as yet and Grace thought perhaps they were afraid of upsetting her, although she had caught Mrs Llewelyn crying softly into her handkerchief a couple of times. She must be missing her too.
After much coaxing, she ate most of the breakfast that Mrs Llewelyn cooked for her and when she had finished her meal, Aunt Gertie asked, ‘So what are you planning on doing today, Grace.’ She was in the process of pulling her boots on over a pair of thick woollen socks.
‘I, er … I was thinking of visiting the churchyard. I’d like to say a proper goodbye to …’ When her voice trailed away her aunt smiled sympathetically.
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br /> ‘What a nice idea. The fresh air will do you good so long as you wrap up warmly. And you could perhaps take some scissors and cut some holly to place on the grave on the way. Myfanwy would have liked that. She always collected holly for the vases at Christmas time for us.’
‘But, Gertie … the weather. Grace still isn’t properly well yet,’ Mrs Llewelyn objected as she glanced worriedly towards the window.
Gertie waved her hand dismissively. ‘Poppycock! Good fresh air never hurt anyone. A brisk walk will do her far more good than being shut away in here. It’s only about two miles or so to the church. No distance at all for a girl like her. Stop mollycoddling her, Cerys,’ she said as she went off to see her beloved animals.
Cerys Llewelyn sighed ruefully. ‘That told me, didn’t it? If you’re sure you’re up to it I suppose you’d better start getting wrapped up. The old boots you wore the last time you were here are in the cupboard under the stairs if they still fit you. And I’ve a nice thick woollen hat and scarf you can borrow.’
Ten minutes later, Grace found herself bundled up to the nines, as Cerys put it.
‘Right now, you can’t go wrong really, just follow the lane at the top of the drive into the village and you’ll see the church ahead of you. But if you start to get tired just mind you turn around and come right back.’ She adjusted the scarf tied about the girl’s neck then with a gentle tap on her backside she sent her on her way.
Grace was panting for breath by the time she reached the top of the hill. Already the snow had found its way over the top of her boots and her feet were wet and frozen, but she was enjoying herself. It was nice to be out in the open air with no one breathing down her neck and fussing over her. From here the sea looked as calm as a millpond and after enjoying the scene for a while, she trudged on. Half a mile or so further on, she came to a bend in the lane and glancing down into the next valley she saw the village below her. It looked like a scene on a Christmas card and knowing that it was downhill from here on she set off again, pausing beside a holly bush laden with bright red berries from which she cut a good-sized bunch. The snow was coming down thick and fast now and her hands and feet were so cold that she couldn’t feel them, but she could see the church spire ahead and knowing that she was close spurred her on.
At last she arrived at the lychgate where she stopped to catch her breath and enjoy the quiet of the place. The streets were deserted and there was not a sound to be heard, even the birds weren’t singing and Grace had the eerie feeling that she was the only person left on earth. Mrs Llewelyn had told her where Myfanwy’s grave was so she skirted the church and marched around to the back of it. She stopped and peered amongst the tombstones, many of them leaning precariously after the many years they had stood there. She spotted Myfanwy’s final resting place over by the wall: a simple wooden cross sheltered by a yew tree. Quietly she made her way towards it and stood staring down at the mound of earth covered in snow.
‘Hello, my dearest friend,’ she whispered as icy tears slid down her cheeks. ‘I brought you some holly. Aunt Gertie said it was one of your favourites.’ Bending, she reverently placed her offering before the cross and laid her mittened hand on the ground. ‘I just want you to know that you will always be my best friend and I shall never forget you even though we only got to spend a short time together.’ She wondered, as she remembered Myfanwy’s visit to her in the hospital, why it was that she had survived and yet her friend had not. Her mother had tried to persuade her that the visit had been nothing more than a dream, but Grace was not convinced.
After gently kissing the cross she turned and left her friend sleeping her eternal sleep to begin the journey back to Beehive Cottage. At the corner of the church she turned to look back and just for a second she was sure that she saw Myfanwy peeping from behind the yew tree with a wide smile on her face. Grace blinked and looked again but there was nothing and she supposed she must have imagined it. With a sad smile, she left the churchyard.
‘Why just look at you, you’re frozen through,’ Mrs Llewelyn scolded when Grace eventually tumbled into the warm kitchen. Within seconds she found herself standing in a puddle of water as Cerys frantically yanked her outer things off her. ‘Now go and sit down by the fire while I get you a hot drink,’ the woman ordered. ‘Otherwise I can see you being ill again and we don’t want that, now, do we?’
Grace held her cold hands and feet out towards the roaring fire and as the feeling returned to them, they began to throb painfully. Although she was exhausted, Grace was glad she had gone. She felt better now that she had said a proper goodbye and hoped that from now on she would think of Myfanwy and smile instead of crying all the time.
Shortly after, Aunt Gertie came in and threw a dead chicken onto the table, telling Cerys, ‘You may as well get that plucked and in the oven for dinner. It had stopped laying so it’s no good to me now.’
Grace shuddered. Aunt Gertie could be heartless, or so Grace thought, when it came to her livestock. ‘There’s a big difference between livestock and pets,’ her aunt had informed her when she’d questioned how she could bring herself to wring a chicken’s neck or slaughter a pig she had nurtured for a whole year. ‘I feed my livestock well and give them the best life they can have while they’re here but I never lose sight of the fact that they are here for a reason. They are our food source.’
Grace understood what her aunt was saying, but she had avoided having too much to do with the livestock. It was too painful knowing what fate was eventually going to befall them!
It snowed steadily for the next few days and just as Aunt Gertie had predicted the lane to the cottage was soon covered in drifts.
‘We’ll not be getting out of here till the thaw sets in,’ she warned Grace. ‘So I should prepare yourself for a long stay if I was you. I shall have to tell your mother what’s happened. She thought you were only staying for a couple of weeks. I’ll ring her this afternoon, that’s if the phone lines haven’t gone down!’
Grace was quite happy with that, although she missed her mother dreadfully. But at least here she didn’t have the oily Charlie Biggs trying to corner her at every opportunity, or her father pawing over her all the time.
The trip to the churchyard had tired Grace more than she had realised and for the rest of the week she was happy to stay in by the fire reading and writing letters to her mother, not that they were able to get out to post them. But when Sunday dawned she asked tentatively at breakfast, ‘Will I be allowed to attend the service up at the convent this morning?’
They all looked up from their meals as one and glanced towards the window where the snow was still steadily falling.
‘It would be a bit of a hike in these conditions, cariad.’ It was Aled who voiced his opinion.
‘But I could climb up there through the woods. The snow won’t be so deep in there,’ Grace answered hopefully. ‘And once I come out of the woods I’m almost there. I’m sure I can remember the way. Oh, please may I go?’
‘I suppose I could always take you,’ Aled answered.
She flashed him a grateful smile that lit up her pale face. Her hair had grown back again now and was once more a riot of curls, still a deep rich red that only seemed to emphasise the pallor of her skin. ‘Would you? Would you really? Oh, thank you. I’m sure I can find my own way back if I can only get there and I do so miss going to church. I’ve been taking instructions at Our Lady of the Angels Catholic Church back home.’
‘Really?’ Aunt Gertie raised an eyebrow. ‘And what do your mother and father make of that?’
‘Mother doesn’t mind at all and Father hasn’t really said much,’ Grace told her, skipping away from the table to get ready.
As she had hoped, apart from it being a very steep climb, the paths through the woods were relatively snow-free and she and Aled made good time, although they were both out of breath by the time they reached the cliff top.
‘Phew, I just realised I’m not as fit as I used to be,’ Aled panted with a grin as he cl
utched the stitch in his side. ‘Still, at least it’s all downhill on the way back.’ The convent stood before them and Grace’s eyes lit up at the sight of it. She had happy memories of the time she had spent there on her last visit.
‘Thank you for bringing me,’ she told him. ‘But you needn’t wait for me, really. I shall be back in time for lunch.’
And so, with a wave Aled set off back the way he had come as Grace hurried towards the chapel. The postulants were there already, although she noted none of the villagers had ventured there that day. Angharad, the young woman who had spoken to Grace when she came with Myfanwy, recognised her instantly and smiled at her as the nuns filed in. Then the young priest who would be leading the service arrived and took his place at the altar and the air was filled with song as the nuns began their mass. This priest was much younger than the one Grace remembered. He was tall with silver-blonde hair and violet-blue eyes that seemed to be smiling all the time. Grace briefly thought how handsome he was but then she was swept along with the service and she forgot everything else.
When the service was over, the nuns left the chapel first and Angharad came to have a word with her.
‘It’s nice to see you again,’ she welcomed her. ‘And I’m so sorry about what happened to Myfanwy. We said a mass for her and the other five young children from the village who died. I hear you were very ill too?’
‘Yes, I was.’ Grace nodded solemnly. ‘I almost died. But the strange thing is … one night when I was in a fever in the hospital I could have sworn that Myfanwy came to see me. It would have been round about the time that she passed away.’
‘Perhaps she did come,’ the young woman said kindly. ‘After all, strange things happen between heaven and earth.’
Grace smiled radiantly. Angharad was the first person who had not pooh-poohed her when she’d spoken of it.
The young priest joined them then and held his hand out to Grace, saying, ‘Good morning. Are you from the village?’
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