Further investigations established there was also no record of David Tregear having been reported missing; not that this was unusual for many people disappeared during wartime to avoid conscription. However, in the case of David Tregear there was never any risk of him being called up because of his occupation on the railway. Furthermore, David appeared to have vanished within days of his twin brother’s death and had not attended the funeral: a suspicious occurrence as the brothers were said to be very close. There was also the fact that a suitcase containing the belongings of the missing man were found hidden beneath the floorboards in the attic of a house in which the hearse driver - possibly called Jimmy - had allegedly lived during the time of David Tregear’s disappearance. Also residing in the house was its owner a Mr George Berryman who ran the family funeral business in Pentrillick at which the hearse driver - possibly called Jimmy - was employed. Furthermore, George Berryman was also the father of the poisoned man, Simon Berryman.
After all the evidence was gathered, the police decided there was sufficient justification to apply for an Exhumation Licence regarding the remains of Peter Tregear to ascertain if the remains of his missing brother, David Tregear, were also in the coffin as suggested by Ms Tonkins and Mrs Burton following his murder by the unnamed hearse driver who had access to the funeral parlour and the coffin due to the nature of his part-time employment.
Chapter Twelve
On Wednesday morning, in order to take their minds off the probability of Peter Tregear’s remains being exhumed, Hetty and Lottie, still without their car, took the bus to Rosudgeon to have a look around the car boot sale which took place at the Sports and Social Club weekly from March until October. They didn’t want anything in particular but always enjoyed a rummage through the stalls as you never knew what might turn up. It was as they were looking at plants that Lottie spotted a fuchsia named Taffeta Bow.
“Look at this,” she chuckled, holding up the plant so that Hetty might see the label, “I must get it and give it to Taffeta.”
“That’s a lovely idea,” Hetty agreed, “well spotted. In fact get two because I should like one as well.”
After they had browsed most of the stalls they made their way back across the busy field towards the bus stop; but as they passed a stall decked out with colourful balls of wool and a neat pile of knitting patterns, Lottie stopped, eager to see if there were any of interest. While her sister looked through the patterns, Hetty walked further along the aisle to a car where pictures were laid out in stacks on the ground and protected from the damp by a huge sheet of plastic. Wondering if there might be anything suitable to hang in the new bedrooms when they were finished, Hetty knelt down to take a look. Several were too large, others were modern and didn’t appeal nor did ones depicting cars and motor bikes. Flowers she liked and also the landscapes. Portraits were of no interest because the subjects were strangers. But then a name caught her eye. A name on the bottom of an oil painting of a man, just head and shoulders wearing a chunky navy blue jumper and a black flat cap. His hair was grey as were his moustache and beard. In the corner of his mouth was a pipe. The name on the picture was Old Jimmy.
Hetty stood and held up the picture; her hands were trembling. “How much?” she asked, trying to suppress the excitement in her voice.
“To you, five quid, darling.”
Hetty didn’t quibble and pulled a five pound note from her purse.
“Thanks,” said the stall holder, “have a nice day.”
“And you,” Hetty nodded politely and ran off to find her sister.
“Hmm, interesting,” Lottie agreed, as the stall holder selling the wool handed her fifty pence change, “but it’s hardly likely to be the old Jimmy who drove the hearse.”
Hetty scowled. “What makes you so sure?”
“Well Jimmy’s hardly an unusual name. What’s more you don’t even know that it was painted in Cornwall.”
“The sea is in the background,” reasoned Hetty.
Lottie laughed. “Sorry, Het, but we live on an island and so are surrounded by the sea.”
“I still think it’s our old Jimmy because he looks a bit like a fisherman and I should imagine the lifeboat chappies and the fishermen dressed in a similar way.”
“And you may well be right but I doubt it.” Lottie dropped two knitting patterns and a large quantity of wool into her shopping bag. “Anyway, I’m finished here so if you are too we can go home.”
Hetty nodded. “Yes, and there’s a bus due in ten minutes so we can catch that.”
The bus stop in Pentrillick was quite near to Taffeta’s Tea Shoppe and so they went straight in there after leaving the bus as both were gasping for a cup of tea and they wanted to give Taffeta the fuchsia. As they sat down, Lottie hid the plants under the table because she didn’t want to give Taffeta her gift until after they’d had their tea in case the proprietor thought they were after free beverages. Hence when they stood to leave, Taffeta was overwhelmed with her surprise present.
“Well, I never. Fancy there being a fuchsia called Taffeta Bow. Thank you so much. You’re so kind. I shall give it pride of place on the window sill.”
Like an excited child she took a saucer from the stack on the counter and placed plant on saucer half way between the curtains.
Hetty decided rather than have Lottie pour more scorn on her purchase, to put the painting of Old Jimmy in her bedroom out of sight while she thought of a way to try and establish who he was. Not that Lottie would have noticed the painting had she hung it on the sitting room wall for she was completely engrossed in her knitting patterns and was sorting through her vast collection of needles in order to start knitting a complicated looking cardigan in daffodil yellow.
Half an hour after they had arrived home, the doorbell rang. Hetty answered it and was surprised to see the new vicar standing on the doorstep.
“Oh, hello, Vicar.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Tonkins. I bumped into Tess this morning and she told me about your accident. I’ve called to see how you and your sister are.”
“How kind,” smiled Hetty, stepping aside, “would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”
“Yes, thank you. That would be very nice.”
Lottie put her knitting aside as the vicar entered the sitting room. “Vicar, how lovely to see you.” She stood up and shook his hand.
They drank tea from seldom used bone china teacups, part of a set which Lottie had received as a wedding present back in the nineteen seventies. And as the sisters made small talk with the vicar with whom they felt ill at ease because they hardly knew him, Zac peeped his head around the door.
“Hi, Zac,” gushed the vicar. His face brightened up.
“Hi, Sam. What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to see your um…um….”
“Grandma and great aunt,” finished Zac.
“Yes, that’s right. I’ve just heard about the accident, you see.”
“Hmm, not good,” tutted Zac, “anyway, great to see you, Sam. I’m off down to the beach now for a swim.”
The vicar laughed. “I won’t tell a lie and say I envy you.”
Hetty tutted. “I should hope not, Vicar.”
The vicar frowned.
“My reference was to you telling a lie,” stated Hetty, keen to clarify her reprimand.
“Oh yes, yes of course. I see.”
“I remember last summer when we were all on holiday,” said Lottie to Zac, “that you weren’t at all keen on swimming either.”
“No, I wasn’t but I rather like it now. Anyway, must go. Catch you all later.”
“Smashing lad,” said the vicar, as the front door closed. He finished his tea and placed the cup down on its saucer. “And I must be going too. I’ve a young couple coming to see me this afternoon about getting married.” He stood up.
“A wedding, how lovely.” Hetty rose to her feet. “I’ll see you out.”
While Hetty escorted the vicar towards the door, Lottie placed the
teacups and saucers on a tray and carried it into the kitchen.
“Thank you for calling,” smiled Hetty, as the vicar stepped outside. “It was very kind of you.” She gave a regal wave.
“The pleasure was all mine, Miss Tonkins, and I’m glad to have found you both well.”
Hetty felt her face flush when he glanced towards the pampas grass and held her breath in case he made a comment but to her relief he merely nodded his head and said: “Perhaps we’ll see you in church on Sunday.”
“Yes,” gushed Hetty, “we shall do our best to be there.”
“Splendid. Good day.”
“Good day.”
“Why does the vicar talk formally to us but sort of all trendy like when he’s talking to youngsters,” grumbled Hetty, as she went into the kitchen where Lottie was preparing lunch, “it makes me feel like an old fuddy-duddy.”
Lottie laughed. “It must be very difficult for him, Het, being new I mean and not knowing people very well. I suppose he’s afraid ladies of our years might take offence if addressed by our Christian names and it doesn’t help that when in his presence we both speak in our best telephone voices.”
Hetty was taken back. “I wasn’t speaking in a telephone voice, was I?”
“Yes, you were and so was I,” Lottie laughed, “and I nearly died when I saw you’d used my old tea set.”
Hetty bit her bottom lip. “It seemed the right thing to do but then I’m not used to being called on by vicars.”
“Me neither but if it happens again I say we must try and be ourselves.”
“You’re right, and next time we go to church and get a chance to speak to him we must insist he calls us by our Christian names. That way he’ll know that we’re not old stick-in-the-muds.”
“And that we drink tea from mugs like everybody else.”
In the afternoon Sheila Berryman phoned to say that Simon was much improved and that he would be coming out of hospital the next day.
“Oh, that’s a relief,” sighed Lottie, who had answered the phone. “We’ll pop over and see you when we get the car back.”
“Well actually, I was going to suggest we come to see you. It’ll do Simon good to get out and about and I know he’s eager to show you the old photos even though they’re not very good.”
“Even better,” agreed Lottie, “and you can see our pond. Not that there’s anything much in it yet other than water.”
“I shall look forward to that.”
“Let us know when you’d like to visit and I’ll make sure we’re in. Het’s not here at the moment, she’s gone to have her hair cut.”
When Hetty took a seat in the hairdressers she noticed that Natalie Burleigh who with her husband, Luke, rented Fuchsia Cottage in Blackberry Way, was in the next chair also having her hair cut. Hetty smiled at the younger woman who smiled back in return.
“How’s your research going?” asked hairdresser Karen, as she pinned up Hetty’s hair.
“How come you know about that?” Hetty was clearly surprised.
Karen smiled. “There’s not much goes on this village that’s not discussed in here. Isn’t that so, Nicki?” she said to the woman doing Natalie’s hair.
“Absolutely. I reckon I could write a book based on the gossip I’ve heard in here.”
Hetty chuckled. “Best be careful what I say then.”
“Seriously though,” said Karen, “have you been able to track down any Tregears? I think that’s the name we were told you’re looking for.”
“Yes, you’re right it is and no we’ve not been able to find any but then we think that’s because there are none to find. You see, it looks very much as though the Tregears who ran the Pentrillick Hotel left no descendants. More’s the shame.”
“Oh dear, so you’ve come to a dead end?”
“Not entirely, because Florence Tregear, the mother of David, the missing train driver-cum-fisherman, married again to a chap called Harold Berryman. So we’re looking at Berrymans now.”
“That’s interesting,” remarked Natalie, “because my husband’s mother’s maiden name was Berryman.”
Hetty’s eyes opened wide. “Really! Does he come from round here then because we have reason to believe it’s a local name?”
“Is it? Well fancy that. But no, Luke was born and bred in Rochdale.” She smiled sweetly, “So was I for that matter.”
“But his ancestors might have lived in Cornwall,” Hetty persisted, “I mean, what made you want to live down here? Perhaps Luke was drawn back to his roots.”
“The sea,” laughed Natalie, “that’s what drew us down here. Luke’s keen to learn to surf so when he saw a job advertised down here he applied for it and to his delight got it.” She saw the inquisitive looks on Hetty’s face in the mirror and answered the next question before it was asked. “He’s a teacher,” she revealed, “science is his subject and very good at it he is too.”
“Ugh,” groaned Karen, “I hated everything about science when I was at school.”
“Me too,” Nicki agreed.
“Ah,” tutted Hetty, as the penny dropped, “that’s why he’s not working at present, because it’s the school’s summer holiday.”
Natalie nodded. “Correct, and we’re currently looking for a house to buy because Fuchsia Cottage is just a stopgap. We were thinking of going to Penzance but rather like Pentrillick so hope something might crop up here this summer. I especially would like to live here because apart from it being lovely I’m told the village holds excellent aerobics classes.”
“That’s right,” enthused Hetty, “they’ve stopped for the summer though and start up again in September.”
“That’s what I was told by Mrs Mannering.”
“Yes, young Emma’s mum. She runs it.”
“I’ve heard on the grapevine that Sea View Cottage is coming up for sale at the end of the holiday season,” revealed Karen.
Nicki nodded. “I heard that too.”
“Really,” exclaimed Hetty, “it’s a lovely place.” She turned her head so as to look at Natalie while Karen removed a hair clip. “We stayed there last summer for a holiday. It’s smashing. There’s a gate at the bottom of the garden which leads onto a path and steps that go down to the beach.”
“Sounds lovely but I should imagine it’ll be way out of our price range.”
“Luke Burleigh’s mother was a Berryman! We ought to tell the police,” spluttered Lottie, when Hetty arrived home and repeated what she’d heard in the hairdressers. “I mean, Natalie seems nice enough but I’m still not convinced about her husband and the police did say to let them know if anything else cropped up.”
“I’m inclined to agree, but not yet. Let’s wait a while and see what they find if and when Peter’s body is exhumed.”
Lottie groaned. “Ugh, I’d momentarily forgotten about that. I’m beginning to wish we’d not told the police of our theories.”
Hetty shook her head. “They wouldn’t do something like exhumation without good cause so I don’t think we’ve any reason to feel guilty.”
The wind freshened later in the afternoon and then just before six it began to rain; shortly after the first rumble of thunder, Hetty received a text from Grace asking if it would be alright if she came round with Malcolm and Belinda Jackson. Hetty said of course and then fetched the suitcase into the sitting room ready for their perusal.
Malcolm was thrilled to sift through the contents of the suitcase and to hear what had so far been learned about the Tregears and the Berrymans. While he was looking at the details Hetty had written on the lining paper pinned to the wall, Belinda picked up the wallet.
“Old money,” she giggled, tipping the notes and coins into her lap, “I’ve never seen any of it before.” She lifted up the one pound note. “It’s beautiful and a ten shilling note too. What’s that in today’s money?”
“Fifty pence,” laughed Lottie.
“Yes, of course, I remember now, there were twenty shillings in a pound back then.”<
br />
“Oh, to be young enough to only know decimal currency,” sighed Grace, “it makes me feel quite old.”
“But I’m forty,” Belinda divulged, “so not that young.”
Before Belinda returned the money into the wallet, she ran her long slim fingers deep inside the pocket. “Ow, there’s something else in here. More money notes perhaps.”
“It can’t be,” insisted Hetty, “there were only two one pound notes and the ten bob note.”
But to everyone’s surprise Belinda pulled out a small photograph which had part slipped inside the lining. “A young lady,” she cried, “and a pretty young lady at that.” She crossed the room and gave the photograph to Hetty and Lottie who sat side by side on the settee.
“Hmm, how did we manage to miss finding this?” Hetty frowned.
Lottie put on her reading glasses. “It doesn’t really matter. What’s of more interest is, who is she?”
“Perhaps she’s Polly,” suggested Hetty, “you know, Simon Berryman’s aunt.”
“Hmm, intriguing,” said Malcolm, pointing to the lining paper, “because according to this chart Polly was David Tregear’s stepsister but perhaps there was more to the relationship than that.”
“Wouldn’t that be against the law?” Hetty asked.
Malcolm smiled. “No, step-siblings are not blood related so there is nothing to stop them having a relationship and marrying even. Be different if they were half brother and sister because then they would share a parent.”
“Yes, of course, silly me.”
Lottie scratched her head. “So if Polly was David’s girlfriend, what does that have to do with him disappearing?”
“Well, it could be like we said the other day when we didn’t know who the girlfriend was. Polly was probably someone else’s girl and David stole her from him. The other chap, who we assume to be the hearse driver, found out, killed David in a fit of rage and hid his body in Peter’s coffin.” Hetty almost sounded convincing.
The Suitcase In The Attic Page 11
