Later in the morning, Hetty and Lottie drove Zac to Penzance station and Emma went along too. They all walked with him down the platform and watched as he boarded the train and put his luggage on the rack above his reserved seat. He then leaned from the window to say his goodbyes and chat until the guard blew his whistle and the train slowly pulled out of the station. Emma walked along with the train until she reached the end of the platform and then she waved until the train was out of sight; when she turned round the sisters saw that she was crying.
Meanwhile, inside Tuzzy-Muzzy, Chloe was busy upstairs doing the guest’ rooms. The last one on the landing was Grace’s; when she knocked on the door to make sure no-one was in, there was no reply. She unlocked the door and slipped inside; clean towels in one hand, a vacuum cleaner in the other. To her surprise she saw that Grace was in the room and asleep in bed.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, “I naturally assumed you were out.”
Hastily she turned and retreated towards the door but as she reached for the handle something caused her to pause. She put down the vacuum cleaner and stood perfectly still. The room felt chilly, calm and eerie. There was no sound of breathing. There was no sound at all. Quietly Chloe turned, she tossed the towels onto a chair and crossed towards the bed. An empty gin bottle stood on the bedside cabinet along with an empty pill bottle. Chloe placed her hand on Grace’s forehead. It was cold. She attempted to find a pulse. There was none but in her hands Grace held two envelopes. One was addressed to Hetty and Lottie; the other to John Whittingham.
Chapter Twenty-Five
On Monday afternoon, Hetty and Lottie, both shocked and saddened by the death of Grace, pulled themselves together and put on brave faces ready for the visit of Graham from the art gallery. Before he arrived, Hetty took the painting of Old Jimmy downstairs and placed it on the sideboard in the sitting room ready for Graham’s inspection. At five minutes past two they heard his car pull up outside their house.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Lottie asked, as he stepped into the hallway.
“That’s very kind but no thank you. I’ve only just had lunch.”
“Please excuse the smoky smell,” begged Hetty, observing his nose twitch as he looked around at the cracked plaster on the walls and ceiling and the bare floorboards blackened and scorched, “we had a little fire in here a couple of days ago and the hallway bore the brunt of it.”
Graham’s eyebrows rose. “I hope the painting wasn’t damaged.”
“No, no, it’s fine. It was safely tucked away on the wall in my bedroom.”
They led Graham into the sitting room and offered him a seat near to the window where he would benefit from the natural light. He took a magnifying glass from his briefcase as Hetty handed him the painting. She felt a pang of satisfaction when she saw the expression on his face; he smiled broadly and his eyes sparkled with delight.
After what seemed like an eternity he spoke: “This is indeed the missing picture of Old Jimmy.”
“I’m so glad,” smiled Hetty, “not that it really makes any difference to me. Old Jimmy has a place on my wall whether he’s genuine or not.”
Lottie sat down on the settee. “So can you tell us anything about Old Jimmy? I mean, was he a real person or just a made up figure?”
“Oh he was a real person alright.” He leaned forward and took a sheet of paper from his briefcase. “I have a few facts and details of him here. Shall I read them to you?”
Hetty clasped her hands. “Oh, yes please.”
“Right. Old Jimmy was born in 1862 into a family who were quite affluent and owned several properties in West Cornwall. Nevertheless, Jimmy loved the sea and so he became a dedicated fisherman. In 1884 he joined the Pentrillick Lifeboat crew and ten years later he was made coxswain.”
Hetty gasped. “He was on the lifeboat here in Pentrillick? I’ve gone all goosepimply.”
Graham actually laughed. “Yes, and I must admit I think it’s amazing that the painting is back in the village he loved so dearly.”
“So whereabouts did he live?” Lottie asked.
Graham looked up from the sheet of paper. “Sadly, I can’t answer that because there’s no mention of it here. It just says he lived in the village.”
“Oh, what a shame. Anyway, please continue.”
“During the First World War many young men, enticed by Lord Kitchener’s famous ‘Your Country Needs You’ campaign, went to war leaving the lifeboat without some of its most agile young men. And so to help swell the numbers, Jimmy’s son who was not a fisherman and cared little for the sea joined the crew.”
Hetty raised her hand. “Sorry to interrupt, but didn’t they have conscription in World War One then?”
“It’s funny you should ask that,” said Graham, “because I thought the same thing so looked it up before I came here. Apparently conscription was first introduced in January 1916 for single men aged between eighteen and forty one.”
Hetty nodded. “I see and I promise not to interrupt again.”
Graham smiled. “I don’t really mind if you do.” He picked up the sheet of paper and continued to read. “In December 1915 while Jimmy was in bed suffering from a severe bout of flu and delirium, the coastguard observed a fishing boat in distress; it was listing badly and appeared to be drifting towards the rocks. The lifeboat was prepared for launch and the crew prepared to go to sea but Jimmy wasn’t to be amongst them; he was deemed too ill. It was a particularly inhospitable afternoon; the wind at the beginning of the day had been fresh but as the day wore on it increased rapidly and by dusk was blowing south westerly gale force eight, gusting storm force ten. Nevertheless, the lifeboat managed to reach the stricken vessel and take off the five-man crew.” Graham looked up, “Of course you realise that the lifeboat back then wouldn’t have been equipped as they are today. They didn’t even have engines and so the crew had to face the elements using oars.”
“No, I suppose not,” agreed Hetty, “It’s easy to forget little things like that.”
“And likewise the fishing boat would have been without an engine too and ran, I assume, by sail,” added Lottie.
“Correct.”
“So did the lifeboat get back okay?” Hetty asked.
Graham nodded. “Yes, but sadly as it began its return journey a fearsome wave tipped the boat and one its crewmen fell overboard and into the sea. The rest of the crew tried hard to rescue him but it was all in vain. The young man drowned. He was Old Jimmy’s son and his body was washed up on the beach two days later. Needless to say Jimmy was heartbroken and many thought he’d never set foot on the lifeboat again, but he did. There was after all a war on; he was needed and determined to play his part.” Graham’s voice croaked with emotion. “Jimmy continued to serve with the lifeboat until the war ended in 1918 and finally stepped down after thirty four years of service. A few years later Pentrillick had a new lifeboat and they called it Old Jimmy after him. He died in 1925 and Choak painted his portrait in 1919.”
Lottie was too upset to speak.
“So let me get this right,” whispered Hetty, “The Old Jimmy lifeboat was actually named after the Old Jimmy in the picture?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Good heavens, it means more to me than ever now. Poor, poor Jimmy. How cruel to have lost his son. It must have wounded him deeply knowing he wasn’t there that night to try and rescue him.”
Graham nodded. “Yes, I’m sure it did.”
Lottie looked at her sister. “I was just thinking, Het, you know when Simon finally remembered the name of Jacob Wheatley he thought he might have drowned in circumstances just as described by Graham. So might Jacob have been Old Jimmy’s son?”
Hetty half-smiled. “No, wrong war, Lottie. Old Jimmy’s son died in the First World War whereas Jacob Wheatley was on the lifeboat in World War Two. Besides we know Jacob lived ‘til he was ninety two because Maisie and Daisy told us.”
“Yes, of course silly me. I do get so muddled.”
“Yes, Jimmy’s son did live in the village. He and his wife Florence ran the Pentrillick Hotel. His name was Frank, Frank Tregear.”
Lottie gasped as her hand flew to her mouth.
Hetty jumped from her chair and looked down on her painting. Her hands were trembling. “So if Old Jimmy was Frank Tregear’s father, then he would have been grandfather to David and Peter.”
“David and Peter,” repeated Graham, clearly confused.
Hetty nodded. “Yes, David and Peter Tregear were twin brothers who sadly both died in 1942.”
“I see...I think.”
“I wonder,” said Lottie, “what Jimmy’s proper name was.”
Graham looked at it sheet of paper. “James Francis Tregear,” he read, “but from the day he was born everyone called him Jimmy.”
Three days later, Hetty, Lottie, Tommy and Kitty, Alex and Ginny, walked together into the village to the church where twin brothers Peter and David Tregear were laid to rest together in the grave that had for many years hidden the truth of David’s unlawful demise. This time, however, David was buried with dignity and with flowers to show that he was not forgotten even though he had never known those who attended his funeral. And to mark his resting place, Simon Berryman vowed the upturned headstone currently lying by the grave and inscribed only with details of Peter would be professionally cleaned and then David’s name added to say the twin brothers were reunited.
Because the mystery of David Tregear’s disappearance had captured the imagination of Pentrillick’s residents, the funeral was very well attended and so after the interment, it was a large gathering that went to the Crown and Anchor where Simon had arranged for refreshments to be served. Hetty and Lottie proposed to be amongst them but before they left the churchyard Lottie took Hetty by the arm. “Come with me, Het. There’s something I need to find and it’s probably very near here.” She cast her eyes along the headstones in the row where the Tregear brothers lay and moved to the next row.
“Here it is,” she said pointing to a large marble headstone. Hetty sighed, “Of course, how silly of us not to have looked before.”
Lottie leaned forwards and then read: In loving memory of Jacob Wheatley. June 27th 1910 - February 21st 2002. Loving husband of Emily and father to Stephen and Rebecca. RIP.”
“Oh dear, it makes me shudder to think of the dreadful accusations we made against poor Jacob when in reality he was a humble farm worker and a loving husband and father,” said Hetty, “I feel so guilty. I hope he doesn’t know. Wherever he might be.” She looked to the sky.
Lottie took her sister’s arm. “Well if he does know I’m sure he’ll understand and probably even be pleased that the mystery is solved at last. After all we know he was around back then and so he must have been as mystified as everyone else as to where David had gone. Come on, after all this I think I need a very large glass of wine.”
“No, no just a minute there’s someone else we must find,” said Hetty, as she slowly walked along the row reading the headstones. When she stopped she pointed. “Here he is.”
Lottie walked to her sister’s side and looked at the headstone in front of her. “In Loving Memory of James Francis Tregear (Jimmy),” she read, “1862 – 1925. Lifeboat coxswain. Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee, For those in peril on the sea. RIP”
“How did we not see this before?” Lottie asked.
“Because we weren’t looking in this era, were we?” replied Hetty, “We were looking for Tregears post 1942. I’m so glad we’ve found him.”
“Me too, and on reflection I can see now why Peter didn’t join the lifeboat crew. His fear of water must have been caused by the fact his father had drowned when he was just a little boy of three.”
“Yes, that must have affected the lad very badly.”
“Yet, David became a fisherman and joined the lifeboat.”
“Probably because it was in his blood,” smiled Hetty, “after all David was Old Jimmy’s grandson.”
“So was Peter but he was probably more like his mother’s side of the family. Just shows that even twins can be very different.”
Hetty laughed. “And don’t we know it.” She took Lottie’s arm, “Come on, I think I need a large glass of wine too.”
As they stepped back onto the path and followed it around the graveyard towards the gate, they saw Vicar Sam leaving the church.
“Good afternoon, Mrs Burton and Miss Tonkins. I believe you two ladies were very much involved in the search to find our dear friend David.”
Hetty looked heavenwards and then smiled sweetly. “Yes, we were but please, please, please call me Hetty. Being addressed as Miss Tonkins makes me feel really ancient.”
Lottie nodded. “Yes, and I’m Lottie.”
Vicar Sam smiled broadly and linked his arms through those of the sisters. “Hetty and Lottie, please allow me to escort you girls to the pub,” He laughed, “Lots of people have told me I ought to get to know you but I’ve always been cautious just in case you prefer a vicar to be, well, you know, more conventional.”
Hetty giggled. “We don’t do conventional, do we, Lottie?”
“No, we most certainly do not.”
“And what’s more,” laughed Lottie, “we never drink tea from bone china teacups.”
In the Crown and Anchor, Vicar Sam insisted on buying Hetty and Lottie each a large glass of wine and they told him of how the search for David had panned out. He listened intently until he was dragged away by some youngsters who wanted him to play pool.
As Hetty and Lottie walked through the pub in search of their friends, it became obvious that most of the conversations around them were about the events which had taken place in 1942, although everyone it appeared was trying to be subtle and kept their voices low in case Simon Berryman was within earshot. For no-one wanted to upset further a likable man who they all deemed had suffered much since the David Tregear mystery had been resolved. For not only had Simon had to come to terms with the fact his beloved father had been an accessory to murder and helped prevent the lawful burial of his stepbrother, he had also learned that his mother’s death was not an accident.
“I wonder why George left the suitcase in the attic when he and Simon moved out in the nineteen sixties,” mused Hetty, “I mean surely he must have realised that it might be discovered one day.”
“Who knows,” sighed Lottie, “Perhaps he just couldn’t bear the thought of seeing it again and have all the memories come flooding back. Sometimes things are best left alone. And to be fair were it not for Grace and her antics and the brooch we’d never have got to the bottom of the mystery ourselves, would we? And I suppose George might have realised there was very little in the suitcase to reveal why it was hidden there.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
Seeing Simon sitting quietly on the terrace where Sheila held his hand, Hetty and Lottie went out to join them.
“We have something for you, Simon,” whispered Hetty. She opened up her handbag and withdrew a small item wrapped in tissue paper. “Hold out your hand.”
On Simon’s palm Hetty placed Grace’s blue dragonfly brooch.
“In a note that Grace left for us she asked that we give this to you,” said Hetty, “Ethel Berryman to whom the brooch was originally given was after all grandmother to you both. She asked that we tell you she begs your forgiveness. She wanted to write to you in person but couldn’t find the right words. She said she is ashamed and apologised profusely to us all.”
Simon looked at the brooch. “I can’t take it,” he whispered. “Please you have it. I feel it belongs in your house along with the ghosts of Berrymans of yesteryear.”
“But wouldn’t you like it, Sheila?”
Sheila shook her head. “I don’t think it would be right, especially if it’s likely to upset Simo
n. Besides, we have no daughters to pass it on to.”
“Are you sure?”
Simon nodded. “Yes, I’m very sure and as for forgiving Grace, there’s nothing to forgive. She was not the one who murdered my mother and my step-uncle. If the truth be known I feel dreadfully sorry for her,” he half-smiled, “even if she did make me ill for a while. She is, was, after all my cousin and I wish she was still alive.”
“Of course,” mumbled Lottie, “it hadn’t jelled with me that you were cousins. How silly…how sad.”
Hetty wrapped the brooch back in the tissue paper and dropped it into her handbag. “And looking back I realise it must have been Grace who put the flowers on Peter’s grave before he was exhumed. And no doubt the flowers were not just for Peter but for David too.”
“Poor Grace. I suppose leaving flowers was as near as she could get to saying she was sorry for what her mother had done.” Lottie sighed, “The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the sons. Such an unfair quote.”
Hetty sat down next to Sheila. “You know, I think if I’d been in the same position as Grace then I might have done something similar.”
“You mean the flowers?” Lottie asked.
Hetty shook her head. “No, I mean everything.”
“Oh, Het, surely you wouldn’t have.”
“Well, I’d have tried to put people off somehow but I certainly wouldn’t have used poison, tampered with car brakes or made a letter bomb because I don’t have the knowhow. Whereas Grace, I’m told was a pharmacist prior to her retirement which she took early to nurse her mother.”
“Is that right?” Sheila asked, “Little wonder then that she had knowledge of poisons and so forth.”
“And everything she did, she did to protect the reputation of her partner,” sighed Lottie. “Silly Grace. I’m sure he would have understood.”
The Suitcase In The Attic Page 19
