The Secrets Of Mead

by Michaela James

  Craig nodded towards the patio. “Three of your grandchildren are standing right there.”

  Reginald smiled. “I’m hoping to buy my way into their affections. Primrose cottage is vacant. With a little work, it will be the perfect abode for one old man. Tracy suits the manor house and besides; she needs room for her cow, pig and latest love, horses. Syd, I’m hoping to win over with money for her campaigning. Mark may be tougher, but I’m certain his new cricket club could use a little cash influx.”

  “I admire your ingenuity, Lord Abbott Rigg.”

  Reginald motioned towards his nearby nurses. “The funeral rather took it out of me. I’m home to rest.”

  Watching the man leave, Craig inwardly cringed as Margaret Atwell approached his table.

  “It was a lovely funeral, wasn’t it?" She began while pulling out a chair. "I enjoyed the vicar’s speech. Especially the part where he said, for what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

  Craig offered a small smile. “A letter from Paul to the Corinthians.”

  Pursing her lips, Margaret said, “I trust you don’t hold me responsible for Jude’s death.”

  “Why would I do that?” Craig enquired.

  Margaret began to fidget with the strap of her handbag. “One could argue if I hadn’t seen Jude’s mother she may never have come back to Mead.”

  “Claudette's sperm bank was unethically run,” Craig said, “but she wouldn’t have faced jail time. My guess is, some fines and the closure of the clinic would have been the end of it. Your letters to Jude may have been bothersome, but I doubt they caused him much anguish.”

  “I understand … I mean things make more sense now. Had he not had all these children showing up at his door; we may have had an opportunity.”

  “An opportunity?” Craig asked.

  Margaret rearranged her blonde curls. “Clearly, he wasn’t happy with Cynthia. No, what Jude needed was a slightly older woman. A woman who knows how to take care of a man.”

  “And where does Lloyd fit into this scenario?” Craig asked, brows raised.

  Margaret blushed. “Oh, I’m speaking hypothetically of course.”

  “Of course,” Craig politely agreed.

  “Can you believe it?” Margaret voiced dramatically. “His lunatic mother must have been buying her groceries in Harrington. Carol swears the woman never set foot in News and Food. I hear she leased Primrose Cottage from a couple in London. I’m quite relieved to hear Lord Abbott Rigg is buying the place. We can’t have renters moving into the village willy-nilly. We’re likely to be murdered in our beds.”

  Craig suppressed a smile. “I’ll do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Standing, Craig added, “Please excuse me.”

  Sydney and Pete were sitting at the very edge of the patio, their table strewn with papers.

  Pete spotted Craig first. “Detective Monroe. Pull up a chair and join us.”

  “Looks daunting,” Craig, nodding towards the paper stack, declared.

  “This one here,” Sydney proclaimed, holding up a single sheet, “is to HFEA. The Human Fertilization and Embryology Authority. As it stands right now, ten families can be created from one donor. That doesn’t sound too bad when you consider there are over sixty-five million people in this country. But the United Kingdom is only ninety-four thousand and fifty-eight square miles. We’re smaller than the state of Oregon. Add to this, the fact many English villages, like Mead, have a population of under three hundred people.”

  Craig, eyes wide, helped himself to one of Sydney’s sandwiches.

  Sydney, suddenly ravenous, procured a slice of quiche. “Ten families but no limit on the number of children they acquire from a single donor.”

  Craig let out a low soft whistle.

  “Jude, through myself, and Syd,” Pete began, “will be petitioning for HFEA to add new laws to sperm donation. They do well with screening the donors and testing their sperm, but then what? The enormity of this action is never relayed to the donor. We’re pushing for more counseling. A month for reflection and then two follow-up interviews. When you add this to the screening and testing of their sperm, you’re looking at quite the commitment. It may reduce the number of donors but …” looking at Sydney and smiling; Pete continued, “we’re okay with that.”

  Wiping her hands on a paper napkin, Sydney said, “The sperm clinics will not be, however. They already have a shortage of sperm donors and use embryos to trade for sperm with other countries. In fact, the British Fertility Association is asking for HFEA to ease up on the number of families allowed to use one sperm donor. We need to be more like Norway and Belgium where a donor can only father six children. Sadly, we’re at risk of following in the United States’ direction. They have no limit. Just a recommendation of twenty-five births per population of eight hundred thousand. Where big money is concerned, I don’t think a recommendation is going to hold much salt. Donating sperm is listed as one of the top fifty ways for American college students to make money. How many of those eighteen-year-old boys are giving real thought to what they’re doing? It’s money to put petrol in their car.”

  Looking over at Pete and gently patting his arm, Sydney added, “That reminds me, Pete. Jude wanted to add a reform to the legal age. He felt HFEA should raise the minimum age for a donor to twenty-one.”

  Sydney leaned back in her chair and used two hands to massage her slim neck.

  Standing up, Pete announced, “Grace said she’s made a fresh pot. I’ll be back with tea.”

  Looking at Craig, Sydney asked, “Forgive us; are we boring you, doing your head in or all the above?”

  “Boring me, absolutely not,” Craig replied. “Doing my head in, maybe slightly!”

  “We’d like donors counseled on how many lives they're affecting,” Sydney explained. “Are they aware of how many families will buy their donation over the years? Have they thought about all these children walking around with their DNA? Their same medical history, and personality traits? If donors start their own family, they need to remember their children will have half-siblings out in the world. If they’re fine with all these facts, there’s one more they need to consider. Children conceived by their donated sperm may try to find their father at some stage. Are these donors thinking ahead that far?”

  Pete returned with a tray of tea and Victoria sponge cake. Catching the conversation thread, he continued, “Obviously Jude’s case was extreme. His mother saw an opportunity, and greed took precedence over good sense. That said, Syd and I believe greed is presiding over rationale with sperm donation nationwide. Our biggest obstacle is finding someone who’ll listen to reason. It won’t be the clinics; they’re making far too much money. If donors are getting paid and facing little or no accountability, it won’t be them either. The women …”

  Sydney interjected, “They want a child. We live in an age of entitlement …”

  All three jumped when a small voice behind them said, “Nobody’s thinking about the children.”

  Sydney smiled up at her half-sister. “Tracy, this is Pete Redman, Jude’s solicitor.”

  Taking the seat, Craig offered her, Tracy continued, “The man identifies himself as a donor. To us, he’s our father. We fantasize about spotting him in a crowd. To see his face is to finally know who we are.”

  Syd placed her hand over Tracy’s. “This whole business is about procreation, yet there is no thought for the lives created. We want to set up a program that offers information and support to these children. Those conceived after April first two thousand and five have the right to find their biological father. But if a child was born before this date, they're completely in the dark. Pete's working on HFEA to tighten up regulations with the British Fertility Association. I’m going to work on providing support and resources for people like Tracy, Mark and myself. Thanks to Jude, we have some money to get us started.”

  “May I join this meeting of the minds?” Mark asked from a few feet away. “Good turnout for the old man’
s funeral.”

  Pete looked at his watch. “I hope Edward and Grace don’t think us too rude. We haven’t exactly been social; there’s just so much to discuss.”

  Mark gulped his beer and shook his head. “The only thing concerning Grace was you having enough food.” Taking in the stack of legal looking papers, Mark added, “I’m interrupting something. I’ll go find more beer.”

  “It’s stuff about sperm donation,” Syd informed him. “Nothing you haven’t heard. Besides, we’ve said enough on the subject for today. How are you holding up?”

  Putting his now empty glass on the table, Mark replied, “Not too bad. I’m the mayor of this incredible little village. Mead is about to produce the greatest cricket team in the south of England. Looking from Syd to Tracy he added, "And I’m surrounded by beautiful women. The fact they’re both related to me is a little unfortunate.”

  70

  Three Months Later

  The Old Mead Police House

  “I wish I could convince you to stay,” David began. “You made Mead a better place, and now you’ll never get to see the change.”

  Craig smiled. “I can see it. Our job was to uncover what happened to Doctor Jude Ryland. In doing that we unearthed secrets from decades back and some more recent. I've given a lot of thought to the hours leading up to Jude’s death. What wasn’t laid at his door that night? Margaret Atwell using blackmail to cover a bizarre infatuation. Cynthia Stone, the rejected lover who wouldn't go away. Molly Fellows, unburdening her conscience. Misguided accusations from Norman Bell. Threats from Lord Abbott Rigg. Urges to heed those threats from Lloyd Atwell. Then, talking with his hurt and angry son for the first time and discovering Tracy was his daughter.”

  “I’m glad Nigel’s visit was a more positive one,” David said.

  “Yes, and unlike many, your friend’s visit was cherished. It was common knowledge Jude rarely answered his phone. So, Mead residents took it upon themselves to bombard his home that night.”

  “I’m surprised he let them in.”

  “I’ve given that a lot of thought,” Craig said. “I suspect Jude had been preparing himself for these meetings. I imagine those recorded messages did more than evoke sadness and regret. They generated plans and resolutions. It was Jude who made Mead a better place.”

  Handing Craig, a cup of tea, David said, “Jude’s solicitor contacted Rachel. He arranged a meeting between her and Cynthia Stone. She went through something traumatic while serving her community service. Jude felt the two of them may be able to help each other. I guess they chat on a regular basis now. Rachel likes her.”

  “That’s wonderful. And how does she like fashion college?”

  “Loves it,” David replied with a smile. “Plus, she has a cool little flat within walking distance. I miss seeing her and Nigel around the village though.”

  That’s right,” Craig responded, “Nigel’s in culinary school now.”

  “Basingstoke’s not too far away,” David replied. “I’m up there most Friday nights, and we go clubbing.” Looking out towards the street, David continued, “What’s going to happen to Jude’s mum?”

  “The last I heard she was planning on an insanity plea. I doubt that’ll fly, but even if it does, she won’t be seeing the light of day for quite some time.”

  “I had no idea Mrs. Ryland lived in Mead when she was young.”

  “In Tudor Lodge,” Craig confirmed. “I suspect her destiny was determined at the tender age of fifteen. She became the keeper of a secret and the future manufacturer of so many more.” Looking up from his teacup, Craig asked, “What about you? Are you going to stay with law enforcement?”

  “Someone has to show the new guy where we hide the Jammie Dodgers,” David replied with a grin. “Mum thinks with all the vacant properties around here; I should become an estate agent.”

  Craig nodded. “Andrew Beauchamp’s place will go for a pretty penny.”

  “Five acres,” David replied. “Angie’s selling her home and the hair salon. Then, of course, there’s your place and Tudor Lodge.”

  “I didn’t know Angie was moving.”

  “She has family up north,” David explained. “She’s going to work for a big salon instead of own a small one.”

  “And Andrew Beauchamp’s in Spain?” Craig enquired.

  “Yes, but not living large as we all expected. Ruth from the post office told mum he was dissolving his assets and giving a large portion to charity.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Syd and Mark not wanting to keep Tudor Lodge wasn’t a great surprise,” David said. “Molly said they offered to split the proceeds with Tracy. She declined saying she’d get enough out of the old goat.”

  Craig laughed. “As much as Tracy loves animals I’m surprised to hear she calls Lord Abbott Rigg a goat.”

  “She’s so much nicer than her former self,” David said. “I guess she hadn’t talked to her mum and the man she’d known as her dad in years. They came to Mead for the first time last weekend. Tracy’s thinking about inviting them to live in the Manor house with her.”

  Closing his eyes for a moment, Craig muttered, “So many changes.”

  71

  Mead Surgery

  “You’ll be missed,” Lloyd Atwell stated.

  Craig raised his eyebrows.

  “I know we got off to a prickly start,” Lloyd admitted. “I was one of many hornets in the nest you shook.”

  “The sting has long subsided,” Craig assured him.

  Lloyd offered his visitor a familiar chair. “We have three strong candidates to fill Jude’s position. The sooner Margaret comes to a decision the better. I’m not used to working this hard.”

  “Margaret?” Craig enquired.

  Waving a hand in the air, Lloyd replied, “She likes to be involved. Two months ago, she was all set to leave me. Said she’d found a place in London and would send for her things.” Smiling ruefully, he added, “Changed her mind after the reading of Jude’s will. I think her shock outweighed even mine at Jude’s signing the practice over to me. Margaret with a purpose, I should clarify; a healthy purpose, is preferable. One of the doctors we’re considering has young children. Margaret’s researching potential homes, schools, and activities for them. While feeling she’s going a little overboard, it does afford us conversation during dinner.”

  “I’m happy to hear it,” Craig said.

  Lloyd shrugged. “It’s hardly harmonious. Margaret still nags and berates me, and I still drink too much and do too little. But … I have direction now. At the risk of sounding sappy, I’ve been given a fresh start. Did Syd tell you about the charity I’m working with?”

  Craig shook his head. “She’s been busy …”

  “Of course, she is,” Lloyd interjected. “I’m in early correspondence with the Tay-Sachs Foundation. It’s a disease caused by a defective gene on chromosome fifteen. Finding a cure was important to Jude, so I plan to continue where he left off.”

  “That’s fantastic,” Craig replied.

  “That, more patients and changes with the village committee leaves me quite exhausted.”

  “I heard Andrew Beauchamp appointed a new president before he left.”

  “Marcia Bell,” Lloyd said with a smirk. “Norman will be taking orders from his wife now. I understand she received a tidy sum from Andrew to start a hotline for girls in crisis. Reginald Abbott Rigg retired, and Tracy has taken his seat. The committee is getting quite an overhaul, I can tell you.”

  “Will all your new endeavors allow any time for innings and wickets?”

  “You heard about that,” Lloyd responded with a chuckle. “Yes, I’ve offered my services to Mark’s young cricket team. I used to play a mean game in my day.”

  Craig stood to leave. “I’m sure you did.”

  72

  The English Rose

  Edward and Grace Clark greeted Craig with their usual warmth and kindness. “You will visit often won’t you Craig?” Grace implor
ed.

  “Not only visit,” Craig replied, “but stay right here at the English Rose.”

  “We’ll keep a room ready and waiting,” Edward assured him.

  When they were all seated on the patio, Craig asked, “Do you remember telling me about a young lady who stayed here? I think her name was Ashley.”

  Without hesitation, the Clarks assured him they did. Craig retrieved a worn photo from his jacket pocket before handing it to Grace.

  After staring at it for some time, Grace looked up. “This is her, how …?”

  Craig exhaled. “I’m sorry to tell you, but she died at the hands of her husband.”

  Eyes filling with tears, Grace held the photo to her chest.

  “Where did you find it?” Edward asked.

  “You said you hoped this lovely woman had given birth to a big strong, healthy boy,” Craig replied. “It appears she did. His name is Mark Stone.”

  Edward and Grace sat in silence for a long time. Craig was the first to speak. “I trust I’ve done the right thing in telling you. All I said to Mark was I might know some people who knew his mother. He was happy to lend me this photo.”

  Smiling through tears, Grace said, “Thank you, Craig. Thank you so much.”

  “We had a hunch about dear Syd,” Edward began. “But never imagined there were more here in the village of Mead.”

  “You suspected Sydney was Jude’s daughter?” Craig asked.

  “Aside from the dark hair and green eyes,” Edward replied, “the smiles were identical. We see the resemblance more in Tracy now she’s returned to her natural hair color.”

  “Jude’s funeral was the first time we really got to chat with Mark,” Grace said. “We’d say hello in the shop or pub, but he liked to keep it brief. He exudes charm, but it’s quite barricaded if that makes sense.”