A Christmas Cracker

by Trisha Ashley

  ‘She was, but she’ll be flying back soon and says this time it’s for good, though she’ll still be sourcing and sending out sewing machines. I’ll have to visit her after my next trip.’

  I took a swig of my beer. ‘I had some plans drawn up to redevelop the factory complex at Godsend and sent them out to her a while back, so I think we’ll have a lot to discuss.’

  ‘What, the old Friendship Mill site?’

  ‘That’s it: Mote Farm will be mine one day, after all, and Aunt Mercy’s always encouraged me to see it as my home, so she should be happy I’m taking an interest and want to settle down there when I’m married.’

  ‘But your uncle left everything to her, didn’t he? He told her that he wanted you to inherit after she’d gone, but it wasn’t in writing.’

  ‘He did, but he trusted her to do what he wanted and she will,’ I said confidently. ‘She’s got money of her own, after all, though now she’s guardian to the daughter of an old Malawian friend, I expect she’ll want to provide for her from that. I don’t think you’ve met Liz yet, have you? She’s a nice girl – Mercy sent her to that Quaker boarding school near Pontefract, but she’s often at the farm in the holidays.’

  ‘No, but it’s typical of Mercy to take in waifs and strays. Look at all those so-called employees she has living in the cottages!’

  ‘True, and they’re all well past retirement age. The cracker factory in Friendship Mill should have closed long ago, because it’s losing money hand over fist and at this rate there’s going to be nothing left by the time I inherit.’

  ‘So, what were the plans?’

  ‘I propose to immediately retire the workforce, close the cracker factory down and then redevelop the mill complex as a tourist venue, with a café, craft workshops and a farm shop, that kind of thing. I’d invest some of the money I inherited from my parents into it and manage the place, so I’d expect to be a shareholder and director.’

  Charlie whistled. ‘How did that go down with Mercy?’

  ‘I think it was a bit of a shock, really. She emailed saying she’d looked at my interesting proposals, but since she hadn’t realised things weren’t doing well at the cracker factory she’d consider what I had to say more fully when she was home and had had chance to look into everything. And that’s where it stands at the moment.’

  ‘Maybe your plans were the tipping point that made her come home for good, then?’ Charlie suggested.

  ‘Perhaps. I think she put too much trust in her brother to keep any eye on things while she was away, because apart from paying out the wages, Uncle Silas barely goes down there. I know he’s got health problems, but he’s hardly a total invalid.’

  ‘Silas is a funny old codger, practically a recluse,’ Charlie said. ‘But Mercy seems fond of him.’

  ‘Mercy’s fond of everyone,’ I said, which was only a slight exaggeration. ‘I’m sure she’ll see sense about the mill, when she’s had time to think about it. After all, I’m not proposing we throw the workforce out of the cottages after they’re retired, or anything like that … though as soon as the cottages do become free, they could be renovated and let as holiday rentals.’

  ‘I see you’ve given it a lot of thought.’

  ‘I had a lot of time to think in Mexico, before I was fit to fly home,’ I said ruefully.

  ‘Are you going to tell her about Lacey when you go up there after your next assignment, or take her with you?’

  ‘I’ll tell Mercy I’ve got engaged, but take Lacey to meet the family later, after I’ve talked her round about the mill,’ I said confidently.

  And when I did take Lacey there, I’d have to try to persuade her to keep quiet on the subject of what she and her parents sold for a living, until Mercy had grown to know and love her, which I was sure she soon would. And anyway, once Lacey had visited the place, I might even be able to persuade her to give up her own business entirely and help me instead …

  Charlie popped another can and raised it in salute: ‘Here’s to success in all you do!’ he said, twinkling. ‘But I feel you might be in for a rocky ride!’

  Chapter 6: The Quality of Mercy

  I was expecting Mercy Marwood to be a frail, elderly woman, but I was in for a big surprise for, although she was small and skinny, I’d never seen anyone so crackling with energy. I think she probably burned off calories as fast as she ate them.

  Her white hair was cut into a pudding-bowl style and she was dressed in a bold blue and white patterned cotton caftan top with wide sleeves, worn over khaki linen trousers that sagged at the seat and knees. She had children’s trainers on her tiny feet and they lit up when she walked.

  She shook my hand firmly, scanned me with warm brown eyes set in delicate origami folds of tanned skin, and then smiled. ‘My dear, you are just as Ceddie described to me – but so thin! Still, we’ll soon put some flesh back on those bones once you’re at Mote Farm.’

  She sank down into a chair with a pleased expression. ‘I’ve been staying with the friend who collected me from the airport – I only got back from Malawi the day before yesterday – but I borrowed her kitchen and baked you a cake. I’m sure the people here will let you have it, once they’ve finished examining it for handsaws, or rope ladders, or whatever it is they think I might have hidden inside it.’

  ‘Probably more likely to be drugs, these days,’ I said, slightly dazed by all this energy and information. ‘And since I hope to be released in just over a fortnight, if a hostel place has been found for me, absconding would be pointless.’

  ‘I’ve visited women’s prisons many times in the past,’ said my visitor chattily, ‘but not an open one. How do you find it?’

  ‘A hundred times better than the one in Cheshire, where I was initially taken,’ I said. ‘I didn’t really believe I’d get a prison sentence until it happened, so I wasn’t prepared in the least.’

  ‘Poor thing! And Ceddie tells me you were there over Christmas too, which must have made it extra hard.’

  ‘It did make me think of Christmases with my mum and miss her so much that my throat closed up every time I tried to eat anything,’ I admitted. ‘It was only the kindness of some of the other prisoners and the staff that made it bearable, but it’s surprising how quickly you adjust to the routine.’

  ‘There is so much good in people everywhere,’ Mercy said, sounding rather like Ceddie. ‘I hope you are now eating properly?’

  ‘I’m trying to, though I seem to have got out of the habit of feeling hungry.’

  ‘Once I have you at Mote Farm, we’ll get you back into it,’ she said firmly.

  ‘It … sounds as if you intend to offer me some kind of employment,’ I said tentatively. ‘But how can you be sure you can trust me? Has Ceddie told you what I was imprisoned for?’

  ‘Oh, yes, and very unfortunate it all was, too.’

  ‘I didn’t actually do it, though I’m guilty in so far as I knew about the fraud and didn’t report it. But of course, I could be just saying that, couldn’t I?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter to me, dear, so long as you’re ready to put the past behind you and take on a challenge and a new beginning.’

  ‘A challenge?’ I echoed blankly. I’d long since abandoned the idea that Mercy Marwood could have any use for a carer – if anything, it seemed likely that the boot would be on the other foot! But what on earth could she want me to do?

  ‘Oh, of course – Ceddie told me he would leave it all to me to explain, so you don’t know a thing about why I need your help, do you?’ she said, smiting her forehead with one small, clenched fist. ‘What an idiot! We’d better get down to it straight away, because Job’s collecting me when I leave and he wants to drive me back home before it gets dark.’

  ‘Job?’

  ‘I’ll explain about Job in a minute. We have to get back to West Lancashire, so it’s quite a long drive.’

  ‘Is that where you live?’ I asked, hopefully.

  ‘Yes, my home is called Mote Farm and it’s in th
e hamlet of Godsend, near Little Mumming. Do you know it? Ceddie said you were brought up in the Formby area, near Southport.’

  ‘I – yes,’ I stammered. ‘It’s right over to the east of Ormskirk, beyond the M6, where it starts to get hilly, isn’t it? In fact Snowehill Beacon, above Little Mumming, was one of my mother’s favourite places while she was still mobile enough to get there,’ I added, rocked by the coincidence – for following her wishes, the beautiful hillside, carved with the figure of a red horse and topped with a small tower, had also been where I had scattered her ashes …

  ‘Then I think that’s a sign from God that you should return there, don’t you?’ she said, beaming at me. ‘Now, I’ll get us both a cup of that hot chocolate Ceddie told me about, and put you in the picture.’

  ‘Right, explanation time.’ Mercy settled back into the chair as if it was infinitely more comfortable than it could possibly be. ‘I was born a Fell, which is a very old Quaker family, and I married into another, the Marwoods, and moved to Mote Farm.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know anything about farming,’ I said doubtfully.

  ‘Oh, the Marwoods haven’t farmed anything for centuries, dear,’ she assured me, ‘or the family before them, who rebuilt the original thirteenth-century farmhouse. You can still see traces of that in the central hall and we think the oak front door and the moat are of that period, too.’

  ‘Moat?’

  ‘Just a small one. The house looks as if it’s sitting on a grassy cushion, rather sweet.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, trying to picture this.

  ‘It’s not at all grand, or by any means a stately home, but it was further extended in Tudor times with two wings and a central porch, then the whole wattle-and-daub construction faced in bricks,’ she said. ‘It’s quite quaint.’

  I didn’t know about quaint, it sounded very grand to me, but I didn’t say so, only nodded as if I had the faintest idea what she was telling me all this for.

  ‘My husband died many years ago and so Mote Farm came to me, but on the understanding that, in turn, I would leave the estate to the son of his sister, which of course I intend to do. For several years I’ve been away from home for extended periods, since I felt called to go out to Malawi.’

  ‘Yes, Ceddie told me, but that you are now home for good.’

  ‘Everything has its season, and I feel that mine for working in Malawi has come to an end, though of course I will still continue with the work of finding sewing machines and other materials to send out there.’

  I suddenly wondered if that was the job I would be helping her with. But before I could ask she continued, ‘I was so busy that I seem to have neglected what was happening at home and once you take your eye off the ball, there’s no telling where it will go.’

  ‘True,’ I agreed, still baffled.

  ‘I’ve always encouraged my nephew, Randal, to make his home at Mote Farm, since it will one day be his, so he’s a frequent visitor, though of course his work means he spends most of his time either abroad or at his flat in London.’

  ‘So Mote Farm has been empty a lot?’

  ‘By no means: my older brother, Silas, who is somewhat crippled by rheumatism and a reclusive nature, has lived there since I married. Whenever I was abroad, I charged him to make sure all ran smoothly at the factory, but he hasn’t taken the interest in it that I hoped he would.’

  ‘Factory?’

  ‘The cracker factory in the mill, dear. The house itself is well run in my absence, for Job looks after Silas, and his wife, Freda, lets the cleaners in each week, sorts the laundry, reports anything that needs ordering or repairing and generally acts as housekeeper. Of course, when I’m home I do all the cooking – I do love to cook.’

  I was starting to feel much as I had done on my arrival at prison, that I was trapped in some strange dream … or nightmare.

  ‘What is this factory you mentioned? Did you say … crackers?’

  I had a vision of those thin, crispy biscuits for cheese, which was instantly dispelled when she replied, ‘Marwood’s Magical Christmas Crackers.’

  ‘Oh, yes – we had those when my grandmother was alive,’ I said, enlightened. ‘She loved everything traditional.’

  ‘I fear that may be part of the problem,’ mused Mercy absently. ‘We have not moved with the times.’

  ‘So, is the factory near Mote Farm?’

  ‘Just across the valley and it’s actually the Friendship Mill, for the Marwoods were originally engaged in the cotton manufacturing process and harnessed the power of the stream. But in Victorian times the building was turned over to the production of fancy goods, which eventually dwindled to just crackers.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, slightly dazed by this further onslaught of strange information. ‘So really, now it’s a cracker-making workshop in an old cotton mill?’

  ‘That’s it,’ she nodded. ‘And so it remains, with a much diminished workforce. They live in a little row of terraced cottages below the mill, and Job and Freda have the first one. Then …’ she ticked off on her fingers, ‘there’s Dorrie in number two, then Bradley, Lillian and Joy … and Phil, who is a widower, in number six. I suppose they must all be the wrong side of seventy – how time does fly!’

  She looked at me bright-eyed, her head tilted to one side like a bird.

  ‘But my nephew informs me that the outgoings of the cracker-making business are about to exceed the profits and, while I’m glad to see that the boy has taken some interest in what will one day be his inheritance, his ideas for rectifying this are a little too arbitrary. He wants to invest in developing the mill site and has even had plans drawn up and sent out to me in Malawi.’

  ‘You mean, he wants to turn the cracker business around?’

  ‘No, he wants to close it down entirely and use the mill as some kind of shopping and café venue for day-trippers. He seems to think the workforce should all be ready to retire, though I’m sure they are no such thing. But I can see that they must overcome their resistance to change if the firm is to continue. And this is where you come in, Tabitha – as my right-hand woman.’

  ‘Do call me Tabby – and do you mean you need a PA?’

  ‘Of sorts. I need someone with artistic flair, youthful energy and vision, who can breathe new life into the cracker business.’

  ‘But I don’t know anything about running a business; I only packed things in boxes,’ I said blankly. ‘Or about crackers … except that sometimes, when we hadn’t much money, Mum and I made our own.’

  ‘Well, the principle is much the same. And I don’t need someone to run the business, because I’m quite capable of doing that now I’m home, I need … an artistic director and someone to back me up when my nephew comes to discuss the way forward.’

  She sat back and beamed at me. ‘What do you say? I’m sure with your input we can turn things round by Christmas and Randal will have to accept that any plans he has for the rest of the site must include cracker making at its heart. And after that, if you should want to stay on with us, we will earmark a studio for you when the outbuildings are redeveloped, so you can pursue your own artistic ambitions.’

  ‘I – it all sounds fascinating,’ I confessed. ‘Where would I live?’

  ‘Since the cottages are all currently occupied, I thought you might have the former cook-housekeeper’s apartments behind the kitchen in the west wing. There’s just a small bedroom and a tiny sitting room, but it would be all your own.’

  The thought of space in which I could be entirely alone and unobserved was bliss.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ I said, ‘if you really think I’ll be useful.’

  ‘I’m certain you will. There, that’s settled,’ she added, looking pleased. ‘We’ll expect you once you’re released. Cedric has explained to me that you will have to wear some kind of electronic tag for a few weeks and be confined to the house at night – not that there is anywhere to go to in the evenings in Godsend, anyway.’

  ‘Yes, and I’ll have to
give them your address before they’ll release me. Then all my things are at my ex-fiancé’s house, so I’ll need to collect those at some point, too. He’s packed them up and put them in his garage.’

  ‘I hope it isn’t damp,’ she said, tutting disapprovingly. ‘Give me the address and phone number and I’ll have Job drive me over to collect them in a day or two – it will make you feel more at home if your own things are waiting for you at Mote Farm, won’t it?’

  ‘Well … yes, though he lives near Formby.’

  ‘That’s no distance,’ she assured me.

  ‘And he’s likely to present you with a bill for storing them!’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.’

  ‘That’s so kind of you,’ I said, ‘but I don’t think I’ll have enough money to pay you back straight away.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, it can come out of your wages eventually. I’m afraid they won’t be substantial, but as you’ll be living in and eating with the family, that will save you expense.’

  ‘It sounds wonderful,’ I said.

  ‘Then that’s settled and you’ll come to us as soon as you’re released. I’ll look forward to it. I’m sure Ceddie was guided to tell me about you, because you’re just the person I need.’

  ‘I hope so,’ I said.

  ‘You are bright, artistically talented and practical – those are all the qualities I require,’ she said cheerily, then asked if I had enough money to travel to Lancashire on my release. I assured her I had and declined her offer to send the long-suffering-sounding Job down again to collect me.

  I didn’t tell Mercy I intended making an illicit detour to Formby in search of Pye, because I needed to know exactly where he was and if he was happy. I was pretty sure the authorities would expect me to go straight from the prison to the known address, but with a bit of luck they’d never know and I’d still arrive at Mote Farm in time to be ringed like a pigeon that afternoon.