by Georgia Hill
Sheila sat in silence while Rachel took the call. She’d given in and bought a new mobile. When she clicked off the phone, she turned to the older woman, her face aglow.
‘Well?’ Sheila demanded. ‘Come on, I can’t stand this tension a minute longer.’
‘Your Duncan Wilson’s come up trumps. He’s spoken to Kim and we may just be about to solve the last riddle of Hetty’s life.’
‘What are you waiting for, then? Drive!’ Sheila softened. ‘Do you mind me tagging along?’
‘Mind? I’m not sure I’ll manage without you!’
Kim’s kitchen was as warm and welcoming as Rachel remembered it.
‘Come in, come in,’ he cried, taking their coats. ‘Coffee’s on. Kids are at school and May has made herself scarce. You’ve got me all to yourselves.’ He kissed Sheila on the cheek. ‘Ah, how lovely to see you. How are you?’
‘All the better for seeing you, Kim.’ She settled herself at the table. ‘Now, come on, spill the beans.’
Rachel laughed. ‘I thought it was me who was obsessed.’ She sat next to Sheila and held her hand. It felt right.
Kim frowned and busied himself with the cafetière. Putting the coffee things on a tray, he set it down on the table and joined them.
‘I’m not sure you’re going to like what I’ve got to say. It’s not good news, or maybe not the news you’re expecting,’ he began.
‘Kim, if you don’t get a shifty on, I’ll resort to the thumb screws,’ Sheila warned. Rachel gave a nervous giggle.
Kim spread his hands. ‘Very well, dear lady, I’ll tell all. I must explain first that Duncan and I spoke on the phone and he’s going to write later in greater detail. This is the brief version.’ He looked to Rachel. ‘Your Richard Trenchard-Lewis did indeed fight in the Great War.’
‘We know that,’ Rachel interrupted. ‘And was gassed.’
Kim nodded. ‘Hetty and Duncan had a conversation at the memorial stone after an Armistice service one November. She became a nanny, you know, after the war. Highly thought of, apparently. Anyway, when Duncan found her, she was angry as Richard’s name still hadn’t been added to the stone.’
Rachel frowned. She couldn’t see Hetty as a nanny, somehow. Then she leaned forward. ‘Tell me about Richard. So he died in the war, then?’
Kim gave a wry smile. ‘In a manner of speaking. It seems Richard fought at Loos, where there was, indeed, a terrible gas attack, with many men affected. Not by enemy gas, apparently. It was allied gas, which was carried back on the wind.’
‘The men were gassed by their own side?’ Rachel said in horror.
Kim raised his eyebrows. ‘One of the many ironies of that war. Richard came back to be nursed by Hetty and his aunts.’
‘Hester and Leonora.’
‘Yes, they were both still alive then?’
Rachel nodded.
‘I’m afraid not for much longer. Hester died in the flu epidemic after the war and Leonora soon after.’
‘Oh, poor Hester,’ said Rachel, stricken. She was glad of Sheila’s hand in hers.
‘Hetty nursed them both, with help from the few remaining staff at Delamere House and all the time was mourning Richard.’
Rachel looked at Kim, beseeching him to tell her what had happened.
‘Hetty told Duncan that Richard’s nerves had been shattered by what he’d gone through. He was in the habit of riding their friends’ horses, I believe?’
Rachel nodded. ‘The Parkers’. Neighbours. He loved riding. I think Richard took to exercising the horses. There was no one else to do it.’
‘Well, it seemed Richard went out to ride one morning and never came back.’ Kim’s voice was low and sympathetic. He’d done this many times before, Rachel thought – broached bad news.
‘An accident?’ Sheila asked.
Kim shook his head. ‘That’s the problem. No one really knows. The horse returned, riderless and they eventually found Richard. He’d broken his neck.’
‘So it was an accident.’ Rachel said. She could believe that. From what Hetty had written, Richard was a dare-devil rider.
‘The problem is where they found him,’ Kim continued. ‘It was at a notorious spot, where it was considered far too risky to jump a horse. Too dangerous, for both rider and horse. Richard would have known not to attempt it. He was a skilled rider, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ Rachel said, emphatically. ‘Very, and from an early age.’
‘So,’ said Kim slowly, ‘the obvious conclusion is –’
‘He committed suicide,’ Sheila finished. ‘How awful.’
They were silent for a moment. They only sound, the ticking clock on the wall.
Kim blew out a breath. ‘No one really knows,’ he said, eventually. ‘There was some scandal associated and Hetty had to fight to get him buried in the graveyard at Delamere. The assumption was he had ended his life while suffering from the effects of the war. Shell-shock. Post-Traumatic Shock, we’d call it. Apparently she fought Duncan to get Richard’s name put on the memorial stone as she claimed he was as much a victim of the war as those who died actually fighting.’
‘Oh my God,’ Rachel breathed and then remembered where she was. ‘Sorry, Kim.’
‘I think, in the light of what you’ve just been told, the phrase is perfectly acceptable.’ He smiled. It lightened the atmosphere just a little.
Rachel frowned. ‘The thing is, something doesn’t add up.’
‘What doesn’t?’ Sheila asked. She poured them all more coffee. They needed it.
‘Richard loved horses. Adored them. He wouldn’t have done anything to hurt one.’
Kim shrugged. ‘The war did terrible things to men’s minds, Rachel. He wasn’t a regular soldier like his brother. He wouldn’t have been prepared for what he had to go through.’
‘I suppose,’ she began slowly, then added, ‘at least he had time with Hetty, though, as husband and wife.’
‘Ah, that’s the other thing,’ said Kim and then dropped his bombshell. ‘They never married.’
Chapter 40
A volley of barks alerted Rachel to someone at the front door. It was late in the afternoon and she wasn’t expecting anyone.
‘Gabe,’ she said in surprise, when she opened the door. ‘Oh!’ she put her hand to her mouth in shock. ‘You’ve cut your hair.’ She stared at him, looking unfamiliar with a buzz cut. It made him look older, more serious.
Gabe shrugged in embarrassment. ‘Yeah, I had to – well, I’ll tell you about that in a minute. Can I come in?’
Rachel opened the door wider and stood back. ‘Of course you can. Piglet, come in, boy,’ she called to the dog, as it ran out and sped around the garden. He returned, panting, and nosed at Gabe with interest. Rachel laughed. ‘If he jumps up, please push him off. I’ve been trying to teach him how to greet strangers.’
‘Am I a stranger, Rachel?’
She smiled up at him. ‘Of course not. Can I get you something? Wine, coffee? Tea? I’m afraid I’m out of lager.’
‘Tea would be good.’ He followed her into the kitchen and sat at the table. ‘I never did get around to renovating this,’ he said ruefully.
‘Well, there’s time yet.’ Rachel opened a packet of digestives and pushed them towards him. ‘Don’t let Piglet have any,’ she warned. ‘He’s the most terrible scrounger.’
The dog sat at Gabe’s knee, an imploring expression on his face. Gabe laughed. ‘I see what you mean.’ Privately, he was amazed at Rachel’s new laissez-faire attitude. She didn’t seem to mind the drool dripping from the dog’s grinning mouth. Looking around, he saw a dog bed generously endowed with hair in the corner, a bowl with a puddle of water surrounding it and a pile of dirty dishes in the sink.
Rachel saw him looking. ‘I’m sorry the place is in a mess. I was working. I was so engrossed I didn’t even hear your car come up the track.’
‘It looks fine. Homely.’
She laughed. ‘Well, I told you I’d changed.’
&nb
sp; ‘You did. And you have.’
‘All down to this mutt here,’ she said and reached down to fondle the dog’s ears. Then, filling the teapot, she brought it to the table. ‘The first few weeks with him were awful. The mess,’ she pulled a scandalised face at Gabe. ‘The hair all over the place. I really thought he’d have to go.’ She gazed softly at Piglet, ‘But every time I’d reach breaking point, he’d flop at my feet and would give me this heart-breaking stare as if he knew exactly what I was planning.’ She broke a biscuit into small pieces and gave the dog some. ‘I’ve never had a dog before, never had any sort of pet. I was never allowed. It’s been a revelation.’ She shrugged and looked around at the kitchen. ‘And what with the mess of the building work, I suppose it’s eroded some of my worst habits.’ She pushed a filled mug over to him.
Gabe blinked. ‘Sweet. And Piglet is a wonderful dog. I couldn’t part with him either.’
‘It’s lovely to see you, Gabe. Really, it is.’ She gave him a warm smile.
He reached into his pocket and brought out a sheet of paper. ‘I’ve brought you this.’ Putting it on the table in between them, it lay there, faintly accusing.
‘What is it?’
Gabe smiled. ‘Have a look.’ He watched her expression change as she read through the document and took in its implication.
‘Oh, Gabe!’ she gasped, ‘wherever did you find this?’
‘I went to the church at Delamere. Mum told me what happened the other day. Kim pointed me in the direction of the warden at the estate church there and he helped me find what I was looking for. Well, what you were looking for. I thought it might interest you.’
‘Interest me? Interest me? Gabe! She married Peter Innisford. Hetty married the man she met at the school during the war. So, he was her second husband, not Richard at all!’
‘Looks that way. I don’t think they had all that long together, though. The parish records show he died in the 1980s.’
Rachel read down to where the details of Peter Innisford’s burial were recorded. ‘1982,’ she said, ‘they had about twenty years ago.’ She clasped the paper to her breast, her face alight. ‘Hetty had twenty years of happiness with the man she loved. It’s wonderful.’ Tears shone in her eyes.
‘So, she really loved this Peter bloke and not Richard after all?’ Gabe asked, puzzled. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever understand women.’
‘Oh, Gabe, I think she loved all three men but in different ways. With Peter I think, no I know, she found some happiness. Thank you, thank you so much. You’ve gone to such a lot of trouble.’
He shook his head. ‘Well, Mum told me how shocked you all were about what Kim Mansell had found out. I thought this might just add that last missing detail.’
Rachel nodded, too emotional to speak more.
Gabe frowned. ‘She never changed her name, though? Bit odd. And they continued to use the estate church instead of St Mary’s. Why?’
‘That’s Hetty for you. A puzzle until the last.’ Rachel sensed a ripple of amusement shiver around the kitchen. ‘Yes, Hetty, you’re still keeping us guessing.’ She put the paper down on the table and flattened it out carefully. It was a precious thing. ‘I’m just so glad she found some peace, some contentment, at last, after all she’d been through.’
‘And you, Rachel? Have you found some contentment? You look happy.’
‘I am,’ she replied, but with a wistful note in her voice.
‘No Neil Fitch?’
Rachel smiled. ‘There was never any Neil Fitch.’
Gabe returned the smile. ‘I know. Mum told me.’
‘And you?’ Rachel asked, carefully. ‘Dawn is off to university, with a baby on the way.’
‘Yeah. It’ll be hard going, but she’ll manage. Tough as old boots, is Dawn.’
‘But the baby’s not yours?’
Gabe’s eyes widened. ‘Mine? Of course not. Is that what you thought?’
‘It’s what I was told. By Alan.’
‘Don’t believe anything Alan says,’ Gabe said, without rancour. ‘But honestly, Rach. Dawn?’
‘Well, she was awfully keen on you.’ Rachel could feel her pulse miss a beat.
Gabe scrubbed a hand through his shorn hair. He looked, for a moment, like the Gabe of old. ‘Yeah, but I’d make sure I put something on the end of it.’
‘Gabriel!’
He grinned. ‘The baby is definitely not mine. Haven’t you heard? Paul is going up north with her. The kid’s his.’
‘I was having you on, actually. Your mum told me Dawn and Paul had got together.’
‘Tease.’ There was a wicked glint in Gabe’s eyes. ‘Just like she told me about Neil.’
Rachel put her head on one side, coquettishly. ‘Has your mother been trying to match-make?’
‘Well, she’s very fond of you,’ Gabe said. He pushed his chair back. Coming to stand near her, he took Rachel’s hands and lifted her to her feet. ‘And so am I.’
Rachel stared into his sherry-brown eyes. ‘Only fond, Gabriel?’
‘More than fond, as well you know.’
‘I don’t, actually. Tell me.’
‘Oh God, Rach, you know I love you. Always have. Even when you were – we were – driving each other nuts.’
‘Gabe,’ she said, on a shiver of excitement, as her arms slid around his sweetly familiar shoulders. ‘Oh Gabe, how I’ve missed this. How I’ve missed you. I love you too. So much.’
They kissed. Not just with passion but with understanding and tenderness and love.
‘Do you think we could start again,’ he said, hoarsely. ‘I can’t bear not being with you.’
‘Oh please. I promise I’ll be more tolerant. And I’m so, so sorry about what I said to you.’
Gabe grinned against her mouth. ‘And I promise to be more considerate,’ he said through his kiss.
More seconds ticked by, the only sound a snuffling Piglet as he watched the humans avidly.
Then, as Rachel ran her fingers over his haircut, she asked, ‘Why ever did you cut your lovely hair?’
‘Ah.’ He disentangled from her and reached into his jeans pocket again. This time he produced a card. It was an invitation.
‘“To an exhibition of Gabriel Llewellyn’s sculptures in wood,”’ Rachel read, with growing amazement. ‘You did it! Oh, Gabe, you did it!’
‘Well, I had a bit of time on my hands this winter,’ he said, embarrassed, ‘what with the farming crisis and everything, so I got a few bits and pieces ready.’
Rachel danced around the kitchen, flapping the piece of card. ‘And this is only the premier exhibition space in the Midlands. Oh you clever, clever man!’
Piglet, infected by her excitement, barked and joined in.
‘Come here.’ Gabe pulled Rachel to him. ‘I think we need to celebrate, don’t you?’
Rachel threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with abandon. ‘I thought you’d never ask!’
For Piglet this was all too much. He launched up at the couple, barking and squealing.
‘Down Piglet,’ giggled Rachel, to no avail.
Laughing, Gabe swept her into his arms, away from the overwrought dog. He carried her to the stairs, with difficulty, as Piglet was still leaping up. ‘I think there might be three of us in this marriage.’
Rachel froze in his arms. ‘You mean it? Are you asking me to marry you?’
‘Oh, most definitely! And, if I can stop this ruddy dog from nipping my ankles, I intend to seal the deal.’
‘Piglet,’ Rachel said, with withering authority. ‘Basket. Now!’
The dog slunk away.
She looked at Gabe, lovingly. ‘Bed. Now!’
‘Oh boy, I love it when you nag,’ Gabe said, with a grin. ‘Come on, I think we’ve waited long enough,’ and he carried her up the stairs.
Epilogue
A few years later, Clematis Cottage
Piglet is dozing in the shade. A spaniel puppy bounds across the newly laid lawn in front of the cottage.
A little girl follows. She is tall for her age and has long, dark hair. In the distance her parents call her but she ignores them.
She chases white rose petals carried by the hot summer breeze. They lead her to the edge of the garden, where she stands under the shade of the chestnut tree. Peering up, against the sunlight flickering through its leaves, her sherry-brown eyes see the figure invisible to all but her.
‘Hello, lovely Hetty.’
Acknowledgements
I could not have written this book without help. Thank you to John Lowles and the other volunteer researchers at The Worcestershire and Sherwood Foresters’ Regiment Museum who provided information about The Worcestershire Regiment during World War One. Thanks go to the National Trust’s Berrington Hall Herefordshire and its ‘Experience Room’ where I learned about the tragic fate of the three Cawley brothers and which inspired some of this story. Grateful thanks must also go to Brockhampton Primary School Bromyard, whose log book supplied many details of school life during the early twentieth century. I had a happy time teaching there – thank you staff and pupils! Any mistakes in historical research are mine and mine alone. Huge thanks to Charlotte Ledger, Kimberley Young and the team at Harper Impulse. To Nell Dixon: you’re a genius at thinking up titles! Lastly, big kisses to those of you who have encouraged me along this journey. You know who you are.
Georgia Hill
I used to live in London, where I worked in the theatre. Then I got the bizarre job of teaching road safety to the U.S. navy – in Marble Arch! A few years ago, I did an ‘Escape to the Country’. I now live in a tiny Herefordshire village, where I scandalise the neighbours by not keeping ‘country hours’ and being unable to make a decent pot of plum jam. Home is a converted oast house, which I share with my two beloved spaniels, husband (also beloved) and a ghost called Zoe. I’ve been lucky enough to travel widely, though prefer to set my novels closer to home. Perhaps more research is needed? I’ve always wanted to base a book in the Caribbean! I am addicted to Belgian chocolate, Jane Austen and, most of all, Strictly Come Dancing. Keep dancing, everyone!
