A Grave Inheritance

by Renshaw, Anne

  ‘The diocese wouldn’t pay someone else to do that when they have me. But thank you, I take it as a compliment that you approve,’ the vicar replied, not without sarcasm.

  ‘The grave digging, you do that too, then?’ Grace countered.

  ‘No, I leave that to the borough council. Now if there’s nothing I can help you with further, I must get on.’

  Grace walked towards the door with Reverend Lanceley following behind her. Once outside she heard the key quickly snap in the lock.

  Chapter 10

  Amelia was surprised to find that Grace was up and out so early. She didn’t mind. It was a joy to sit and eat her breakfast alone in the conservatory. She sat with her notebook and ran through the list of jobs to be done. Prioritising the more urgent ones, she decided which she should tackle first.

  Her sewing machine and stand were in the conservatory, positioned a safe distance away from the plants and soil. Amelia sat with lengths of material draped around her feet on the clean tiles. Accompanied by Radio One and the machine’s soft whirring noise, she hummed snatches of songs. By twelve o’clock a box pleat pelmet was all that needed to be made to complete the order. A pair of curtains and a set of tie backs were already wrapped in tissue and folded in a box, ready to post.

  Amelia, head bent low and concentrating on her work, didn’t hear the knock on the kitchen door. The second knock, louder this time, stopped her, and she called out.

  ‘Hang on a minute.’ Mindful not to tread on the material, Amelia went to open the back door. A man stood on the step, cap in hand. He had an anxious expression and at once began apologising. Amelia’s heart sank. There must be a gypsy camp nearby as she’d thought, she acknowledged to herself. Shaking her head, Amelia began to close the door, speculating on whether the man was related to the women Grace had seen in their garden.

  ‘Sorry, we don’t need anything today,’ she said through the narrowing gap.

  ‘I heard you’re looking for an odd job man. I’ve come to offer my services. Joseph Jones is my name and people call me Joe.’ Joe leaned forward and spoke through the crack in the door, raising his voice so Amelia could hear him. ‘I live in one of the cottages up the road, nice and local like, on your doorstop so to speak.’ Joe stopped for breath and waited, hopeful.

  Amelia opened the door again. ‘Hello. I am sorry about that. Will you come in for a minute?’ Amelia asked apologetically, feeling uncomfortable about her blunder.

  Joe wiped his feet on the door mat and then stood rooted to the spot. Amelia filled the kettle with water and set it to boil, then fetched two mugs from the dresser.

  ‘Shall I take my boots off, miss,’ he said worriedly. ‘I came through the wood I did, they’re muddy now.’

  ‘No, don’t bother. Come and sit down, I’ll make some tea. And call me Amelia.’ The sound of Joe’s slight Welsh accent made her feel homesick for Llangollen. Joe looked relieved and sidled over to the table, sitting on the edge of a chair as if ready for flight.

  ‘Have you lived in Woodbury long?’ Amelia asked conversationally.

  ‘Yes, worked mostly on the farms hereabouts. I retired last year, but I still like to keep my hand in, if I can get the work.’ Joe subtly brought the conversation back to the possibility of work.

  ‘Is your wife a local lady?’ Amelia poured out the tea and put a plate of biscuits on the table.

  ‘Yes, childhood sweethearts we were.’ Joe attentively sipped his tea, avoiding Amelia’s eye. ‘Janet worked as a dinner lady at the primary school. We never had any children of our own, you see,’ he said, as if it needed explaining.

  ‘Did you and Janet know our great aunt, Lillian Farrell?’

  ‘Oh yes, and Sophia and Doreen. Lovely old dears the three of them,’ Joe answered.

  ‘Sophia?’ said Amelia, fishing for more information. She already knew about Doreen.

  ‘Sophia Deverell and Doreen Brock shared this cottage with Lillian, then a few years after Lillian died, they moved into Tapscott Manor Nursing home. There’re in their late eighties now.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what Reverend Lanceley said.’ Strange he never mentioned Sophia, Amelia thought. ‘Do you know if Lillian had a handyman or gardener to help around the place? The cottage is in such good repair considering its age.’ Amelia shoved the plate of biscuits under Joe’s nose.

  Joe beamed at her. ‘She did. You’re looking at him.’

  Amelia thought this to be the case and grinned. Joe dunked a bourbon biscuit into his tea and popped it into his mouth whole, returning her grin.

  ‘I still keep my eye on the cottage if truth be told. Well, not now you’re here of course, that would be snooping.’ Joe shook his head. ‘But after Sophia and Doreen moved out, I made sure to water the plants now and then, and during the winter months I checked for burst pipes and put the heating on a couple of times.’

  ‘You have a set of keys to the cottage then?’ Amelia inquired.

  ‘Oh yes.’ Joe looked guilt stricken. ‘I suppose I should have handed them back.’

  Seeing his look of concern, Amelia reassured him. ‘It isn’t a problem, Joe. It’s just that we’ve some keys missing and you may have them. Will you drop them off next time you come, and I’ll have some duplicates made?’

  Joe studied Amelia’s face a moment. ‘Does that mean I’ve got the job then?’

  ‘Yes, if we can agree on your wages. What do you normally charge, Joe? I haven’t got a clue,’ Amelia replied.

  ‘I usually charge eight pounds an hour for gardening. Maintenance jobs, well, it all depends on what it is.’

  ‘Okay, how about we start off with three hours a week on the garden, reducing it to one hour when winter comes? Any other work we’ll agree a price as and when. I’ll pay you ten pounds an hour, Joe, and for the extra you could continue to keep an eye on the cottage for us, especially when we go away on holiday. What do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s wonderful,’ Joe said gratefully. ‘I’ll go straight home now and get you those keys.’ Joe stood, pushing the chair back.

  ‘There’s no rush. Stop and have another cup of tea,’ Amelia said quickly, wanting the opportunity to glean more information from him.

  ‘I won’t be a jiffy. I’ll be back before you’ve poured the second cup,’ and Joe was gone.

  Pleased, Amelia dunked a biscuit into her tea and waited for his return. Then she remembered the gravestone and her face paled.

  ***

  Grace happily passed to Joe the job of tidying up the garden, after first insisting he concentrate on the vegetable garden and lawns. Any pruning of trees could be left until late autumn, she emphasised, and Joe agreed. She wondered if Joe knew about the gravestone. It was possible, but he hadn’t mentioned it.

  Feeling free to get on with other chores, Grace started by giving the kitchen walls a coat of ivory cream emulsion to freshen them up. Her next task, which probably should have been her first, was to convert the smallest bedroom into an office. Working with the window open, a crisp fresh breeze helped to rid the room of the paint smell. With plenty of ivory cream emulsion left over, she gave the walls a quick lick of fresh paint and then rearranged the desk, filing cabinets and bookcase. Books and ledgers were unpacked and she placed these on the shelves. Amelia had made new covers in bright pink for a futon chair and this Grace positioned in a corner. The colour gave off a rosy hue and warmed the walls. Standing back Grace looked at the room proudly, admiring the finished result.

  Feeling cold, Grace began to rub her arms and went to close the window. Automatically she ran her hand over the top of the radiator, knowing full well the central heating wasn’t switched on, but she willed it to be warm nevertheless. Shivering slightly she turned her attention to the garden below and looked out of the window. Her main concern was the spreading hawthorn bushes and hazel tree seedlings which had taken root. Grace was glad the group of trees in the garden was far enough away from the house and didn’t block out the light. She was visualising a table and chairs u
nderneath the canopy of branches when she heard a soft sound behind her. Thinking that Amelia had sneaked in for a quick look, Grace turned to face her. There was no one else in the room.

  ‘Amelia!’ Grace called out.

  ‘I’m in the kitchen,’ Amelia replied from downstairs.

  The sound came again, as though something brushed against the wooden floor, and whirls of dust, like smoke, rose up around her. Shivering, and not wanting to be alone, Grace called down to Amelia again. ‘Come up and take a look at your new office.’ After a few minutes Grace could her hear her sister’s footsteps on the stairs.

  ‘You’ve made a fantastic job, it looks lovely,’ Amelia praised, glancing around and admiring Grace’s work, and then she went back downstairs to the kitchen to finish off her jobs.

  Feeling spooked, Grace hugged herself. The odd episode played on her mind and however she tried to make sense of it, she couldn’t.

  Chapter 11

  Leonie Lanceley let the telephone ring eight times before she replaced the receiver. She flicked through her address book looking for Tapscott Manor’s number, and then punched the buttons on the handset. Roughly pulling her fingers through her auburn curls, she waited for it to be picked up at the other end. Just as she was about to replace the receiver yet again, she heard the familiar greeting.

  ‘Tapscott Manor Nursing Home, Vicky Morris speaking, how may I help you?’

  ‘Leonie Lanceley here, has my brother been in today?’ Leonie snapped.

  ‘Hello Leonie. I’m not sure, sorry,’ the receptionist answered, a little flustered. ‘I’ve just come back from lunch.’

  ‘Put me through to Lynne Sykes then.’ Leonie wanted to add, “And quickly”, but held back. ‘God, people think I have all the time in the world just to sit and pass the time of day,’ fuming she click-clacked her long fingernails on the desk and waited to be connected to the nurse’s office, growing more impatient with each second.

  ‘Nurse Sykes here, Leonie. What’s up?’

  Leonie ignored the question and came straight to the point. ‘David! Is he with my aunt?’

  ‘Yes, he stopped by to have lunch with her. Sophia has been feeling a bit off colour for the last few days. Nothing serious, but at her age, well, you never know. She would be overjoyed if you came to see her.’ Nurse Sykes bit her lip, waiting for a response.

  ‘Yes, well, I would be overjoyed if you would stop harassing me about it. I’ll come when I want to and not when you tell me to, got that.’ The chilly silence from the other end of the line gave Leonie a sense of supreme satisfaction. Continuing slowly, with each syllable emphasised, she spoke into the receiver. ‘Now do you think you could give David a message?’ Leonie’s fingers resumed their clicking.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Lynne Sykes was used to Leonie’s off hand attitude. ‘I have my pen ready, what is the message, please?’ She asked quietly, her voice controlled and calm.

  ‘Tell David I’m on my way to Woodbury now and I’ll be at the vicarage at three o’clock. Tell him to make sure he’s there when I arrive.’ Not waiting for any confirmation, Leonie replaced the receiver back in its cradle and grabbed her coat. Leaving her office, she spoke to her secretary as she passed her. ‘Shelley, I’m out of the office for the rest of the day.’ Leonie opened the main door leading onto Bridge Street and stepped out.

  ***

  David quickened his step when he saw his sister, Leonie, waiting outside the vicarage door. He knew by her posture she was in another one of her tempers. Whenever summoned like this it always ended in a row, so David prepared himself for confrontation. He tried not to let it show but he could barely tolerate his sister. She was arrogant, conceited and a bully, but mostly he disliked her flippant attitude towards the church and the vocation he had chosen. Although she was his twin they were nothing alike. Not in disposition or features. The only thing they had in common was their reddish auburn hair. Leonie was money grabbing, and as an estate agent the job suited her personality down to the ground.

  Not bothering to wait for David to reach her, Leonie called out to him, literally shouting: ‘Where have you been, I have been waiting ten minutes.’

  David waited until he stood by her side before answering, trying hard to control his irritation. ‘I can’t just drop everything at your whim, Leonie. I have my work to do.’

  Leonie snorted derisively. ‘Work, how can you call it work? Sitting with old ladies and drinking tea.’

  ‘Today, the old lady happens to be your great aunt, who, just in case you are interested, may not have much time left on this earth.’

  Leonie glared at her bother impatiently. ‘Give me a break. I’ve already had an earful from Lynne Sykes. One thing I am not, dear brother of mine, is a hypocrite. I have no time for Sophia, and you know why. In fact she’s one of the reasons I’m here. Now are you going to let me in or not?’ Leonie stamped her foot impatiently.

  David let out a deep sigh, walked round to the back door and walked through into the kitchen, not waiting to see if Leonie followed him. He fumbled about in the sink washing dishes and then switched the kettle onto boil. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ Leonie had wandered through into the living room and he listened for her reply. He could hear her rummaging through his newspaper. ‘I haven’t read that myself yet, Leonie,’ he called.

  Ignoring his hint Leonie continued to skip through the local trivia of events in the latest addition of the Centurion newspaper, scanning through the property adverts listed by her competitors. ‘Haven’t you anything stronger?’ she eventually replied, her voice petulant and demanding.

  David dried some mugs and set them out on a tray. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Very funny,’ Leonie sniggered sarcastically. ‘I suppose coffee will have to do then, and two spoons of sugar.’

  Yes, you need sweetening up, David thought, stirring in the sugar. He walked into his sitting room and passed Leonie her coffee. ‘So, what is it now, and why all the drama?’ he asked. He took his newspaper out of her hand, hoping she wasn’t about to ask him for more money. It had been a mistake letting Leonie know he had savings. With hardly any overheads, no wife or children to support and no expensive hobbies or holidays, his bank balance had grown considerably over the years. Adding to it the equity from the sale of a small terraced house he’d sold before moving into the vicarage, meant he was financially well off, or had been. That was before Leonie persuaded him to put his savings to good use, her own good use in fact. Three years ago he had lent her ten thousand pounds, supposedly to refurbish her business premises and buy new computers and equipment for her office. Leonie had used the money to pay off her credit cards. What remained she put as a deposit on a new sports car, taking out finance for the balance. A year later she convinced him he would benefit by investing in an Italian overseas housing development. Against his better judgement he was cajoled into handing over twenty-five thousand pounds, and up until now, the sure-fire secure investment had never been mentioned again.

  Leonie remained standing and sipped her coffee. Scowling at the bitter taste, she pointedly placed her mug on top of David’s newspaper, now folded neatly on the coffee table. Exasperated, David shook his head and put the mug onto a coaster, sliding his precious newspaper away. Leonie edged towards the bookcase and began to examine his books. She picked up a copy of Sotheby’s Inside Story, but no interest registered on her face as she flicked through the pages. David had the surprised notion that his sister was nervous, but that wouldn’t be true to form.

  ‘Nathan Brock telephoned me last night,’ she said in a clipped voice. ‘There has been a girl in the Centurion office, poking her nose into our history, if you please. You realise what this means. Someone is looking to hang out our family’s dirty laundry.’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ David replied. ‘The Lanceleys don’t have any dirty laundry, not that I’m aware of anyway.’

  ‘Not the Lanceleys, stupid, the Deverells. I for one don’t want all that business from the past raked up.
’

  Ignoring the insult, David responded, ‘I think if you check your facts you will find it’s the Farrells they are interested in, not the Deverells.’

  ‘Well, that’s almost as bad. Wait a minute, how do you know that?’ Leonie slid the book she’d been thumbing back into its place and turned to face him.

  ‘You remember Lillian Farrell? She passed away a short while ago. Well, her great nieces, Amelia and Grace Farrell, have inherited her cottage.’

  ‘Lillian Farrell should never have owned it in the first place. The Farrells tricked our great uncle into signing it over. Primrose Cottage must be worth a small fortune now.’ David raised his eyebrows, noncommittal. He had heard this argument so many times before. ‘Anyway, I thought Lillian was the last of them,’ Leonie added.

  ‘Apparently not. It appears Lillian had a brother, Harry. Amelia and Grace are his grandchildren.’

  ‘Like I said before, how do you know all this?’ Leonie demanded.

  ‘Amelia and Grace visited me and introduced themselves. They wanted to know more about the cottage and who had previously lived in it. To be truthful, I’m a bit hesitant about telling them what I’ve found out.’

  ‘I bet you are,’ Leonie smirked. ‘They won’t like hearing their great grandfather was a murderer.’

  ‘There wasn’t a scrap of concrete evidence to connect John Farrell to Uncle Laurence’s murder, as well you know. Most of it was circumstantial, and it’s why the police let him go.’

  ‘I know what you’re saying and it’s precisely why we don’t want that particular can of worms opened up. The authorities could decide to use the new-fangled forensic science we hear so much about, DNA for instance. Who will they point a finger at then? No, we must stop this before it goes any further.’

  ‘You are worrying for nothing. I’ve already told you, they are not interested in the Deverells.’