A Grave Inheritance (2 page)

Grace emerged and sat back on her heels. ‘A penny for them,’ she said.

‘I was just thinking how Mum and Dad would have loved this cottage.’

‘Oh,’ Grace replied quietly.

The following silence was uncomfortable, and to try to make amends for her bluntness, Amelia asked, ‘Need any help?’

‘No, its okay thanks.’ Grace began to turn the tap off again, her earlier high spirits diminished. ‘The water’s disconnected but I noticed a rain barrel outside. Have I got time to water these few plants before we leave?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Amelia reassured her. She hated an atmosphere between them and wished she hadn’t spoken her thoughts so readily. ‘Sorry, Grace. I didn’t mean to ruin the day,’ she said forlornly.

Grace went outside and filled a plastic bucket with water and brought it back into the kitchen. ‘You don’t need to apologise for mentioning Mum and Dad, you know. I think about them too, all the time.’ Grace smiled. ‘Anyway, you’re right. They would have loved it here.’ Relieved and glad to have cleared the air, Amelia smiled, but her heart sank when Grace went on, ‘Don’t you think it’s strange that Dad never talked to us about our grandfather, or great aunt Lillian? Is it possible we have other relatives we don’t know about?’ While Grace questioned Amelia, she squatted on her haunches and gave lavish quantities of water to some red geraniums. Thankfully, with her back turned, Grace didn’t see the expression on her sister’s face.

Since the arrival of the solicitor’s letter they had talked of nothing else, and Amelia didn’t want to have this conversation again. She had nothing to add to their previous discussions and, anyway, Amelia knew that whatever she said would only lead to more questions. It had come as a bit of a shock to receive the solicitor’s letter and be told, three years after their parents’ untimely death, that their grandfather, Harry Farrell, had lived less than two hours’ drive away from Llangollen. Having recently passed away, he’d left his only valuable possession, Primrose Cottage and its large garden and wooded copse all set in approximately half an acre of land, to his only child Robert, their father. Their father’s death preceding that of Harry, the legacy transferred to Amelia and Grace. Harry had inherited the cottage ten years earlier, from his sister Lillian, but having no desire to up sticks and move back to the Cheshire village he’d left as a small boy, he had rented the cottage out to two elderly ladies.

‘I’m as much in the dark as you,’ Amelia finally said.

Grace had stripped away dried leaves from the clematis. The scorched foliage disintegrated in her hand and bits lay where they fell on the stone floor, like discarded confetti. Absorbed in the job at hand, Grace let the matter rest.

Chapter 2

Amelia mulled over what a move to Cheshire would entail as they drove back home. Besides their house in North Wales there was their business, Farrell Interiors, to consider.

‘You know I’ve been thinking of expanding the business. We might find suitable premises in Chester,’ Amelia said to Grace, confident in a solution to free up some of her time.

‘How will you manage both?’ Grace turned slightly in her seat to face her.

‘I’ll promote Gwyneth. She can manage the shop in Llangollen. Jake will manage the decorating and I’ll employ an apprentice to help him and to learn the trade. I’ll continue to make curtains and complete furnishing orders from our new home. If anything urgent crops up Gwyneth can reach me by telephone or email.’ Amelia changed gear as she came up to traffic lights.

‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’ Grace turned back in her seat and stared ahead out of the car window.

Amelia left Grace to chew on it and mulled over the possibilities herself. It would mean more work for Jake, but if agreeable, he could use the company’s small van, with petrol and expenses paid. Amelia could trust her assistant, Gwyneth Jones, to order materials, look after the stock room and serve their valued customers. Gwyneth rented the one bedroomed flat above the shop and Amelia appreciated what an added bonus it was, having her living on the premises. Amelia began to make lists in her head. Estate agent, van hire, packing boxes, bubble wrap, sort garage, clean loft …

***

Their house in Llangollen sold quickly. Amelia and Grace packed up all their worldly goods, and on moving day everything was ready to go. Jake and two of his mates, Jason and Lee, plus Gwyneth turned up to help, true to their word.

‘Weather’s crap,’ Jake said needlessly as thunder storms rolled around the Horseshoe Pass and dark clouds hung like dirty washing over the town. Gwyneth glared at him, but Amelia and Grace laughed. Nothing was going to spoil today, they’d decided.

After everything had been loaded into the hired van, Amelia and Grace took it in turns to hug Gwyneth goodbye, while she sniffed and dabbed her eyes. ‘Anyone would think you were moving to Australia, all this blooming fuss,’ she said.

‘They’re only going up the road, an hour and a half max. Tell you what! I’ll take you to visit them on the back of my bike if you like,’ Jake teased. Gwyneth looked at him aghast. She wasn’t known to refuse a lift from anyone but made an exception when it came to motorbikes. Jake’s especially!

Jake had offered to drive the van for them and Grace climbed up beside him. Amelia, with her Peugeot loaded to the gunnels, set off behind them. A brisk wind helped to clear the clouds and lighten the skyline and with the A483 free from holdups, they made the journey in good time. Jake swung the van through the narrow entrance to Primrose Cottage managing to trim a side of the hedge by a good inch.

Grace slipped down from the high seat onto the gravel the instant the van stopped. ‘Crikey, Jake, we’re supposed to return the van in one piece you know,’ she said, exasperated.

Amelia stood next to her car further along the driveway. ‘Can you get a bit nearer to the cottage, Jake?’ she called. They still didn’t have a front door key so everything had to be taken in through the back door. Jake acknowledged with thumbs up and manoeuvred the van’s rear end as close as was possible.

Amelia opened the door to the kitchen and then went back to her car. Grace and Jake carried in a few boxes then waited in the kitchen. Amelia brought in a cardboard box containing a kettle, tea bags, mugs and a packet of digestive biscuits. Gwyneth had made sandwiches for their lunch and Grace and Jake dived in.

‘We need milk,’ Grace said, through a mouthful of corned beef and pickle.

‘I’ve brought dried milk, that will have to do for now.’ Amelia put a tin on the worktop.

With Jake’s help all the furniture and boxes were soon unloaded and distributed to the various rooms. After promising faithfully to return the van intact to the hire company the following day, Jake waved goodbye and drove off. Completely worn out, Amelia and Grace made up their beds with fresh linen and immediately collapsed on them.

***

As tired as Grace was, her body exhausted, her mind was in overdrive. Unable to sleep and without the luxury of a clock she guessed the time to be about midnight. Acutely aware of every creak and groan as the cottage settled for the night, Grace raised herself on her elbows, listening. For the first time she began to have doubts and wished she’d taken the time to find out more about Woodbury and its inhabitants. Fed up, she put on her slippers and feeling her way, crossed the gloomy landing to the bathroom. Going back to her bedroom a few minutes later, she found the landing floodlit and the arched leaded window forming a stencil on the wall. Grace rested her forearms on the window’s deep sill and looked out. Chain-linked stars surrounded the moon, a pearl pendant in a velvety sky. In the lambent light the pebble path appeared gold, the trees and shrubs tinged silver, a magical jungle.

A shadow, a moving shadow, caught Grace’s eye and she pressed her face closer to the glass. Someone was below her in the garden. Without thinking of possible danger or stopping to put on her coat, Grace raced down the stairs. Heedless of her thin slippers she ran through the kitchen into the conservatory and unlocking the outside door, raced out of the house. Up ahead, a few metres away, stood a young girl of about fifteen or sixteen. She was dressed in a long old-fashioned dress, with a multi-coloured shawl wrapped around her shoulders. In her arms, folded into the shawl, she held a tiny baby; Grace could just see the top of its head. The luminous moon gave the girl’s skin a waxy tone and tinged her small face blue.

‘Hello. What are you doing here?’ Grace said, stepping forward.

The girl glanced briefly in Grace’s direction then pulling her shawl more tightly around her, she turned and hurried off towards the trees. Grace began to follow, then froze. Beside a tree, in its shadow, was a woman waiting for the girl. The woman appeared unnaturally tall, but as Grace took in her appearance, a ragged coat and boots that looked too big, it was to the woman’s face that her eyes were drawn. A deep scar began above her left eye; it skimmed across her eyebrow and curved down the side of her face to rest on the apple of her cheek.

Aware of Grace’s scrutiny, the woman inclined her head and stared back, her eyes shimmering in deep hollows. She lifted her arm and placed it protectively around the young girl’s shoulders, drawing her back into the shadows.

Back in the house Grace locked the conservatory door behind her and backed away from it. Like an action replay, the image of the girl and woman melting into the trees replayed itself over and over in Grace’s mind. She stood and watched the door, waiting to see if the handle turned, and knew if it did she would scream.

Chapter 3

The next day, Grace walked to Woodbury, needing to get out of the cottage and have time to think. She walked for ten minutes to the end of Marsh Lane then along a country road. She began to think she’d come the wrong way, when the road curved sharply and Grace saw buildings. Woodbury centre was literally one street with a scattering of shops on either side. One window displayed bread and cakes. A red pillar box stood outside a newsagent-cum-post office and further on an Eight till Late grocery shop also sold lottery tickets and was licensed for alcohol. Along the road she saw a chemist’s sign. A maroon metal sign hung over the door of a semi, advertising a doctors’ surgery. Grace noticed hairdryers and washbasins, visible through the window of the other half of the house: a hairdresser’s aptly named Hair Flair.

The Eight till Late catered for everything and Grace walked out ten minutes later with two carrier bags full of food. Passing the display of cream cakes and iced buns in the bread shop window Grace decided they needed a treat so, having both hands full, she backed into the shop, opening the door with her bottom. A bell jingled loudly above her head and the queue of customers turned as one as she joined them.

Grace waited patiently while the solitary shop assistant behind the counter served each person, taking her time to ask after family or friends. Grace came to the conclusion the woman was naturally nosy. Her ferrety features surely indicated it. The woman’s steel grey hair, lacquered within an inch of its life, resembled a German helmet and Grace wondered if the woman frequented Hair Flair. Definitely in need of a makeover, Grace decided, observing the teal-coloured sweater and matching tartan kilt, including safely pin.

At last it was Grace’s turn to be served. She chose two chocolate éclairs and attempting to be friendly said, ‘Hello, I’m Grace. My sister and I have just moved to Woodbury.’

‘I’m Mrs Brownlow, the owner, pleased to meet you.’ Mrs Brownlow smiled and waved her arm round the shop, encompassing all she owned. ‘Mr Brownlow and our two sons work in the bakery at the back. My daughter-in-law, Sandra, and I run the shop. Sandra’s expecting our first grandchild,’ she added proudly, ‘so only works part time just now.’ A slight Scottish accent explained the tartan.

‘It’s a family business then; how nice.’

‘Yes,’ Mrs Brownlow said smugly. ‘Moved into the new housing estate then, have you?’ she enquired.

‘No, we live on Marsh Lane. Primrose Cottage, perhaps you know it.’

Mrs Brownlow paused midway between putting the éclairs into a paper bag. She looked at Grace more thoroughly, curiosity aroused. ‘I didn’t know Primrose Cottage was for sale,’ she stated, sounding a little put out.

‘Oh, we didn’t buy it,’ Grace answered, and then noticing the woman’s confusion she started to explain. Before Grace could speak, Mrs Brownlow interrupted.

‘You’re renting it, then?’ This explanation seemed more agreeable and the woman’s eyebrows relaxed and settled in thick straight lines above her eyes. She put the paper bag now containing the cakes down onto the counter. Seeing Grace’s hesitation she leaned forward, eyebrows aquiver. ‘Don’t tell me you’re squatters.’

‘No, of course we’re not. We inherited the cottage,’ Grace replied indignantly, self-consciously aware she was wearing the crinkled denim jeans and shirt she’d worn the previous day.

Mrs Brownlow straightened and imperceptibly moved away from the counter, frown deepening. Eyes two steel glints, she enquired. ‘Your name’s not Farrell, is it?’

‘Yes. You probably knew my great aunt Lillian,’ Grace said optimistically.

Mrs Brownlow sniffed, finished wrapping the cakes and then handed them over to Grace, who still waited for a reply. None came and Grace paid for the cakes and left.

Outside, Grace crossed the road and sat on a bench placed under the window of the doctors’ surgery, contemplating Mrs Brownlow’s attitude. The minute she’d known her surname was Farrell the woman had not uttered another word to her, and although she’d not ordered Grace out of her shop, Grace felt as though she’d been seen off with a flea in her ear. Five minutes later, still feeling confused, the sound of a motorbike alerted her. Grace perked up, thinking Jake had decided to visit them again. She stood and waved tentatively as the rider drew nearer.

The motorbike rider changed down the gears quickly to slow down and waved back. Grace saw her own distorted reflection in his dark visor and sensed the rider weighing her up. He could be an alien for all I know, she thought, as the sun’s rays bounced off his silver-coloured helmet and hurt her eyes. His booted toe touched down briefly onto the pavement, and then with a few quick revs he rode off down the road. Feeling thwarted that it wasn’t, Jake, Grace sat down again, and then saw that an elderly woman had sat down on the bench too. Grace shifted her carrier bags to give the woman more leg room.