The Loner (6 page)

‘Two spoonfuls of honey and two of lemon juice in hot water with a drop of whisky,' Annie said over her shoulder.

Mor nodded. ‘I'll tell Ben. I hope it works for Percy's sake, dear of him. But even if it don't stop the cough, the whisky will cheer 'n up.' She dug into the jam jar with her knife.

Annie called Viv to give her a hand covering the green felt-topped card tables with disposable paper cloths.

An hour later the hall was packed. Tall and lean, his white dog collar visible at the neck of a blue shirt, the Reverend Paul Griffin smiled as he gazed round the crowd. ‘You know what I'm going to say. The committee wants your money, as much as you can spare, so the hall roof can be made watertight before next winter. So please, dig deep. Now I have great pleasure in declaring the Spring Fete open.'

‘Mrs Griffin here, is she?' Gill whispered.

‘I haven't seen her,' Jess said.

‘You know what they're saying?'

‘I thought you didn't listen to gossip.'

‘I never said I didn't
listen
. You wouldn't believe some of the things people talk about in the shop. I said I didn't
repeat
it.'

They joined in the applause, then, as conversation quickly rose to a roar, they returned to the kitchen. Gill seemed to have forgotten what she was saying about the vicar's wife. Though itching to ask, Jess resisted.

People crowded round long trestle tables holding rows of second-hand books, plants, cakes, bric-a-brac, items made by the craft group, and gifts donated for the raffle.

In the kitchen, Jess, Gill, Annie, Viv, and Morwenna moved around each other, making and pouring tea, replenishing plates, and washing up. Out in the hall, Frances Chiddock, smart in a pale blue jumper, silk scarf, and navy trousers, loaded used cups and saucers onto a tray.

‘Whose family tree are you working on now, Jess?' Viv asked as she carried a stack of clean tea plates to the hatch, passing Annie who had just taken another bottle of milk from the fridge.

‘I'm tracing the history of a property. You know Marigold's, the café opposite the chemist's in town?'

‘The one with the poster of Mor's great-grandparents?'

Jess nodded. ‘It's had several names in the past fifty years. Before it was a vegetarian restaurant called Beanz it was a burger bar, and before that a coffee bar done out like an American diner. Simon Opie inherited the property with the rest of the Chenhall estate. When he found the box of posters and playbills in the attic he also found the name sign. He had it repainted and put back up and asked me to find out who Marigold was and how her name came to be on the building.'

‘How are you getting on?'

‘Slowly.'

‘You'll find her,' Viv said. ‘Look what you did for Mor.' She put the plates on the worktop and went back another stack.

Jess poured milk into the jug, then glanced through the hatch.

‘Frances Chiddock is giving me the evil eye again,' she murmured to Gill.

‘Take no notice,' Gill advised.

‘I wish I knew what I'm supposed to have done.'

‘Nothing. It isn't you, it's her. You know she's related to the Nichollses who farm Tregarrick up on the downs?'

The news surprised Jess. ‘I didn't realise she was local.'

Gill nodded. ‘Her mother was nanny to Dr Ivey's children. They used to live along the road to the marina. There was some trouble. Back during the war this was. Anyhow, the family moved away. Frances' first husband was some high-up civil servant. When he died she moved back to the village and bought a bungalow in Roseveare Meadow. She got married again to this chap who passed himself off as wealthy. But after the wedding she found out he didn't have a penny to his name.'

Jess felt a pang of sympathy. ‘Being conned hurts.'

‘As you well know, bird,' Gill murmured. ‘Anyhow, she divorced him, went back to calling herself Chiddock, and took up with the church. Margaret says she does the flowers but you'll never see her pick up a duster.'

‘I don't think I've ever seen her smile,' Jess said. ‘But she always looks very smart.'

Gill snorted. ‘That's because she orders clothes from catalogues, wears them to Sunday service, then sends them back.'

‘
What
?'

‘True as I'm stood here. After my sister Kath's husband was made redundant he got a catalogue delivery round and he calls at her place at least once a week to drop off or pick up parcels. ‘Tis all appearances with her.'

‘That's sad. It still doesn't explain why she's taken against me.'

‘She don't need a reason. She's always falling out with someone. Love thy neighbour? Huh!' Gill snorted again.

Chapter Seven

That evening Jess looked up the Births, Marriages and Deaths indexes and found both Francis and Ellen Chamberlin, née Kirby. Then she went into the 1911 census and discovered Francis Albert Chamberlin living at the cottage with his parents, Harold and Sarah.

Jess knew from a previous investigation that under the old
copyhold for lives
tenure, property could remain in the same family for three lives – those of the tenant, his wife and his heir. Then it reverted to the landlord who could lease it to a new tenant. Though by 1925 all copyhold tenure had been converted to leasehold, a lease could extend through several generations of the same family.

It occurred to Jess that if the man they had all known as John Preece was named as Francis Chamberlin's heir, his real name would be in Francis' will. She started searching, only to be disappointed by a notice explaining that many records had been lost or destroyed during the war.

On the census, Harold's occupation was listed as stonemason. The estate was the largest employer in the village area so Harold was probably the named tenant on the lease.

Ellen outlived her husband so the cottage came to her. As she and Francis had no children, she must have left it to a more distant relative. But if that was John Preece, what was his real name and relationship to Ellen?

Jess made a note to book an appointment at the Record Office to access the Chenhall collection for title deeds or leases relating to the cottage. She also needed to find out which of the Chenhalls actually owned the property that became Marigold's.

She got up to make herself a drink and the guilt she had been trying unsuccessfully to ignore rolled over her again. She switched off the kettle, picked up the receiver and dialled Tom's number.

‘Tom Peters.'

‘It's Jess. Tom, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have flown at you like that, much less said what I did.'

‘It did sting a bit. But after I got home and cooled down I wanted to kick myself.'

She laughed. ‘That makes two of us.'

‘You wanted to kick me?'

‘No. Me. I should have told Colin Terrell he was wasting his breath and my time. And you were right. I had taken it too seriously. the trouble is –'

‘You aren't used to dealing with shites like him. I deserve a kicking for not seeing what you saw, a married man with no respect for his wife or for the women he tries it on with. Alex all over again, wasn't it?'

‘I didn't consciously think that at the time, but that was probably the reason I went off the deep end. I'm really sorry.' She leaned back in the chair relief sweeping away tension.

‘So am I.' He was quiet for a moment. ‘I hated falling out with you, Jess. It upset me awful.'

‘You just took the words out of my head.'

‘What are you doing tomorrow?'

‘I know it's Sunday, but I've just realised it's the last day of a special offer on loft insulation at the superstore. I rang and reserved six rolls.'

‘Want me to pick it up?'

‘You're a gem. I'll pay your diesel.'

‘You'll do no such thing. Did you order dust masks and goggles?'

‘I didn't know I needed them.'

‘No matter, I've got plenty of both at the yard. When are you going to lay it?'

‘I hadn't got that far.'

‘I'll give you a hand if you like.'

‘Would you?'

‘It'll cost, mind.'

‘How much?'

‘A dozen saffron buns.'

‘Fair enough.'

‘That's just for starters.'

Hearing the smile in his voice, Jess found herself grinning. ‘Uh-oh. What else?'

‘I'm working on that. Pick you up at ten?'

‘I'll be ready.'

She was watching for him and as his pick-up stopped right on time at the end of her path, she was quickly outside and locking the door.

He leaned over to open the passenger door for her.

Climbing in she kissed his cheek. ‘Thanks.'

‘What for?'

‘Anything you like.'

The journey took twenty minutes and they talked all the way. They loaded rolls the same height as Jess into the back of the pick-up and strapped them down on top of a telescopic ladder, two boxes, and a canvas shopping bag containing another bag and a pair of leather carpet slippers.

Back in the village Jess helped him unload. It took them several trips to carry everything inside. While Tom drove the pick-up down to the car park, she made coffee.

‘That's thoughtful,' she said when he came in.

‘What is?'

‘The slippers.'

‘It's for safety. This is dangerous stuff. You don't want to breathe it in. The fibres are very fine and fly everywhere. Overalls and slippers can be shaken off outside and I brought a change of clothes.'

‘I haven't got any overalls.'

‘I didn't think you would. I brought an old pair of mine for you.'

After they finished their coffee she rinsed the mugs, leaving them upside down on the draining board, and turned just as Tom stripped off his rugby shirt to reveal a white short-sleeved T-shirt. Her gaze lingered on his shoulders.

‘See anything you fancy?' He stepped into grey cotton overalls that were paint-smeared and faded, zipped them up to the neck, pulled an elasticated mask over his head and let it hang under his chin, then lifted a pair of close-fitting goggles from the second box.

‘Maybe.'

He pressed one hand to his chest. ‘Wounded, I am.'

‘I don't want you getting big-headed.'

‘Chance would be a fine thing. Come on, let's get you kitted up.'

Dressed in a pair of similar overalls with the bottoms rolled up, elastic bands around the ankles and cuffs, and polystyrene pads pushed into the knee pockets, Jess pulled a shower cap over her hair.

‘Is all this really necessary?'

‘Ask me again when we've finished. Here.' He handed her a pair of goggles, a dust mask and finally her gardening gloves. ‘Tuck your sleeves into the cuffs. Have you got a torch?'

Jess fetched the large, yellow, plastic one she kept in case of power cuts. They hauled the rolls up the stairs onto the landing. Tom pushed open the trapdoor so it rested against the dividing wall between Jess's cottage and Elsie's next door. Extending the ladder, he set it at the shallowest angle possible in the confined space then climbed into the loft and leaned down.

‘Right, let's have them.'

‘Shall I tear the paper off first?'

‘No, they'll be easier to manage with it on.'

By the time all six rolls had been manhandled up the ladder Jess was sweating. She passed him the torch then climbed up.

‘Mind where you put your feet,' Tom warned. ‘Best if we start at the far end and work back this way.'

Switching on the torch Jess directed the beam over the wooden battens bracing the A-frame. ‘You'll never get through the gaps. Your shoulders are too wide.'

He grinned. ‘That's why you're here.' Slicing through the wrapping with a retractable blade he ripped off and crumpled the paper, tossing it down through the trapdoor.

While Jess crawled from joist to joist to the far end, Tom cut lengths off the rolls of four-inch-thick, orange, fibreglass matting. He passed them forward. She manoeuvred them under the cross-members then pushed them right to the edge, first at the front, then at the rear. In the confined space it was difficult, hot, and exhausting. Her goggles kept misting up and the mask over her nose and mouth made her feel as if she was breathing steam. Impatiently she reached up to remove it.

‘Don't you dare!' Tom roared. ‘Breathe it in and it'll cut your lungs to ribbons.'

He was probably exaggerating, but in case he wasn't Jess left her mask in place.

As they moved in towards the centre, increased headroom made the work easier, but Jess was sweat-soaked, itching, and ached all over. She laid a thick piece between joists immediately in front of her and edged backwards.

Tom tapped her shoulder. ‘That's it, girl.'

Painfully she turned, wincing at the pain in her knees. ‘We've finished?'

‘Used every last bit.'

‘Thank God for that.'

‘I can pick up a few more rolls next time it's on offer.'

‘There's no rush. I'm not sure I'll ever walk again.'

He sighed. ‘Typical woman, always complaining.'

‘It wasn't you on your knees with your bottom in the air.'

‘You think it was easy for me, having to wait back here and look at your bum? Reminded me of a Dutch barge I had in the yard a few years back. Lovely rounded lines she had –'

Stifling a laugh, Jess elbowed him in the ribs making him cough.

‘What? There's no pleasing some people.' He swung his legs over the rim of the hole, turned and put his feet on the ladder. ‘Tell you what though. I don't know many women who would do this.'

‘They've got more sense.'

He guided her feet onto the rungs. As she reached the bottom he went back up the ladder. Jess wrenched off her gloves, mask, goggles and shower cap. Though the room was warm, the air felt deliciously cool on her hot damp skin.