‘Do the necessary will you, Fielding?’ Montrose said, indicating the tape recording machine.
DS Fielding switched on the machine and spoke the formal words, stating the time, date and the names of those present. Montrose gave a sign for Fielding to start the interview, and DS Fielding, caught on the hop, said, ‘How is your leg, Miss Farrell?’
‘Fine, thank you for asking,’ Grace replied.
‘Err, tell us exactly what happened,’ Fielding said.
‘Which part?’ Grace said, being obtuse.
‘From the morning of the fire and after,’ DCI Montrose interrupted. ‘And we haven’t got all day.’
DS Fielding knew the last comment was aimed at him and he sat back in his chair somewhat deflated.
Grace gave a clear account of the events leading up to the fire and their escape out of the bedroom window, until she came to the part where she and Leonie had encountered Nathan and Doreen in Oakham Wood.
‘So what happened then?’ DS Fielding prompted.
‘Like I told you before, Nathan fell back onto his knife.’ Grace looked down, unable to meet the detectives’ eyes.
DCI Montrose looked at Grace thoughtfully. He knew there was something she was holding back. The knife had been sent for fingerprinting, so they would know soon enough who else’s prints were on it, Grace Farrell’s or Leonie Deverell’s?
‘Are you sure you have nothing further to add?’ DS Fielding asked, before stopping the tape recorder.
‘I’d like to ask you a question,’ Grace directed the remark to Montrose.
‘What is it?’ Montrose said.
‘Have you read Lillian’s diaries yet? They will explain everything.’
‘Will they explain Nathan Brock’s death, because that is what we are dealing with here?’ Montrose responded crossly.
‘No,’ Grace replied.
‘Well then,’ Montrose said. ‘I will read them eventually, Miss Farrell, but at the moment I have a more recent crime to worry about. DS Fielding will have your statement typed up and I strongly advise you to think about anything you wish to add before signing.’ DCI Montrose and DS Fielding stood and left the room, leaving Grace alone.
***
Grace hadn’t added anything to her statement, and so after signing the formal document, DCI Montrose instructed one of the sergeants on duty to drive her home, along with Amelia and Leonie. He sat for a while staring at the diaries, mulling over his conversation with Grace. Coming to a decision he picked up the diaries and walked out of the station to the car park. There was nothing else he could do until the fingerprint report came back. He’d asked for them to be rushed through, but like everything else, procedure took its own time. At home, which was a rented semi in Hoole, a small suburb just outside Chester; Peter Montrose took a quick shower and poured himself his usual small measure of whisky. After a microwave dinner and a tot more whisky, he settled down in his armchair and began to read the second diary. In the fourth diary, dated 1920, Montrose came to a large piece of information that warranted more note taking. It was easier for him to make the notes on his laptop and he headed the file: Lillian Farrell’s diaries. He had almost come to the end when a few lines concerning John Farrell’s death drew his attention, and he continued to type.
The verdict for John’s hanging was suicide they said, brought on by his guilt for the murder of Laurence Deverell. My father didn’t commit suicide, he was hanged by a lynching mob led by Leo Deverell and helped by Charlie Brock, John’s so-called best friend. Mum knew this for a fact because Ruth Brock confessed to her after Charlie was killed in the war. Ruth believed Charlie’s death was a punishment from God and told Mum, she said, to ease her conscience with the Almighty.
DCI Montrose finished inputting all the information he needed, he saved the file and printed off a copy. He sat for a long time contemplating the implications for all the people involved.
Chapter 37
Amelia and Grace were accepted by the inhabitants of Woodbury after the fire, and everyone in the village had been a tower of strength. People arrived in droves throughout the following week, carrying bits and bobs surplus to their requirements. A kettle, iron, washing up bowl and casserole dish complete with a lamb stew were just a few of the items delivered. A car had drawn up and driven away again without as much as a knock to see how they were doing. But when Amelia went to the door, she found a small kitchen table and four chairs plus an old camping stove complete with a gas bottle. Even Mrs Brownlow from the bread shop had called, bringing with her two loaves of bread and a selection of her best cream cakes.
‘I remember you’re partial to my cream cakes,’ she’d said. Not overfriendly, a bit reserved in fact, but kind nevertheless.
An elderly lady named Mrs Pinchbeck, whom they had never met, brought them a freshly made cherry cake and a few plain scones. Amelia asked her to stay for tea, but Mrs Pinchbeck declined, mumbling something about getting back to Tango.
Leonie and Pamela and a few of their friends brought mops and buckets, scrubbing brushes and Flash. With Grace supervising they made a start and cleared out all the damaged items, then cleaned up as best they could.
Joe also benefited from the fire, not with friendship, but in monetary terms. Armed with a spiral notebook and with a whistle on his lips, he made numerous visits to the cottage, estimating the costs of the repairs needed. The work would keep him busy for months, possibly a year. The prospect of regular work and money did much for Joe’s self-esteem and from his quiet chrysalis a shrewd negotiator emerged. Although Joe could have taken advantage of their dire circumstances, Amelia trusted him and wasn’t in the mood to shop around for cheaper quotes. During Joe’s perusal of the damage Amelia ventured to ask him about the unseen Janet again.
‘Tell me to mind my own business if you like Joe, but is your Janet still alive?’ Surprised by the question Joe stopped totting up his figures and looked at her. Then as quickly he glanced away. ‘It’s just that I get the feeling you and Gwyneth are becoming quite fond of each other and, well, Grace and I love Gwyneth and we couldn’t stand by and watch her have her heart broken.’
‘You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you?’ Joe replied sadly.
‘It’s not that. I do think you and Gwyneth make a lovely couple, and I can see you make her happy.’
Joe smiled in agreement. ‘We are very happy, and Gwyneth knows all about Janet. I told her the first evening we met.’
‘Oh Joe, I’m sorry for prying.’ Amelia was mortified by her interference.
‘Janet left me five years ago and now lives in Lower Shelton with an electrician fifteen years her junior. So you see it isn’t something I want to shout about.’ Joe looked back down at his notebook. ‘I’ll get on with your estimate now, shall I?’
Amelia nodded. What else could she do?
Chapter 38
Whether shock instigated Sophia’s rapid decline no one knew, but since the dreadful day when Doreen had attempted to kill her, Sophia’s health deteriorated. Amelia and Grace spent days and hours with her, sometimes just sitting beside her bed while she slept. When feeling well enough, Sophia told them all about her life as a young woman and how Lillian had been her constant source of love throughout. She also told them how Doreen had become pregnant and had sworn to everyone that Freddie Brock was the father.
‘Freddie denied it of course. He said he’d only kissed her.’ Sophia looked down at her hands sadly. ‘Only kissed her? Well, I couldn’t trust him after that, could I? I told him to marry Doreen and make an honest woman of her, and he did so within the month.’ Amelia took hold of Sophia’s hand. ‘I’m not sad, not anymore. Freddie loved me in his way, and we remained good friends until he died. Our friendship was something Doreen couldn’t come between,’ Sophia told them with a twinkle in her eye. Amelia wondered if their relationship had been more than just good friends.
***
After DCI Montrose had read all Lillian’s diaries, his investigation into the identification and deaths of the two skeletons, Amy Farrell and her baby daughter Alice, soon came to a close. He handed the books back to Amelia, confirming the bodies could now be released for a proper burial.
A few days later, sitting beside Sophia’s bed, Amelia considered how she should approach the delicate subject.
Sophia looked from Amelia to Grace. ‘I know I don’t have long to live, so there is something I must tell you quickly. I don’t want to be buried in the Deverell family grave. I want to be buried with my mother and twin sister and my proper name put on a headstone with theirs,’ Sophia said, as if reading Amelia’s mind.
‘Grace instead of Sophia, do you mean?’ Grace asked.
‘Everyone in the village knows you as Sophia,’ Amelia said, frowning.
‘I want the headstone to read Amy, Alice and Grace Farrell. If you want to include the name Sophia Deverell in brackets somewhere, I don’t mind.’ Amelia stared at her aunt, speechless. ‘You’ll arrange it all for me then? I can trust you to carry out my wishes?’
‘Of course we will. Don’t worry about a thing.’ Grace stepped in quickly to reassure her.
‘My mind is at peace now so we won’t talk about it again.’ Sophia closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. A sleep which proved to be one from which she never awoke.
***
The black shift dress Amelia wore for her parents’ funeral still fitted. It had a matching jacket, but it felt too formal for today so she slipped on a three-quarter-sleeved grey cardigan over the top. She tied her unruly hair back in a black velvet scrunchy and slipped on her best black patent court shoes. She checked herself in the mirror, picked up her handbag and teetering on high heels went downstairs into the living room to wait for Grace. The sky was a clear blue but Amelia wondered if they should go in the car. Her shoes were the problem: not at all suitable for the fifteen minute walk to the church. She glanced at her watch and called up to Grace.
‘Are you nearly ready, it’s ten thirty?’
Amelia didn’t sit down. The fire chief had deemed the cottage safe after the fire but all the damaged furniture was in a hired skip waiting on the drive to be collected. The walls and pictures were black with smoke, the curtains gone and the carpet crisp. There was no question of Amelia expanding her business now. Not yet anyway, with all the expense of redecorating and refurbishments.
She stood pondering whether to wear her sandals and take her shoes with her, impatiently glancing at her wristwatch again. A noise from the landing took Amelia into the hall and she watched her sister descend. ‘Oh my God,’ she said in awe.
‘What?’ Grace gave her a knowing smile.
‘You look stunning, Grace. What a transformation.’
‘You’ll be telling me next I scrub up well,’ Grace said. ‘I’ve made a special effort today. You know, for Sophia.’
Amelia looked with approval at her sister’s choice of clothes. Grace also wore a black dress, but unlike Amelia’s, her dress had long sleeves and a full skirt. Around her slim waist she wore a wide black patent belt and on her feet, low heeled black leather ballet pumps. She had pulled her hair into a French pleat and on top of her head sat a pewter grey pill box hat with a small black feather clipped to the side.
‘You look like Audrey Hepburn,’ Amelia said proudly.
Grace gave Amelia the once over too. ‘You’re never wearing those heels are you?’ she said, amazed.
‘I don’t have any others and anyway I haven’t got time to change now. Come on or we’ll be late.’ Amelia hurried Grace out of the cottage.
***
Woodbury church was filled to capacity by the time Amelia and Grace arrived, and everyone had taken a seat. Leonie saw them enter the church and motioned them over to where she sat with Pamela Carter. They both budged up along the pew to make room. Jake, Gwyneth and Joe sat a few rows behind them. Mrs Brownlow and her family were there and, Amelia noticed, Mrs Pinchbeck. Lynne Sykes and Vicky Morris sat huddled together in grief. Amelia wondered if DCI Montrose would attend, but there was no sign of him.
The atmosphere in the church was subdued. Dim light came from tall stained glass windows where candles flickered. Both sides of the lectern and beside the coffins stood beautiful flower arrangements.
The eulogy was moving, given by the vicar of Lower Shelton. Halfway through the service Grace gave a short reading from the Bible and managed not to cry.
David Lanceley, who attended the service not in his clerical capacity but as a relative, got up to say a few words about his great aunt. Lugubriously he reminisced on childhood holidays spent with Sophia, her infectious laughter and kindness.
Amelia couldn’t look at him and throughout his sentiments she focused on a stained glass window positioned just to her left. Maybe it was the acoustics in the church but to Amelia his words sounded hollow, shallow, without real feeling, just as his words of affection had been to her.
***
Outside in the cemetery, beside a freshly dug open grave, two coffins waited for interment. Amy’s and her baby Alice’s remains lay in one casket, Sophia’s in the other. At last Amy Farrell was to be reunited with both her children, albeit in death.
The group of mourners watched the coffins being lowered into the grave and stood around listening to the vicar’s final words: ‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust …’
Tearfully, Amelia and Grace sprinkled soil onto the coffins in the open grave and stood for a few moments saying their final farewells.
The Farrells had been hated and had suffered because of Leo Deverell’s and Ellen’s actions, but thanks to Ellen’s confession, the record had been set straight and wrongs righted. In a few months’ time they would have a headstone placed here, with the names and dates of Sophia (Grace), Amy and Alice carved into it. A granite memorial vase had been ordered for Ellen and was to be placed in front of the headstone.
Grace hadn’t mentioned seeing any ghosts since Sophia’s death and Amelia fervently hoped she never would again.