The nursing home was shielded by specimen trees and as the car drew nearer they glimpsed tall Georgian windows and imposing stone steps leading up to a grand front door.
‘Blimey, it’s a bit grand for a nursing home.’ Grace squinted against the bright sunlight for a better look.
‘It wasn’t always a nursing home remember,’ Amelia said, driving into a visitor’s parking space.
The grand front entrance was only for show and they followed an entrance sign that took them around the side of the building, into a Georgian-style conservatory that was attached to the building like a carbuncle. Used as a store for wheelchairs and Zimmer frames, it opened into a large impressive hall. They walked across the conservatory’s stone floor onto a plush, plain olive-coloured carpet stretching from wall to wall. To complement the carpet, the hall walls were warm buttermilk, and above, a white ceiling highlighted the detail in the classical ornate coving and light fittings. Hanging on the walls were oil paintings of fruit in bowls and countryside scenes and portraits of people looking down their noses. There were eight wing back chairs, pale green to harmonise with the carpet, four on each side of the grand front door. Two sets of double doors with square portholes of leaded glass guarded wide corridors, fitted on each side with waist-high hand rails, user friendly improvements for the elderly. Through a facing glass wall was an office and situated in front of it, the reception desk.
‘It must cost a fortune to stay here,’ whispered Grace, looking around at the paintings.
‘What are you whispering for, we’re not in church?’ Amelia asked.
‘It feels like it,’ Grace countered.
A lift door shuddered open on their right. Three elderly women tottered out, pushing walking frames in front of them, handbags swinging over their arms. A care assistant exited the lift and walked quickly to open the outside conservatory door for them, and then she waited.
‘Thank you, Pauline,’ each woman chorused as they passed her.
‘I’ll see you later. Don’t get up to any mischief while you’re out.’ Pauline laughed and pulled the door shut. She stopped at the reception desk to have a word with the woman on duty and then disappeared back in the lift.
Amelia and Grace told the receptionist who they were and who they had come to visit. She identified herself as Vicky Morris and explained that the younger and more mobile residents were all normally situated on the ground floor, the very elderly or infirm upstairs on the first floor.
‘We’re a little overcrowded at the moment and so some of the more fit residents are housed upstairs.’ Vicky waved her hand towards the three elderly women who now sat on one of the many benches placed along the path which meandered around the grounds. ‘Mrs Deverell is on the first floor. Her room, number twenty-four, has magnificent views across the meadows, and I believe was her room as a child. It probably has many happy memories for her.’
Amelia and Grace went up in the same lift Pauline had used a few minutes before and came out into a hall almost as big as the entrance below. The corridors had signs on the walls stating room numbers and they followed the directions to number twenty-four.
Chapter 22
Amelia and Grace stood outside Sophia’s room for a moment, preparing for what lay head. Then, raising her eyebrows in a “here goes” expression, Grace knocked on the door. Mrs Deverell’s nurse, Lynne Sykes, opened it and then stood to one side to let them enter. Any doubts concerning the kind of welcome they would receive soon disappeared.
An elderly lady, bright and alert, sat up in her bed and welcomed them in with open arms. ‘Well, fancy this,’ she said, beaming at them. Instructing Lynne to arrange for afternoon tea to be served a little later, she dismissed her nurse and turned to the girls. ‘Reverend Lanceley visited me this morning and he mentioned Harry’s granddaughters had moved into Primrose Cottage. I can see the Farrell likeness, yes, especially you,’ she wagged a finger at Grace. ‘I’m so happy to meet you, thank you for coming to see me. Now sit down and tell me all about yourselves.’ Sophia listened attentively while Amelia told her about their parents’ tragic accident and how they had come to inherit the cottage.
‘With Mum and Dad’s life insurance money I started a small interior design and decorating business. It’s doing really well,’ Amelia said proudly.
‘I know what it’s like to be left all alone when so young.’ Sophia looked at them sadly. ‘I had Lillian, but you had no one. You must be a very strong young woman dear, to just get on with things like you did and with the responsibility of a young sister to bring up.’
Grace baulked at this and was tempted to argue the point that she’d hardly been a child. But a glance and smile from Amelia quelled her feeling of being unjustly treated.
‘If only Harry had kept in touch with Lillian,’ Sophia continued. ‘She would have been thrilled to have known you both.’ Grace clasped Sophia’s hand, feeling as though she could hold onto it forever. ‘In the last letter Lillian received from Harry, he told her he had met a young lady. Bethany I think her name was. Her father, a friend of his uncle George, owned a bakery in Llangollen. Did your father ever mention his mother’s name?’ Sophia enquired.
‘Not that I can remember,’ Amelia replied. ‘Our maternal grandmother died when Grace was a baby and I remember her quite well.’ She’d never questioned why it was that she had only one set of grandparents. ‘We never knew our grandfather, Harry. Our parents never mentioned him.’
‘Oh well, there you are then. Even so, I do hope he had a happy life,’ Sophia said wistfully. ‘Ellen became increasingly ill after John, Lillian’s father, died.’ Sophia tapped her forehead, indicating it was a mental illness. ‘Poor Lillian; in between looking after Ellen and working at Tapscott Manor, and later, after my uncle died, taking me in, she didn’t have the time or the means to visit Harry. Her uncle George and his wife Anwen, with their son Owain, visited occasionally, and they brought snippets of gossip on how Harry was faring. Harry always stayed behind to look after the bakery.’ Sophia’s expression saddened as she dwelt on this for a moment, then sensing the sudden quiet she perked up and smiled broadly, and Amelia glimpsed the beautiful girl she had once been.
‘Lillian never married, did she?’ Amelia asked.
‘No dear, why do you ask? Sophia replied.
‘Was there anyone special in her life that you know of?’ Amelia persisted.
Grace nodded her approval of the question and shifted her position, poised, waiting for Sophia’s answer.
‘A man do you mean? Oh no, Lillian kept herself pretty much to herself. She wasn’t one for socialising. Are you wondering if you have other relatives you’ve not heard about?’ Sophia looked at them both enquiringly.
Amelia didn’t think it a good time to bring up the details of finding a coffin in Lillian’s garden. Nurse Sykes had emphasised how frail Sophia was and had asked the sisters not to tire her.
Pauline, the care assistant they had seen earlier, entered just then, pushing a trolley in front of her, and brought a temporary halt to the conversation. The top tier had cups and saucers, sugar basin, milk jug and teapot, all part of a matching set. A plate of salmon and cucumber sandwiches sat on the bottom tier. Next to it was a small plate of chocolate biscuits.
‘Thank you, Pauline, we’ll serve ourselves.’ Sophia asked Amelia to pour the tea and began munching on a sandwich. She had trouble with her dentures and they clicked as she chewed. Every now and again she pushed her teeth back into place and wiped her fingers on a napkin. Amelia and Grace looked the other way discreetly, not wanting to embarrass her.
Unaware of Amelia’s discretion in broaching the subject foremost in their minds, Grace stepped right in. ‘Do you get newspapers delivered to the nursing home?’ she asked, ignoring the nudge against her knee. Sophia finished sipping her tea then placed her cup down on its saucer. With a trembling hand she reached out to place it back on the trolley. Amelia gave Grace a withering look.
Sophia noticed this pass between the sisters and hastened to reassure her. ‘It’s all right. It’s got to be talked about sooner or later.’ Sophia looked at Grace. ‘In answer to your question, yes, I have seen this week’s
Centurion
and before you ask, yes, I have read the article about your find. I’ve also had a visit from a nice detective, Peter Montrose I think he said his name was.’
‘Sorry, Sophia, I didn’t mean to be so blunt,’ Grace apologised. ‘It’s just that …’
‘Look, shall we leave it for today?’ Amelia chimed in. ‘Nurse Sykes said we mustn’t tire you out.’ An eye roll, a silent plea to her sister, went unheeded.
‘What were you going to say?’ Sophia directed her question at Grace.
‘Well, it’s just that I …’ Grace shot a look at her sister, ‘we have so many unanswered questions and,’ she hesitated, afraid to state the obvious, then did anyway, ‘time isn’t exactly on our side, is it?’
‘Grace. How could you be so rude?’ Amelia exclaimed, shocked by her sister’s tactlessness.
‘I like her straightforwardness.’ Sophia chuckled. ‘You want all your answers now, before I kick the bucket.’
Grace blushed with embarrassment. ‘Sorry,’ she ventured again.
‘I was surprised more than shocked really. I think I knew it was there, probably noticed it when taking a stroll through the trees, but the fact that it was a proper grave never registered. It makes me shudder to think of those bones lying there a few yards from where I was sleeping.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Amelia murmured.
‘Lillian must have known of its existence. Did she never mention it?’ Grace asked, feeling they were getting somewhere at last.
‘No never, and Doreen rarely went down the garden so I don’t think she knew about it. She never mentioned it to me, anyway.’ Sophia glanced into the corner of the room as if checking for something then stared out of the window, preoccupied.
Deflated Grace sat back in the chair with the urge to shout, Bugger.
Chapter 23
From her bedroom Doreen watched the two young women get into their car and drive off. Wasting no time she went straight along the corridor to Sophia’s room.
‘For all we know they could be impostors,’ Doreen sulked after hearing Sophia’s account and her praise for Amelia and Grace Farrell.
‘Impostors, don’t be silly.’ Sophia frowned at Doreen who’d settled herself in the chair beside Sophia’s bed. ‘Have you read this week’s
Centurion
?’
‘Yes, all that nonsense about a grave in Primrose Cottage’s garden. I never saw a grave all the time I lived there, did you?’ Doreen said dismissively.
‘Mm …’ Sophia murmured.
Doreen wasn’t going to let Sophia change the subject so she let the thought that the girls could be imposters hang in the air for a few minutes and then said, ‘You’re a wealthy woman, Sophia, and could easily be taken advantage of at your age. Well, all I’m saying is, you must be careful.’
Sophia drummed her fingers on the tray stand positioned over her knees. It held a plate with the remains of an unfinished salmon and cucumber sandwich. ‘Because I lived in the cottage with Lillian they assumed I knew about the gravestone and possibly the identities of the skeletons they’ve uncovered. They will probably contact you too. There’s no ulterior motive, Doreen, they’re lovely girls.’
‘As if we would know anything about gravestones in their garden, are they accusing us?’ Doreen snapped.
‘No.’
‘I don’t want you taken in by a sob story. I’d be very careful before you go changing your will.’
Sophia would have done a double take had her neck not been so stiff. She looked at Doreen, flabbergasted. ‘I don’t remember mentioning anything about changing my will.’ Sophia lifted the teapot and swirled the remains, testing to see if it held enough for two cups. ‘You don’t want another cup of tea, do you, and there’s only enough milk for one cup,’ Sophia added, giving no opportunity for Doreen to say she did. Drawing out the procedure, she added milk to the dregs left in her cup and then topped it up with warm tea. Doreen watched grudgingly. ‘I know what this is all about, you know,’ Sophia said.
‘What?’
‘Nathan.’
‘Nathan!’ Doreen feigned surprise. ‘What has he got to do with it?’
‘Oh Doreen, let’s be honest with each other for once, please.’
‘I’m always honest,’ replied Doreen indignantly. ‘I also consider you my friend and I have your best interests at heart, Sophia, even though you may not see it that way.’
‘My best interests or Nathan’s I wonder?’ Sophia said softly. Doreen looked down at her hands. ‘Doreen, you consider it your right to control what I do or don’t do with my money, money I inherited from my stepmother. For all your good intentions, admit it.’
‘Your stepmother, Sylvia Deverell, inherited it from my father, Leo Deverell,’ Doreen’s voice rose. ‘My blood father, as you well know. I should have been the one to inherit, not you. After all, I have Deverell blood in me too.’
‘So you say, and whose word do we have for it?’ Sophia could see Doreen was becoming agitated so she spoke quietly.
‘My mother, she told me. When she got pregnant with me, my father wanted nothing more to do with her so she was married off to the pub landlord. Why would she say that if it wasn’t true?’ Doreen’s finger jabbed the air in front of her, her head pushed forward, her neck strained and sinewy.
Sophia remained calm; she had heard it all before, many times. She looked at the bitter woman sitting beside her bed, so different from the Doreen she had known as a girl. Even though they had remained close all their lives, Sophia was constantly aware of Doreen’s jealousy. She waited for the tirade to finish and then answered.
‘You’re worried that Amelia and Grace, my great nieces, albeit from my Farrell side, will push Nathan’s nose out of joint.’ Suddenly exhausted and upset by Doreen’s angry outburst, Sophia lay back on her pillows, her breathing short, shallow puffs.
Doreen leaned over the bed. ‘Do you feel dizzy? Shall I call for Lynne?’
‘I’m fine.’ Sophia turned her head and looked at her lost friend. Doreen met her gaze steadily. ‘You’ve always resented me, haven’t you, Doreen, even when we were children? You’ve feigned friendship. Any kindness you’ve shown has always had an ulterior motive. I’ve learned that over the years. I should have learned my lesson when you took Freddie from me. Did it give you satisfaction to see me so heartbroken? But I think you know Freddie never stopped loving me.’