Twenty-Nine
Summer had given way to autumn, and on a typical blustery day of grey skies and yellowing leaves fluttering down from the trees, Dorrie and Finn were in the library of Sunny Corner going over the final scripts, typed by Verity, and the accompanying artwork. They agreed the rhyming stories, one incorporating a woodland fairy princess who had lost her wings, and an elf, a pixie, a bunny, a squirrel, an ancient talking oak tree and a wise young owl who help her to find them, were ready to be packaged and posted to the literary agency in London, suggested by Verity. Dorrie would make the trip to the post office.
‘I don’t know anyone there personally,’ Verity had said. ‘I rang around and they’re recommended by Angela Blakely-Smythe. You remember her, Aunt Dor? The chubby, spotty school friend you kindly allowed to join us one summer hols while her parents swanned off to Monte for several weeks. Angela was always giggling and playing pranks. She’s turned out to be a curvy glamour puss, by the way. She knows all sorts of people. Angela says it’s your best bet really, but she’s given me a few more names and addresses you might like to try. I suppose things are still a bit tricky after the war. You’ve had an interested response to your initial letter, and Jack and I are keeping everything crossed for you.’
‘Satisfied, Finn?’ Dorrie asked, referring to her rhyming.
‘More than satisfied, Mrs R. Let’s go for lift-off. I’m not expecting great results for my contribution, it’s likely to be seen as a bit raw, publishers probably like to keep to their own illustrators, but that doesn’t matter as long as they want your stories. They might be able to do something with the other stuff I’m enclosing for war or ghost books. Not unexpectedly Guy has offered to pay to have loads of books published. He’s such an expert at emotional blackmail of the good intentioned kind, says it would be nice for Eloise. We can always think about that if we’re rejected.’
‘Well, I don’t care about myself,’ Dorrie said, stroking Corky’s smooth head just plonked on her knee. ‘I’m quite happy to keep my writing private. You’re the one who has to have a future, Finn.’
‘I’ve a better opportunity all round now that Guy is sponsoring my fees at the private art academy at Wadebridge, after Christmas. Living in, I’m going to miss Eloise like mad but it’s for the best. Mum can cope now and I’ve got the long-term future in mind. Now I’ve made enough for Denny to fix me up with an old Norton motorbike it won’t take me too long to slip home at the weekends and holidays. Guy is driving Mum and me to meet the principal, Dame Rosalind Keats. I’m looking forward to seeing her, she sounds quite a character.’
‘And will you miss Tilly also?’ Dorrie tilted her head at him.
‘Little Miss Dimples? Every time I see my drawings for our joint effort I’ll see Tilly, the fairy princess. Of course I’ll miss her, she’s my sweetheart.’ He smiled then reddened. ‘Never thought I’d be saying something like that.’
‘She’s a lovely girl,’ Dorrie said, glancing away to avoid embarrassing him. She was pleased he had moved his affections on from Belle Lawry but she was concerned at the thinly veiled animosity he bore against Belle and Charlie. Dorrie was convinced she and Verity had not been wrong about Finn having an unhealthy infatuation with Belle, or that Charlie had noticed it. On the one occasion Dorrie had been in Finn and the Lawrys’ joint presence she had noticed Charlie casting Finn dark searching looks and Belle had practically ignored Finn after a desultory hello. At least Sam seemed not to have noticed anything amiss. ‘Another drink, Finn? Hot chocolate? Jack got hold of some from somewhere and gave it to Verity.’
‘Yes please, and is there any more of Mr Greg’s fruit loaf?’
‘There is indeed. Come along to the kitchen, it’s cosier in there.’
Once in the kitchen, his long legs spread out from one of the three easy chairs set in a snug corner, Finn asked, ‘Where is Mr Greg?’
‘At the hall with Hector Evans, Denny, Soames Newton, Johnny Westlake and of course Mrs Mitchelmore planning its grand opening. They’re also finishing off the electrical wiring. Mrs Mitchelmore has suggested choosing the eldest and the youngest child at the school to cut a ribbon together, and then we shall all sing Trelawny and the national anthem and get on with the festivities. I like that idea.’
Dorrie brought the tray of hot chocolate and cake and sat down beside him. Corky stationed himself for effortless cake begging at her feet. From here they had a direct view into the range’s roaring fire behind its grid. With the wall clock ticking lazily the woman and boy settled down to chat companionably.
‘I shall also miss you when I’m away, Mrs R. I’ll be sure to pop down here every weekend. You’re one of my favourite people.’ Finn touched Dorrie’s freckled hand and gave her a winning smile.
‘Oh, Finn.’ Dorrie felt her eyes fill up. ‘You’ll have me in tears; that’s one of the nicest things anyone has said to me. I’m very fond of you too.’
Finn gobbled down a chunk of cake. ‘You’ve got your brother the judge and his wife coming down soon, Miss Verity’s parents, for the engagement do. It is going to be here?’
‘Retired judge,’ Dorrie corrected him. ‘No, it’s to be at Meadows House, just a small dinner and not a do at all. It’s what Verity and Jack want, everything including the wedding next year to be low key. They want to enjoy their engagement and make changes to the house. There might be a bit of an atmosphere while Perkin’s here. Greg still hasn’t forgiven him for disowning Verity for breaking off her last engagement. I think Greg was hoping that he would be walking Verity down the aisle one day, but now that Perkin and Verity have reconciled over the phone, of course Perkin will resume that honour. Camilla is a terrible snob. I’ll be glad when they’ve returned home, to tell you the truth.’
‘Must be hard work acting as peacemaker but you’re made for it; you’ve certainly brought peace to our home.’
‘That’s nice, the way you said home and not house. What have you got there?’
Finn was turning a small square dog-eared sepia photograph over in his fingers. ‘This fell out of the box of a pair of binoculars Mrs Mitchelmore kindly gave me from the stuff I hauled out of her second cellar. I didn’t open the box until I got home. I was going to take it back to her but something made me think better of it and to show it to you.’
‘Oh?’ Dorrie put on her half-spectacles and took the photograph from him. It was a fairly good image of a young officer, probably serving in the Great War, and a young woman in a large garden. It could have been taken anywhere but even the slightest glance revealed the woman was Honoria Sanders, perhaps with a friend or old flame.
‘Read the writing on the back. It’s what got me puzzled.’
Turning the photo over Dorrie read aloud, ‘To Honny, darling. A snap of you and Chester. With love, Mother x.’
‘Mmm, I didn’t know about a Chester; there has never been a single mention of him.’ Dorrie studied the couple portrayed again.
‘That’s why I’ve held on to it until now. I’ve been in Mrs Mitchelmore’s drawing room and there are many photos of the sisters but none of this Chester chap. Makes you think that he must be a dark family secret. He could have run away in battle. Seems he must have done something pretty shameful, don’t you think? I came across nothing else connected to him.’
‘Yes, I think you could be right, Finn,’ Dorrie said quietly, but deeper thoughts she would keep to herself turned her insides to ice. ‘know about Ch . . . bring money to Merryvale . . .’ The ripped part of the note Corky had rooted out sprang up as if literally before her eyes. Could this Chester be the Ch in the blackmail note? Chester who? Honoria Sanders had many ex-husbands and even the most determined gossips had not divined how her former surnames had run. Twelve years ago Sedgewick Mitchelmore had gone to Harley Street to consult a top heart specialist and returned with Esther as his bride. She had been a powerful figure from the outset and taken over the village’s dealings so rapidly and efficiently she had met little opposition, rather mainly with relief and a hint of subservience. She wasn’t the sort one felt easy to question and her stock remark had always been, ‘Never mind about me. I do what I can for Nanviscoe for my husband’s sake because he cared so much about it.’ Divorced Honoria had turned up soon after and bought Sawle House and the sisters had become a prominent feature as if they had lived in the village almost from its origins.
‘Mrs R? You’ve been quiet for ages.’
‘Oh, have I? I’m sorry, dear.’ She saw Finn had demolished his cake and quaffed his hot chocolate. ‘I’m sure you did the right thing about not giving this photo to Mrs Mitchelmore. If she wanted this Chester’s existence acknowledged she would have talked about him before.’
‘You think he was a bad’un?’ Finn asked as he got up to leave.
‘It’s likely he was, but he is really none of our business. If he does or did have great meaning to Mrs Mitchelmore I’m sure she’s keeping private snaps of him. It might be best if the photo was burnt and we agree to never mention it again.’
‘I’ll go along with that. I have a lot of respect for Mrs Mitchelmore and I’d hate to be the cause of her being cut up about something. Can I leave you to destroy it? Thanks.’
Finn kissed Dorrie on the cheek as he always did now when saying goodbye and then he was gone.
Dorrie rose and went to the range. Before picking up the iron tool to lift the top plate to drop the old photo into the amber-pink flames, she again studied the writing on the back. It set her into troubled thinking.