Moving On (A Polvellan Cornish Mystery Book 6) Page 3

  ‘The names sound French. I wonder how they met.’

  ‘I haven’t got that far yet. But they were married in June 1814 in Paris, and their son was born in 1815 in Vienna. Now I need to find out what they were doing there.’

  ‘Waterloo.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The Battle of Waterloo took place on 18th June 1815. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘I’m not actually that old.’

  He groaned. ‘Foot in mouth again.’

  ‘I was teasing.’

  ‘Not used to it. My loss. Anyway,’ he went on not giving her time to speak, which she realised was just as well because he might not have appreciated the sympathy prompted by his words. ‘There was a lot of TV coverage of the two-hundredth anniversary celebrations of the battle. But before Napoleon escaped from exile on Elba and attempted a comeback, representatives from all the countries of Europe were in Vienna haggling over borders and territory.’

  ‘I thought you said you weren’t into history.’

  ‘I’m not usually. But it was hard to avoid.’

  ‘Thanks for the heads-up on where to look next.’

  ‘You were already halfway there. I’ll let you get to it.’

  Trying to ignore the warmth kindled by his remark, she remembered. ‘Before you go, I showed the linen sheet to my friend Gill. She thinks it could be rare. But it’s hard to tell in its present state. Would you have any objection to her laundering it? She’s very experienced.’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Thanks, Harry.’

  ‘’Bye, Jess. Keep me informed.’

  As Jess replaced the receiver, a glance at the clock showed it was after ten. She had discovered the portrait’s connection to the family. But that was only one piece of the puzzle. Now she needed to find out why Roxanne had been banished to the attic instead of being displayed with all the other Carveth ancestors. Wishing she could continue, she knew she’d do better after a break. Saving her work, Jess closed her laptop.

  Pulling a fleece over her T-shirt and jeans, she stepped out into sunshine. White puffball clouds rode a gentle breeze. The air was clear and fresh. She hurried down to the shop and waited while Gill served Stan Hooper, who wanted his electricity key card charged.

  ‘Hello, Jess.’ He tucked key and wallet into his pocket. ‘All right?’

  ‘Fine, thanks, Stan. You?’

  ‘Can’t complain.’

  ‘How is Denise’s hand?’

  ‘Going on all right. She had the stitches out last week. Doc said so long as she keep it dry she could go back work. Cecil and Becky bought her a pack of they blue plastic gloves to wear. So she’s making pasties again.’

  ‘I bet they missed her while she was away.’

  ‘They did too.’ He nodded, turned to the door then turned back. ‘Here, Mr Opie have decided to sell old Mrs Chamberlain’s cottage. Being so close to the marina it’ll go quick and the new owners might not want me. With old Mrs Carveth gone as well that’s two customers I’ve lost. So if you hear of anyone wants any gardening or odd jobs done –’

  ‘I’ll certainly mention your name. Stan, what you need is some business cards and flyers. You could leave one with each of your customers, and when things are quiet, push a few through letterboxes. If you get them off the internet they aren’t that expensive.’

  ‘I daresay you’re right, bird. But I wouldn’t know where to start. Tell you what though, I got a couple of fallen trees to cut up and shift. Owner’s got oil-fired heating and don’t want the wood. How about you write something for me and I’ll bring you a load of logs?’

  ‘It’s a deal.’ Jess held out her hand. After wiping his leathery palm on the seat of his dungarees Stan took it. ‘Make a list of the gardening services you offer and drop it in to me. I’ll do a couple of mock-ups for you to see. When you’re happy with the design, I’ll place the order. You should have them in a week.’

  ‘Well, I never! Quick as that? Proper job. I’m some glad I come in this morning.’

  ‘I’m glad you did too. I’ve been thinking about ordering more wood. My shed’s nearly empty.’

  ‘I’ll bring it soon as I can. The trees been down a while but if you can leave the logs dry out a bit more, they’ll burn hotter. ’Bye, my lover.’

  ‘Cheers, Stan.’

  As the door closed behind him, Jess moved up to the post office counter. ‘Hi, Gill. I spoke to Captain Carveth a few minutes ago –’

  Gill’s eyes brightened as she leaned over the counter. ‘Did you ask him about the sheet?’

  ‘I did. He told me to tell you to go ahead.’

  Gill beamed. ‘It’s going to take some work, mind.’

  ‘Do you mean the rust marks?’

  ‘They might not be rust. See, with very old linen you get something called cellulose degradation. You know linen is made from flax fibres? Well, depending on how old it is and what sort of conditions it’s been kept in, they can break down and rot away.’

  ‘Decades in an attic, hot in summer and cold in winter?’

  ‘A damp basement might have been worse. But if that’s what it is, you can’t do anything about it.’

  ‘Then I’ll keep my fingers and toes crossed that it’s rust. If it is, can you get the marks out?’

  Gill shrugged. ‘I’ll try oxalic acid. Trouble is it will weaken the fabric. But then again, so will leaving the rust. I’ll do a patch test when I go home lunchtime. I should get the sheet into soak tonight.’

  ‘I’ve never seen anyone so excited about laundry,’ Jess teased.

  ‘You wait. You won’t recognise it when I’ve finished.’

  Chapter Three

  Leaving the shop, Jess started up the road. Now that all the wild flowers had seeded, overgrown hedges and verges had been trimmed back. Climbing the hill towards Gwendra Farm, she passed a newly harvested field, the pale stubble dotted with huge round bales of straw being lifted onto a trailer. On the opposite side of the road another tractor was ploughing long, straight furrows that revealed earth the colour of dark chocolate.

  The smell of baking greeted Jess as she knocked on the open kitchen door of the farmhouse.

  ‘Come in, Jess,’ Val greeted, floury hands kneading a large ball of dough. More flour streaked her navy and white striped apron. ‘Keith!’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Jess is here.’

  Her husband emerged from the small breakfast room he used as his office. The sleeves of his check shirt were turned back revealing tanned forearms. Beneath his slight paunch a leather belt supported olive moleskin trousers.

  ‘All right, my lover? ’Tis good of you to come so quick.’

  ‘It’s no trouble, Keith.’

  ‘I’ll take you over to Sean.’

  ‘Mind you come straight back,’ Val said. ‘Nick said he’d ring and I got my hands full.’

  ‘How many classes are you having in the Show?’ Jess asked as they took a short cut through the garden and round the side of a cottage with an extension that faced on to a large yard and a row of stone outbuildings currently being renovated.

  ‘Tractors, vintage vehicles and a working section. There’ll be stalls as well, machine parts, crafts, cakes, books and all like that.’

  ‘It’s going to be fantastic, Keith.’

  ‘I dearly hope so. We never had all this bleddy paperwork last time we put on a Rally.’ They walked up a shallow ramp and through the open doorway into a broad passage with an easy-to-clean tiled floor. Keith opened the half-glassed door on the left and led her into the farm office.

  Seated behind a three-sided workstation, Sean Stevens held the phone to his ear with a heavily bandaged right hand. Glancing round, he beckoned them in with his left. His short-sleeved navy T-shirt revealed strong shoulders and muscular arms. Knowing he was only in his early forties, Jess was startled to see how much silver streaked his dark hair. Yet considering what he had been through, maybe it wasn’t so surprising.

  Wide windows let in plenty of light while adjust
able vertical blinds prevented glare. On the back wall a laminated aerial view of the farm showed all the fields, water courses and woodland. A large wipe-clean year planner hung alongside a corkboard holding business cards, a list of phone numbers and several Post-it notes.

  ‘Thanks, Si. Much obliged. We’re hoping so. Weather’s usually OK up to mid-October. Cheers.’ Replacing the receiver, he looked at his father. ‘Simon Clark will be over this afternoon to do the risk assessment.’ As Keith sighed, Sean switched his gaze. ‘Mrs Trevanion?’ His smile was polite rather than warm. Jess saw drawn features and bruised-looking eyes that betrayed sleepless nights.

  ‘Jess, please.’ Mindful of his injury, she offered her left hand.

  ‘Sean.’ Though his handshake was brief, she felt the calluses ridging his palm and her gaze rested briefly on his wheelchair. Behind her Keith grumbled.

  ‘Last rally we had, everyone showed up knowing they was responsible for their own health and safety.’ As he spoke, the two-way radio clipped to his belt chirped. He pressed a button and Val’s voice filled the room. ‘Keith, John from the insurance company is on the phone.’

  ‘On my way.’ Keith clicked the radio off. ‘Bleddy paper chase,’ He snorted. ‘Why did I ever start this?’

  ‘You were bored,’ Sean reminded.

  Keith turned to Jess. But as he opened his mouth, Sean cut in.

  ‘John won’t hang about, Father.’

  ‘All right, all right. I’m gone.’

  ‘Don’t forget to phone the council about the licences for the bar and live music.’

  ‘It’s on my list. I was just going to do it when Jess come.’

  As the door closed, Sean reached into a plastic tray, took out a sheaf of papers held together with a bulldog clip and offered them to her. ‘These are the entries so far. One or two more are coming in each post. We can expect a last-minute rush at the end of the month.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The 31st is the cut-off date for any vehicle wanting to be included in the programme. The printer needs the list by 5th of October to have them ready for the Show. Will that give you enough time?’

  Jess looked through the forms. ‘Yes. How do you want the entries laid out? Alphabetical order by make? Or oldest tractor first?’

  A brief smile softened the tension around his eyes and mouth. ‘Mother was right.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Asking you. My sister-in-law works in an office. Both my nieces have got laptops. My son Josh is welded to his smartphone when he’s not working on the farm. But you should have seen their faces when I asked if one of them would do it.’

  He hadn’t mentioned his wife. ‘Did you offer to pay them?’

  ‘No.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Dear life,’ he muttered, shaking his head.

  Jess lifted the sheaf. ‘The layout?’

  ‘Can you do it so it’s both?’

  She nodded. ‘Let me have your email address and I’ll send you a draft. If you want anything changed just let me know.’

  Reaching into another tray with his left hand, he picked up a business card and offered it.

  ‘Thanks.’ She put it in her jeans pocket. ‘I heard the combine working as I walked up.’

  ‘We’re cutting wheat now. We got the last of the barley in just before the storm.’

  ‘Where are you holding the Rally?’

  ‘On three meadows up Benallack Lane.’ He spun his chair round and pointed to the enlarged image of the farm. ‘It’s easy access from the main road. The sight-line’s good but we’ll have traffic marshals as well. We moved the beef cattle off a couple of weeks ago and the fine weather will have dried up the dung. Ben will top the fields a couple of days before the Show to clear any nettles and thistles.’ He turned back to his work area. ‘Do you want me to send the rest of the forms as they come in? Or shall I hang on to them until after the closing date?’

  Jess thought for a moment, aware she would be juggling this with her investigation for Harry Carveth. ‘I’d rather have them all together.’

  ‘No problem. Mother can drop them off when she’s in the village. Here.’ As he reached for a large brown envelope, he knocked his bandaged fingers against the edge of the worktop. ‘Ouch. Dammit.’

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Terrific.’ That one terse word was layered with anger, bitterness and pain. He held out the envelope. ‘They’ll be easier to carry in this.’

  Jess slid the forms inside and turned to go. ‘I’ll make a start this evening.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He turned to the screen and the work he had been doing when she arrived.

  Opening the door, she glanced back. Through the angled gap in the blinds she could see across the yard to a barn conversion with a partially completed roof. A scaffold tower stood between a window and an open doorway. Her breath hitched as she saw Colin Terrell emerge followed by a slim, blonde woman wearing a gipsy-style blouse and close-fitting jeans. Jess recognised Gaynor, Sean’s wife. Both were laughing.

  It was probably just a shared joke, a light moment in a busy working day. Then Jess noticed how their heads were angled towards each other, saw him touch her bare brown arm, saw her nudge his shoulder. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. Not when they were both fully aware that Sean’s office was directly opposite.

  But Jess knew Colin Terrell. She had been – briefly – the unwilling target of his interest. Surely he wouldn’t –? Yes, he would. Gaynor’s laughter showed she wasn’t offended by whatever he’d said. He would take that as an invitation. To Colin Terrell’s twisted way of thinking, considering Sean’s condition, seducing Gaynor would be doing her a favour.

  Jess’s gaze fell on Sean’s rigid shoulders. Feeling like an intruder, she slipped out, quietly closing the door.

  All the way home she tried to persuade herself she was making something out of nothing, influenced by her dislike of the roofer. It was none of her business. Yet she wished she had not seen them.

  Back at home she made herself a sandwich and ate it at her laptop while she tracked down Harry’s great-great-grandfather, Frederick Justin Carveth, son of James Henry and Roxanne, to the 14th Prince of Wales’s Own Scinde Horse. This cavalry regiment, originally known as the Scinde Irregular Horse, was raised at Hyderabad in August 1838 for the purpose of protecting the British spice caravans from attack by Baluchi warriors on the trade route from the Bolan Pass to Sukkur on the Indus River.

  The soldiers sometimes went ahead of the caravan and lay in wait to ambush any attackers. On other occasions, dressed in civilian clothes, they travelled with the caravan, their weapons hidden but within easy reach. It was these unorthodox methods that led to them being known as the Irregular Horse. She learned that this regiment was unique in that it was the only one never to have altered its badge. Even more surprising was that the badge depicted a Baluchi warrior. Was this a salute to the courage of a worthy enemy? Or a reminder that, for all their bravery and tactical skill, the Baluchi were the vanquished, and the Irregulars the victors.

  Though the military information would probably interest Harry, what intrigued Jess was why James Carveth had gone to India in the first place.

  As she got up to make coffee there was a knock on the door. Recognising Elsie’s double-tap she called out, ‘Come in, Elsie.’

  Her cream blouse and olive trousers covered by a yellow flowered overall, Elsie closed the door behind her. ‘Not a bad time, is it?’

  ‘No, I’m just going to make a coffee. Join me?’

  ‘I won’t stop. I’ve just had a phone call from my Carol. The Stantons phoned Alan last night. They want to come and speak to Tegan about the claims she’ve made against their son. Carol said Alan want to try and settle it quietly and told the Stantons they could come as long as he and Carol come too.’

  ‘He didn’t ask you first?’

  Elsie’s snort was sufficient answer.

  ‘When are they coming?’

  ‘Tonight.’

 
; ‘But you and Tegan might have been going out.’

  ‘Alan wouldn’t care about that. He’d expect us to stay home because this was more important. It is too. That’s why I’ve come. I want you there, Jess.’

  ‘Carol and Alan might not be happy about that, Elsie.’

  ‘Too bleddy bad.’ Anger flushed Elsie’s cheeks bright red.

  Jess laid a calming hand on Elsie’s arm. ‘What I meant,’ she said gently, ‘is that I’m not family.’

  ‘Not family? You been more comfort to my little maid than her own mother, and that’s God’s honest truth. Carol and Alan want it all hushed up, like Tegan’s the one in the wrong. That would suit the boy’s family. The lot of them only care about theirselves. But Tegan ’ave been through enough. Me and her trust you. That’s why I want you there. They Stantons will be making out their boy is an angel and it was Tegan led him into bad ways. You wait and see. But it isn’t true and I aren’t having it.’

  Worry had carved new lines in Elsie’s face and the strength of her feelings made her tremble. ‘See, I can say all this while there’s just the two of us. But tonight … I aren’t afraid of them, I just can’t abide rows. I never think quick enough.’

  Jess put an arm around Elsie’s bony shoulders and hugged her. ‘Of course I’ll be there. What time?’

  ‘The Stantons are coming at eight. Alan said he and Carol would be over about quarter to.’

  ‘I’ll come at half seven. Does Tegan know?’

  Elsie shook her head. ‘She was still in bed when Carol rang. I’d better get back else she’ll be wondering where I’m to. I’ll have to tell her but she’s bound to fret.’

  ‘Then leave it until after tea. Suggest she does her hair and puts on a little make-up. It will boost her confidence and help her feel stronger.’ Seeing Elsie’s uncertainty she added, ‘Were you thinking that if Tegan looked vulnerable they might feel sympathy for her? It won’t happen, Elsie.’

  ‘You don’t think so?’

  Jess shook her head. ‘They are going to try and lay the blame on her no matter what she says or how she looks. Tegan knows, and we know, he took advantage of her. But it’s important that this one mistake doesn’t define the rest of her life.’