An Absence of Birdsong

By Patricia Matthew

This SEQUEL to 'Free as a Bird in a Healing Garden' is a Romantic, Historical Mystery which can also be read as a stand-alone novel.
Unhappy with her life in Malta, Emma, Holly's mother has made preparations to leave the island and return to England. A few days before her departure, she receives a puzzling letter from some solicitors in Southport, the town where she lived as a child.
Emma grew up believing that her grandmother Eliza was dead but the solicitors' letter informs her that Eliza is in a nursing home in Southport and has told them that she has a granddaughter called Emma.and that she needs her help.
In 1915, Eliza's mother Alice, died before she could tell her daughter how to solve the letters written in code which have been hidden in a secret compartment of her bureau. The letters which will tell Eliza 'the truth'.
Why did Emma's parents tell her Eliza was dead? What secret is hidden in the coded sheets? While Emma searches for answers, her own life takes an unexpected turn.
An Absence of Birdsong is not only a sequel. It is about the importance of love, family and forgiveness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patricia Matthew
• Release date: Jul 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463931264

Patricia Matthew

I was born and educated in Kent, U.K. and later went on to train to teach Biology under the London Institute. I married and had two children and now live in Southport, a beautiful, Victorian, seaside town in the north of England. I began writing creatively relatively late in life while studying for an English degree as a mature student. As well as writing I am an avid reader of many genres .I also like to paint using acrylics, tend my garden and walk Tilly my Jack Russell.

Book preview

Chapter 1

March 2004

The letter had arrived just a few days before Emma’s flight back to the U.K. Its contents were puzzling, so mysterious in fact, that after she had phoned the solicitors in Southport, she had to completely change her plans, which had been to settle somewhere in Dorset.

Emma sipped her coffee and looked out of the restaurant window of the hotel. It had begun to rain. Just a few people, suitably dressed, were braving the weather and walking along Sliema’s two mile long promenade. Tomorrow, weather permitting, she would get the bus to Valetta for the final time before her departure and visit what she had always planned to see but never somehow got round to. The National Museum of Fine Arts. She wanted to view the collection of paintings from various periods of the Italian, Flemish and Dutch schools and also compositions by French artists.

Absentmindedly, she fingered the locket on a chain round her neck, which contained an image of her first born. She had given birth to Ben when she was just seventeen, a beautiful baby who had died when only a few months old. Losing Ben was devastating but when her eldest daughter, Kate had also died so tragically a few months after Emma had arrived in Malta, the grief which followed had been unbearable. Not just for her of course but for the entire family. Emma sighed as the sad memories came flooding back. At least by returning to England, she would be nearer to her only surviving child, Holly and her grandchildren Jake, Lucy and little Andrew. That is, once this business in Southport had been sorted out.

As usual, Emma had spent Christmas and New Year with Holly, Luciano and the children, but once back in Malta, had pondered the situation. This time she had not enjoyed the visit as much as usual and was almost glad when it was time for her to leave. She could not put her finger on it but something had been not quite right. Nothing had been said, but Emma had been aware of tension between her daughter and Luciano. When she mentioned this to Holly, she had been told that all couples go through a rough patch, but on reflection, Emma had worried about this reply, for Holly was fragile, having had it rough in the past. This had made Emma more determined than ever to return to England.

The thought of starting over again, where she would at least be in the same country as Holly, was exciting and Emma was looking forward to new challenges. Once settled, she had it in mind to buy herself either a small house or garden flat, well away from Bill, whom she assumed was still living in Sussex.

Emma had few possessions to take back to the U.K. having made the decision to sell her flat in Malta, fully furnished. Not having to ship everything back was a bonus. After visiting Valetta tomorrow, the day before her departure, she would say goodbye to those to whom she had become close while living on the island.

Firstly, she needed to catch the ferry over to Malta’s sister island, Gozo and thank Maria who had kept her supplied with handmade knitwear, which had always sold well in the beachside shop. Then she would pay one last visit to the hotel, where bartender, Joe de Bono worked and have a final drink with him. It was Joe who had introduced her to Lawrence and Antonia Zammit, the couple who had become her firmest friends while living on the island.

Lawrence, an estate agent, had found a business for Emma to run when she had decided to settle in Malta and when he knew that she was wanting to depart and return to the U.K. had been instrumental in finding her a buyer. Emma was an astute business woman and SPUD-U-LIKE had thrived. She had no difficulty when it came to selling the business and made a handsome profit.

Lawrence and Antonia lived in a white walled villa in Quara and held regular dinner parties, to which Emma almost always received an invitation. They had usually made sure that an unattached male joined them during these evenings. This had amused Emma, who had absolutely no desire to get herself into another relationship. Having been in a loveless, abusive marriage for over thirty years had taught her one thing. She was better off alone.

She drained her coffee cup and took the lift up to her room, then sat on the bed and rummaging through her handbag, withdrew the letter which had arrived from England. It had been sent from Southport, the town in the northwest, where she had lived until she was around fourteen years of age. Her parents had inhabited the lower part of a large Edwardian house and an elderly couple, Kitty and Pip Lovelace had lived in the flat above. When Kitty became ill and passed away Pip, her husband, unable to cope on his own, had moved to Manchester to live with one of his daughters. Emma’s parents had not liked the people who moved into the flat in his place and it was then, that Emma’s father, Tom, began to look for jobs in the south of the country. He secured a managerial position in retailing in Sussex and with the promotion, was able to buy a modest house with the help of a mortgage.

The letter which Emma had received, had been sent from some solicitors who were acting for her grandmother Eliza, who, now ninety-nine years of age, was living in a nursing home in the seaside town. As next of kin, Emma was needed to help sort out her affairs. Completely baffled, Emma had telephoned the solicitors’ offices explaining that there must be some mistake. Her parents had told her that all her grandparents were dead but the woman who answered the phone was adamant. Eliza was most definitely her grandmother and could she please come to Southport at her earliest convenience.

So, totally puzzled by the whole business, Emma had arranged to stay at a hotel in the town overnight, quite near to where the Solicitors’ offices were. She would get the matter sorted out once and for all. Grandmother indeed. Why had her parents told her all her grandparents were dead if one was still alive? There was no way in which she could question her mother and father, for they had both been killed in a head on crash on the M 1 some ten years previously.

Chapter 2

1915 Bramblehurst Village

Eliza had been warned that her mother’s condition was deteriorating and that they would soon lose her, when Doctor Stillwell began to call at the cottage both morning and evening.

Since the onset of Alice Lockheart’s illness, nine months previously, an illness which the doctor referred to as Phthisis, a wasting lung disease, Eliza, at the time ten years of age, had ceased her education at the village school, in order to care for her family and the running of their cottage.

During the months which followed, the child had seen her mother change from a robust, cheerful soul to someone with a short, dry cough, who had difficulty breathing. As the illness ravaged her young body, for she was but thirty-one, Alice had become tired and listless and due to lack of appetite, had grown incredibly thin and gaunt.

At first the cough had been allayed by mild opiates which Eliza, as instructed by the doctor, had made sure she swallowed slowly, but over the weeks, her cough had become troublesome at night and recently, to Eliza’s alarm, she had begun to cough up blood. As a result, Eliza slept fitfully, partly because of worry but mainly because of the noise coming from her parents’ bedroom. Her father, Jonas, had recently taken to spending the nights in a chair in the kitchen, sleeping on and off while staring at the fire.

Eliza, by the light of the moon shining through a gap in the curtains, picked up the box of matches on her bedside table, struck one and lit the candle in its blue holder. Before making her way downstairs, she dressed and then looked in the room which her young brothers, Samuel and Will shared. She frowned when she discovered that they were not in their beds. In the kitchen she found her father, slumped in the comfortably upholstered armchair which he himself had made for her mother, snoring fitfully. Not wanting to disturb him, she lit the paraffin lamp and placed it on the table and an arc of light lit up the cosy, little room.

She then stoked the fire which had been burning all night, for Jonas had put a large lump of coal on it and surrounded this with slack, before dozing off. Quietly she unlocked the front door and carried the bucket out to the wooden pump about ten yards away. The chill, October wind lapped around her slender frame and she drew her shawl more firmly about her shoulders as the water poured slowly into the bucket.

Back in the kitchen, she poured water into the kettle which hung on the bar over the fire. Jonas, suddenly aware of her presence, stirred, gazing at his daughter with bleary, blood-shot eyes.

You’re up early, Lizzie, he said. Was it your Ma’s coughing that woke you?

Yes, Father. It’s more or less continuous now. She must be exhausted. Where are the boys?

They’re with Aunt Mary, Uncle George and the girls. We’ve decided that as they have to go to school Monday to Friday, they need a decent night’s sleep so during the week, they’ll be spending the nights with them. He wearily raised himself from the chair and began to lay the breakfast table. The rest of the time they’ll be here, he continued, so they’ll be needing breakfast before they go to school. I’ll go and fetch them at around seven. Your mother was delirious during the night and making a lot of noise. Thought it best they went there.

Eliza nodded before saying, When the boys have gone to school, I’ll dig up some vegetables, after I’ve fed the hens and make a nice broth which I hope Ma will eat. I’ve tried to coax her with all kinds of foods. She hardly touched anything yesterday.

Jonas drank his tea, then lighting a second, smaller paraffin lamp, went outside to his workshop, the small, brick and wood converted stable, from where he ran his cabinet making business. A brief look in the lean-to wood shed, confirmed that his stock was running low and that he needed new supplies. But, with Alice being so much worse of late, a trip to the nearest timber yard was out of the question. He looked sadly up at the sign above the door and his eyes filled with tears.

JONAS LOCKHEART

MASTER CABINET MAKER AND

UPHOLSTERER

For the whole of his married life, everything he had done, had been for his beloved Alice and now it all seemed of no account. How would he manage without her? And, what about Lizzie, Sam and Will? Lizzie was far too young to have to take on the role of mother. Wiping a tear from his cheek, he returned to the warmth of the kitchen, glad to be out of the biting wind. He found Eliza cooking bacon and sausages in the Dutch oven.

That smells good, Lizzie, he remarked still carrying the smaller lamp. I’ll go and get the boys now.

Ten minutes later they all sat down at the kitchen table and began to eat their breakfast while Alice coughed incessantly overhead.

I’ll take Ma up some tea and porridge in a while, said Eliza, and I want both of you to get yourselves smartened up for school, she continued, looking at her brothers. We don’t want to give Mrs Garby a bad impression, now do we? When did those shoes last see some polish?

The boys looked down at their scuffed shoes and grinned.

I’ll do them, said Will. After all, I am older than Sam, if only by a couple of years.

Yes, agreed his sister, you’re eight and very grown up, Will. By-the-way, I’ve been meaning to ask, how is the class getting on with Mrs Garby? Is she a good teacher?

She’s more strict than Mrs Carson was and won’t put up with nonsense from anyone. We get on fine with her because we don’t mess around. Isn’t that right, Sam?

Sam looked at him and nodded.

Mrs Garby says my reading’s improving and I know it’s because you help me, Lizzie, said Sam. Yesterday we did Drill, you know, exercises beside our desks. Some of it was funny and I wanted to laugh but I didn’t dare. He thought for a moment and then continued. Oh, and she said that my writing has to be smaller because at the moment, I’m not getting enough on my slate.

We’ve got History today which is the best part of the week, enthused Will. We’ve just started to learn about the Romans and it’s so interesting. Mrs Garby showed us lots of pictures. She also brings in newspaper cuttings about what’s happening on the Western Front. She told us that about a week ago, Great Britain and somewhere called Montenegro had declared war on Bulgaria.

Jonas sighed, remembering how, when the war had just been declared a year earlier, around twenty young boys from the village had rushed to join up with the men. It was thought that the war would only last a few months and it had been seen as an adventure, not to be missed. Now their families wondered daily if they would ever see them again.

Has Mrs Garby heard anything from her son, Peter? he asked.

She’s just received a few letters and read some of the latest one out to us the other day, Will replied. She’s very worried like all the other mothers and wives but she does make our lessons so interesting.

I’ll have to come and meet this Mrs Garby, said Jonas, and tell her how much you’re enjoying school. He glanced at the clock. It’s about time you left, isn’t it? Those look great, Will, he said, looking at the polished shoes. Now go and get wrapped up in your coats, scarves and hats. It’s bitterly cold outside.

As soon as the boys had left and her father had gone away to his workshop, Eliza made some fresh tea and a little bowl of porridge and went upstairs to her mother. Alice was sitting up in bed, supported by numerous cushions and swathed in shawls. She smiled weakly as Eliza entered the room.

Come here, my child, she said. Let me look at you.

I’ve brought you some tea and a little bowl of porridge, Ma. You must try and eat something.

The tea is most welcome but I’m not hungry. Now, Lizzie, I want you to promise me that you will look after William and little Sam after I’ve gone. Take my hand, child and promise.

Eliza took hold of her mother’s hand. It was icy cold.

I promise I’ll look after them. You know I will. Now, drink your tea. You seem very cold, I’ll put another blanket on your bed, she said, walking over to the blanket box. She carefully removed the beautiful, patchwork quilt which Alice had made and put the thickest blanket on that she could find, before placing the quilt over once more.

Now, I want you to have a little porridge before I go and feed the hens, she said, putting a spoonful into Alice’s mouth. As her mother tried to swallow, her face went red and once more the coughing began. Eliza waited a few moments before offering her another spoonful but Alice turned her face away whispering, No more.

Back in the kitchen, Eliza donned her coat, hat and boots and went out into the garden at the rear of the cottage. After feeding the hens and collecting four eggs in her basket, she went over to the vegetable garden where she dug up some potatoes, a couple of carrots, a turnip and some leeks which she would make into stew for lunch, together with some of the stewing steak which Uncle George had sent round with the boys.

George Baker and his wife, Mary, lived just four cottages away from Jonas and his family. Between them they ran a butcher’s shop and general village store. George was Alice’s brother and since she had become ill, had sent food round regularly, knowing that Jonas was unable to go as far afield to find work, as he had previously. For Jonas had often worked up at the Squire’s house, which the family referred to as ‘The Big House’, doing work which until recently had given them a good living.

Back in the comfort of the cottage, Eliza prepared the stew in a pot, hung it over the fire and began to wash the breakfast dishes. As she looked out of the window, she could see Doctor Stillwell travelling up the lane in his pony and trap. Leaving what she was doing, she grabbed her coat and rushed outside. The doctor was sufficiently muffled up to cope with the inclement weather and Dobbin, his trusty pony, pulled up outside their cottage where he was tied to a post by Eliza, after which Doctor Stillwell picked up his doctor’s bag and alighted.

Good morning, young lady, he said. I’ll go straight up to your mother if I may, after you’ve fetched your father.

The two men trudged upstairs and Eliza could hear muffled voices coming from above. She picked up her sewing basket, sat down by the fire and began to mend a tear in a pair of Sam’s trousers. After about fifteen minutes, Doctor Stillwell and Jonas returned to the warmth of the kitchen.

I’ve given your mother something to ease the pain, he said, turning to Eliza. "Try and get her to eat a little