Inheritance

By M V Taylor

The day Melissa returns for her Great Aunt Hetty's funeral and turns the key in the lock of The Old Manor House on the de Braose estate where she grew up, she knows her life is about to change. Lord Edward de Braose, his grandson William and faithful Mr & Mrs Podger help her come to terms with Hetty's death and the revelations in the will.

When Lord Edward dies suddenly and the ancient de Braose estate is inherited by his son Tobias, the mansion and park is sold. The new owners plan to develop the park into a golfcourse and vast 16th century mansion into the clubhouse with a health spa, but is this development all what it seems?

William and Melissa campaign to save the endangered species and rare chalk grassland from the bulldozers only to discover they are up against wealthy, powerful invisible investors, sheltering behind offshore trusts and shell companies registered in various tax havens around the world.

Can they beat the power of big money and challenge the local council's permission for the development via the Engish court system in the High Court? And what of their own relationship?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781458326942

Book preview

Inheritance

By

M V Taylor

© 2017 M V Taylor

All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted. No part of this book may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means whether electronic or mechanical, without the prior written permission of the author.

This novel is a work of fiction. The names characters and incidents portrayed in it are the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to any person or event is coincidental.

Image Courtesy of

https://www.maxpixel.net/Tudor-England-Historic-Architecture-4147151

Revised edition

ISBN 978-1-4583-2694-2

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Anyone who has ever written a book will know that it is impossible to do it all on your own. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the two Dr Pat’s for their ecological and botanical advice, the lawyers who advised on environmental legislation, the due process of law, tax havens and the offshore banking system; Annette for her advice on environmental pollution, Helen for her wise and generous advice on all sorts of things and to Rachel for the countless cups of coffee. 

About the Author

Having studied the History of Art, Architecture & Design as a ‘mature’ student at Kingston University, Surrey (UK), I embarked on a full-time Master of Arts degree in Medieval & Early Modern Studies at the University of Kent, where my dissertation was on the life and works of a 16th century Flemish woman artist. 

Inheritance is my third novel.  My second is The Truth of the Line, explores the relationship the artist, Nicholas Hilliard, had with Queen Elizabeth I. 

If you want to know more about me visit my website: www.melanievtaylor.co.uk I am also on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and LinkedIn.

The Families

The main characters of each family have their names in bold.

The de Braose Family

Commences in the 11th century with

William de Braose (d 1093/96) m Agnes de St Clair

We pick it up at the end of the 19th century.

10th Earl of Poultney

William Charles Edward de Braose (1865-1913)

1892  m Mary Ann Franklin (1870-1915)

=

11th Earl of Poultney

Charles Edward de Braose (1893-1966)

1914 m Lady Victoria Jane Denney (1895-1959)

=

(1)David de Braose (1916-1940)

1939 m Esther "Hetty" Lavering

(2) 12th Earl of Poultney Edward William de Braose (1926)

1949 m Lady Elizabeth Granville (1929-1984)

=

13th Earl of Poultney Tobias de Braose (1959-2013 )

1979 m Rosemary Jones (1960- )

(Divorced 1980)

=

Edward William de Braose (1979- )

The Lavering Family:

George Pop Lavering DCM MM (1900-1962)

1920 m Doris Good (1901-1976)

=

1939 m David de Braose

(2) David Lavering (1928-1985)

1953 m Patricia White (1929-1985)

=

Victoria Lavering (1955-1985)

1979 m Alistair Carlisle (1956-1985)

=

Melissa (1982- )

The White Family:

Albert White DCM MM (1895-1973)

1920 m Molly Marshall (1900-1983)

=

Patricia White (1929-1985)

1953 m David Lavering (1928-1985)

=

Victoria White (1955-1985)

1979 m Alistair Carlisle (1956-1985)

=

Melissa (1982- )

The Carlisle Family

Hugh Carlisle (1926-1980)

1954 m Mary de la Frais (1929-1986)

=

Alistair Carlisle (1956-1985)

1979 m Victoria Lavering (1955-1985)

=

Melissa (1982 -)

Goodbye Aunt Hetty

8TH MAY

Melissa Carlisle stood on the doorstep of the ancient cottage, known to everyone as The Old Manor. Unlocking the heavy iron nail studded oak door, now black with age, would acknowledge the fact that her Great-Aunt Hetty was dead; the last link with her parents severed. Melissa sighed, silently willing the door to open and for Hetty to appear and throw her arms around her, but the door remained steadfastly closed.

Melissa had been brought up from the age of four in this medieval manor house surrounded by rambling woods where deer came down to the pond at sunset to drink before they bounded back to the safety of the wood. Where ducks stood and quacked at visitors from the safety of their island in the middle of the pond; they knew they were safe from harm so were bold in their taunting. Where hedgehogs snuffled through the leaf litter lying under the branches of the old beeches and ancient oaks; while squirrels bounded overhead and in autumn buried their hoard of nuts in the soft earth of the woodland floor. Today the swifts flew high overhead, their shreep, shreep calls reminding her it was early summer despite the chill in the air.

She looked at the old ornate iron key in her hand. Finally, taking a deep breath, she slipped the key into the keyhole and turned it. The door handle was cold. Pausing for a moment to take another deep breath, she finally pushed the old door open. The small inner porch was as it had ever been, lined with her aunt’s gardening clogs, wellington boots and sundry pairs of shoes. A random selection of Hetty’s coats hung from wooden pegs.

After another pause and deep breath she opened the inner door and entered the big kitchen. The room was bathed in the late afternoon sunshine.  Someone had been in and placed a vase of fresh cut flowers from the garden on the table, a folded piece of crisp white paper stood propped against it with her name on the outside.  Picking it up she read,

Dear Melissa, I have put the basics in the fridge and a cake (your favourite) and some of your special chocolate biscuits are in their usual place. You know where we are if you want anything, but we understand if you want to be left alone, Mrs P x

How kind. Melissa’s eyes welled with tears. Despite the loving gesture of Lord Edward’s housekeeper the house felt very empty, as if the heart had gone out of it.

Standing at the sink and looking out across the garden and parkland to the Chanctonbury Ring, Melissa saw nothing. It was ten days since Hetty’s death and she had been in Rome rummaging away in museum archives. She had hoped to find a letter from the lawyer waiting for her, telling her where she should go and what would happen tomorrow. She wanted some idea of how long she would have to sort out Hetty’s cottage and studio before the de Braose estate took it back.

Lovely Great Aunt Hetty: devoted to her painting, her cats, dogs, pheasants, ducks, geese, hedgehogs, deer  – and Melissa.

Ahem.

Melissa spun round, startled by the unexpected human sound. A tall elderly silver-haired man, elegantly dressed, together with a small dog, stood silhouetted in the open doorway.

My dear, I saw you come up the drive so Betty and I thought we would walk over and make sure you were all right.

Lord Edward, how nice of you to drop in, Melissa smiled in an effort to appear strong. Would you like a cup of tea?

Lord Edward de Braose, the 12th Earl of Poultney, walked across and put his arm round her shoulders and gave her a hug.  His gentle gesture unravelled her tenuous hold on her emotions and she gave in to the overwhelming desire to cry.

It’s all right, Melissa. Hetty had a good innings. He handed her a clean handkerchief that smelled faintly of lavender. She wondered if all men of his generation were born carrying freshly pressed linen handkerchiefs to hand to women whenever they burst into tears.

A soft bark (sounding more like a cough) came from the miniature wirehaired dachshund.

Hello, Melissa bent to stroke Lord Edward’s canine companion, grateful for the diversion. Who are you?

Betty rolled on to her back and waved her paws in the air. She cocked her head sideways and as Melissa bent and scratched Betty’s tummy she was sure the little dog smiled.

Betty was a gift from young William to make sure I get out of my chair every day.

The first few minutes coming back into the empty cottage were over.  Lord Edward de Braose made himself comfortable at the large kitchen table and Melissa busied herself making them both a cup of tea.  Betty jumped on the sofa, curled up and went to sleep.

Lord Edward sat remembering the skinny little girl with long red plaits who had come to live with her great aunt Hetty some twenty-five years before. That little three year old had grown into a tall slender young woman who, he was pleased to see, had never cut her hair short. He remembered how Hetty had also worn her hair long, casually twisted up into a clip, long tendrils floating free softening the outlines of her face as she concentrated on whatever it was she was painting.

Melissa handed her guest his tea, poured in Hetty’s favourite floral bone china mug, then made herself comfortable at the table. Hetty’s armchair stood next to the fire like an empty pedestal waiting for its statue.

Lord Edward, Melissa paused, not knowing quite how to ask the main question that was bothering her.

The elderly man put up his hand to stop her speaking.

Please, don’t call me Lord. I would much prefer you called me Edward. Calling me by my title just feels wrong. It always has, but, for whatever reason Hetty insisted you called me that, so please, no more Lord anything!

Melissa considered this for a moment.

Edward de Braose had no idea what was on her mind, but hazarded a guess it was to do with inheritance

Uncle Edward, Melissa began hesitantly, preferring to use the deferential term of uncle rather than calling the 12th Earl of Poultney just by his first name, "where’s the funeral going to be held?

Do you mean to tell me no-one’s told you?

No! Melissa felt foolish having to ask such a fundamental question. Not quite. It’s my fault, she admitted. I haven’t looked at any of the emails from the solicitors except to see the funeral date in a heading. It was so much easier to focus on my research than what was happening here. Melissa studied her own mug of tea. It was childish I know. I sat in the car and tried to access my phone to ring them, but there’s no signal up here!

Edward smiled, amused by her generation’s reliance on modern technology.

Your aunt will be laid to rest in the de Braose family chapel tomorrow morning at 11 o’clock.

Lord, she stopped, sorry, Uncle Edward that’s incredibly generous of you, but Hetty wasn’t a de Braose.

Oh yes she was.

Melissa gawped at her visitor, shocked by this revelation; she needed time to digest this new information. Would you like another cup of tea? I believe Mrs Podger’s left me one of her fruit cakes and it would be a shame if we didn’t have it while it was fresh.

So many questions now tumbled round inside her head. If her aunt had been married, who was her uncle? As far as she knew Hetty had spent all her life hidden away deep in the woods on the de Braose estate. She took another deep breath - where she too had lived for the past twenty-five years since . . . since when?

The kettle came to the boil interrupting her thoughts and making her focus on the task in hand.

She was a historian, so why did she not acknowledge her own history?

Why did she not know more about the lovely kind woman who had cared and cherished her after – she paused not wanting to acknowledge the reason why she had come to live at The Old Manor.

She put a plate with biscuits and slices of fruitcake and the fresh pot of tea on the table, pouring them both fresh mugs. Edward helped himself to a piece of Mrs Podger’s delicious fruit cake and Melissa nibbled a biscuit, wondering why she had never thought to ask about any part of Hetty’s life. Betty jumped off the sofa and wuffed, reminding Edward that she too was hungry. Edward broke off a small piece of cake and offered it to the little dog who swallowed it in a single gulp.

Hetty was married to my older brother, David,  Edward continued after several minutes. You may not be a blood relative, but you are my dear sister-in-law’s great-niece. Edward was not surprised that Melissa did not know about Hetty’s marriage. In his opinion, Hetty had had some strange ideas about child rearing. Do you remember how I used to come over and we would collect the little snails to feed the ducks?

Melissa smiled, remembering the many summer Sunday afternoons spent rummaging around the borders of the garden collecting slugs and small snails from the damp, cool underside of leaves and various crannies in the old stone walls of the walled garden.  These were then fed to Hetty’s ducks who had been very appreciative. The ducks would waddle towards them quacking loudly whenever she and Edward had approached the pond carrying their buckets. If she came without a bucket they ignored her.

You taught me why we could only collect the small snails and why we had to leave the really big ones.

Ah yes, those are so large, half a dozen are more than enough for a good meal!

Melissa grimaced at the thought of eating the snails that lived in the garden of The Old Manor.

"Have you never enjoyed escargots in garlic butter, or served in a delicious tomato and garlic sauce?

Melissa shook her head.

Well, I would suggest we collect some and get Mrs Podger to cook them up, but if William ever learned we’d done that he’d be incredibly cross. However, talking of Mrs P, I came over to see if you would you like to have a kitchen supper at New Manor? She said to tell you that she was preparing a venison casserole.

That would be wonderful. Thank you.

Excellent, then I’ll finish this slice of Mrs P’s excellent cake and take a gentle walk back to the house with Betty. Shall I tell her that we shall see you at 7 o’clock in the kitchen?

Melissa smiled; the thought of spending the evening in the comfortable kitchen at New Manor cheering her.  She had not been looking forward to being alone in the medieval hall house, despite it having been her home since early childhood.

After a few minutes Edward rose to leave, and Melissa kissed the old man goodbye. He smelled of citrus soap and old tweed jackets.

Thank you, she hesitated, Uncle Edward. Calling him Uncle felt strange despite it being true.

Melissa sat pondering Edward de Braose’s strange revelation. Eventually curiosity overcoming her grief, she started looking at the various paintings hanging on the walls of the sitting room, in the hall, up the stairs and in the various bedrooms. They were all Hetty’s work except for the portrait of a teenage Melissa hanging on the chimneybreast of the living room. Melissa had always hated this portrait because she could not believe this artist had really believed her ear sat on top of her head and her nose was screwed round in that silly way. It had been on the wall since 1995, but she had never looked at it with adult eyes – until now. She had called the man who had created it ‘Uncle’ Patrick, who had appeared occasionally for lunch and then would not be seen again for months. He had never seemed to be anything other than one of Hetty’s artistic colleagues, but then she had been a child so would probably have been unaware of any romantic relationship that her great aunt might have been having. Another mystery and another brick wrenched from the wall of the childhood she had thought so secure. Melissa remembered another portrait in Hetty’s bedroom, but she was not ready to go into that room just yet.

It was a ten-minute walk through the woods to New Manor. The trees were dressed in the beautiful fresh greens of late May. Entering through the gate in the north wall of the kitchen garden she saw that the espaliered peach and apricot trees trained against the north wall and facing south, were in bloom. The bees were buzzing in and out of their hives and the neat weed-free rows of seedlings in the raised beds showed that Mr Podger, head gardener of the estate and husband to New Manor’s housekeeper of the past fifty-three years, had been busy.

Melissa knocked on the open kitchen door and stood taking in the domestic scene. One of the estate cats lay curled in a wicker basket surrounded by several very new kittens, all fast asleep.

Melissa, don’t stand there like a door stop! Short, plump Mrs Podger enfolded her in a warm hug. Mr P’s just making sure ‘e’s got all the mud off ‘iself before we ‘ave supper.

Thank you for everything in my fridge, Mrs P. I completely forgot to get any supplies. Your fruitcake was absolutely the best. Please, how much do I owe you?

Wouldn’t ‘ear of it. You put your money away. Hetty would box my ears if you ‘adn’t ‘ad some cake to welcome you home. It’s the least I could do in the circumstances.

Melissa was just about to ask what circumstances, but Lord Edward appeared from the cellar nursing a bottle of wine in one arm as if it were a baby and gripping a couple of bottles with foil wrapped tops in the other.

Ah, Melissa, perfect timing. Mrs P, what about a drop of Bordeaux to go with your excellent stew?

Mr Edward, it’s a casserole! Mrs Podger sounded quite indignant.

Edward winked at Melissa. I thought we should crack open a bottle of Chateau Margaux ’81, the year you were born. I’ll open it and give it time to breathe.

Melissa stifled a giggle: it sounded as though the bottle had been rescued from being smothered in some dark dungeon. She was also amused Mrs Podger’s very distinct peevishness caused by Edward calling the delicious smelling casserole she had spent much time and effort preparing, a stew.

Mrs Podger’s husband appeared in the doorway looking very scrubbed.

Hello, Mr Podger.

Melly, I’m glad you’re back ‘ome. It’s just like when you were little and snitching me raspberries from under me nose! His voice still carried a broad Devon burr, despite his having left that county some fifty-odd years previously. Mr Podger always called her Melly. Because her name meant honey bee he said he would never call her Melissa until she learned to be a beekeeper so, until then, she would always be his Melly.

Now, my dear, perhaps a glass of chilled Prosecco as an aperitivo? Edward was peeling the foil from one of the bottles, giving Melissa little chance to say anything but: Thank you, Uncle Edward. That would be lovely.

Mrs P, you too?

You know ‘ows I like a drop of the bubbly, but I don’t suppose Mr P would be too keen. I’ve got some cider chilling away in the larder, and you knows ‘ow fond ‘e is of that.

Edward popped the cork from the bottle releasing a wisp of vapour, then proceeded to fill  three glasses.

Melissa watched the lines of bubbles rise to the surface of her glass. The camaraderie between these elderly people felt wonderfully reassuring and she wondered how many evenings Hetty had spent in the warm embrace of this kitchen in the intervening years since she had left for university.

You see, my dear, Edward said, with only the three of us rattling round in this huge old house it doesn’t make any sense to stand on ceremony, so we always eat together in the kitchen.

Mr Edward, that’s not always the case ... Mrs Podger folded her arms. When Master Tobias comes down ‘ere you both eat in the dining room.

Quite so, Mrs P. Thank goodness that doesn’t happen too often.  Edward sipped his Prosecco.

I can’t remember ever meeting anyone called Tobias.

Ah, Melissa, Edward sighed you came here long after my son had left home.

Mrs Podger dismissed the subject of Tobias with a sniff and with Edward providing only basic information, Melissa wondered how she could learn more about the heir to the de Braose lands and title.

Now, before we all get too squiffy, perhaps I should run through the form for tomorrow. Edward continued. The local vicar will take the service, not that Hetty was too taken with religion. She will lie in the chapel next to David. Mrs P has been busy making sure that anyone who comes won’t go away hungry. There’s nothing worse than going to a funeral, leaving full of cheap sherry and having to stop for fish and chips on the way home! You and I will be chief mourners, so you take my arm as we follow the coffin into the chapel, then it all just follows the normal form.

Tears welled and Melissa wiped them away with the handkerchief he had given her earlier, thankful that she was among friends.

9th MAY

The 12th Earl of Poultney and Melissa walked slowly down the aisle of the ancient family chapel. Hetty had been approaching her ninetieth birthday so Melissa had assumed there would not be many people of her generation left, but the chapel was full and there had been several men and women standing outside waiting for the funeral cortege to enter before they squeezed in at the back.

Melissa and Edward stepped into the de Braose pew and watched as the coffin bearers laid their burden on trestles then stepped away.

I am the Resurrection and the Life, says the Lord. Those who believe in Me, even though they die, will live. Everyone who lives and believes in Me will never die, the vicar intoned.

An enormous arrangement of Hetty’s favourite flowers lay on top of the wicker coffin, the draping foliage hiding the casket and making it appear to be one huge scented floral mass. Melissa experienced another stab of guilt. These flowers were something else she should have organised, but, like everything else, others had done it for her.

She had little idea of who most of the people were who had crowded into the de Braose chapel, or how they fitted in to Hetty’s story. As far back as she could remember Hetty had always been painting in her studio. Sometimes visitors had come for lunch, or stayed for the weekend and they had all loved little Melissa. Some had played with her and told her all sorts of fantastic stories. Others had taught her how to peel away the hidden layers of meaning of a painting artfully created by long -dead artists from a time when the visual message was far more complex than those created today.

There was the wonderful eccentric scholar who had ignited her passion for old documents. He had told her stories about how the Romans introduced dormice and the large snails found on the de Braose estate into England solely so they could eat them. Together they had gone with Edward on the snail hunts, crawling through the long grass in the early morning dew dressed in togas made out of Hetty’s bed sheets. He taught her how to make special snail noises to encourage the large ones to jump into the bucket. The four year old Melissa had very soon realised that snails do not make any noise let alone jump, but that had not mattered because it had been fun. She realised the scholar’s face was not among the congregation so perhaps he too was gone. If he had, then surely Hetty would have told her. Then again, it appeared there were certain things that Hetty had kept to herself, especially if it involved death.

There had been the winter dormouse hunts organised by Lord Edward. She shook her head as if to remove any vestige of calling him a lord and remembering that he really was her great uncle. They had fashioned medieval style cloaks out of blankets and on crisp, silent, frosty winter mornings, gone listening for hibernating dormice. Again it had involved creeping along the hedgerows, but this time very quietly because they had to listen for the gentle snores of the sleeping rodents. At first she had thought this was another silly fancy like the snail calls, but Uncle Edward had proved to be right and dormice really did snore. She sat picturing the hibernating rodents tucked up snugly in nests hidden deep within hedgerows of hazel that reverberated to the gentle snore of their inhabitants.

And the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, The Son and the Holy Ghost be among you and remain with you always. The service came to an end. Lost in nostalgic reminisces of her childhood, Melissa had failed to notice the coffin being lowered into the chapel floor leaving the mass of flowers at floor level. Hetty was now at her eternal rest, re-united with her husband.

My dear, Edward whispered softly. She felt Edward’s hand on her back. We have to lead everybody out. Come, take my arm.

Together they walked towards the chapel doorway passing the pews full of sympathetic faces. Mr and Mrs Podger were nowhere to be seen. Melissa made to continue walking towards New Manor, but Edward held her back.

Oh, Uncle Edward, sorry. Er, what do we do now? She wanted to run away and hide.

Don’t worry, you’re not expected to know everyone.

The people living in the village offered their condolences and sympathies and kissed her on both cheeks.  She recognised most of them. Then there were the people from the art world who were surprised to find Hetty had any living relatives. She shook hands with them, humbled to find that not everyone knew of her existence.

Edward offered invitations to everyone to come back to New Manor to celebrate the life of a great friend and artist. Melissa took his arm again and they walked down the rose lined path to the house.

Mrs Podger was busy supervising the caterers who were providing the buffet lunch. The dining room opened on to the ballroom that was a Victorian extrusion at the side of the Georgian extension of the original Elizabethan house, which had been built on the foundations of an Augustinian monastery bought by William de Braose in 1539 after the Dissolution of the Monasteries. The long history of the house wrapped itself around her like a safety blanket.

A waitress walked through the crowd carrying a tray of drinks. Melissa took a glass and wondered how she was ever going to afford to repay Edward for this lavish hospitality. She knew enough about fizzy wine to recognise this was real champagne.

A tall man who had spoken to Edward at the chapel was heading in her direction. There was no escape.

Melissa, Douglas Lansbury, She shook the proffered hand, recognising his voice as that of Hetty’s solicitor, we spoke briefly on the ‘phone..

Mr Lansbury, how kind of you to come.

We have much to discuss, but this is neither the time nor the place. He paused. Rather than you having to come up to London, he continued, perhaps it would be more convenient for me to come to your cottage?

When were you thinking of?

Tomorrow?

The immediacy of his suggestion surprised her.

Shall we say 10 a.m.? he continued.

Melissa nodded. Clearly the estate lawyers wanted the cottage back sooner rather than later. She wondered whether she could ask Edward if she could have a couple of months to sort out Hetty’s things.

More faces passed in a blur of platitudes and sympathetic murmurs. Melissa smiled inanely, nibbled a few canapes of smoked salmon and at the first opportunity escaped to the safety of Mrs Podger’s kitchen where she slipped into the rocking chair and hid behind a copy of The Times newspaper. The black and white tomcat wandered in and wove itself around her legs before making himself comfortable on her lap. Timmy was the scourge of the local mouse population, but today was too hot to chase mice. The two of them contemplated the newspaper. Melissa had a headful of questions that had no immediate answers and the cat had found a comfortable place to wait until someone decided to feed him.

Melissa, Melissa, wake up. Mrs Podger was gently shaking Melissa’s shoulder.

Oh, Mrs P, I’m so sorry, I’ve taken your chair!

Never mind that, my dear, I was worried where you’d got to. Mr Edward said to tell you ‘e would see you tomorrow up at the cottage with that lawyer. ‘He’s found today very tiring so ‘e’s taken ‘imself off to ‘ave a little lie down.

Oh Mrs Podger, here I am hiding away when it should have been me doing all the hard work.

My dear, Mr Edward saw it as a privilege to give Hetty a good send off. The elderly housekeeper pulled one of the wooden dining chairs out from the table and sat down. Ee, that’s better. Me feet are killing me!

Mrs P, how long have you known Hetty?

I’ve been ‘ere ever since Master Tobias was born in ‘59. Lady Elizabeth, Mr Edward’s wife, wanted me to train up to replace Mrs Fairfax who was the old ‘ousekeeper. It took me five years to learn everything from ‘er. And I met Mr Podger, ‘im being a trainee gardener ‘ere, and the rest, you might say, is ‘istory. Hetty was already part of the family then, her living in The Old Manor

Melissa hesitated. Was Lord Edward’s brother still alive then?

No, but I think it’s better ‘e tell you than I get things wrong.

What is Tobias like? I can’t remember him at all.

Mrs Podger harrumphed in a disapproving way, but said nothing.

I get the feeling that nobody likes him very much. Melissa hoped her comment might prompt more information.

Mrs Podger gave something that was a cross between a snort and a laugh. Until you meet Mr Tobias, me telling you anything would be unfair to Mr Edward. I think it best ‘e tells you ‘imself.

What about William? I haven’t seen him for years.

"Ah, now young William – ‘e’s only a bit older than you. ‘E’s the apple of Mr Edward’s eye, ‘e is. No side to Mr William, unlike his father. What you see is what you get and ‘e doesn’t demand dinner in the dining room, or that Mr Podger and I ‘know our place’."

Melissa wondered how the son was apparently so different from the father.

I’m not one for gossip, my dear, but you do ‘ave to wonder whether Mr Tobias was a changeling ‘e’s that different from ‘is own father. William is much more like Mr Edward, but I mustn’t rattle on. You’re that tired I’ll get Mr P to run you back to your cottage. You look as if you could do with a good night’s sleep, but before ‘e takes you home, I’ll put som’at together for your supper.

Melissa tried to demur, but providing sustenance was Mrs Podger’s way of showing she cared.

10th MAY

Melissa had just finished plumping the cushions on the sofa when Betty ran into the cottage wuffing her strange coughing bark, followed by Edward and Douglas Lansbury.

Good morning, my dear, Edward kissed her on both cheeks; his presence was comforting.  Mr Lansbury shook her hand.

Please, make yourselves comfortable. May I get you some coffee or tea?  She offered.  Hetty had drummed how important it was to offer hospitality to guests.

Mr Lansbury seated himself at the head of the table and laid some documents in a neat pile. She was slightly irritated by the way he assumed he could just sit down where Hetty had always sat.

Coffee would be lovely. Edward patted her shoulder then he sat down at the other end of the table. They were like two knights lining up at either end of the lists, preparing to joust.

Melissa poured the boiling water into the prepared cafetiére, wondering what was coming next. Half of her wanted to know; the other wanted to run away.

Miss Carlisle, I understand you were unaware your great-aunt had once been married.

"Lansbury, it’s not your job to interrogate Melissa as to