Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Evan had dropped by the study and was talking to his mother and father. Louise had also appeared by the time I drew up in the open doorway.
After a moment, the four of them sensed me loitering there, and their conversation screeched to a halt.
I was determined to ignore Evan’s muscles straining under his lemon T-shirt.
I drilled my attention on Alison, who was seated behind the desk, and Bennett, who was standing on her right. I pushed out a courteous but rather anxious smile.
Oh God. Was this idea crazy? Maybe it was. But surely it was worth a shot? I clutched the journal to my chest.
Louise spotted it, and her brows shot up.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt.’
‘No, it’s fine, Daisy,’ replied Alison.
I was aware of Evan’s gaze on me.
‘What can we do for you?’ asked Bennett.
I took a couple of faltering steps into the study. ‘I’ve been thinking about ways that you might be able to drum up some more financial support for The Ramblings.’
Evan’s brows arched, but I carried on. ‘Look, please tell me if this is none of my business, but this is such a gorgeous old house, and you might be able to draw on its history to your advantage.’
Bennett looked intrigued. ‘In what way?’
‘Well, have you heard the name Florence Menzies?’
Bennett’s jaw grew tight. He looked like someone had just trodden over his grave. ‘Someone’s been busy with their research.’
‘Who’s Florence Menzies?’ asked Evan, confused.
Alison and Bennett exchanged glances. ‘This isn’t something my family’s proud of,’ stated Bennett after a few moments. ‘Even after all these years. What happened to poor Florence. We don’t talk about it. Cowardly I know, but the shame of what happened never left us.’
Evan’s expression darkened. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Dad.’
Louise interjected. ‘She was a young woman who worked here in the early 1900s and was blamed for stealing a vase. Poor girl was sacked, but she was innocent. She died just a few years later, aged just eighteen.’
Alison pushed some ash-coloured hair back behind one ear and swivelled her attention back on me.
‘What happened to that poor young woman was tragic and avoidable, but the people round here don’t seem to remember what happened, because the Menzies family left Forrest Bank not long after Florence passed away. ’
‘Well, can you blame them?’ ground out Bennett.
‘They’d lost one of their own at a tragically young age, and she’d been blamed by my great-grandparents for stealing something when she hadn’t.
’ He puffed out some air. ‘The law wouldn’t have been on her side, no matter what.
All that mattered in those times was how much money you had and who you were related to. ’
Alison chewed her lip. ‘She was a hard-working, innocent, young soul but she wasn’t allowed her own voice.’
Bennett swung round to Louise. ‘And you knew about Florence’s story, but you never said anything?’
Louise coloured. ‘I didn’t think it was my place to. My father was a keen amateur historian and found out about it years ago.’
I eyed everyone. ‘And that’s what I was hoping to talk to you about.’ I raised the journal. ‘This is part of Louise’s dad’s research.’
A puzzled look settled on Alison’s face. ‘Oh?’ She gestured to me. ‘Please. Sit down.’
Evan and his father adopted similar poses either side of Alison and Louise as I settled myself in the chair. I kept the journal on my lap.
I flicked Evan a brief glance. Didn’t he have some pressing article he had to write? Or a dodgy businessman to expose? It was rather off-putting, him looming there.
I took a little breath and returned my gaze to his parents.
‘It sounds tragic what happened to Florence and the circumstances surrounding her.’ I hesitated.
I had to choose my words carefully, as this was a delicate subject for the family.
‘And you said just now, Alison, about Florence not having her own voice.’
I straightened my back. ‘So, I wondered whether that could be put right now? And it could mean financial help for The Ramblings.’
‘In what way?’ questioned Evan. His brows were even more intimidating than before.
I sat forward, pinning my attention back on his parents as I ran one hand over the top of the journal. ‘I thought that perhaps you could have a tour of The Ramblings – stage it regularly, say, three times a week. You’d welcome in the general public and tell the story of Florence.’
The three of them exchanged glances. Louise’s mouth popped open.
Bennett looked awkward. ‘Forgive me, Daisy, but what happened to Florence Menzies became a stain on our family reputation. Like we just said, it’s not something we tend to brag about.’
‘Exactly,’ I parried back, returning my attention to a thoughtful Alison. ‘This way, you’re acknowledging what happened all those years ago, and you’re also giving a voice to Florence.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Evan, studying me.
‘She wanted to become an actress,’ broke in Louise.
‘I’ve read my father’s notes. But because she didn’t have the right connections, and because of being blamed for that theft, her life took a different and tragic path.
’ She hesitated. ‘Turns out, years later, that the damned vase was accidentally broken by one of the gardeners, Ernest Pugh, but he wouldn’t confess to it at the time in case he lost his job.
So he concealed the broken pieces, and poor Florence got the blame for stealing it.
’ She glanced over at Bennett. ‘Your late great-grandmother noticed Florence with a little extra money, which she’d earned from shining shoes in the market, but she put two and two together and came up with five. ’
‘That’s terrible,’ I said. ‘Did this Ernest Pugh ever admit to it?’
‘Aye. According to Dad’s notes, he did years later in a drunken stupor in the pub, but by then poor Florence had passed away.’ Her expression grew more determined. ‘Maybe some people round here do know about her story and what happened to her. Others won’t.’
I turned to Alison and Bennett again. Every so often, their attention drifted to the journal in my lap.
‘If you were to hold a regular tour of The Ramblings and have someone portray Florence, you’re telling her story and bringing everything out into the open.’
The Lords didn’t look convinced.
Undeterred, Louise picked up the mantle. ‘Florence lived and worked here for a few years before things took an unfortunate turn. The Ramblings was a big part of her life.’
‘That’s right.’ I paused. ‘In a way, this guided tour would be honouring her memory.’
‘And profiting from it,’ murmured Bennett, looking uncomfortable.
‘Like I said, you could also make a donation from the tour profits, towards a charity of your choosing.’ Another idea pinged in my head. ‘Or you could establish a new charity in Florence’s name.’
Evan let out a gruff snort, but there was no denying the sudden sparkle in his Bourneville eyes. His voice carried a hint of admiration. ‘You’ve given this a lot of thought, Daisy. But who would pull her story together? I’m a journalist, not an author.’
I eyed him. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it would be so hard to do.
If Louise can supply any more of her dad’s notes, we can pull together a script.
I’m not proclaiming to be Hollywood standard, but I did do a course in script writing.
’ I gave him a look. ‘And you’re a journalist. Together, we can pull a script together.
Then we can start recruiting local actors to play the roles. ’
Bravery nipped at me. ‘Don’t worry, Evan. I’ll issue the orders, and you just have to do as you’re told.’
Alison, Bennett and Louise swapped knowing smiles.
Evan angled one brow suggestively at me.
I concentrated again, reminding myself why I was having this conversation.
‘We just have to use a little bit of creative licence if need be.’ My mouth twitched. ‘Like I said, you’re a journalist. Surely you’re used to doing that.’
Evan pulled a sarcastic face. ‘Very funny.’
I knew I was trying to goad him, but I couldn’t stop myself. ‘Or are you trying to find an excuse not to be involved in making this happen, Evan? Think you aren’t up to it?’
Evan stared me down. ‘If that’s what you think, then you don’t know me very well.’
The steely, hard look in his eyes made me whip my head away.
‘Come on you two,’ cajoled Alison. She steepled her hands together again on top of the desk. ‘So, how would this tour work then, Daisy?’
I flicked Evan a brief look of triumph. ‘I know someone – a teenage girl whom I met the other day when I accompanied you to the high school. She’s an amazing little actor. I saw her perform some Shakespeare.’
Bennett listened. ‘Go on.’
‘If I could persuade Cayla to take on the role of Florence, we can try out the tour and see how it’s received.’
I steadied the excitement rising again in my voice. ‘And if it did prove popular amongst locals and tourists, you could recruit another couple of actors to play Florence, so there would be a rota.’
Evan flexed a brow.
‘And we could advertise it locally, regionally, nationally, even internationally. Other countries love these stately homes and all the history swirling around them.’
I sunk back in the chair. This was agony. I didn’t want to upset anyone – well, maybe irritate Evan a little – but I was struggling to read the room. Had I overstepped the mark? I just wanted to help.
Nobody said anything. They just blinked across at me before swapping more unreadable expressions.
I found myself fidgeting. I patted the journal. ‘Like I said, it was only an idea.’
I proffered an awkward smile and jumped up and out of the chair, as though my backside had been singed with hot coals. ‘Thank you for listening to me witter on. I’ll go and finish off my packing now.’