Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Luke
“ Y ou’re filthy,” Luke said, watching Freya on her hands and knees, feeling the grass over the two plots in front of the unmarked grave stones.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her swaying hips as she moved. Did she always move so gracefully? He couldn’t say he had ever noticed. That damn ring on her finger glinting in the sunlight reminded him he shouldn’t be thinking of her that way, even if he was sure she had made the man up.
If she had made him up, she had something to hide.
But his aunt was sure hiding something bigger if his siblings didn’t know about these graves. Aunt Cynthia absolutely knew.
But he was fucked if he was going to ask her.
“I’ve got my least favourite clothes on. It doesn’t matter. I want to see if there are any clues below the grass line, maybe initials.”
“I’m guessing whoever wanted these here knows who is in the ground. What I don’t understand is why there are two. Surely they’d use the same plot?”
“Maybe they died a while ago, and there is no one down there, and these are symbolic.”
“With no words?”
“I did a little research. There have been deliberately unmarked graves over the centuries. Some because the family didn’t have much money, they could only afford the headstone. Clearly, that’s not the case with your family, as your family is the richest family in the land, not counting the King.”
“Quite.”
What else could he say? He couldn’t deny he came from a rich family, not that he saw any cash from it. But he never took for granted a full stomach, clothes on his back and a roof above his head until he could get the fuck off the island and earn his way.
“In Ireland, there is a gravesite that has big rocks to show who is buried where. The families know the boulder that looks like a loaf of bread is Uncle Bertie, who spent all his time up in the hills tending his sheep.”
Luke chuckled as Freya sat back on her calves, swiped her hand free of the dirt and placed her hands on her hips.
“Nothing,” Freya said.
She curled her feet under her, moved into a crouch and then stood in such a smooth move he wanted to applaud. He was stunned at her agility, and she didn’t do any yoga classes he knew about.
“What?” she asked.
Snapping out of his daze of Freya in tight workout gear, he glanced back to the gravestones, and an idea popped into his head.
“We need to find Copper Island’s gravedigger. Someone had to dig the graves, and it wasn’t my aunt. Likely wasn’t Bailey either at his age.”
“I don’t know who digs the graves at All Saints Church or your chapel. Reverend Sprite might know,” Freya suggested.
“That’s a good idea. Let’s go see if she’s in.”
“I need feeding first, Luke Turner. We should pop by and see Maggie,” Freya suggested.
“Maybe another time. Let’s see if Jason’s in Edward Hall kitchens. He can make us breakfast.”
“Oh, good idea,” Freya said, her eyes lighting up.
Luke knew why she was instantly interested and was happy he could disappoint her. The elite endurance guys had checked out, vowing to come back again.
He wouldn’t let Freya know until she asked him where they were. He had to have some fun.
There was no fiancé. He was absolutely sure.
He took her hand and instantly dropped it and then strode ahead of her to cover his automatic contact without seeing her reaction. Luke didn’t know what was going on in his head and wanted to go back to when he was home when it was normal between them. He’d give her a piggyback, and she would throw an arm around his neck and kiss his head.
“Hey, wait up,” Freya called out.
He could hear her flip-flops flapping as she jogged to catch up. They took the long way around, not risking seeing Aunt Cynthia and entered Edward Hall via the front. Crossing the foyer, Freya looked up and around.
“It’s very quiet,” she said.
“Big place, babe.”
“Still, testosterone-fuelled men would make some noise.”
And there it was, Freya wanted to see the hot guys.
“They’ve been gone for a few days,” Luke replied with a playful grin. “Why do you care, anyway?”
“Well, I don’t. It was an observation. When is your next booking?”
She was covering for her disappointment, poorly.
“More hot guys are coming next week. Never fret. The professional gig racers have booked out the place.”
Luke glanced at Freya to catch her beaming smile aimed at the floor.
“Will your fiancé be back by then?”
The smile slid off her face, and he could see the cogs whirring in her head at a response.
“He might have come and gone away by then. His work takes him at odd times for unknown periods. Difficult to tell.”
“Does he plan on staying in that mysterious job when you’re married?”
“Presumably. I’m not the type of woman who dictates what a man should do.”
“But you don’t want an absent father when you have kids, surely?”
Freya quietened as we entered the deserted kitchens. No Jason, meant no breakfast.
Freya remained quiet when we crossed the floor, pushed out of the emergency exit, and then walked across the lawns to Turner Hall. Freya was leading the way. I didn’t want to enter the grand house, but clearly, Freya did.
“Will Maggie have some Weetabix and coffee?” Freya asked quietly.
“Almost certainly,” Luke replied, now kicking himself for pushing the subject.
Now he thought the fiancé was real, and he’d hurt her feelings or at least had given her food for thought.
“I imagine it will be difficult with him away so much. If it wasn’t for your letters, I would have been constantly worried about you,” Freya said.
Luke stopped in the grass a hundred feet from the back door to Turner Hall kitchens. She worried about him? He loved getting her letters too. Often when he was abroad, he’d send postcards or a letter, but she always sent her letters to the rig with a kiss on the seal at the back. He knew she’d kissed it because the imprint of her lips in red lipstick was exactly like her lips. Her lips were equally plump. Her cupid’s bow was perfection, and when he got her letters, he looked to the seal first.
“There was nothing to worry about, babe. I was always with someone,” he said, trying to worry away the burning in his chest with the heel of his hand.
“Words don’t stop the worry, honey,” she muttered.
They entered Maggie’s kitchen, Freya first, and Luke followed her in. Maggie was at the stove like she lived and slept there. Bailey was at the far end in front of the half-wood, half-glass wall. The glass was split into small square sections that allowed you to see through, but it was mottled, so it was all distorted. He’d know if there was someone on the other side but not necessarily who.
“Hi Maggie, hi Bailey,” Freya said. “Can we impose for some breakfast? We’ve been on a scouting trip, and we’re famished. I didn’t have time for food before I hoofed it up here to see this one,” she said, thumbing over her shoulder.
“Take a seat Freya. It’s good to see you after so long. I hope we get to see you more often now that Luke is back,” Maggie said.
“Me too. I love coming in here. I love my parents and their home, but something about this kitchen makes me want to stay awhile.”
“That’s lovely to hear, Freya. You’re welcome anytime. Even if Luke isn’t around.”
Freya beamed at Maggie, and Maggie swung her eyes to him. She tilted her head and raised her eyes, sporting a terrific smirk. He had no idea what message she was conveying.
“Should I bring those boxes down from storage?” Maggie asked.
It was a loaded question, one that I didn’t want Freya asking about. She didn’t need to know what was in those boxes.
“Not now. I’ll come over in the week and get them.”
“As you wish. Take a seat, and I’ll make some coffee.” Then her eyes turned to Freya. “What do you want to eat?”
“Weetabix will be fine, or muesli.”
“Nothing warm, like scrambled eggs and sausage?” Maggie suggested.
“Maggie,” Freya said low. “Really?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll have some of that,” Luke said, joining Freya on her side of the table on the bench seat.
“I will too, Maggie, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble.”
Bailey cleared his throat and stalked forward, coming to the country kitchen table. The tips of his fingers of one hand touching the wood. He bounced them there for a few moments and then spoke.
“Miss Turner would like you to see her.”
“Can you tell her I politely decline?” Luke asked, knowing what the answer would be.
Bailey would do whatever Luke said, but there was always a word of caution if it wasn’t the best route.
“Yes, Sir, of course.”
His fingers bounced a few more beats .
“If you change your mind. Would you let me know, and then I can arrange a meeting?”
And there it was.
“I will, Bailey.”
“Very good.”
“Bailey,” Luke said. “Do you know who digs the graves for the Turner family?”
“I believe it’s Gilbert Philbott. He does All Saints too.”
“Thanks, Bailey. Is there still only one stone mason in town?”
“Same person. He runs the pottery barn as a business. Not enough business in headstones these days as people prefer cremation.”
“Thanks. I’ll look him up.”
“Planning ahead, Sir?”
Bailey was so polite when he asked probing questions. Luke had too much respect to rebuff his questions.
“I’m getting used to the Turner land as, eventually, we’ll inherit it. Ticking boxes about who sets the headstones in the gravesite. I saw a few I liked when we raised a glass to Dad.”
“I think the Mistress has the local business for the family. Certainly the recent generations.”
“Right. Thanks, Bailey.”
Bailey left them to do whatever Bailey did, and Freya kept her body sitting forward, but her head turned to him.
“What’s in the boxes?”
He knew she wouldn’t let it go. It was shocking she waited so patiently to ask him. If he’d realised, he would’ve kept Bailey talking longer.
“Old memories,” he answered.
It wasn’t a lie as such, but he felt embarrassed about what was in the boxes.