Chapter Twenty Four
‘Okay, remember the story,’ I say furtively as I hop out of the passenger side of Shaun’s van. ‘We’re journalists from the Lily Vale Post doing a fluff story about the history of Thistlewick Manor.’
‘This is never going to work,’ Shaun murmurs. ‘They’ll see right through the ruse and turn us away before we even get a foot in the door.’
‘Don’t be so negative!’ Tutting, I lightly punch his shoulder. ‘We’ve got to try.’
The sight of Thistlewick Manor stuns me into silence. It’s a magnificent building, exactly how I’ve always imagined the grand Regency-style manors described in Lucy’s romance novels. Its sprawling grounds are stunning with rows and rows of meticulously designed floral displays and as we stroll along the paved path to the heavy oak doors, I can see Shaun admiring the perfectly curated flowerbeds and evenly trimmed hedges down to each neat little blade of grass and leaf.
‘I wonder who does the gardens here,’ he ponders aloud. ‘Man, I’d love to get a job like this.’
‘Well, if we make a good impression on David Clarke, maybe you’ll get to,’ I suggest. ‘You said you worked with him before, I’m sure he’d hire you like a shot.’
We knock on the door, and it’s answered by a snooty-looking man with bushy, angry eyebrows.
‘Yes?’
‘Hello, we’re from the Lily Vale Post , we were wondering if we might be able to take a look around the manor. It’s for an article we’re working on.’
Perhaps I should have given our cover story more thought, I don’t think I’ve convinced him at all. I’ve barely convinced myself.
‘Who is it, Peter?’ a man’s voice echoes from inside.
Peter lets loose a weary, irritated sigh. ‘Just some daft kids, come to beg a free tour of the manor. I’ll get rid of them immediately, sir.’
‘Now, just wait one moment, Peter!’
Just then, a pale-haired man appears from behind Peter. There’s a distinct air of friendliness surrounding him, aided by his casual attire - a well-worn knitted jumper and a pair of khaki chinos. Though about a decade younger, something about him reminds me of Victor, and I’m instantly put at ease.
‘Oh, I recognise you! You’re the gardener I hired for the allotment project,’ he grins at Shaun. ‘I must say, you did a fantastic job - Shaun, was it?’
‘That’s right,’ Shaun smiles shyly, dropping our ridiculous charade. ‘It’s great to see you again, Mr Clarke. This is my friend Ruth Harper, she’s been looking into the local history of Lily Vale. Sorry to bother you, but we’d love to learn more about Thistlewick Manor and your uncle.’
David greets me with a warm, strong handshake. ‘Lovely to meet you, Ruth, I’m so glad that people are taking an interest in the history of our wonderful village. Why don’t the two of you come in? I’ll give you the grand tour myself!’
Peter grumbles as we pass him and enter the large antechamber, but luckily for us, it’s David who calls the shots around here.
‘Thank you so much for allowing us into your home, Mr Clarke,’ I gush as I survey my surroundings. ‘It’s breathtaking.’
‘You’re welcome, I love showing people around the manor. It’s not actually my home, I own a property on Sweet Pepper Lane with my wife and children, but I do spend a great deal of my time here, working on restoration projects and whatnot. Now, shall we begin our tour?’
Gladly, we follow David, in awe at the sheer grandeur before us.
‘This manor has been in the Clarke family since 1809,’ David tells us proudly as he leads the way through the expansive corridors, taking us in and out of rooms each more grand than the last. ‘Every piece of furniture in this drawing room is a genuine antique.’
Stifling a gulp, I warily swing my hip around a wooden rocking chair, careful not to catch it. If I wasn’t already scared to touch anything, well, I certainly am now!
‘This is all so fascinating, Mr Clarke.’
‘Please, call me David.’ He smiles, halting a moment before me. ‘Now tell me, Ruth, is there any particular area of the manor’s history you’re interested in?’
‘Actually, it’s less the manor itself and more your family I’m intrigued by. Specifically, your Uncle Ronald.’
‘Ah, Uncle Ron - he died fifteen years ago and bequeathed this place to me, he and Aunt Delilah didn’t have any children of their own, you see. What would you like to know?’
I glance at Shaun, and he gives me an encouraging nod.
‘Is there any mention anywhere of a woman named Rosemary Grey? In letters, journals, perhaps even the will?’
‘Hm, the name doesn’t ring a bell. She’s certainly not in the will, only Aunt Delilah and I were left anything, he was not known as a particularly charitable man. Why do you ask?’
‘Rosemary was a local artist, she rented a studio space from your uncle. We - we have reason to believe they were quite close, and that he might know what happened to her. You see, she just disappeared one day and no one seems to know where she went.’
David’s eyes flick up to the high beam ceilings as he thinks hard. ‘You know, there’s boxes of documents and records in the study that I’ve never fully trawled through, it’s a long shot, but I suppose there could be mention of her in there. You’re welcome to take a look through, if you’d like.’
‘Really?’
David nods. ‘Although I can’t promise what you find will be particularly interesting, it’s mostly just property deeds and the like.’
‘Thank you, Mr - David,’ Shaun says, his eyes full of fresh vigour and excitement. ‘We really appreciate your help.’
David chuckles. ‘Well, if sifting through grimy papers in that stuffy old study is helping, then you’re very welcome!’
The study isn’t stuffy at all, in fact, it’s just as opulent as the rest of Thistlewick Manor, complete with an enormous mahogany desk, bookshelves that line the walls and a beautiful arched window. Although truth be told, it would look a lot more impressive if there weren’t cardboard boxes scattered all over the hardwood floors.
David leaves us to our work, but not before telling us if there’s anything we need to come and find him in the sun room. I’m not exactly sure where the ‘sun room’ is, but I thank him kindly for the gesture.
We sift through reams and reams of papers, releasing dead moths and decades of dust and dirt into the air as we do. David was right, all we’ve unearthed so far is a load of boring property deeds and contracts, nothing useful for our investigation.
Sighing in resignation, I flip an errant blonde hair out of my eyes. ‘Maybe it’s time to admit defeat.’
‘Hey, what’s this?’
Shaun lifts a squashed old shoe box from the clutter, sending motes of dust flying about the room. He places it on the desk and opens the lid, tearing at the haphazardly placed tape. My heart skips when its contents are revealed - it’s stuffed full of letters, each enveloped but not addressed or stamped. Gingerly, I slide a finger under the flap of one and open it up, careful not to tear the paper. At my side, Shaun reads aloud over my shoulder as I unfurl the yellowed letter:
Dear Rosemary,
I’m sorry. I couldn’t be more sorry.
I know I hurt you, I was careless with your heart, but you must have known things were never going to work out the way you hoped. I thought we were just having fun together, but then you tried to make things serious and ruined everything. You must be realistic, Rosie, how could I, Ronald Clarke, marry beneath my station? I don’t say this to be cruel, I know you understand the position I am in.
I never expected you to run away like that, somewhere I can’t find you. I wish I knew where you had gone. I wish I knew where to send this letter. I asked that nosy little housemaid of yours, but she’s keeping her lip stubbornly buttoned.
For what it’s worth, I truly did love you.
Yours forever,
R.C
‘ It’s hardly an apology,’ I scowl, crumpling the letter in my hands. ‘He just feels guilty about what he did and is trying to justify his actions to Rosemary and himself.’
‘Hey, don’t do that, this stuff still belongs to David, you know.’
Shaun touches my hand to stop me screwing up the letter, and I gaze up at him, my cheeks burning hot. The feverish moment lingers - it could be seconds, minutes - then Shaun leans in closer, his eyelids hooded and his lips parted just so, as if about to speak.
‘C-come on.’ I back away, grabbing the grubby shoe box with both hands. ‘We better keep looking.’
Together, we go through the other letters - they range from grovelling to furious to heartbreaking. Some even have me almost feeling sorry for Ronald, but then I remember what a selfish, cruel man he was, and all sympathy I had is quickly doused.
‘Well, that’s all of them,’ Shaun announces unnecessarily once we’ve read the last one.
‘So it looks like Ronald never found out where Rosemary went, either.’ My shoulders droop as I slide the letters back into their envelopes. ‘He just kept writing these letters, knowing she’d never get to read them.’
‘Perhaps it’s just as well she didn’t,’ Shaun comment sagely. ‘If she had, he might have been able to manipulate her into coming back to him.’
‘You’re right, but still, I wish we had a definitive answer.’ I throw him a wane smile. ‘I guess you were right, we’ve reached the end of the mystery.’
Shaun shrugs and throws an arm around my shoulder. The gesture is unexpected and spins my head into a tizzy, but I snuggle into the warmth of his embrace, breathing in his warm, earthy scent.
‘Eh, we had a good time, didn’t we?’ he says with that lazy half-grin.
I beam up at him. ‘Yeah, we really did.’
After packing everything away, we make our way down the winding staircase to the front foyer, where we find David, carrying a cup of tea with a book tucked under his arm.
‘Ah, all done?’ he asks. ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’
‘Sort of,’ I shrug vaguely. ‘Thanks again for showing us around the place and letting us look through the study, it’s been very interesting.’
‘And helpful,’ Shaun adds.
‘Well, I’m glad to have been of service.’ David sketches a silly, over-the-top bow. ‘If you ever would like to visit again, just let me know!’ He passes each of us a business card printed with his contact details. ‘Don’t be strangers, I do so love showing people around the manor!’
‘We won’t,’ I promise. ‘See you soon, David.’
We step out into the sunshine and walk abreast along the wide, pale stone-paved garden path toward Shaun’s van.
‘So it looks like that’s the end of the mystery,’ I mumble forlornly. ‘I was so hoping we’d find what we were looking for today.’
‘Well, we didn’t get a conclusive answer, but those letters sure were interesting. They add layers to the story, if nothing else.’
A smile edges across my lips and I bring it to Shaun. Whenever I’m down in the dumps, he always looks on the bright side for my sake. I really love that about him.
‘You’re right, there’s plenty of good to take away from all of this. Through the harshest winters, the snowdrop prevails.’
‘That’s a nice saying.’
‘It’s from Rosemary’s journal. She’s really inspired me, you know? I wish I’d known her in person.’
‘Yeah, she seems like a cool lady.’ He reaches across to open the passenger door for me, and once again, I catch the subtle aromas of oak moss and sandalwood radiating from him. ‘Come on, let’s get back.’
Wistfully, I watch the manor shrink into the distance as we drive away. I wonder if Rosemary dreamed she’d be living there one day with her beloved. Instead, she got humiliated in front of the village, her heart so terribly shattered that she fled her home and never looked back.
A grimace contorts my face. It’s enough to put anyone off love for life.