CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I was at home next morning, feeling morose in my bedroom after everything that had happened, when the doorbell rang.
It wouldn’t be for me.
But hearing a familiar voice, I sat up straight. Then I nipped to the door to hear better.
It was Dan.
I couldn’t imagine why he’d come to see me – not after our cold words to each other at the Regency Romp. But maybe he wanted to make things right between us . . .
I checked my reflection in the mirror, feeling glad I’d bothered to wash my hair first thing that morning. And by the time Kitty knocked on the door to say that Dan had arrived and wanted a word with me downstairs, I’d slicked on some lip gloss and a little blusher as well.
My heart leapt at the sight of his handsome face. He was holding a carrier bag. The one that Leonard brought me, containing Charlotte’s wooden box.
‘Hi.’ He handed it over. ‘I thought you might like to have another look through it. You didn’t really get a chance the last time.’
‘Oh.’ I looked at him, surprised by the thoughtful gesture.
Maybe he didn’t hate me, after all.
‘I’m joining Uncle Leonard for coffee in the café, so I thought I’d drop this off with you while I was in the neighbourhood.’
I took the bag. ‘Thank you. That’s really kind of you. Um . . . when can I get it back to you?’
He shrugged. ‘Give it to Leonard when you’ve finished with it.’
‘Oh. Okay.’ I’d been hoping he might want me to deliver it back to him personally. But apparently not. My heart sank into my slippers. So that’s how it was between us.
We weren’t even friends now . . .
When he said goodbye and walked away, it was all I could do not to run after him and tell him I’d forever be sorry for not believing him when he told me about Wyatt.
But what would be the point?
He clearly had no interest in prolonging the conversation and just wanted to leave. If he gave me the cold shoulder again, I couldn’t bear it.
So I shut the door and trailed back upstairs to my room. Then I sat cross-legged on the bed with the box in front of me.
I’d been so excited last time I’d hunted through Charlotte’s box and discovered her secrets. And my adventure in Chawton with Dan was seeming more magical in my mind with every day that passed.
But that was all gone now. And for the life of me, I couldn’t work up the same enthusiasm for the box as before.
But then I realised it might be my last chance to study the contents. So I started going through it, examining each of the keepsakes one by one, and flicking fondly through the notebook diary.
I’d read Charlotte’s diary several times over already, but as I was about to pop it back, I noticed the three scraps of paper at the bottom of the box.
When I’d looked last time, I’d seen that they had what appeared to be recipes scribbled down on them.
Presumably by Charlotte. I recognised her handwriting from the diary.
The first was a recipe for ‘gooseberry and elderflower raised pie’ and the second was headed ‘fritters’.
Looking at the third, my heart skipped a beat.
This note was written in an entirely different hand to Charlotte’s. It seemed to be a list of jobs. But not household chores like sweeping floors.
Suddenly, I realised I was looking at a note written by Charlotte’s brother, Lovell. As well as a farm labourer, he’d been an odd-job man – and this was probably a checklist from a day’s work at a house in the village.
It gave me a strange feeling to imagine Lovell writing it. It almost felt like he could be in the room with me, reporting how his day had gone.
He had apparently fixed a leaky roof, cleared overgrown ivy from the south wall of the house, mended the loose front step, and –
I stopped and stared at the note, the cogs in my brain whirring into action as I tried to understand what I was looking at.
It couldn’t be . . . could it?
My heart was beating really fast.
Had I stumbled on something significant here? Or was it sheer coincidence?
I really wasn’t sure, although my hands were trembling as I placed Lovell’s note carefully back in the box.
What I did know for certain was that there was someone else who would be very interested in my find. He couldn’t have spotted it himself, otherwise he would surely have brought it to my attention.
I had to show the note to Dan . . .
I dived off the bed with surprising urgency, bearing in mind I’d been feeling about as energised as Sid the Sloth only minutes earlier.
Would he still be at the café, having coffee with Leonard?
There was only one way to find out . . .