Oh, she knew she had the easy job. Staying at home, ensuring the chickens kept laying and the vegetable patch was weed-free. The only things being shot at in Sherwood Forest were the deer and pheasants, and there were no bombs dropping overhead. The closest they got to actual war was the three Polish airman who died when their plane crashed near a local village.
But she missed her brothers with a constant, anxious ache that churned up her insides and made it impossible to force down the vegetable soup some days. When her father left, too, for some mysterious job that a fifteen-year-old wasn’t allowed to ask questions about, the houseful of intimidating women, grubby bathrooms and an empty pantry made her want to scream. When she stumbled upon one of them kissing her latest infatuation in the rose garden, she did scream. Long and loud, in the deepest part of the forest where no one could hear.
Only afterwards, when first one telegram arrived, and then the other, and, as if that weren’t enough to destroy her mother, a bomb hit the building where her father was working, killing him instantly, did she look back with bitter contempt at that spoiled young girl who’d thought she had something to complain about.
She never did grow much taller, but she ploughed all her energy into becoming stronger, and wiser. While her mother faded into the shadows of grief, Verity had no choice but to grow up. She stopped bothering with school, knowing there was precious little of any use to be learned there, and set out to educate herself on everything she’d possibly need to know about running a country estate. She hung her dresses back in the closet, chopped the bottom ten inches off her brother’s dungarees, and got to work.
* * *
It was again early evening by the time Hattie had talked me through the highlights of the trunk. She’d been tired before we started, but by now looked positively haggard. Lizzie had messaged earlier to say that she was leaving for the day, and dinner was keeping warm in the Aga, so we ventured downstairs to ladle fragrant lentil curry into bowls decorated with woodpeckers.
Hattie ate three mouthfuls before declaring herself whacked and heading upstairs to bed.
I was starting to wonder whether there was more to my client’s exhaustion than a busy life and draining job. However, it wasn’t my place to ask. Clearly, Hattie liked to keep a lot of things private. And the less I knew, the fewer potential secrets I had to keep from people like Lizzie and Gideon.
I cleared up the kitchen, spent another couple of hours cataloguing some more items, and resolved to keep my questions to myself.
10
I spent Tuesday adding the rest of the items from the second trunk into the growing database, setting to one side those Hattie was happy to donate to a museum or otherwise pass on. Hattie was speaking at a conference on Wednesday so, finding myself at a loose end, after a long conversation with Ezra, I decided to keep my promise to Gideon. Still convinced that spending time with him wasn’t wise, I did the next best thing and took Muffin the long way round to the boathouse.
The air had cleared since the weekend storm and, despite it still being the last week of February, there was a discernible change in the season. A few of the trees displayed a distinct tinge of green at the ends of their branches. Some of the bushes were covered in velvet buds and when we ventured through the woods near the fire pit, the ground was sprinkled with clusters of primroses. Back along the riverbank, I watched the sunlight dance across the surface of the river, inhaled the sweet, springlike air and couldn’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.
Agnes opened the boathouse door a good inch and a half when I knocked, once Muffin had grown tired of watching the ducks and I felt ready for a cup of tea.
‘Oh. It’s you. I’m very sorry, I can’t remember your name.’
‘Sophie.’
‘There was a girl in my class called Sophie. She was a horrible thing. I didn’t like her one bit.’
‘Okay. Well, I’m not her. So, I was wondering if you fancied a cup of tea and a chat.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes. If you’re free. Or I can come back another time.’
‘I don’t know anything about Riverbend. Or Hattie’s family. I barely knew her mother, and the rest of them were dead long before I married Chester.’
‘I’m not here to work.’ I tried to rustle up my friendliest smile.
She squinted one eye through the gap in the doorway, which was, if anything, growing even smaller. ‘Why are you here, then?’
‘I don’t really know anyone else in the area. Hattie’s working away today, and I could use the company. But I understand if you’re busy. I didn’t mean to spring myself on you. I was just walking past and wondered if you might be free…’
The door opened a whole other inch. ‘Is your dog here?’
‘Yes. I wiped her paws, though. She’s not muddy.’
The door had flung open before I’d finished the sentence. Muffin barged forwards, knocking her nose against Agnes’ knees, and she beamed at the dog in delight. ‘I can’t pet you standing up. Come on, let’s find the sofa.’
She disappeared inside, Muffin wagging her way after her. Presuming that I was included in the invitation, I followed them.
The cottage was nothing like I expected. I’d imagined musty, cluttered rooms with faded wallpaper and bad lighting. Instead, I stepped into an open-plan living space including a stunning, dark-brown kitchen, pale floorboards and fresh, colourful décor.
‘This is amazing.’
Agnes didn’t bother looking up, engrossed in rubbing Muffin’s belly. ‘It’s all right. If you like the trendy, minimalist look. Personally, I prefer bit of floof and a pretty net curtain.’
