Condemned, R.C. Bridgestock [most romantic novels TXT] 📗

‘Whatever does she mean?’ whispered Annie over her shoulder to Charley. But before Charley got chance to tell her it was probably a reference to a person’s balance, Josie ushered the detectives into a cosy room with a blazing fire in the iron grate of an old stone fireplace.

The two elderly ladies came together in the lounge, to share a moment of giggling, just like children. ‘When we were younger, we used to tell our friends that this crooked little house was haunted,’ said Winnie.

‘Stop frightening the lasses,’ said Josie with a shy, gentle shake of her head. ‘Truth be known, she’s never grown up that one,’ she whispered.

‘Why would I want to grow up?’ said Winnie aghast.

A magnifying glass sat on a low coffee table, next to several pairs of discarded spectacles, and a heap of books stood in front of Josie’s comfy chair.

There was a whistling from the kitchen. ‘Kettle’s boiled,’ Winnie said, cheerily, clearing spaces at the table to one side of the room. It was covered with a large plastic floral tablecloth, the very latest fashion, 1960s-style.

Annie looked about her. ‘Oh, this place is just… awesome,’ she said to Josie. Reaching out tenderly she touched the wooden beams, and stained glass with her fingertips. ‘I absolutely adore old things, and the dustier the better!’

Charley gave Annie a nudge. What was she thinking of?

Annie wasn’t paying any attention to Charley; she was already meeting Josie’s eyes and blushing. ‘I’m so sorry! I didn’t intend to be rude.’

Josie laughed out loud, and, when she laughed she looked years younger. She liked Annie. She liked old things too.

When Winnie returned from the kitchen, she was carrying a tray of hot drinks, and a much-coveted plate of homemade biscuits. With a proud nod towards Josie, Winnie carried on. ‘She bakes all her own bread, cakes and biscuits, y’know, and makes her own jam and pickles. She also grows her vegetables and flowers, and at one time she’d have wrung the necks of those chickens in the coop. Puts me to shame, she does.’

Annie awkwardly took from the tray a small bone-china cup which rattled upon its saucer. The look on her face told the others she was terrified of breaking it.

Winnie chuckled at the young detective’s grimace, ‘It’s not as delicate as you think.’

‘Indeed, it’s made from cattle bone,’ Josie said, sitting down opposite Annie with a groan, and a moan about her ailing bones.

Annie took a sideways glance at Charley. Her expression turned quickly to one of suspicion. She looked from one woman to another, finally settling on Winnie’s face. ‘You’re winding me up, right?’

‘No, no, I promise you. It’s true,’ Josie said. ‘That’s why it’s called bone china.’

The older ladies exchanged local news for a while, but the lighthearted atmosphere soon shifted as Charley explained the reason for their visit. It soon became apparent to Charley that without Winnie’s interaction, Josie Cartwright would not be talking to them, nor to anyone else about Crownest. When Charley started to share with Josie the information regarding the discovery of the bodies and the reason that she needed her help, the old lady paled, her eyes clouded over and her questioning eyes fell upon Winnie. With lips slightly parted she took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it,’ she said. ‘Not even for you, Win.’

Winnie reached for Josie’s hands and, with great gentleness, she sandwiched them between hers. ‘Hear her out. It’s okay, you can trust Charley. She’s Jack’s girl. You remember Jack Mann?’

Puzzled, and slightly disorientated it appeared, Josie’s look remained suspicious. Winnie nodded her head reassuringly. ‘It’s time…’

Chapter 19

‘The official records show the Alderman family resided at Crownest for many years, as you are probably more than aware. However, what you might not know is that Agnes, the mother of the present sexton of St Anne’s Church, was the woman locals sought for bringing babies into this world, and for laying out the dead.’

The news about the old midwife was nothing new to Charley, but the next bit of information that Josie shared made her ears prick up.

‘Seth’s wife, Lucinda Alderman, it is rumoured, was with child when she was bundled off to Australia to a place of safety with her friend Catherine, her sister-in-law, by Father Michael O’Doherty, the then-priest at St Anne’s.

‘At the loss of his wife and heir, Seth was said to be beside himself with grief and he took his own life. There couldn’t be a more poignant place for his death other than at the door of the tunnel that he’d insisted be bricked up in order to save his wife returning to Crownest and falling victim to his increasingly dark moods, caused by his drink and drug dependency.

‘Again, owing to the distance of time, the paper trail goes cold, and we know nothing more, for sure, about what happened to Lucinda and her child, or to Catherine Alderman. I guess Catherine may have married and taken her husband’s name, and Lucinda might have done the same, and remarried in Australia.’ Josie was silent for a few minutes, appearing to collect her thoughts.

Eager to hear more, Charley urged her on.

‘So what more do we know about Agnes, Lily Pritchard’s mother? How does she come into the tale?’

‘Only that she was a bit of a rebel. And a local oddity.’

‘Like mother, like daughter,’ she whispered to Winnie.

‘She was?’ said Charley, ‘In what way?’

‘Oh, it is said that she flatly refused to follow the religious ways of her husband, a devout Catholic, who married the young girl solely to keep her out of the poor house, thereby forsaking his calling to become a priest. And, would you believe, she then rewarded him by refusing to join him in his faith and worship. Against his will, and after several failed attempts to keep Agnes away from other men, she formed a meaningful relationship with the local blacksmith, Atherton. She was caught lying with him and he was banished from the village. A couple