There was quite a pile of letters awaiting Fran’s return home. Ada had left the fire laid and after Fran had put a match to the kindling, hung up her coat and hat, unsuccessfully attempted to mollify Mrs Sneglington, who was sulking as she always did after one of Fran’s absences, and poured herself a large gin and tonic, she sat down to read through all her correspondence, saving the envelope addressed in Mo’s handwriting to the end.
Mr Long, her solicitor, had written to inform her that he was in possession of the information that the named party in her divorce petition had recently given birth to a daughter. The paternity of the child, he wrote, was not in dispute and the court had been informed. In the meantime, he had also received notice that her decree nisi had been issued. She was part way there. If everything went smoothly, then according to what Mr Long had said of the process, the divorce would be made absolute in a matter of months, leaving Michael free to make an honest woman of Winnie the Ninny, while she would be … free … and alone.
There was a bill from the grocer to be settled and an advertisement for a horticultural suppliers from whom she had once purchased some rose bushes for the back garden. Of considerably more interest was a note from Miss Roche, one-time nurse to Mr Edgerton, saying that she would be pleased to meet Fran at a mutually convenient time, if she would care to suggest a date when she was likely to be in London, where Miss Roche now lived. Bother! London was an awfully long way to go, just to interview someone who hadn’t even been on the premises at the relevant time. The address Roly’s mother had originally provided was in Stoke-on-Trent, which was considerably more convenient. Her letter must have been forwarded to Miss Roche’s latest abode. Of course, Charles and Dolly Edgerton lived in London too, according to Eddie, but without an introduction, she could hardly just call on them and start asking questions.
Her godmother had sent a letter from Clitheroe, bringing her up to date with various family news, a charity was soliciting her support for a Manchester orphanage (how on earth did they obtain one’s name and address, she wondered) and finally there was the pale blue envelope, which she had immediately singled out by Mo’s distinctive sloping hand.
Mo had feigned reluctance over the trip out to Malaya, but from the contents of her letter it was perfectly obvious that she was having a jolly good time, now that she had actually arrived. Mo was naturally sociable, Fran reflected, so she would enjoy the round of parties and get-togethers which seemed to be a feature of colonial life. It was a lively letter, filled with hilarious (and not always kind) descriptions of the various people Mo had met, all written in her own irrepressible style, which made Fran smile unconsciously as she read it. It was the contents of the final paragraph however, which stopped Fran in her tracks.
Absolutely between ourselves, though it may be too early to tell, I feel as sure as I can be that my mother-in-law’s determination that the family line doesn’t end with Terence, is going to be satisfied by the outcome of the trip.
Fran remembered now that it had been Terence’s mother, more than anyone, who had urged that Mo should go out on a visit. Mo and Terence had such an odd relationship really, one might almost have called it a marriage of convenience. But in spite of that there was going to be a baby. Fran let the hand holding the sheets of notepaper droop into her lap. Everyone – even the utterly unmaternal Mo – seemed to be producing infants, left right and centre. The bedroom which faced east at Innominate House would make such a lovely nursery. She sighed and leaned her head against the back of the armchair. It had been such a long day. So many hours on the train that her head was still ringing with the rhythm of the wheels on the rails.
The telephone at her side began to ring.
She reached over with a weary hand to lift it. ‘Hello? Newby Bridge 87.’
‘Ah, Frances.’ It was her mother’s voice. ‘You are home, I see. I thought I would save you the trouble of ringing to ask me how I am.’
‘I have been home barely an hour, Mummy. I fully intended to telephone later this evening.’ As usual, Fran found herself apologizing for some filial failure, real or imagined.
‘Well, I have saved you the trouble.’ The tone was unrelenting. ‘I trust you have been enjoying yourself with your new friends in Devon. I did think that you might have sent me a postcard.’
‘I’m sorry, Mummy. Yes, of course, I should have done.’
‘I have not heard a single word from you. And anything might have happened to me in the meantime.’ Her mother sniffed.
‘Now really, Mummy, dear, I’m sure that if there had been the least sign of anything happening to you, someone would have contacted me immediately.’
Her mother sniffed audibly again. ‘Well, now that you are back from your junketing, I’m the bearer of bad tidings, I’m afraid. Cousin Alice has died. The funeral is in the parish church at ten o’clock on Wednesday. I trust you will be available to accompany me.’
Fran suppressed the desire to say that naturally she would not miss the fun of a family funeral for anything. (It was hard to feel sad about her mother’s cousin, Aunt Alice, who had been ninety if she was a day and had spent the past thirty years bullying her two much younger sisters without mercy.) Instead she said, ‘I have some news for you too. I have heard that my divorce seems to be going through and that Michael and the … the other woman have had a daughter.’
‘Frances! Have you no sensibility for my feelings at all? Can you imagine how dreadful it is to have such news conveyed over an instrument? I thought that I had made it very clear to you that I have no wish to know what is occurring with regard to these terrible divorce proceedings. I fear to think what your father would have had to say if he had lived to see such goings-on.’
For once, something inside Fran snapped. ‘If a telephone is a suitable vehicle to inform someone of a death, then it must be equally suitable for news of a birth. I assume we are meeting at the house and I will see you at nine thirty on Wednesday.’ Fran did not trouble to keep the asperity from her voice.
‘Frances! Frances!’
Taking up a torn envelope from beside the phone, Fran crumpled it in her free hand, so that it rustled and crackled into the receiver. ‘Oh dear,’ she said, keeping her mouth at a distance. ‘I think we’re being cut off.’ She placed her finger across the rest and held it there until she was sure it had had the desired effect and then replaced the receiver, experiencing a rather satisfying sense of wickedness as she did so.
When the telephone rang again a few moments later, she was very tempted to ignore it, but trying to take a stand against her mother always ended up being more trouble than it was worth, so she lifted the receiver and said reluctantly, ‘Hello, Mummy.’
‘Hello? Is that Mrs Black?’ It was a male voice, definitely familiar and evidently surprised by the greeting.
‘Oh, yes, it is. I’m so sorry, I was expecting someone else.’
‘Fran? It’s Roland Edgerton here.’
‘Oh.’ Fran had placed the voice now and thereby felt doubly foolish. ‘Yes, it’s me. I’m so sorry, you rather caught me unawares.’
‘Did you have a good journey?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Fran, the family have been talking things over and, first of all, we feel most awfully remiss in not offering you any kind of reward for the recovery of the diamond. Fees were never really discussed, but naturally—’
‘Oh no, I don’t charge a fee,’ Fran broke in. ‘I have been amply repaid with your friendship and hospitality, and besides, I did nothing very much to find the diamond. It was only a question of asking the right thing of the right person, because in the end, it wasn’t really lost at all.’
‘Come now, you are being far too modest. Thanks to you, the family has recovered a valuable piece of lost property and you most surely deserve a reward of some kind.’
‘No, really, there isn’t any need. And anyway, the whole of the mystery isn’t solved yet, is it? There is still the question of your grandfather’s death.’
‘We have been discussing that too.’ Roland paused, as if deciding how to frame his words. ‘The coroner’s jury decided that it was an accident, and there has always been the strongest possibility that they were right.’
Fran said nothing. She had not shared most of her discoveries with the Edgertons. Ought she to do that now? Suppose she told Roland about the footsteps that Imogen had heard in the woods that afternoon? Was it overdramatic to imagine that such information could endanger the child, if the person who actually made those sounds on the path got to hear about it?
‘It has always been a delicate matter.’ Roland was speaking again. ‘Mother was most concerned that rumours of a private investigation might begin to circulate, but now that the diamond has been found, any speculation regarding your mission here would be easily accounted for. Something had been mislaid and you managed to recover it, as simple as that.’
‘So you don’t wish me to continue making enquiries on your behalf?’ Fran said aloud. The voice in her head whispered: We don’t give up, do we?
‘The general consensus is that it’s best to accept the coroner’s verdict. It’s time to put aside the past, look forward and embrace the future – especially with Mellie’s wonderful news. However, we do hope that you will come down and stay with us again very soon, as a family friend, rather than a lady detective.’
‘Thank you,’ said Fran. ‘I shall look forward to it very much.’
‘And you are absolutely sure that there is nothing we can do by way of a reward?’
‘Absolutely nothing.’
It would have been rather embarrassing and sordid, Fran thought, to have named a price for her services. She was suitably gratified, however, when a delivery van arrived at the gate next day, bearing an enormous basket of spring flowers and an attached card, which read, With sincere thanks from all at Sunnyside House.