Madeleine was still damp from the rain and now shivered with the cold after sitting outside in the boiler room for over two hours. She and Bandit had read the first few pages of the diary with interest, looked at the pictures and had talked about how life must have been for Emily and it was only when the torchlight had begun to flicker that they’d closed the pages and made their way back to the house.
She walked through the office and climbed up the back staircase to her bedroom. But as soon as she entered her room she knew that something was different. There was a smell that she couldn’t place, a perfume or aftershave, and as she looked around she noticed that the huge pink teddy bear that her father had given Poppy was sitting in the middle of her four-poster bed. She immediately went to check on Poppy through the open bedroom door but then stopped in her tracks, as she distinctly remembered closing Poppy’s door before going out to help Bandit. So why was it now open? A look into Poppy’s room showed her that her daughter was still fast asleep, tucked up in the middle of her teddy bear mountain and looked as though she hadn’t moved. So, who had opened the door and how had the bear got on to her bed?
Madeleine moved to the bed and picked up the bear. It had a blindfold over its eyes made from Madeleine’s favourite long satin nightdress. A perfect bow was tied and the bear had been balanced carefully in position. She looked towards the room where her daughter slept. Could Poppy have tied such a perfect bow? Madeleine shook her head, it couldn’t be Poppy, could it? She couldn’t even tie a knot. But if it hadn’t been Poppy, then who?
Tired and disturbed by the night’s events, Maddie placed the teddy bear back in Poppy’s room and double-checked the locks on the door, vowing that in the future, she’d ensure it was locked at all times.
* * *
Morris Pocklington poured a glass of whisky, then walked into the lounge and sat down in the blue winged captain’s chair, toasting his feet before the wood-burning fire and staring into its depths.
‘Never waste a log, Jack,’ he said as Jack walked out of the bar and through the grand hall towards the kitchen.
‘I agree, Mr Pocklington. It would be a shame to do so, wouldn’t it? Can I get you anything, sir?’ Jack asked in his normal polite manner.
Morris nodded. ‘Another whisky, if you will. It’s been quite a night.’ He finished the dregs of the whisky already in his glass and passed it to Jack.
Jack had worked at the hall almost since the first day that Morris had bought it. He was young, still in his twenties, but had a head on his shoulders of someone much older and so much more mature. Morris liked him and quite early on, due to his hard work and enthusiasm, he’d been earmarked for promotion. When Josie had died, Morris had offered him the post of junior manager, a position he’d been proud to accept and thrived upon. He was the perfect host, good at his job and, more often than not, worked extra hours, going far beyond his duties to ensure that the running of Wrea Head was done to the best of his ability. What’s more, he often sat with Morris on a night when the older man felt lonely. Often stayed an extra hour and was always the one that Morris turned to.
‘Would you join me, Jack?’ Morris asked as he indicated the inglenook seat that stood by the fire. ‘Please, pour yourself a drink. It’s time to relax a little. Nothing more needs doing.’
Jack paused for a moment, then disappeared into the bar, returning with two glasses of whisky, one considerably larger than the other, which he passed to Morris. He sat on the settee opposite his boss. Both sat in silence, both thoughtful, both enjoying the glow of the fire that created a sense of peace and tranquillity within the grand hall, now empty of guests. It was something to be savoured and they both sipped at their drinks companionably while staring into the fire, watching it until the last of the logs had burnt down and just the embers remained.
Morris finally spoke. ‘My life’s a mess, Jack. There are so many unanswered questions.’
‘Are you thinking of Mrs Pocklington, sir?’
‘Every single day, Jack. I miss her so much, but it’s not only that.’
Jack looked awkwardly down to the floor, then took a sip of his whisky and nodded. ‘I’m sure everything happens for a reason, Mr Pocklington, and at least you have your daughter here now. It must be good to have Mrs Frost back in the fold?’
Morris thought for a moment and nodded in affirmation. He’d often mentioned Madeleine to Jack and had told him how disappointed he’d been when she hadn’t attended Josie’s funeral. He still felt an overwhelming sadness at how he’d stood alone by the graveside, with no one to call his own family. But that was in the past now, he had to look forward and it was good to have Madeleine here; in fact, he couldn’t wish for anything better. There were so many parts of his life that he’d got wrong, so many things he should have done differently. But being Madeleine’s father wasn’t one of them. He’d been delighted when she’d turned up at Wrea Head Hall. It had been a day he’d dreamed of and meeting her again, seeing how she’d turned into such an intelligent and beautiful young woman, had made his heart swell. Even though he berated himself for having had no real influence in her upbringing.
He hated the fact that Margaret had taken her away from him. He’d hated the times that he couldn’t see her, couldn’t tuck her up in bed and couldn’t nurse her when he’d known she’d been ill. But her mother had dominated Maddie’s life, had controlled his access and it was only now that he felt a huge sense of guilt for not having been stronger and for not having insisted that he had a right to see his own child. He’d have been willing to care for Jess too; he’d have even brought her up as his own, if only Margaret had allowed it.
Morris took a deep breath as it occurred to him just how much of Madeleine’s life he’d missed and how much he could never get back. He couldn’t alter any of that now. He couldn’t turn back time, but what he could do was put things right. He had already made her sole beneficiary in his will – had done so after Josie died, even though he was so hurt by her letter. But now he had the chance to finally get to know her – and his beautiful granddaughter, who reminded him so much of Maddie at that age – he knew that he had made the right decision.
He sipped the whisky in his glass. ‘If only Josie was here. She was so astute, she’d know exactly what to do.’
Jack smiled. ‘She was a wonderful lady. I do, however, remember being a little afraid of her at first. I’d never met a woman that was quite so sure of herself before, sir.’
Morris chuckled. ‘You’re right there, Jack. I was often a little afraid of her myself. Do you know, I used to feel her presence?’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I used to sit here late at night, stare into the flames and swear that I could feel her walk past. I could smell her perfume. Oh, I know it was just my imagination, but I swear, I used to breathe in deeply and it was as though she really was there, sitting beside me.’ He sipped the amber whisky that he swirled round the glass. ‘For a while, I thought I was going mad. In fact, I probably was going mad; after all I’d been there when she passed away. But it was so clear. The smell was so distinct and I felt as though I wanted to run around the grand hall and find her. But it hasn’t happened for a while now.’
‘I’m so very sorry, sir,’ Jack apologised, bowing his head.
Morris laughed. ‘What would you be sorry for, Jack?’
He looked thoughtful in his reply and hesitated before he spoke. ‘I’m just sorry that you’re so sad, sir. It pains me to see you that way.’
Morris patted him on the knee in a gesture of thanks. ‘Don’t worry, Jack. I’m okay now. What I have to take care of is the future, not the ghosts of the past.’ He patted his pocket where he’d placed the letter that had long resided in his desk drawer. He knew who had written it. What he didn’t understand was why, but he intended to find out.