The Forget-Me-Not Summer (19 page)

When the small group reached Holmwood Lodge, Miranda hung back. She had imagined a neat, detached house with a small front garden and a brightly painted front door; instead, Holmwood Lodge was set well back from the road, at the end of a long gravelled drive which was lined with tall trees. Steve too had not expected anything as imposing as the house they presently approached, but he grabbed Miranda's arm and gave it an admonitory shake. ‘Don't look so scared, you silly twerp,' he hissed. ‘It's not as though they ain't expectin' us. We're here by invitation and don't you forget it.'

‘Oh, but it's huge,' Miranda said distractedly. ‘I've never even imagined a garden could be so big, let alone a house.'

‘Oh, don't be so daft,' Steve said crossly. ‘You haven't come to buy the perishin' place, you've come to have tea, and talk about Missie. Or were you thinkin' about puttin' in an offer? I dare say they'd mebbe accept a couple of thousand quid, if you've got that much to spare.'

Miranda giggled. She did like Steve; he gave her courage, made her see her fears for what they were: groundless. So when they reached the front door – a solid slab of oak with a long bell pull and a knocker – she tugged on the bell pull so hard that even outside the house it sounded as though a fire engine was approaching. Gerald laughed. ‘It is a big house, but I'm pretty sure
the bell rings in the kitchen, and will be heard by the maids, so you've no need to tug the thing off the wall,' he said cheerfully. ‘Of course in the old days a butler would have come to the door but now, because everyone says there's going to be a war quite soon, my uncle was telling me it's just about impossible to get domestic staff. But they've got a couple of girls who come up from the village each day, and a cook-housekeeper who makes wonderful fruit cake . . .'

‘Shut up, blabbermouth,' Julian hissed. ‘Someone's coming!'

Miranda listened, and heard footsteps approaching the front door. As it creaked open, she felt Missie's hand clutch hers, and realised that the older woman was even more nervous than she was herself. Missie was used to big houses all right, but only in what you might call a menial capacity. Now she was entering as a guest and felt just as awkward and embarrassed as Miranda did.

The Grimshaw boys must have realised how the old woman felt for they both turned to smile at her, and Gerald took the hand that was not gripping Miranda's even as the door swung wide and a fat, elderly woman with crimped grey hair, gold-rimmed spectacles and a broad smile appeared in the aperture, beckoning them inside. ‘Come in, come in,' she said cheerfully. ‘Mrs Grimshaw said to take you straight in to the drawing room, because it's a chilly day and you'll all be glad to get close to a good log fire. I've got the kettle on the stove and the crumpets will be cooked to a turn in another five minutes, so you won't have long to wait for your tea.' She ushered them into a large hallway, with a woodblock floor and elegant paintings on the
panelled walls. Then she threw open the door, saying as she did so: ‘Here's your guests, sir and madam. It's chilly outside, and no doubt they'll be glad of a warm whilst you talk.'

Steve and Miranda were at the back of the group, and found themselves entering a very large room indeed. Wide windows overlooked a glorious garden at the back of the house, but Miranda had no eyes for the view, the roaring log fire or the elegant furniture. She was staring very hard at Mr Vernon Grimshaw and his wife, both of whom came forward, smiling, clearly intent upon putting the visitors at their ease.

Julian performed the introductions, whilst Miranda could still only stare. The solicitor was a small thin man with a sharp intelligent face and a determined chin. Despite the fact that the boys had referred to him several times as elderly, he did not seem so to Miranda, for he had thick brown hair neatly trimmed, and a pair of very shrewd brown eyes which looked her over thoughtfully and were then lightened by a charming smile. ‘It's very nice to meet you, Miss Lovage,' he said as they shook hands. ‘Let me assure you that any friend of Missie's is a friend of ours. But you must let me introduce you to my wife. Mrs Grimshaw has never visited the West Indies, but she has heard me speak of Missie many times, and was as distressed as I was to learn that Missie had been only a few miles away and in great distress for all this time. Had we but known, she could have come to us straight away – heaven knows our home is big enough – and perhaps even remained here until we had managed to sort out her papers, and to get her a passage back home.' He turned to the lady at his side. ‘Fiona, my dear,
this is the little lady we've heard so much about: Miranda Lovage.'

Mrs Grimshaw looked taller than her husband, with a mass of beautiful dark red hair, which she wore in a French pleat. She had a heart-shaped face and very large red-brown eyes, the same colour as her hair, and when she smiled, revealing perfect white teeth, Miranda thought her truly beautiful. She was elegantly dressed in a coffee-coloured lace dress and shoes of exactly the same colour, with very high heels, which was probably why she seemed so much taller than her husband. She held out one hand to Miranda and one to Missie, and led them to a comfortable sofa.

‘Sit down and make yourselves at home while I go and help Mrs Butterthwaite to bring through the tea,' she said. ‘We sent the maids home, since we felt that the fewer people who knew about Missie's plight the better. Butterthwaite, of course, has been with the family for many years and is totally to be trusted.' She turned to the three boys, who were holding out icy hands towards the blazing logs. ‘You must be Steve. Julian told me that you were the first to discover that someone was living in Jamaica House.' She gave a little purr of amusement. ‘My husband tells me you thought Missie was a ghost, which makes it all the more impressive that you continued to visit the place, and of course eventually you met each other. When you're warm enough, come and sit down, because I think we won't discuss ways and means until we've all enjoyed Mrs Butterthwaite's cooking. Ah, I think I hear her approaching now. Open the door for her, Julian, and you can help hand plates and cups . . . dear me, Mrs Butterthwaite, I can see you've done us proud.'

Miranda looked at the heavily laden tea trolley, almost unable to believe the lavishness of it; there were cakes and scones, long plates filled with various sandwiches, and when Mrs Butterthwaite lifted the lid from a large silver salver piles of buttered crumpets, steaming gently, were revealed. ‘Please help yourselves, only start off with the crumpets because they're hot,' their hostess commanded them. ‘I very much hope that when Mrs Butterthwaite pushes the trolley back to the kitchen it will be a good deal lighter than it is now.'

Miranda doubted that this was likely, but when she saw the enthusiasm with which the boys and Missie attacked the food, she realised that she would only be conspicuous if she failed to take advantage of her hostess's kindness, and very soon – far sooner than she would have believed possible – Mrs Grimshaw's hopes were realised. Mrs Butterthwaite was rung for to wheel out the remnants of the feast, and Mr Grimshaw gestured them to take their places around a large and shiny table.

‘And now to business,' he said. ‘To start with, I want Missie's story from the very first moment she saw the
Pride of the Sea
putting out a boat to come ashore, right up to when you knocked on my front door.' He smiled round at them, a small, rather sharp-featured man who somehow inspired confidence.

Miranda had taken care to sit between Missie and Steve, though she had decided that she liked Gerald Grimshaw very much and did not feel at all awkward in his company. Julian on the other hand was still very much an unknown quantity. He had not addressed her once, and though his brother had said that he was shy, she felt that he thought himself superior to everyone in
the room, save his uncle and aunt. But Missie was beginning to speak, and Miranda saw that Mrs Grimshaw, seated opposite her, appeared to be writing something in a large notebook. Mr Grimshaw must have noticed Miranda's stare for he raised a hand to stop Missie speaking whilst he explained. ‘Many years ago, when I was a young solicitor just starting up in practice, I had a young secretary named Fiona Sayer. She was quite the prettiest and brightest girl I had ever met, and after a couple of years we decided that we were made for each other, and got married. Fiona's excellent shorthand has come in useful several times, so now, if you don't object, she's going to take down everything Missie tells us. Then she will go into my office, which is the room opposite this one, and transcribe it on to the typewriter. She will do the same when each of you tells your story, so then we shall have a complete record. I trust this is agreeable to everyone?'

Everyone nodded and Miranda, watching Mrs Grimshaw's pencil fly across the paper, thought that she would like to be a secretary one of these days, especially if it meant marrying one's boss and becoming mistress of a beautiful and elegant house.

Missie's recital was a long one, but it was amazing how the questions put to her by Mr Grimshaw clarified things. By the time everyone, even Miranda, had told their own story the sequence of events became clear; clearer than they had ever been before. Indeed, Miranda began to get quite excited, and decided she must ask for a transcript of Missie's story, so that she could be sure of certain facts. When Mrs Grimshaw returned with a sheaf of neatly typed pages, she was beginning to pluck
up her courage to ask if she might have one when she realised there was no need to do so. Mr Grimshaw gave everyone a copy of the transcript, asking them to add or delete as necessary, for, as he said, reading it over one of them might well remember an important fact which someone else had missed. Then he told Missie that he had arranged for her to live in a property he had heard was coming vacant, until such time as she could be repatriated to the West Indies. ‘You need a respectable address,' he told her. ‘It's nothing very grand, my dear, just a couple of rooms above a bicycle shop on Russell Street, owned by a young man I used to employ. My wife would prefer that you remain with us – and so would I, of course – but I'm afraid that would not help your cause. We shall visit you frequently, and if you do exactly as I tell you we'll have you on a ship bound for the West Indies before you know it.'

Miranda thought that Missie would be delighted at not having to live at Jamaica House any more, but her friend looked terrified. ‘I best where I know,' she said obstinately. ‘Jamaica House not good address?'

Mr Grimshaw laughed. ‘It's a very good address if you don't know Liverpool, but any Liverpudlians who know the house associate it with bygone days and assume it to be a total ruin. No, no, Missie my dear, you must be guided by me. I'm going to ask our young friends Miranda and Steve to keep you supplied with food and to take you around with them at weekends so that folks get used to seeing you. Don't worry, Russell Street is a good way from the docks so you won't be spotted by wandering sailors. I intend to make enquiries about the
Pride of the Sea
, but I should be very surprised indeed to find that
they have ever returned to Liverpool.' He smiled at Missie. ‘Why should they come back here? They will assume that you have reported their behaviour to the police and that they would be hauled before a judge and jury on a charge of kidnapping should they ever return. They might have abandoned Britain altogether and traded from the West Indies to North America, or Mexico; almost anywhere other than here. They might have changed the name of the ship. But whatever they have done, I'm certain you need no longer fear them.' He glanced at the ornate clock on the mantel. ‘Time is getting on. Missie will remain here for a few nights since I can't take possession of the flat until Monday or Tuesday.' He turned to Miranda and Steve. ‘I'm going to give Missie a sum of money which should last her until she leaves England, but I've written down the name, address and telephone number of my office so that if you need to contact me for any reason, such as Missie needing more money or some other worry, then you can do so.' He gave Steve a folded piece of paper as he spoke, then turned to his nephews. ‘You're quite capable, I'm sure, of getting back to Crosby on public transport, but since I want to show Miranda and Steve where Missie will be living for the next few weeks, you might as well come with us in the car. Then I'll run you back to Crosby and make sure that the school understands that you will be visiting me on a regular basis.'

Missie cleared her throat. ‘It very good of you, Mr Vernon, very kind,' she said timidly. ‘But I rather live in Jamaica House until time to move into flat. I have little dog who waits for me. I shut him in dining room with bowl of water and biscuits, so I must return to Jamaica House. When I leave, Timmy come too.'

Mr Grimshaw's eyebrows shot up. ‘A dog! Well, I shall do my best to find a good home for him, because if you were hoping to take him with you I think that is more than I can arrange,' he said. ‘Very well, once I've shown you the flat in Russell Street, I'll drive you round to Jamaica House, and when I've made all the arrangements I'll return there to pick up you and your little companion.'

Julian cleared his throat. ‘I've not liked to ask before, but did our family once own Jamaica House?' he asked. ‘And if so did they benefit from the slave trade?'

There was an uncomfortable silence before Mr Grimshaw nodded reluctantly. ‘Yes, Julian, I'm afraid you've guessed the truth. It's a period of our history of which our family are rightly ashamed, so it is never mentioned. But the family had ceased trading in slaves long before it became illegal to do so, I can promise you that.' He smiled across at Missie, who was staring at him, round-eyed. ‘It was a filthy trade, dear Missie, which makes it even more important to see you a free woman, and back in your own place once more.'