Authors: Margaret Dickinson
‘May I come along?’ Theo had said. ‘I think, with what I’ve found out too, we may be able to piece things together.’
And so now they were sitting in the small room whilst Mrs Grange bustled around with cups of tea and fancy cakes. ‘I’ll just close the shop and then we won’t be
disturbed,’ she said. ‘You are sure my little Jenny’s going to be all right, though? She’s like a daughter to me, you know.’
‘She’ll be fine, Mrs Grange. Honest,’ Michael reassured her.
‘Oh Michael, it’s so good to see you again. And I can’t think what Mrs Trowbridge will say when she knows you’ve come home.’
‘No,’ Michael said quietly and glanced at Maddie. ‘Neither can I.’
They waited, sipping their tea, whilst the woman scurried around her shop, locking the door and turning the notice on the door to ‘Closed’, switching off the light and emptying the
till of its money. Returning to the room, she dumped the cloth bag of notes and coins into a drawer in the sideboard and took her place at the table, patting the ever-present blue felt hat into
place. ‘Now then . . .’ She was smiling and seemed, Maddie thought, excited at the prospect of being the centre of attention for the next few minutes. ‘How can I help
you?’
Maddie saw Theo and Michael exchange a glance before Michael took the lead and said, ‘Mrs Grange, we should be very grateful if you would tell us all you know about Mrs Trowbridge and
Nick. About their past.’
The woman glanced at Theo, but when he smiled and nodded encouragement she took a deep breath and began. ‘Well, it’s all a long time ago now. Early Thirties it would be, Thirty-one
or -two, something like that.’
They waited patiently, without interrupting her, whilst Mrs Grange dredged through her memory, reviving the old gossip of years ago.
‘Harriet’s name wasn’t Trowbridge then, it was Cuppleditch.’ She looked around the gathering triumphantly and was obviously disappointed when everyone stared at her
blankly. ‘She was Harriet Cuppleditch, married to John Cuppleditch?’ Again there was silence whilst they waited for her explanation. But then as she opened her mouth to speak, Theo
muttered, ‘My God, you don’t mean . . .?’
‘I do,’ Mrs Grange beamed. ‘Him that hanged ’issen in your woods, Mr Theo.’
A ripple of movement went around the room as everyone shifted uneasily.
‘’Course it weren’t your fault, Mr Theo,’ Mrs Grange added hastily. ‘You was only a bairn. The Cuppleditch family, John’s parents that is,’ she went on,
‘all lived in one of Sir Peter’s cottages. John’s father, Matt, was Sir Peter’s head groom and John, as soon as he left school, went to work with his dad in the stables.
Harriet was a kitchen maid in the house. That’s how they met. She lived in, of course, at the Hall. They did in them days. John married Harriet . . .’ She paused and wrinkled her
forehead. ‘Come to think of it, I reckon Trowbridge was her maiden name. Yes, I’m sure it was. Anyway, they got married. They were too young, only eighteen or so and things didn’t
go right from the start. They moved in with John’s parents and there was already a big family of them. John was the eldest of five children, so at that time in their little cottage
there’d have been mam, dad and four kids and then John and Harriet and their babby, Nick, when he was born . . .’ she wagged her finger and smiled, ‘only six months after they was
wed, an’ all. So it was a shotgun wedding.’
Maddie shuddered at the reference to a gun and put her arm around Adam. ‘Well, about this time, Mr Theo, your sister, Miss Amelia, started to learn to ride and as young John was so good
with the horses, they asked him to teach her.’ She nodded at Theo. ‘I bet your dad rued the day he’d had that bright idea.’
Theo said nothing but glanced down at his hand resting on the table, lines of sadness etched into his kind face.
‘She was such a pretty little thing in those days, Miss Amelia. Always laughing and chattering. So friendly to everyone she met. She always made you feel you were her equal, you know what
I mean?’
She did, Maddie thought, for Theo was just the same. He never played the lord and master like his father had done. He never tried to rule other people’s lives. He just tried to help them.
She felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. The tale had to be told, Maddie knew, but she wished that Mrs Grange was not telling it with such glee.
‘Well, as I say. She was so pretty, so lively, such fun and poor John’s wife, Harriet, had turned into a real misery since she’d had the babby. Maybe if they’d had their
own home, things would have been different. But who knows? Anyway, John and Amelia fell in love and when Sir Peter found out, he locked her away at the Hall. But it was too late. She was already
expecting John’s child.’
Maddie gasped aloud and knew now that the colour drained completely out of her face. Mrs Grange was looking at her now and nodding. ‘That’s what Harriet means. She thinks
you’re that child.’
Now Theo was leaning forward, his arms resting on the table. ‘I never knew my sister had a child.’
Mrs Grange turned to look at him. ‘You’d be too young to be told, Mr Theo. You were only about eight, if I remember rightly. Your father did everything he could to keep it secret.
But in a village like this, there’s not much that escapes us.’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘But we know how to keep quiet when need be.’
Oh they’d have kept quiet all right, Maddie thought, with a sudden spurt of bitterness. They’d have gossiped and revelled in the juicy bit of scandal amongst themselves but the
livelihood of most of the villagers depended on Sir Peter Mayfield. They’d have kept their counsel, all right. They’d have kept Sir Peter’s family secret for him. Right until this
very moment.
‘And you mean to tell me that Amelia had a baby and she just dumped her outside the Orphanage?’ Theo was quite defensive now. ‘My sister would never have done such a
thing.’
‘Of course she wouldn’t. But your father would and by the time the child was born, she was, well, a bit turned in her head, like. You see, John had hanged himself by then. She was
grief-stricken and I expect they hustled the baby away and told her it was stillborn or summat.’
There was a murmur around the room.
Theo asked harshly, ‘Why on earth did John hang himself?’
‘When your father found out about them, he sacked both John’s father, Matt, and John and turned the whole family, aye, Matt, his wife and all the bairns and John and his wife and
child, out of the cottage. They lived rough in the woods for weeks and it was winter. February time, I reckon. Matt’s wife was expecting another bairn . . .’
‘Matt’s wife?’ Theo said. ‘Don’t you mean John’s?’
But Mrs Grange was adamant. ‘No, it were Matt’s wife. I tell you there was a big family of them and you often get that, you know. A child can sometimes be older than its own aunt or
uncle.’
Theo pulled a disbelieving face but said no more.
‘Well, poor Matt’s wife – Mary, I think they called her – gave birth there in the woods, in the freezing cold and she died. After that, John went haywire. Out of his mind
with guilt. He was absolutely beside himself that not only had he been the cause of his whole family getting turned out of their home, but, indirectly, he’d caused his own mother’s
death. And, of course, he’d lost Amelia too. He just couldn’t live with the burden of guilt, poor feller.’
There was silence before Maddie asked, ‘What happened to the baby that was born in the woods?’
‘Everyone thought it must have died, too, and been buried with the mother, because soon after, Matt left the district taking the older bairns with him, but there was no young babby with
them when they left. Even I know that, because I saw them the day they went. He came into the shop, Matt did, to buy a bit of food, you know. I made him up a hamper, at me own expense, I did,
’cos I felt so sorry for the poor man.’
If she was expecting congratulations for her generosity, Mrs Grange was disappointed. Everyone in the room was far too shocked by what they were hearing to even think of it.
‘But Mrs Trowbridge – I mean, Harriet Cuppleditch – stayed here?’ Michael asked.
‘Your dad took her in. A wonderful man was your father, Michael. He’d lost your mam and he needed a housekeeper to look after him, and you, so he took Harriet and young Nick into his
home and treated them like his own family.’
‘So that’s why Harriet would never mix with the village folk. She would only ever come as far as your shop.’
‘Aye well, she knew I knew everything, but I’m no gossip.’ She preened herself. ‘I’m only telling you all this now because you asked me to.’
That was true, Maddie thought. The woman had made a few remarks over the years, hinted at the mystery, but she had never been guilty of rattling the skeletons in other people’s
cupboards.
But now she had her moment of glory and she was relishing it.
Theo glanced across the room towards Maddie, a thoughtful frown on his face. ‘You say, Mrs Grange,’ he said slowly, ‘that Mrs Cuppleditch gave birth in February?’
‘About then. I’m sure that’s right. I know it wasn’t long after Christmas.’
‘And what year?’
‘Like I said, Thirty-one or -two. Somewhere there.’
‘I want you to be more precise than that, Mrs Grange, if you can. Please think back very carefully.’
There was silence as Mrs Grange tutted and huffed and puffed as if racking her brains. ‘I know,’ she said suddenly. ‘It was about the same time as that little baby got
kidnapped in America, ’cos I remember thinking . . .’
‘You mean the Lindbergh baby?’ Theo interrupted.
‘Yes, that’s it, because . . .’
‘That was 1932. March 1932.’ He gave a weak smile as if to apologize for seeming so clever. ‘I had to swot up the case as part of my studies for my law exams,’ he
explained.
Maddie was staring at him. ‘That’s when I was left outside the Home. That’s why they called me Madeleine March. Because I was found in March and because – because the
name Madeleine was written on a piece of paper and pinned to the blanket I was wrapped in. I heard Mrs Potter telling Mrs Trowbridge the day she came to . . .’
Suddenly it was all falling into place. There had always seemed something strange about the way Harriet, who never went out anywhere, had visited the orphanage to pick out a girl to work at Few
Farm. Not
a
girl, Maddie realized now, but
the
girl. Again she remembered Harriet’s words. ‘Are you sure this is the one?’ Harriet had, for some twisted reason of
her own, sought out the child she believed had been born to her own husband’s lover.
‘But why?’ Maddie asked and only realized she had voiced the question aloud when Michael said gently, ‘Why what, love?’
‘Oh, nothing. Go on, Theo. You were going to say something.’
‘Well,’ Theo said slowly, as if he too were thinking aloud. ‘I’ve always been puzzled by you and Jenny.’
‘Jenny?’ Maddie was surprised.
‘Mm. You see, there’s a resemblance between you. People remark on it, don’t they?’
Maddie nodded. ‘We – we even called ourselves sisters at the Home and – and it was more than just because we had no family and wanted to belong to someone.’
‘But you see,’ Theo went on. ‘Although you are a bit like each other, it’s Jenny who always reminds me of my own sister.’
Now he stared straight at Maddie. ‘I didn’t know about my sister having a baby, but I do remember – very vividly – being told that she was very ill with an infectious
disease and that I could not see her for several weeks. That was in the summer of 1932. And the reason I can remember it so clearly is because in the September I was hustled away to boarding school
at eight years old and wasn’t even allowed to say goodbye to Amelia. Now,’ he added bitterly, ‘I know why.’
‘So you think,’ Michael was leaning forward, ‘that Jenny is your sister’s child.’
‘Yes. I do.’
‘So. What about Maddie? Who is she?’
Now everyone’s eyes turned to look at Maddie and she felt herself reddening under their scrutiny.
‘I think she’s the baby that everyone believed had died in the woods. I think she’s Matt Cuppleditch’s child.’
There was silence whilst everyone digested Theo’s reasoning. They must all have found it plausible for not one of them raised any argument.
Michael reached out and took her hand in his. ‘So somewhere, Maddie, my darling, you do have a family.’
‘You’re my family, you and Adam,’ she said and began to say, ‘I don’t need . . .’ But she stopped mid-sentence. She did need them. She wanted desperately to
know the rest of her family. The realization surprised her. She had thought herself a loner, able to cope with life on her own, but suddenly she found herself longing to know the truth.
As if reading what was in her mind, Theo said gently, ‘If we can find Matt Cuppleditch or his older children, they could confirm whether the baby did die or whether he left the child at
the Home. But Maddie,’ there was compassion in his eyes as he looked across the room at her, ‘just remember how very difficult it must have been for him . . .’
She was shaking her head. ‘Oh I don’t blame him, don’t think that. If anyone’s to blame then it’s . . .’ She stopped, appalled at what she had been about to
say.
‘I know,’ Theo said softly, his deep voice suddenly shaky with emotion. ‘Don’t think I condone the part my father must have played in all this.’
‘You were only a bairn, Mr Theo,’ Mrs Grange reached across the table and patted his arm. ‘Only eight years old. No one can possibly blame you.’
‘I know, Mrs Grange. But at least now I can try to put things right a little. With your agreement, Maddie, I’ll try to find the Cuppleditch family and then we’ll see,
eh?’
She nodded, but then added in a whisper, ‘But what about the other business, Theo? What about the forensic evidence they’ve just found?’
‘I don’t think you have anything to worry about that any more, Maddie, my dear. It’s obvious now who did try to poison Frank and his own mother.’
‘Nick?’
Soberly, Theo nodded. ‘He was obviously in love with you, but that love became an obsession. A dangerous obsession.’