Annie turned the pages and just inside was a handwritten pencilled note in a lovely sloping script which read, ‘First edition Tennyson. His poetry grieving the loss of his beloved friend, A. H. Hallam’.
‘One of Sir Nicholas’s treasures?’ said Harri. ‘Slipped through the auctioneer’s net, this one. We studied Tennyson in first year, remember?’
Annie held the book all the more carefully. ‘I bet this is worth something. We’d better make sure William gets it before he goes.’
The mention of their friend brought some quiet pondering. Annie opened the book again, finding a random page, and read.
‘I hold it true, whate’er befall; I feel it when I sorrow most; Tis better to have loved and lost, Than never to have loved at all.’
She looked to Harri. ‘We definitely need to get this to William. This is a book about grieving your best friend. It might bring him some comfort when he’s living who knows where.’
‘And we need to get his address so we can keep in touch,’ said Harri, standing now. ‘I’ll ring down to the Siren, make sure he doesn’t leave before we see him.’
‘I’ll grab a shower and get dressed.’
As Annie stood, the leaves of the book opened and from them fell a folded piece of paper. She stooped to lift it. ‘More receipts,’ she guessed. This paper felt different than the others in the box, thicker, and it was folded in such a curious way, like a flat knot, that it took her a moment to open it out. What she read inside made her throw a hand to her mouth, and before she’d got to the end, tears were stinging her eyes.
‘Harri! Look!’
He read the paper in her hands.
‘I, Sir Nicholas Courtenay of Clove Lore Castle, appoint as the Executor and Trustee and soul Benefactor of this my last will and testament, Mr William Sabine, my friend these fifty years.’
He stopped, aghast. ‘No! I thought he died intestate!’
‘Everyone thought so,’ Annie said.
Harri read on in snatches. ‘Being of sound mind… leaving all that I own to Mr William Sabine… no living relatives… contents to be auctioned off insofar as they cover estate debts and funerary costs… the entirety of Clove Lore Castle and estate grounds to be transferred in right and deed to Mr William Sabine for him to do with as he pleases.’
‘It’s signed as well, look. And there’s the Courtenay crest stamped on it!’ Annie pointed to the scratchy signature of Sir Nicholas. ‘And it was witnessed.’
Harri peered at the name. ‘Dr Mateeva, General Practitioner! That wasn’t the doctor who called here, was it? What’s the date on this?’
Annie pointed at the page, and Harri stifled what threatened to be a great big sob. ‘Last Valentine’s Day.’
‘The doctor must remember witnessing this?’ said Annie, her brain racing ahead.
‘But that doctor had no idea who William was when they called here last week to examine him,’ said Harri, wiping his eyes, piecing it all together. ‘William said they took Nicholas to the hospital to die, and he was already unconscious by then. Doctor Mateeva probably didn’t even hear about Sir Nicholas’s death, or didn’t think to put two and two together when examining William?’
‘That makes me think Sir Nicholas did this in secret, without William ever knowing?’ said Annie. ‘William did tell us his old friend had many doctors call on him at the castle when he was ill.’
Harri let that sink in. ‘I bet you’re right.’
‘Does this mean William owns the castle? Is this even legal?’ Annie was growing frantic.
‘I’ve no idea.’ Harri was searching the floor for where he’d cast off his coat last night. ‘But we need to get this to William before they come for him this morning.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Flying
Annie stretched out her legs and snuggled into Harri’s side. The seatbelt sign had gone off and the cabin crew was just about to make the rounds with the first coffees after take-off.
Harri was going to accept a cup and even though he knew it would be a crappy cup of airplane instant, he was going to write in his notes app that it was the best damn coffee he’d tasted in his life, he was so profoundly happy.
Annie was already reading, engrossed in her novel. Harri held her close and placed a kiss on the top of her head, watching the white fluffy clouds as they sped by.
He smiled to himself at the memory of that last two hours in Clove Lore this morning; the way they’d run and skidded and screeched all the way down to the Siren, scaring the living daylights out of Kit who was cooking the breakfasts for the Valentine weekenders staying over at the pub.
