AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Well, I think. I made some notes to show you and the Reverend.’
‘I believe he is in the church. I was going to take these roses for the altar. Let us go and find him. He has some news for you.’
‘News?’
‘Yes, I believe he has found suitable premises for the home.’
‘Oh, that is good news. I am hoping we can have everything in place and the first children installed before the winter weather.’
The Rector was in the vestry, making entries into the register, but stopped when he saw Jane. ‘Allow me a minute or two to finish this,’ he said after greeting her. ‘Then we can go into the house and talk over tea and cakes.’
While he was doing that Mrs Caulder arranged the roses in a vase and put them on the altar and Jane idled the time looking round the church. She knew every nook and cranny of it, having been a regular member of the congregation since she was in leading strings. When she was too young to take part in the service she had feasted her eyes on everything about her. She knew the inscriptions on the tablets on the walls and set into the floor, she was familiar with the lovely stained-glass window depicting Jesus surrounded by children, and the carving on the font. Wandering into the churchyard, she began reading the inscriptions on the gravestones. There was her grandfather and grandmother and their parents and several others with the name of Cavenhurst. And there were the Wyndhams, generations of them, and Stangates, Pages and Finches, and there, in a far corner on a moss-covered stone overgrown with grass and brambles and fenced off from the rest of the churchyard, was a name that stopped her short.
Colin Bolsover Paget, beloved son of Lord and Lady Paget, died by his own hand, May 1649, aged twenty-seven years. May God forgive him and allow him eternal rest.
She brushed the moss from the stone to make sure she had read it correctly and then went round all the graves looking for the names Bolsover and Paget. There were one or two Pagets on more recent graves and she knew there was a memorial on a wall inside the church, but no more Bolsovers. Was it significant? Had she been destined by fate to find that grave? She remembered Lord Bolsover saying he would have his revenge and later telling her she did not know him at all. Did he believe that one of her ancestors had wronged the man in the grave? But it was all so long ago.
‘Ah, there you are, Jane.’ The Rector’s hearty voice broke her reverie and she turned to see him and his wife approaching. ‘We wondered where you were.’
‘I was reading the inscriptions on the graves. Some of them are very moving, especially the children’s. And this one, almost hidden.’
‘Ah, yes, a suicide which is why it is outside the consecrated ground.’
‘Do you know the history behind it?’
‘No, I do not. There might be something in the parish records. Let us go indoors and you shall tell me your news and I will tell you mine.’
Jane followed her friends into the rectory and over tea and Mrs Caulder’s honey cakes, she put the mystery of Bolsover to the back of her mind while she told them of everything she had done in London to promote the Hadlea Children’s Home, although she did not mention the accusations made at her aunt’s soirée. ‘When I returned home, I found several letters and small donations as a result of my letter-writing,’ she said. ‘I am optimistic we can go ahead.’
‘You have done well,’ he said. ‘And I have some news, too. I think I have found a suitable house. It is in Witherington and has been empty for some time since its last occupant died. He was an old man, living alone with only one manservant and a housekeeper. When he died, his heirs were difficult to find and the house was left to the ravages of nature. The heirs have recently come forward and put it on the market. It is large, dilapidated and cheap.’
Witherington was a small hamlet about five miles from Hadlea. It was too small to have its own church and was incorporated in the parish of Hadlea. ‘I must go and see it as soon as possible. I will ask Lord Wyndham if he will accompany me, since he is one of the trustees and must approve our choice.’
She said goodbye and left them. She was already over halfway between the Manor and Broadacres, so decided she might as well go the rest of the way and speak to Mark.
* * *
She found him in the stables, arranging for the last quartet of post horses to be returned and the carriage cleaned. He was in riding breeches and shirt, which showed off his lithe figure and did strange things to her heart and belly. He turned to her with a ready smile. ‘Good morning, Jane,’ he said, reaching for his coat which hung on a hook by the door. ‘Are you recovered from your journey?’
