Page 74 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

She rolled her lined, dark eyes. “When I first found the tea set amongst my late sister’s belongings, I was going to keep it.”

I sat forward. “And was that when you discovered the letter?”

“Not immediately,” she confessed. “It was the next day, when I investigated the case the crockery was in, that I found the letter in the pouch.” Mrs Walker reached out for her teacup and took another sip. She replaced it on the saucer and let her attention drift to the couple of A5-sized paintings of teapots decorating my office wall.

“I’m a bit obsessed,” I remarked, following her gaze.

Mrs Walker responded with an absent smile, before continuing with her explanation. “After you visited, Hal reminded me how sad and desperate that letter sounded. He said it wasn’t like me to turn my back on helping someone or trying to right a wrong.” Her serious mouth glided into another small smile. “My husband knows what an interfering old busybody I can be. He also knows only too well how to play on my conscience.”

“Well, I really appreciate you coming to speak to me.” My brain was bubbling over with so many questions I wanted to ask her. “Mrs Walker, may I ask you what you know about the tea set or what you have been able to find out?”

She raised her plucked brows almost to the top of her silvery hairline. “It’s true what they say, you know. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.”

I blinked across my desk at her. Through the closed officer door, I could make out the chirpy murmurings of Cass, the laughter of the two elderly sisters and the happy bleeps from the cash register. Cass’s affable, warm personality was securing yet another sale.

Mrs Walker’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “About looking into my family tree – I had been procrastinating so much about it and I think I was driving poor Hal to distraction.” Her eyes softened. “Annabel – my sister – was fascinated by Scottish history and was particularly keen to read up about Briar Glen, what with all its supposed connections to the blue rose, the lovely gardens the locals have and, of course, Castle Marrian.”

I asked Mrs Walker if her sister had been able to discover anything interesting about Briar Glen or any of its previous inhabitants.

She sighed. “If only she had been able to. She died suddenly a year ago, not long after she began researching the local area.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I lost my grandmother a few months ago. That’s how I came to open this place.”

Mrs Walker appraised her pretty, flower-speckled teacup and the teapot paintings on my office walls. “Well, I’m sure your grandmother would be very proud of you.”

I gently steered our conversation back to the family tree investigations she had mentioned. “May I ask what you found out, Mrs Walker? About your family tree, I mean?”

She let out a dry laugh. “I didn’t discover I was related to a Nobel peace prize winner or a doctor who saved millions of lives, if that’s what you mean. If only that were true.”

I offered her a gentle smile of encouragement, willing her to explain. The suspense was draining.

She let out a resigned sigh and, taking another sip of her tea, settled herself to explain. “It’s more to do with the rattling of skeletons.”

I sank back in my swivel chair, conjuring up images of Briar Forsyth’s letter and wondering who or what these skeletons were.

“I think what was most hurtful was discovering that my mother had kept something from us – from Annabel and me.” Ophelia Walker regarded me. “I suppose all families have a secret or two, but to find out like this was the greatest shock of my life.”

And with that, she began to tell me.

Chapter Thirty-Four

“It turns out that my late great-aunt Isadora was married twice. We weren’t aware of that at all.”

“Right. I see.”

I hoped my eager expression was convincing Mrs Walker to continue with her explanation.

She clasped and unclasped her hands. “Her first marriage we knew about, of course. That was to my great-uncle, Sydney Morrice.”

“And the second?”

She fixed me with her gaze. “It transpires that her second husband was Jonathan Gray.”

I blinked at her in shock. “As in the Jonathan Gray, who was named in the tea-set letter?”

Ophelia Walker’s pink slicked mouth grew grim. “The very same.”

I leant forward. “And you didn’t know about this up until then?”