AllFreeNovel
Share Us
One
Somethinghadhappened.Somethingmonumental judging by the scene that met Grace Eversley and Lady Elizabeth, the family dog, when they returned from their early morning walk that bitterly cold December morning.
Lady E, a French Bulldog, sensed it before Grace and stuck her stubby nose in the air the moment Grace opened the pink front door of The White House, the spacious cottage Simon Eversley and his wife, Patience, known as Pat to all their friends, had called home since before Grace was born.
Pat and Simon had purchased the cottage in the tiny, clifftop village of Betancourt Bay shortly after their marriage thirty-seven years ago, and had retained its name, which it derived from its bright white façade. Pat had fallen in love with the cottage the moment she saw its leaded-light windows, but it was the window seats, ancient oak ceiling beams and the inglenook fireplaces in the kitchen, sitting room and dining room that stole her heart completely. Simon had fallen in love with it because Pat had, and both had intuitively known that this would be their forever-home. It was close to Pat’s widowed mum, Joy Button, who lived in Folkestone less than a five-minute drive from the cottage, and far enough away from Simon’s parents, who lived in Essex, and had never felt Pat was quite good enough for their only son, and were certain the marriage wouldn’t last. They went to great pains to let that be known whenever possible, even after thirty-seven years.
Pat and Simon’s daughters, Grace and her younger sister, Hope, had called their cosy home Candy Floss Cottage when they were children due to its pink front door, pink window frames and its chestnut-brown thatched roof. The Eversleys had discussed painting the door and windows a different colour over the years, but somehow it hadn’t seemed right, and so The White House looked exactly the same now as it had decades before, from the outside at least. The inside had seen many changes since Pat and Simon first moved in.
The cottage was situated between The Royal Oak pub and The Rectory, the other side of which was St Gabriel’s Church. Grace’s maternal grandmother, Granny Joy, often joked that the family sat between saints and sinners, and it was sometimes difficult to tell which was which. A sentiment with which Freddie Tollard, the pub owner, wholeheartedly agreed; The Reverend Brian Copeland, not so much.
Grace shook off the worst of the rain that had settled on her coat and hair, before stepping into the hall. She hadn’t taken an umbrella with her on the walk because the forecast hadn’t mentioned rain but the heavens had opened as she and Lady E turned onto Folkestone Road. Luckily it was only a few steps from the corner of the road to The White House but her long, walnut-brown hair, tied into a French plait, was dripping wet beneath the lime green and red knitted bobble hat she wore. That, and her berry-red wool scarf had been Christmas stocking gifts from Granny Joy last year, along with matching gloves, but Grace preferred to wear the black leather gloves she had bought as a gift to herself.
Once inside, she placed her gloves on the hall table to dry beside the large, black, ceramic top hat where all the gloves were kept, and after removing her keys from the lock, she tossed those into the white, ceramic bowl shaped like a bow tie. She then removed Lady E’s lead and hung it on the hook near the front door before peeling off her sodden hat and shrugging off her lime green, winter coat, along with her scarf. She gave them all another shake prior to hanging them on the coat rack, leaving space between her wet garments and all the others hanging there. Grace was nothing if not considerate.
‘What is it, Lady E?’ Grace asked, kicking off her mud-splattered, black leather ankle boots, surprised to see that, instead of the dog’s claws skittering down the hall and across the tiled floor of the kitchen as she dashed for her water bowl within seconds of her lead being removed, as was the custom after a walk, Lady E had stopped halfway along the wooden floor of the hall and was glancing back at Grace.
In response to Grace’s question, Lady E gave a quick ‘gruff’, which Grace knew from experience was the dog’s way of saying, ‘Something’s up. You go first and find out what. I’ll follow when it’s safe.’
Lady E wasn’t the bravest of dogs, but then again, she was rather tiny so who could blame her? Grace’s dad, Simon had always said it was because Lady E was a French Bulldog, and therefore expected to be pampered and protected, with which Grace’s sister, Hope agreed. Hope also said it was because Lady E believed she was dog-aristocracy, or at the very least, a pedigree, and the entire Eversley family were merely there to serve her and keep her away from any unpleasantness. Sadly, although Lady E’s mother was a French Bulldog, her father was of an indeterminate breed, and probably a mix of several judging by the look of him when the Eversleys had selected Lady E from a brood of puppies several Christmases ago. Grace and Pat had always believed that the reason Lady E ‘hung back’ if she sensed something unexpected or unusual was afoot, was simply because the dog was smart. Well, most of the time.
Now, Lady E’s big ‘bat ears’ stood erect and her dark eyes shot a look along the hall to the kitchen and then back at Grace, and she angled her paws and her body slightly as if preparing to run.
Grace wasn’t overly concerned. This was Betancourt Bay after all. Nothing really bad ever happened here, but after a second or two, it dawned on Grace that Lady E was right. Something was definitely up.
Other than Wizzard booming outI Wish it Could be Christmas Every Day, via Heart Xmas radio and the Google Nest Hub, silence emanated from the kitchen. And silence in the Eversley household, especially at this time of year, was unheard of … so to speak, so Grace hurried along the hall to the kitchen, anxious to find out what had occurred during the forty-five minutes she and Lady E had been gone.
Grace could see that the myriad fairy lights decorating every available inch of the blackened oak beams, the kitchen shelves, and all the cupboards, twinkled as brightly as they had when she had left, so it wasn’t a power cut. The aroma of coffee filled the air as it always did between the hours of seven a.m. and noon in the Eversley household, so it wasn’t a caffeine shortage. It was far too early for Bert, their postman, as it was only fifteen minutes past nine and he never appeared until at least eleven a.m. and so no terrifyingly extortionate red bills had arrived, unless they’d been sent via email.
Grace couldn’t think of anything that could justify the scene before her when she reached the kitchen doorway. Pat, Simon, and Hope all looked as if they were under a black magic spell as they sat motionless around the large, circular, pine kitchen table, each of them hugging a mug of still steaming coffee, as if their very lives depended on it.
Grace was about to speak but Hope beat her to it. Hope had her back to the doorway so Grace couldn’t see her face but her solemn tone was far removed from her usual cheery one.
‘The woman did say, “Money is no object”, so at least we’d make a killing.’
Pat shook her head and sighed. ‘It’s a massive undertaking, Hope, and we’re already so busy.’
‘I know. But looking on the bright side,’ Hope said dryly, ‘Grace will be over the moon.’
‘That’s true.’ Pat gave a quick nod, followed by another lengthy sigh which was matched by Simon.
Grace spotted a furrow the size of the Suez Canal between her dad’s dark brows. Okay, that might have been a slight exaggeration. Grace had been known to stretch the truth from time to time, even to herself. In fact, especially to herself. But her dad definitely did not look happy and neither did her mum.
‘But it’s the Betancourts,’ Simon said, in a tone that sounded as if he were afraid of summoning up the devil at the mere mention of that name.
It had the opposite effect on Grace.
‘The Betancourts!’ she shrieked, racing into the kitchen and making her family jump. ‘What about them? What’s happened? Why do you all look as if Father Christmas has just died?’
‘Grace!’ Pat exclaimed, her right hand shooting to her chest. ‘You almost gave me a heart attack. I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘Where’s Lady E?’ Simon questioned, glancing at the undisturbed water bowl, just as a skitter of claws announced the dog’s arrival, followed by loud lapping and grunting as Lady E, now seemingly convinced she was safe, enjoyed her drink.
‘How long have you been lurking there?’ Hope asked, frowning almost as deeply as Simon had been.
‘About five seconds,’ Grace said. ‘And I wasn’t lurking.’ Her gaze darted from one member of her family to another as she pulled out a kitchen chair and plonked herself down. ‘Well? Is anyone going to fill me in? Why are you discussing the Betancourts?’ She sucked in a sharp breath. ‘Nothing bad’s happened to Russell, has it? Or to any of them,’ she hastily added.
‘That depends on your definition of bad,’ Hope sneered. ‘As far as we know, Russell is fine and so are the rest of them, other than Bianca who believes the world as she knows it has come to an end.’
