A Grave Inheritance by Anne Renshaw Read Free Book Online Page B

and, although characterless, it was roomy enough for a large thriving family. The walls, papered in woodchip and covered in many layers of emulsion, mainly terracotta and olive, succeeded in muting any possible feeling of light and space. Lanceley considered adding his own layer, magnolia maybe, but due to his busy schedule he never had the time, nor, if honest, the inclination. The large echoing house emphasised Lanceley’s solitude. Occasionally he invited his sister, Leonie, over for dinner, but she never stayed longer than a couple of hours. Her hectic social life left her little time for her brother. On spur of the moment occasions he invited a few parishioners to tea, pensioners who’d lived in Woodbury most of their lives. Many remembered him as a small boy. Some still treated him as such, which after a while he found trying. But although their level of conversation was far from stimulating, it was a respite from his loneliness. The nagging notion that he wasn’t cut out to be a vicar disturbed him, and his gaze wandered back into the room. His father had been happy in the same vocation, as was his grandfather, Simon Lanceley. Maybe all he needed was a wife and a family to make his existence more tolerable. Amelia would make a good wife he thought, wondering if there was a special man in her life. It amazed him that after spending only a few moments with her, she should fill his mind. So much so, he had toyed with the idea of inviting her over for dinner, but dismissed the notion as quickly as it had arisen. Did he really want to get involved with a Farrell? Hadn’t they done enough damage to his family already? Anyway, after the way he’d behaved, rudely ending their visit like that, she’d probably never want to see him again.
    For the third time that morning Lanceley read again the information contained in the file lying on his desk. He brooded over the contents, his head low over the pages, as though myopic. His first instinct was to come clean and tell Amelia and Grace what he knew. Indecision stopped him. Lanceley took a small piece of paper from the file and, slamming the rest of the file shut, shoved it into the bottom drawer of his desk. After locking his desk he popped the key and the piece of paper into his pocket.
    Lanceley stepped into midday sun and shielding his eyes against the glare, took the path through the graveyard. He’d only gone a few steps when he found himself looking over his shoulder, with the feeling that someone was watching him. He glanced swiftly from side to side. He peered around a Celtic cross, but saw no one. Sightless eyes of stone angels watched as he passed and followed him along the path. Feeling compelled he stopped and turned quickly, convinced someone was following him. The path was empty.
    After reading the information safely locked away in his desk drawer, Lanceley understood why he’d felt unsettled. He headed towards the far side of the graveyard until he reached a sandstone wall and continued along the perimeter path encircling the cemetery. The wall had crumbled away in places and blackberry bushes filled the empty spaces. He reached a low wooden gate and went through it. An area outside the churchyard’s boundary, on unholy ground, held four graves. The small section of ground, tucked away and forgotten, was sheltered by branches of wild hawthorns. Sunken oblongs covered in moss and weeds marked each grave; their only adornment were daisies and clover bent under the weight of pollen-seeking insects. Lanceley took out the piece of paper from his pocket and studied it, aligning four oblongs drawn on it with those on the ground.
    Half hidden beside a hawthorn tree the young girl cuddled her baby and watched the man with red hair. He reminded her of someone from long ago. She shook her head in an effort to erase his memory. Leaning forward she looked down at the patch of sunken earth the man stood beside, and desolately she pulled the rough woollen shawl around her,