SERIAL The Secret Of Elm House

It seemed Jess, with Dan’s help, was finally going to realise her dream . . .

JESS glanced up at the clock. Her excitement was giving way to concern when, at last, she heard Dan’s footsteps on the gravel outside.

“What sort of time do you call this?” she asked, then chuckled. “Come in. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

While Dan took off his boots and hung up his coat, Jess poured tea. They sat down at the kitchen table. Behind them the fire crackled merrily, brightening up the winter morning.

Real log fires were one of the many treats Jess loved about Elm House – a modest but beautiful 17th-century house at the edge of the village. She’d been here a year and still couldn’t believe it was hers.

The views of the woods and fields provided her with wonderful subjects for her paintings and the house itself held happy childhood memories. She’d been close to her grandparents, but had been stunned when her grandfather had left the house to her in his will. Dan drank his tea. “Thanks. I need this, it’s been a hectic morning and it’s only . . .” He checked the time. “Eleven? Jess, I’m sorry. I’d no idea.”

She smiled.

“It doesn’t matter, Dan. If you’d come earlier, I’d have been covered in paint.” “You still are.”

He grinned, leaning across and gently rubbing her forehead with his thumb.

Jess gave a rueful grin. She still had a smudge of paint above her left eyebrow, she knew. At least she’d had time to change out of her overalls before Dan arrived. He didn’t mind how much paint she was covered in – that was one of the reasons she liked him – but she’d still wanted to look her best.

“Stop teasing and tell me about your morning.”

“I’ve been repairing Mrs Swinton’s front wall. It took longer than I thought.”

“Well, you haven’t been there for a few weeks. You must have known that you’d get summoned soon!”

“I don’t know why she calls me so much. I guess she’s lonely, but she never says much when I’m there.”

“You’re honoured. She avoids other people.”

Dan frowned.

“I’m happy to go, but she pays me so much!”

Jess reached across and laid a hand on his arm.

“She wouldn’t insist if she didn’t want to.”

Dan nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

At ninety-five, Kathleen Swinton was the eldest resident of Dawton. She’d ventured out less and less over the years, but still took an interest in everything.

Though she kept herself to herself, regular as clockwork she called Dan every month to repair or install

something in her home.

To his dismay, she always insisted on paying him double. He’d tried to refuse, but she became upset and threatened to dispense with his services altogether.

Knowing he was the only builder in the village, and agreeing with Jess that someone ought to visit Mrs Swinton, he had given in. He finished his tea. “Let’s look at this loft space of yours, shall we?”

“Great!” Jess jumped up, thrilled to be finally starting the project she’d set her heart on – converting the loft into a studio.

For the first time she would have a decent space in which to paint. Now she could really make headway with her career.

She ran up the stairs. “You look like all your Christmases have come at once,” he told her, laughing.

“It feels like it. It’s been my dream to have my own studio.”

She could tell he was excited, too. His dark eyes were shining as he set up the loft ladder and scanned the space above.

Jess watched as Dan walked around the loft, deftly avoiding the clutter. He took measurements and examined woodwork.

He looked so capable, his handsome face focused intently on the task.

He turned and gave her a thumbs up.

“Yes, I think we can do it. We’ll bring the staircase up here and remove these boards. We can put in dormer windows and skylights here and here. That’ll give you plenty of light for your painting.”

Jess clapped her hands. Then her face fell.

“Can we do all that within my budget?”

Elm House was great, but a big financial responsibility. Jess had stayed there often with her parents and, following her mother’s early death, with her father.

Her grandmother had passed away first and her grandfather had left it to his cherished granddaughter.

He also left her some money, on which she could just about manage. But she needed to be careful, and develop her art career, to keep this house that she loved so much.

“I’ll draw up some plans tonight and check the figures, just to be certain,” Dan reassured her. “Thank you.”

“You know,” he added, moving towards her, “I’d do it for nothing. I’ll enjoy the work and it’s an excuse to come here more often.”

Jess’s face grew warm. She knew he meant it, but it wouldn’t be right.

“I couldn’t let you do that. You’ve a business to run and I have the money Grandad left me. But,” she added shyly, “I’m glad you’ll be here more, too.”

Liz inspected Jess’s loft with a look of comic dismay.

“When is Dan starting work? It’ll take months to clear this lot.”

“Two weeks,” Jess replied, laughing. “You see why I need your help. There must be generations of junk stored up here!”

“Right.” Liz rolled up her sleeves. “Let’s get started. Three piles – bin, recycling, charity. I’ve brought sacks and boxes with me.” Jess grinned at her friend. “I knew I’d chosen the right person for the job.” Liz shrugged.

“With two children and a school to organise, I’ve done a lot of sorting in my time. You can return the favour another time!”

“Done.” Jess laughed. “Where shall we start?”

Liz scanned the large attic. It was stuffed with bric-à-brac and smelled of dust and mothballs. “Let’s begin over here.” They set to work. It wasn’t long before they had three piles in one corner.

“Have you seen the final plans yet?” Liz asked Jess.

“Dan’s bringing them this afternoon, after his lunch with Samantha.”

“Oh, yes, he and Sam have always been close.”

Jess looked up at Liz, but she didn’t elaborate.

“I’m sure Dan has some brilliant ideas,” she said. “It’ll make a good studio once it’s cleared.”

“I know. I can’t wait. I hope Dan’s not late again.”

Liz looked enquiringly at her friend. Dan was usually very punctual, especially when it came to Jess.

“He got held up with Mrs Swinton. Fixing her wall.” “She seems fond of him.” “I didn’t think she was fond of anyone.”

“Don’t be hard on her. She has a gruff exterior but a kind heart. She did a lot of charity work in the village after the war and she’s made some generous donations to the school in recent years. Some people just prefer to keep themselves to themselves.” Jess felt guilty.

“I didn’t mean any harm. I’m grateful to her for introducing me to Dan.”

Jess had met Dan at Kathleen Swinton’s cottage. The old lady had seen her at the cemetery, visiting her grandfather’s grave, and invited her for tea.

Dan was repairing the sink but stopped work and talked to Jess instead.

“Did you know Mrs Swinton used to live here?” Liz went on.

“Here? At Elm House?” “Yes. It was Mrs Swinton who sold it to your grandfather. It was in her husband’s family for generations. I don’t know why she left, but it was after her husband’s death. Too many memories, perhaps.”

Jess picked up a box and began to sort through it, deep in thought. She herself found comfort in the memories the house contained – her mother kissing her goodnight, her grandfather pushing her on the garden swing.

It must have been hard for Kathleen Swinton to sell.

Perhaps Jess should make an effort and go to visit the older woman again.

Liz lifted a pile of yellowing papers and books from a box.

“Why don’t you have a look at these when you’ve got a minute? They might be worth keeping.”

Jess examined a few musty sheets, as far as she could in the dim light.

“They seem to be about the house. I’ll definitely hang on to them.”

Liz stood up and brushed the dust from her jeans. “Well, we made a start.” There was plenty still to do, but a quarter of the loft was clearer than it had been a few hours earlier.

“I have to go, Jess. The kids will be driving Matt crazy and I’ve got so much extra prep for school.”

Jess nodded. She knew how hard Liz worked as head of the local school. Things were particularly difficult at the moment.

“How long will Sarah be away?”

“At least the rest of this term.” Liz sighed. “We’ll manage, but we’ve never been so short-staffed. Anyway, I’ll be back. There’s too much for you to finish on your own.” Jess hugged her friend. “Thanks, Liz.” Scooping up the pile of books and papers, she followed her downstairs to wave goodbye. When Liz had gone she would have a nice cup of tea and then look through them.

Dan stretched out his legs and heaved a sigh. The pub was bustling and warm. He was enjoying a rare lunch with his friend, Samantha.

“You feel better already, don’t you?” she asked him. “You’ve been working too hard.” She studied him closely. “I hope you’re eating. You look thinner.”

Dan grinned. Sam had mothered him for the last 20 years and clearly wasn’t intending to stop now.

They’d met on the first day of school and she’d taken under her wing this shy little boy, new to the village and still reeling from his parents’ divorce.

He’d stood clutching his mother’s hand, refusing to let go. Samantha, pigtails bouncing, had marched over, grabbed his other hand and told him to come and sit with her.

“It’s all right,” she’d

“It was Mrs Swinton who sold the house to your grandfather”

said. “I’m your new friend. We’re going to have fun.”

He had looked into her fierce blue eyes and decided that she was probably right.

“What will you have?” she asked him now, waving the menu under his nose. He flapped it away. “Saturday’s pie day. You know what I’m having.”

“Two steak and ale it is, then. And now you can buy me a drink. You’ve neglected me shamefully the last few weeks!”

“Certainly, and is there anything else I can get for your Ladyship?”

He dodged her playful swipe of the menu as he went up to the bar. He returned with two tall, ice-cold glasses.

“Sam, I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. I miss you when we can’t meet up.”

“I miss you, too. We’d better arrange more lunch breaks like this one.” “Good idea.” “Anyway, what have you been up to?”

“Well, the business is taking off, which is great, but it means I’m working long hours.”

“That’s great, Dan. I’d no idea it was going so well.”

Dan knew she’d be thrilled for him. She was the one who’d encouraged him to set up the business in the first place.

“Mrs Swinton’s projects help. And I’ve now got a few big commissions, like Jess’s loft conversion.”

He reddened. They hadn’t discussed his friendship with Jess. Sam and he had been close most of their lives and half the village had expected them to end up together but, apart from one date, they’d always been like brother and sister. At least, he thought so.

“How are the plans for the loft conversion going?”

“Good. I’m taking the final version over to show Jess this afternoon.”

“It’ll be cool for her to have a decent studio. She’s really talented, Dan. I was looking at her paintings the other day. Those for sale in the café. I might buy one.” “Jess will be thrilled.” The look Sam gave him made Dan wonder if she had feelings for him, after all.

He changed the subject. They talked about Sam’s job at the hospital and her holiday plans. Dan relaxed.

This was great. No awkwardness, and no discussion of relationships, past or present.

Jess sat down next to the kitchen fire, her cup of tea and the pile of papers discovered by Liz on the table beside her.

The kitchen was probably her favourite room in Elm House. It was warm and comfortable and smelled of wood smoke and baking.

She took a book from the top of the pile. It had a blue cover and its pages were thick and spotted.

She opened it and saw that it was a diary, the entries closely written in black ink. April 2, 1951

I’ve just returned from the cemetery. It’s peaceful there. Seven years since we lost our little boy. They say time heals, but does it?

John wouldn’t come. Just as well. I still find it hard not to break down when I go there and it upsets him.

It’s so difficult to move on. When I see the village children playing, I can’t help thinking about our child, wondering what our boy would have been like.

How I wish I’d listened to John that day and not been so reckless. I only had to forgo one horse ride, but no, I rode despite being heavily pregnant, and fell.

If we’d been able to have more children it would be easier to bear, but the accident put an end to all that. John’s never blamed me, but I blame myself. He is such a good man – he would have made a wonderful father.

Jess sipped her tea thoughtfully. How sad to lose a child and then to be unable to have more. Jess wanted children and hadn’t considered the possibility that it might not happen.

At least the author had had a loving husband. It would be wonderful to have a soul-mate. Her mind slipped to Dan but she stopped herself. She was getting too far ahead.

Dan liked her, but she’d no idea if he was looking for a serious relationship. They were young and he had a business to build.

He’d be here soon with the plans for the loft. She must stop daydreaming. She flicked over a couple of pages and read on. May 27, 1951

I’m horrified that John has suggested bringing his younger brother’s family here to live with us. On one hand, I’d like to make John happy. I owe him so much.

Pity his brother, Ned, isn’t more like him. Poor Mary. Ned married her for her looks and social status. She’s not the brightest of women so I don’t think she ever knew what a philanderer he was.

On the other hand, though I try for John’s sake, I can’t stand Ned. He’s always making snide remarks to me. I could put up with his insults if he showed more consideration for John, but he was so insensitive during the war.

Everyone praised him as a hero and he lapped it up. Poor John would have been the first to enlist if his health had allowed.

Can I bear to have my brother-in-law living in our house and have his children here, too?

What a decision, Jess thought. It would be a huge step to take on a family of four, even in this house. And this man, Ned, sounded horrible. But they were family and in need.

She opened a page near the end of the diary. February 27, 1952 We’re beginning to get used to one another. It’s as well that we took them in. Ned would have run through all their money by now. I am genuinely sorry for the problems that his war experience has caused.

Mary’s company has come as a pleasant surprise. She appreciates all we have done and is kind and considerate.

She adores her children and is a good mother. Though her conversation is sometimes dull, I can always hide behind a book. She thinks her husband is a hero and blames the war for all his faults.

Perhaps she’s right – he isn’t the man he used to be. He’s lost his swagger and spends the day in the garden and most evenings at the Public House.

Both girls are pretty and pleasant. They are close to their mother and, I think, a little afraid of their father. Uncle John is a firm favourite. He spoils them.

I enjoy their company, but sometimes they are a painful reminder of what we have lost.

So she took them in, Jess thought in admiration. The diarist must have loved her husband very much.

Jess turned to the other volumes on the table. She opened one, then gasped when she saw the name inscribed on the flyleaf. Kathleen Swinton.

Of course. Liz had told her that Mrs Swinton had lived here once.

Jess felt uncomfortable. It was one thing to read a long-forgotten book about the history of the house; but these were the private thoughts of someone alive, someone that she knew.

She’d package everything up and return it to Mrs Swinton straight away.

Kathleen Swinton shut the door of her cottage behind Jess’s retreating back. Her eyes closed, she took a steadying breath.

“Foolish old woman,” she muttered. “It’s only paper. It changes nothing.”

Nonetheless, she was shaken. Back in the sittingroom she lowered herself into the armchair. She reached into the bag that Jess had given her.

First, she lifted out the papers, then the diaries.