Ellery’s Orchard
Charlie had something to confess to Ellery. How would she take the news?
ELLERY’S mouth had dropped open and she hastily shut it. “I think you’d better explain.” “It started as an escape,” Charlie began once he was settled on the sofa, with Ellery in the chair opposite.
“Writing came easily for me, but stories of love, rather than the more acceptable genres for men at that time.
“I sent something off under Rebecca’s maiden name, and when it sold and they offered a contract for more, she spoke for me to save my blushes.
“We had no idea the books would become so popular.” He sighed.
“Rebecca liked the attention and I didn’t, so it seemed better to carry on as we’d begun.”
“I understand how easily it could have happened,” Ellery admitted.
“But how did anyone discover the secret? And why send anonymous notes?”
“Rebecca’s death prompted eulogies about her writing, encouraged by her fan club.
“This year is our publisher’s centenary, so they decided to celebrate certain authors, past and present.
“Rebecca’s one of them. But it appears someone objects, as the notes began arriving soon after the announcement,” Charlie finished.
Ellery read the note again. “I don’t think these are as threatening as you might first think. It’s obviously someone familiar with your
books, who believes you should be recognised for your talent.”
Charlie turned ashen. “That mustn’t happen. I can’t have Rebecca’s memory maligned!”
Alarmed, Ellery jumped up to clasp his hands.
“It won’t be,” she assured him.
“We’ll find out who’s writing these notes and convince them they’re wrong, or your personal wishes must be kept.
“After all,” she added as Charlie frowned, “whoever it is must be a fan. Surely they’d let it go if they realised how you feel.” “I suppose . . .” “Have you any idea who it might be? This last one was hand-delivered; who would know your address?”
“Any number of people,” Charlie said sheepishly.
“The world was a different place when we started out, and Rebecca embraced her role wholeheartedly.
“She did lots of articles and book signings; we even hosted a fayre at Lacie.
“The Victoriana series was popular; people wanted to see the fictional village where the sisters’ love affairs evolved,” he went on, “so Rebecca arranged a themed fayre.”
“What about fans? Is there anyone in particular who might be unhappy with you being the author?” Charlie shrugged.
“A few women, maybe. I could root the letters out; they’ll be in the study.”
Ellery squeezed Charlie’s arm.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find out who’s behind this.”
Before he could answer, Fran’s head appeared round the doorway.
Ellery hastened to invite her in.
“It’s years since I’ve been here!” Fran exclaimed.
“Isn’t it comforting how some things never change?
“I’ve brought you some things to help you settle in.”
Ellery blinked at the basket Fran thrust into her hands, overflowing with old paperbacks, a vase and a one-eyed teddy bear with a velvet bow tie.
“Oh, how thoughtful!”
Fran smiled.
“He’s not a Steiff or anything, but he is in need of a home, so I thought you might oblige.”
“With pleasure.” Ellery lifted the bear from the basket, already in love as she smoothed his tattered ears.
“I hope you like historicals and cosy crime,” Fran added.
Ellery nodded.
“I do, though I’ve not had much time for reading lately. It’s one of the things I want to change.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place,” Charlie said. “The one thing Pelham Lacie has plenty of is leisure time.”
Ellery smiled, unable to resist thumbing through the books. Jean Plaidy, Edward Marston, Agatha Christie.
“Wonderful. What do I owe you for all this?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Fran declared. “They’re gifts.
“Well, if you’re sure?” Ellery hugged the bear, earning a smile from Fran.
“Absolutely. Has she told you her plans for a business, Charlie?” “She has.”
“I’ve had some more thoughts on that.” Ellery began elaborating on her intention to make and sell jams, jellies and juices, as well as utilise her catering skills to create vintage afternoon tea events, which she hoped Fran would be a part of.
“I hoped you’d say that!” Fran was bobbing with excitement. “I’ve loads of things we could use.”
“Ben could provide the marquee,” Charlie added. “Staging events is his business, after all.”
“What about a name?” Fran asked before Ellery could protest about Ben’s involvement.
“I was thinking of Dovecote Fruits,” Ellery replied. “Then I could sell any windfalls as well.” Charlie nodded approval. “You could have something like Dovecote Dining for the tea parties, perhaps?”
After more coffee and conversation, Charlie reluctantly rose.
“It’s time I left you in peace. If there’s anything I can help with, you know where I am.”
“Ditto,” Fran added, following Charlie through the door. “I’m glad you’ve come.”
“I meant it, you know,” Fran said, slipping her arm through Charlie’s. “I’m glad to see someone living at the Dovecote again.”
“As am I.” Charlie deftly shifted their steps on to the path skirting Lacie Grange. “She’s a breath of fresh air.”
“Ellery needed this place as much as it needs her”
“She’s very like Lily,” Fran observed. “Those eyes.” Charlie sighed.
“Lily knew Ellery needed this place as much as it needs her. I really want her to have the chance to make it home.”
“I’m not sure it’s Lily’s ghost who’ll jeopardise that,” Fran murmured.
“If you mean Ben, he’s just a worrier. He wouldn’t try to change Ellery’s mind about living here.” Charlie smiled. “Not that anyone easily could.”
“I wouldn’t be sure,” Fran countered. “Ben can be as persuasive as his grandad when he sets his mind to it.
“And it’s more than just his intention to get you to sell Lacie,” she continued, “that’s fuelling his mistrust of Ellery.”
Charlie frowned.
“I don’t see what else he could have against her.”
“Don’t you?” Fran’s mouth twisted.
“Then you need to read some Rebecca Craig novels to understand how Lily’s great-niece could upset your grandson.”
Ellery pushed the hair from her eyes as she leaned over the old apple press.
Sam from Rowton’s Farm had explained how to use the contraption, but after gathering a basket of orchard windfalls, as well as picking fresh apples then trying to squeeze out the juice, the poor press had gone on strike.
“What are you up to?” Ellery looked up to see Ben in the shed doorway.
“Juicing, but not very successfully!”
Ben strode forward. “Here, let me. You’ll break it, otherwise.”
She regarded him suspiciously as she moved aside and let him tinker.
“What?” he barked after a few moments.
She swallowed and moved away to gaze at the orchard outside.
“I used to come here as a child. I loved it. Then my family fell out and Lacie became just a dream. Until yesterday.”
“I know how attractive this place is,” Ben snapped, “but there’s a lot more to running it than you realise.
“My grandad’s getting older and less mobile; he needs somewhere less demanding to live out his days.
“Your plans to run a business will make it much harder to sell the Grange.”
“Are those his thoughts,” Ellery replied, “or yours?”
When Ben glared at her, she met his gaze.
“I’ve just met Charlie, but already I’ve warmed to his energy and enthusiasm – and his love of Lacie.
“He didn’t strike me as wanting to leave any time soon.”
“What we want and what we can manage aren’t always compatible,” Ben grumbled.
“But surely it’s better for someone to be where they are happy?” Ellery argued.
“It’s not like Charlie’s alone. He has Aggie, and I’m here to call on in an emergency.”
Ben shrugged.
“For how long? A young, ambitious girl like you isn’t going to stay in sleepy Pelham Lacie, especially once you learn how much the Dovecote’s worth.” Ellery straightened. “How can you judge what I want out of life?”
“True. But ditto where Gramps is concerned,” Ben pointed out. “He’s a proud man, adept at hiding things. There’s a lot you don’t know.”
“Then tell me.” He scowled.
“It’s not your business.” “Fine.” Walking up to him, Ellery held out a palm. “Thanks for your help, but I’ll carry on from here.”
Ben slapped the spanner into her hand.
“Fine,” he mimicked, making for the door. “But be warned. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my grandad from anything or anyone who’d upset him.”
Ellery worked hard for the rest of the day, grateful she’d had the foresight to book leave from work.
It wasn’t the pressure of working for Amy’s Catering that worried her, more the lack of time to get the house in order and work on her own dreams.
But she’d made a good start.
Wandering through the orchard in the gathering twilight, mug in hand, Ellery smiled to herself.
Whether it was the encouragement of Charlie and Fran, or this warm, fuzzy feeling that had enveloped her since arriving, she was beginning to believe she might make a future for herself.
She paused to run her fingers through a leafy bough. Would Lily have approved of her plans?
Charlie had spoken of her great-aunt with affection. In her letters, Lily had often mentioned her charming neighbour and his wife.
Could it be that she had known their secret?
A gnarly foot of a tree beckoned for Ellery to sit.
She did, sighing as she remembered Charlie’s confession, and how desperate he was to preserve Rebecca’s secret.
What must it be like to be loved like that?
An image of his grandson flashed into her mind and she gulped her coffee.
She had to admit that he cared about Charlie, and a lot of the anger displayed towards her was from some misguided sense of danger to his wellbeing.
Rising, she began to stroll back towards the Dovecote. Ben had no idea about the threat of Charlie’s anonymous letter writer.
She had to help uncover this supposed fan’s identity before they did any damage.
First thing tomorrow she’d take breakfast muffins over and plan their campaign of pacification.
Right now, it was time for cheese sandwiches and an hour working on marketing designs for Dovecote Fruits.
It was past two a.m. when Ellery trudged up to bed.
In a world where so many voices were clamouring to be heard, enthusiasm wasn’t enough to create – and maintain – a successful small business.
She’d need to abandon her pride and accept help if she wanted to succeed.
Sliding between smooth sheets, she sighed.
Tucking Edward Bear against the bedpost, she settled down to read one of Fran’s donated books, choosing a classic Agatha Christie mystery.
After a sleepless night, Charlie was up at dawn and digging in the vegetable patch, an old habit that helped him think better.
The turning of the earth grounded him, and was just what he needed today.
Having someone to share them with had made the anonymous threats less of a menace.
But the situation still needed resolved, and before Rebecca’s celebration night.
He paused to look around the walled garden.
Ellery’s business ideas had sparked an enthusiasm in him that he’d been lacking for too long.
As if conjuring her from his imagination, Ellery appeared, boots skipping lightly over the ground. He beamed at her. Returning the smile, she held out a container.
“Morning. Have a breakfast muffin: banana spice, freshly baked.”
“Delicious!” Charlie sighed after sinking his teeth into the sponge.
“Don’t let Aggie know you can bake like this. She’ll recruit you!”
“Maybe it’ll be the other way round. I can’t stop thinking about Fran’s vintage tea parties. I really think they could be great.
“If we can make it work, I could eventually give up the catering job with Amy and be my own boss full time,” Ellery finished.
Charlie substituted shovel for stick as he leaned in thought.
“I might be interested in joining the venture.
“Between us, we could create a wonderful little company – something that would make the most of the Grange’s assets.
“We could take Fran’s idea further and host not just tea parties, but small weddings, with everything locally sourced.”
He paused for breath, then laughed.
“I’m getting carried away!”
Ellery’s smile was warm. “It sounds great. But first there’s the matter of our anonymous writer to deal with.
“Did you dig out those letters?”
Reaching inside his jacket, Charlie withdrew a packet of envelopes and handed them to Ellery.
She scanned the first missive, lips pursed in a soundless whistle.
“This sounds like Rebecca’s number one fan, all right. If these letters are all like that, we definitely need to pay this –” she glanced at the signature “– Veronica Evans a visit.
“How do we trace her? These notes are pretty old. She could have moved by now.”
“Oh, she’s still at Clematis Cottage.” Charlie looked sheepish at Ellery’s raised eyebrows. “But visiting her isn’t the problem.
“Veronica Evans is chairwoman of the Rebecca Craig Appreciation Society, and this celebration evening was her idea.”
After a morning picking and pressing, Ellery decided to go grocery shopping. She needed to take something to the Grange this evening.
Pelham Lacie’s high street had a number of independent shops, and Ellery enjoyed browsing, buying and being quizzed by the shopkeepers.
She was about to head back home when she saw Fran waving at her from the front of her shop.
She immediately crossed to the bright, busy Beehive.
“You’ve been to Nancy’s,” Fran greeted her after noticing her bag’s logo.
“I bought some snacks for tonight.”
Fran beamed.
“I’m looking forward to it. You’re a godsend for Charlie.
“Helping you with this business has perked him up no end. He’s been a bit blue lately.”
“Worrying about Rebecca’s celebration, no doubt,” Ellery replied. “We’ll soon get to the bottom of that.”
Ellery was surprised when Fran’s face fell.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I’m not sure I should say,” Ellery replied, wishing she’d been more careful in her conversation.
“You must,” Fran insisted, “or I’ll think the worst!”
Swallowing, Ellery relayed in a hushed voice the tale of the anonymous letters.
“What did they say?” Fran murmured back.
“Nothing much,” Ellery said vaguely.
“They’re just bothering him, so I’m going to help find out who the writer is and persuade them to leave him alone.”
Fran had paled.
“Oh, poor Charlie!” she whispered, then shook herself. “I won’t say anything. Don’t worry.”
Lacie’s sitting-room was softened with lamplight when Ellery arrived that evening, armed with Nancy’s party nibbles and her laptop.
Her smile of greeting faded when Ben stepped out of the
kitchen behind his grandfather.
“Ben’s joining us,” Charlie explained unnecessarily, “as he’s an ace at promotion and design.”
“Ace may be pushing it,” Ben admitted. “But as Gramps is so keen on this business idea of yours, I thought it only fair to listen.”
Ellery swallowed a sharp retort.
“Dinner first,” Charlie directed, “then we can brainstorm.
“I’ve contacted Veronica,” he whispered in her ear. “We’re visiting tomorrow.”
For Ellery, the meal was like being wrapped in a warm hug.
Roast chicken was accompanied by easy conversation and laughter, and even Ben joked with the others, including Ellery.
It was only when the conversation turned to things of a more intimate nature that she felt the first stirrings of unease.
“The one I most agreed with was the woman who’d waited for her man to grow up,” Charlie said, referring to the article they were discussing about why men might say “I love you”.
“But you’re a romantic,” Fran teased. “You probably agree with all of them!” Charlie laughed. “Guilty as charged. But what can you expect from a man who lived with Rebecca Craig all those years?”
There was something Ellery couldn’t quite read in Fran’s face at the mention of Rebecca.
“Novel love is all very well, but how often does that happen in real life?” Ben grumbled.
“All the time!” Charlie protested. “The whole world over. It’s time you stopped being so cynical, Ben.
“Just because one girl treated you badly doesn’t mean that’s the way love always goes.”
“Listen to him,” Fran encouraged, patting Ben’s shoulder as she passed. “He’s an expert.”
“How would you want to be romanced?” Ben asked Fran.
“Wine, dine and dancing.” “I’ve accomplished the first two,” Charlie joked, rising to hold out a hand. “For the last, may I have this dance?”
Giggling, Fran took his hand and they began to twirl round the table as Charlie hummed a tune.
Ellery watched thoughtfully. Now she thought she knew why the mention of Rebecca had made Fran react strangely.
How long had she been in love with her childhood friend, and did he realise her true feelings for him?
And what did that mean for Fran? Was she happy being a close friend, or was she heading for heartbreak?
Sensing a narrowed gaze turned on her, Ellery glanced to where Ben was watching her almost as closely.
“What about you?” he asked in answer to her arched brow.
“I agree with Charlie,” she replied. “You’re very cynical.”
Next morning was the first since Ellery’s arrival when the sun didn’t shine.
But she did, Charlie thought, as she got into his car. She seemed excited to solve the anonymous writer mystery.
Charlie was nervous. Could Veronica be behind these threats? And if so, would she see reason and respect his privacy?
He was soon to discover, as it didn’t take long to reach the village where the fan club founder lived.
Ellery squeezed Charlie’s hand as they drew up outside Veronica’s clematisdraped bungalow.
He offered her his arm as they walked up to knock on the clean white door.
Veronica opened up with arms spread wide in welcome.
“Charles, how wonderful! Do come in,” she gushed.
Charlie gestured Ellery to follow her twin-set-clad figure into a conservatory, where tea was laid out.
“I was glad to hear from you, as I’ve been wanting to chat about Rebecca’s night. The publishers say you’ve not committed to it yet?”
Charlie paused in reaching for the cup she was holding out.
“I’m not sure it’s the right thing for Rebecca’s memory.”
Veronica frowned. “Whyever not? It’s a great way to bring her books back into the public eye, and a chance for fans to celebrate her stories.
“It’s an exclusive ticketed event for society members, apart from the press, of course,” she added.
“I understand that, but I’m not sure . . .”
Ellery saved Charlie’s stutters.
“I’ve only just discovered the world of Rebecca Craig, but I can see why you’d be such a fan.”
“I am!” Veronica’s hand fluttered to her chest.
“They got me through some tough times in my life, made me believe in decency and the beauty of romance again.”
“That’s why you set up the appreciation society?” Veronica nodded.
“I knew there would be others like me, looking for reaffirmation of love.
“And I was right. What excitement there was when a new novel was announced!”
She looked at Charlie. “How sad to think that won’t come again.”
Charlie, noting the glance, fixed his gaze on her.
“Is that the reason behind all this?”
Veronica laid a hand on his arm.
“You know how much I adore these books, Charles, and how much we all miss Rebecca.
“Rest assured I would never let anything tacky be arranged.”
Charlie let out a long sigh as he and Ellery drove away from Clematis Cottage.
“Well,” Ellery said at last. “Do you think Veronica is our anonymous writer?”
“Not unless she’s an Oscar-winning actress. She meant what she said about protecting Rebecca’s legacy, I’m sure of it.”
It was Ellery’s turn to sigh. “Me, too. Veronica Evans is too fluttery to think of anything like that.
“Now I’ve met her, I believe if she knew your secret, she’d do anything to maintain the fictional dream she’s invested in.”
“So I guess we’re back to square one.”
“Not entirely,” Ellery replied. “Remember what Veronica said about invitations?
“That means it can only be someone connected to you or the fan club who would have known about the celebration plans.
“So we should go through the membership list and see what we find.”
Ben had improved the apple press, Ellery had to admit. Though slow, the old machine was working wonders, filling the shed with the sweet, heady scent of ripe apples.
Her stomach rumbling, she reached for a windfall, but before she could take a bite, a plaintive cry interrupted her.
She hurried into the orchard, her gaze picking out Lacie’s cat crouched in the boughs of a tree.
Standing before its twisted trunk, she surveyed the climbing possibilities.
Thank goodness she had put on her old jeans! She smiled as, grasping hold of a low branch, she pulled herself into the tree’s arms.
It wasn’t as easy coaxing Marmalade down, and she’d twisted herself into a tangle when a voice below made her gasp.
“Goodness, woman! Are you determined to end up in hospital?”
Ben glanced beyond Ellery to the cat crouching out of reach, then opened his arms.
“Come, Marmalade!” The cat immediately moved to slide on to his chest, then sprang to the ground and stalked off.
“Well!” Ellery exclaimed. “That’s gratitude!” “Your turn.”
Ellery wrinkled a nose at Ben’s open arms.
“I’m capable of getting down myself, thanks.”
“No doubt,” he retorted. “But I’d rather not feel
guilty if you break your leg, so humour me.”
With a sigh, Ellery dropped down. Ben caught her easily, but then his foot somehow snagged.
Next moment, they were sprawled in the grass, he practically on top of her.
She gazed up at him, suddenly breathless. Time froze as they stared at each other. Then, abruptly, Ben rose.
“I came to bring you the mock-ups we discussed last night.” He belatedly offered a hand.
Ellery took it, then quickly let it go.
Ben thrust the file at her. “Wow!” she exclaimed after a quick glance. “These are really good.” He shrugged.
“With the right marketing approach, it could be a successful business.”
Ellery leafed through more slowly.
“Has Charlie seen these?” When Ben shook his head, she waved him forward.
“Let’s show him. I think he’s going to love them.” She stopped mid-stride. “How much would I need to pay for these?” she asked.
“We’ll sort that out later,” Ben told her. “I did this for Gramps, remember.”
She smiled at him, but Ben just scowled.
As twilight spread across the skies above Lacie, Ellery took her customary turn about the orchard.
It had been another day full of surprises, she mused, thinking of Veronica Evans and, of course, Ben.
It was a lot easier when she could dislike him. The emerging truth was much more disturbing!
Was it something she could cope with right now, on top of the house and business, not to mention Charlie’s problem?
She sighed. They’d gone through the membership list over lunch, but no name sparked a reaction.
Ellery was determined, though, to uncover the writer’s identity before it was too late.
Charlie was a lovely soul. He deserved peace of mind, and some of the kindness he showed others.
The shrill call of the phone had her hurrying to her kitchen, picking up the receiver before it rang off.
“Hi, Amy!” she greeted her boss. “Are you phoning about Saturday? If so, I . . .”
Her words died as the voice at the other end interrupted.
She felt a lump in her throat as Amy talked.
“I see. Yes, I understand. I’ll manage. Yes, you, too.”
Ellery replaced the receiver, feeling cold and shivery.
“Well,” she told the empty house, “that’s that.”
Amy’s Catering was closing as from next week.
Amy was going to pay her a week’s wages and promised a glowing reference, but the timing couldn’t have been worse.
Ellery had channelled everything she had into this place and the new business idea, planning to put in extra hours with Amy’s to top up her funds.
Drying her eyes on a tea towel, she made some coffee and went upstairs, resisting an urge to pour out her woes to Charlie.
She’d have to find another job, and work even harder to get Dovecote Fruits and the tea parties going as soon as she could.
She propped herself on the bed and continued to read the Miss Marple mystery.
Night had swallowed the world when Ellery woke.
She blinked as she became fully conscious, then the awful thought that had come to her in her dreams surfaced.
“Oh, Edward,” she whispered, clutching the bear in the darkness. “I think I know who’s been writing those letters . . .”
To be concluded.