What Edward Heard by Megan Easley-Walsh

Author:Megan Easley-Walsh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: World War One Fiction, English Manor House, Historical Mystery, Historical Magical Realism, Novels Set in England
Publisher: New Historical Fiction
Published: 2017-04-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

Agnes stood triumphantly before Edward, ready at once to chase after the address on Lefront's letter.

“Do you know where this is?” he asked her.

“Not far,” she said, with a smile.

Edward should have known by now that Agnes's idea of “not far” often stretched the definition of standard measurements. For an hour, they trudged through the early summer mud that testified to the healthy crops in the field.

“Here it is,” she said, as the house came into view.

“Smaller than I expected,” he said.

“Ready?” she said and Edward felt a twinge of déjà vu from the day they had stood on Martin's doorstep. Neither knew what to expect but they were both ready to find out what the house, which was really more on the large side of a cottage than the estate house that Edward had imagined, held. Somehow, because he believed it to be pivotal in his quest, he had decided that the house must be grand. When Agnes spoke of her mother's friend having married well, his mind had filled in the blanks with luxurious excess and riches. He realized now that his own affluent past had colored his assumption and also that everything appears larger when one is small and Agnes had been quite young when she was last here.

He raised his hand to the knocker now, hoping to be met with answers on the other side. The door cracked open.

“Yes?” a voice said, which sounded youthful but had the crackle of age in it.

Agnes looked at Edward and shrugged her shoulders.

“Hello, my name is Agnes. I'm a teacher in Meadowsbrooke and this is my cousin Edward.”

When he did not say anything, she elbowed him to get him to speak.

“Yes, I'm Edward, hello.”

“I don't know you,” the voice, which began to sound more female, said now.

“We were hoping to talk to you about a letter.”

“A letter? What kind of a letter?”

“My mother used to write to a Mrs. Lefront at this address. We were hoping she might live here still,” Agnes said.

“Or that you might know of her at least?” Edward said.

“There's no Lefront here. This here is an English cottage, I tell you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Agnes said, “but, can you tell me if anyone used to live here?”

“I used to live here,” the voice said again.

Edward looked at Agnes, imploring his cousin to call upon some streak of sudden genius.

“Does anyone else live here?” Agnes said.

“Why? Are you trying to rob me?”

“No, no! We're sorry to have bothered you. We must have the wrong address,” Edward said and put his arm around Agnes to guide her away. He knew that if it were up to her, they would have pushed their way in and gotten their answers. Clearly, their politeness was getting them nowhere and so any attempt would be useless.

They had walked a hundred yards from the cottage, before Edward stopped walking so quickly.

“Well!” Agnes said, in disbelief, “Accusing us of robbery! It's a good thing that we didn't mention the painting. She really would have thought we were after her belongings!” An idea began to form in Edward's mind.

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