The Key In The Vase (Delaney and Daughter: Detectives For Hire Book 1) by Autumn Barlow

Author:Autumn Barlow [Barlow, Autumn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-07-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

“Yorkshire?” Dora said, almost indignantly, as Mr Woffindale started reciting his potted history of the Cookes.

“Yes, that’s where the family came from in the 1840s,” Mr Woffindale said.

“Whereabouts?” Polly asked. “I only ask because I know that Reg had gone to Yorkshire for a while, for a few days before he died. Does anyone know where he went, and why?”

Hugh said, “He said to me it was a personal trip but when he came back, he had had some ideas for expanding the business and he’d been foraging and visiting folk too.”

“I wonder if he went to visit the family mausoleum?” Mr Woffindale said. He spun the book around and they saw an etching, rather gloomy and indistinct, of a boxy tomb-like structure. “It’s in a little village on the edge of a pine forest. I did go, once, when I was researching this book — but it’s the history of the families of Flaxbury, not just of the Cookes, so I didn’t spend too much time up there. The woods were awfully gloomy and the moors even worse, I’m afraid.”

Polly noted down the name of the village just in case it would be useful. Garthenthwaite. What kind of a place was that? It sounded like there was a lot of grey stone and rain.

“Is this book a history of all the families of Flaxbury?” Dora asked.

He looked strangely embarrassed. “Well, no, just the major landowners over time.”

“Oh, I see,” she replied. “Just the families that count.”

Hugh interrupted. “It isn’t the first time that Reg had gone there, either. Particularly in the past few years, he’d made more trips up north. I don’t know why.”

“It’s an age thing,” Mr Woffindale said. “As we get older, our thoughts turn to our own mortality and where we might fit in, in the grand scheme of things, particularly in regards to where we came from. Don’t you think?”

“So what else can you tell us about Reg Cooke and his history which might be actually significant and not just … well. This,” said Dora, waving her hand in dismissal at the etching of the mausoleum and Mr Woffindale’s cryptic words.

“I don’t know what would be significant,” Mr Woffindale said. “Let me think. So you know that Dennis was the elder son and ought to have inherited the farm but he was such a dreadful worker that old Alfred simply couldn’t allow it?”

“I did wonder about that,” said Polly. “We met Dennis Cooke. He’s not well.”

“He’s never been well. In his youth he was lazy, sly and a drinker. Now he’s old, he’s no better at all. He just drinks more. He would have destroyed the farm. Alfred’s only option was to buck convention and to let the younger son have it, even though Reg wasn’t even a farmer then. And I am pleased to say that old Alfred’s guess was correct. Reg made a success of the farm. I hope the old man is proud.” Mr Woffindale glanced up at the ceiling.

Polly heard her mother sigh ever so slightly.

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