‘Nothing important,’ Clemmie replied quickly. ‘I think it was just an old lamp.’ There was a pause, then, ‘Oh, here we go. There’s a box with writing on it. It’s… oh…’
‘What?’ Betty’s voice sharpened with anticipation. ‘What is it?’
Clemmie’s voice dropped into something almost reverent as she picked up the box. ‘This must be it.’
Her footsteps grew slower and more deliberate as she approached the hatch. In her hands she held a box, small enough to cradle but heavy enough to make her arms strain slightly.
‘I’m coming down.’ Carefully, she passed the box down to Betty, who received it as if it were made of porcelain. Clemmie climbed down the ladder slowly. When she reached the floor, the three women stood in a triangle, thebox resting between them on an old wooden table. The writing on the lid was faint but legible.
‘Why would Great-great-granny have a box labelled “Earl of Aberford”?’ Clemmie asked, her voice low.
Betty didn’t answer immediately. She was staring at the box as though it might spring open of its own accord. Her lips moved silently, as though debating with herself.
Amelia shifted uncomfortably, taking a step back. ‘I should leave. This feels… personal.’
‘No,’ Betty said firmly, shaking her head. ‘Stay.’
‘Granny, with all due respect, at some point this box would have been opened. If not by us, then by someone clearing out the loft years from now. If it holds any kind of secrets, surely it should be us who discover them.’
Betty’s brow furrowed, her eyes still locked on the box. ‘It’s not that simple, Clemmie. My mother was adamant. I don’t know what’s in there, but I do know she believed it shouldn’t be disturbed.’
‘But why?’ Clemmie countered, her voice rising slightly. ‘Why would she have a box with such a cryptic label if it wasn’t meant to be opened? That doesn’t make any sense. Do you think this actually has something to do with the Earl of Aberford, or the scandal that led him to disappear?’
Amelia glanced between them, clearly curious despite her discomfort. ‘Maybe it’s not as dramatic as you think,’ she offered.
Clemmie shook her head. ‘No. This feels important. Granny, please. Whatever’s in this box, we deserve to know.Youdeserve to know.’
Betty hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the box. From her expression she was torn, her conscience warring with her curiosity. Finally, she exhaled heavily. ‘You’re right,’ she said quietly. ‘If it’s been hidden away all these years, it’s time someone knew the truth and if anyone should open it, it should be us.’
They headed towards the living room and placed the box on the coffee table. Betty reached out, her hands trembling slightly as she unfastened the string. Everyone held their breath as Betty opened the lid.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
They all stared at the worn, ribbon-bound bundle of letters in front of them. Betty began to untie the delicate knot that had kept the secrets within hidden for decades. Each envelope bore the same looping handwriting, addressed toBeatrice Rose, The Café on the Coast, Puffin Island.
Gently, Betty pulled the first letter from the stack and unfolded it. Her eyes skimmed the neat cursive writing.
‘Are they from the Earl of Aberford?’ asked Clemmie.
‘If his first name is Henry, then I assume so,’ replied Betty, her eyes firmly on the words on the page.
One by one, the three women read through the letters.
August 10, 1916
My Dearest Beatrice,
It has been mere days since I left the shores of Puffin Island, yet my thoughts are so fixed upon you that I feel as though I never truly departed. In every quiet moment, I find myself back at your café, watching you as you measure flour, the soft hum of your voice and the sweet smell ofsugar filling the air. How I miss those peaceful afternoons in your company. The world feels darkened without your light, and all the fineries of London pale in comparison to the warmth of your laugh.
Do you remember the recipe we discussed? I’ve enclosed chef’s notes for a spiced chocolate cake he adores. He always said that a hint of nutmeg added unexpected depth. I cannot think of a better pairing than your fruit preserves with rich chocolate, two unlikely companions creating something rare and sweet, just as you and I have.
I will be in touch as often as I can. Until then, please hold our secret close.
Yours,
Henry
September 3, 1916
