“What do you want from me?” William asked, breathless from the rush of emotions.
“Actually, it’s Hanbury Manor who owes my family something, not you.” Edward took a long inhale in, rolling back his shoulders. “I want to find out the truth about what happened to my great-uncle.” Edward fished into his pocket and withdrew a folded – yet crumpled – piece of paper. He was careful not to let any of his blood drip on it as he handed it over to William. “Here. Consider this as me being honest.”
William took it – curiosity and all that. He unfolded it, reading the ink-printed letters that looked like a Times New Roman wet dream.
It is with profound sorrow I inform you that Edward Jones was killed in action on 25 December 1939 in the performance of his duty and service to his country. Remains have not been recovered. Please accept our heartfelt sympathy.
“What is this?” William asked, reading it over again.
“It’s a telegram, one that suggests my great-uncle died in service to his country during World War Two.” Edward took that moment to step forward, closing the space and testing how safe he was in William’s presence.
William thought back to what Barbara had said in the shop.
“Then you have your answer to what happened to him,” William said, handing the telegram back to Edward.
He took it, warm fingers brushing William’s for a moment, reminding him that William had actually contemplated that Edward was a ghost for a few minutes.
“And yet I still have a problem,” Edward said. “Odd that, isn’t it?”
“Which is?”
Edward locked eyes with William, his expression serious and sharp. “Someone lied. My great-uncle Teddy never went to war. Heneverserved his country. I believe this telegram was forged, and I intend to find out why. Because I can’t help but wonder that if Teddy never died at war, where did he go?”
“And you think that answer lays in Hanbury?”
Edward lifted his darkened eyes over William, looking back to the looming face of the manor. “Yes, actually, I do.”
William held the telegram with careful fingers, doing everything in his power not to visibly tremble. His discomfort wasn’t solely a result of everything that’d been uncovered since he woke that morning. In fact, the majority came from being inside of the Hanbury Manor again, now that its secrets had been laid bare.
Edward sat opposite him across the old dining table, his back haloed by daylight from the window behind him. It was on the tip of William’s tongue to direct the conversation outside, to sit beneath the unspoiled sky and leave the heavy air of the manor behind them. But he wasn’t about to let it win.
Not yet.
“What makes you confident this was forged?” William asked one of the many questions thundering around his head. He laid the telegram on the polished wood and slid it over to Edward, who left it untouched between them. “I mean, it’s a rather bold accusation to make, don’t you think?”
“I just know,” Edward said, clutching his mug of tea, which was undoubtedly cold.
“That doesn’t really answer the question,” William said.
He’d made himself a coffee because he needed the caffeine to settle his raging headache. His stomach was in knots, so much that he believed a single sip would make him throw up.
Edward took his time to soak in William’s distrusting stare. He leaned back on the chair, making the aged wood creak, and then answered. “It didn’t take much digging to find out that no one from Stonewell has ever served in World War Two. I went looking for my great-uncle’s name in so many online searches regarding deaths at war, but didn’t find it. In fact, I didn’t find anyone from Stonewell listed. The last person to fight in a war from this area was during World War One. Oddly, the entire village was just overlooked when it came to conscription apparently. No one signed up; it was as if the war just forgot this place even existed. I’ve personally combed the World War Two archives, paid professional historians based out of London and forked out a lot of money to about three different ancestry sites, not a single one ever suggesting that Edward ever served his country.”
“That can’t be right.” William shook his head. “A woman from Stonewell said that there were other young men who died in service. Like your Teddy must have.”
“More lies then. A simple search will prove that she is wrong, and I’m right.”
William pressed his fingers into his temple, trying to abate his headache. “There has to be a chance they fought, surely. Maybe you haven’t looked in the right places?”
“Trust me. I’ve looked everywhere, and nothing. There’s no mention of Teddy, or these other men you’ve mentioned.” Edward downed the last dregs of his mug, tongue lapping the tea which escaped down the side of his lip. “Are you naturally a distrusting person?”
William leaned forward, balling his hands into fists and resting his elbows on the table. “Do you blame me? I’ve just found out that you lied your way into the manor. You’ve been camping out in the old gatehouse. Trusting comes naturally to people who haven’t lied as much as you have.”
“Touché.” Edward narrowed his eyes, clicked his tongue and then pulled a ‘you’re not wrong’ face. “You’ve got me there.”
William’s silent stare backed Edward into a corner.
“Truthfully though–”
