‘If that turns out to be a sheep, it’ll have had the funniest shape head on an animal you’ll have ever seen,’ replied Roger.
It wasn’t a sheep, it was definitely human: it was poor Margaret, they were sure of it.
‘Can we all say a little prayer,’ said Lionel.
Everyone bowed their heads.
‘Dear Lord, thank you for leading us to find Margaret and her child. May she be buried amongst us soon, properly, where she belongs, and at peace. Amen.’
‘It was me that found her, not God,’ Una argued, under her breath but still loud enough for everyone to hear.
‘Ah, but who led you over there,’ said Roger, with a twinkle in his eye.
Una huffed. ‘I’m changing religions if my God wants to shove me down a well.’
Lionel offered her his arm. ‘Dear lady, you are the hero of the hour.’
Una beamed as a ripple of applause offset the ache in her ankle.
‘I think celebrations might be in order,’ said David. ‘Anyone fancy a pint? Your wellies are most welcome. Oh, the joy of easily moppable rustic stone floors.’
No one needed to answer in words. Their smiles said it all. If ever they deserved a pint, it was now.
*
The whole of the village of Wychwell – bar Titus – trooped down to the Wych Arms. Una hobbled theatrically, but no one minded her being a drama queen on this occasion. If she hadn’t been Una, lazy and very heavy, the ground might not have caved in. Marnie wondered how many times tiny Emelie had crossed over the exact spot where the well lay underneath her feet.
David brought out the carrot wine, Lionel went across to the vicarage to fetch his beetroot, determined not to be outdone. Never had the pub been as full, never had the roof threatened to blow off with the amount of camaraderie stuffed inside its walls. Those who had been slightly worried about how to speak to Marnie now she owned the village, found that a little wine helped ease down any barriers. Una even wished her every success and Marnie thanked her for finding what had foxed so many for so long. Marnie looked over at one point and saw her talking to her estranged husband, although by that time she was plastered and Derek was eager to be off.
The only two people who didn’t speak were Marnie and Herv. But his eyes flicked to her often, and hers to him. At one point he smiled at her and she smiled back, but neither crossed over to the other. She secretly studied him talking to Kay and a very tipsy Ruby and thought how gorgeous he was. Strong, lovely, kind . . . he was absolutely perfect. And she was about as opposite to that as could be. Kay went off to the toilet, strategically Marnie suspected, leaving her daughter with that hunk of Viking and Marnie thought that maybe they’d make a good match after all. Ruby was pretty and bubbly and would probably be really nice away from her mother and she’d love him, oh boy she’d smother him with affection . . . and she was blonde so she was on to a winner with him because he obviously liked those. And, more importantly, she didn’t have a lot of past hanging around her neck like a scabby albatross.
When she saw him crook his arm and Ruby take it, she wondered if he’d eventually realised how uncomplicated and easy a relationship he’d have with her, after the brush with evil that she’d given him. She wished them well and tried not to watch them walk out of the door, though her eyes were so clouded that even if she had turned her head, she wouldn’t have seen them anyway.
Herv showed Ruby to the door and bent to receive her kiss on the cheek. He was okay with that, because he knew that Ruby’s affections had found a new home with a teacher at her school. Change was present in the air; he also knew there had been a seismic shift in Wychwell as soon as they had found Margaret. Marnie had lifted the curse and with it, slipped properly into the role of Lady of the Manor; Wychwell was all hers now and she would make her mark on it. One curse gone, another one started. The curse of good fortune had put her out of his league.
Chapter 50
It took over two and a half months for the results to come back from the laboratory for the skeletons they found down the well. Experts ascertained that one set of bones came from a woman, aged between thirty and fifty and were approximately four hundred and seventy years old. The date fitted. Strangely though the second set of bones was not a baby but a cat.
The well also yielded other treasures which had to have been buried at the same date: religious artefacts, stolen from churches. It couldn’t have been far from the truth to assume that Edward Dearman himself had stored these secretly in Margaret’s grave for safe-keeping to be retrieved later, but after his premature death, they were lost.
Marnie sold them to the British Museum and the funds would pay for a new swanky village hall, and repairs to the church roof, the vicarage and the gravedigger’s cottage.
The diverted waters from the spring had caused the ground to become extra fertile, trees had grown quickly and covered the area over with foliage, disguising the site of Edward Dearman’s dreadful deed. Finally, after hundreds of years, the spring had found its way to the surface again and helped them unearth Margaret.
Marnie, for a reason she couldn’t fathom, deferred moving into the manor until Margaret was laid to rest. In truth, leaving Little Raspberries would be a wrench and Marnie knew why it was always given to someone who could appreciate the sanctuary it afforded. She felt inordinately sad packing up to leave it, but she didn’t need it any more and Little Raspberries should be made ready for the next person upon whom it could work its healing magic.
October 31 – the day of Margaret’s funeral – was the first day off that Marnie had had since the big dig. She had thrown herself into the affairs of Wychwell with vigour, in fact she didn’t recognise herself without a hard hat on. If she didn’t have a meeting with an architect, she had one with a builder or a bank or a prospective tenant. The tearoom was almost finished now and a manager had been appointed. Marnie nearly fainted when Una asked her if she could apply for the job. She’d probably eat more of the cheesecakes than she could sell, but sometimes you had to put your faith in people, thought Marnie, and offered it to her on the spot. Lilian had put faith in Marnie, it was time to pay it forward.
Ruby had fallen head over heels in love with a teacher at her school and her mother, no longer on maternal Rottweiler duty, had become a much softer creature.
And Titus was gone. Hilary offered him the deal of a lifetime – a house in Sandbanks, Dorset where Titus could show off a prestigious postcode. She cut him a generous full and final settlement in the divorce on the condition he played nicely, knowing that Titus would have eaten his own backside for cash. She couldn’t avoid giving him a chunk of her fortune, but her divorce – as she disclosed to Marnie in one of their many email exchanges – really was money well spent. Plus she was earning so much from Country Manors that any hole in her finances would soon be closed over. Number five was done – Country Manors – The Witch is Back.
Marnie saw Herv only briefly – here and there, a quick hello, how’s it going between appointments, nothing more than that. It was always Marnie who set the pace. Lovely to see you, take care. Always her feet that started walking away first. It was better that they were cordial, she reasoned. Their moment had come – and gone. He was a lovely man who should have someone straightforward and simple, not someone who had more history than the Romans and more psychological baggage than a Louis Vuitton stockroom.