Trouble In Prior's Ford

Book 3: Prior's Ford

by Eve Houston

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

Taking advantage of recent tourist interest, the residents of Prior's Ford plan a summer festival. But someone is determined to sabotage the event, and it takes all the villagers' detective skills to stop the vandals in their tracks. Meanwhile, at Tarbethill Farm, things are going from bad to worse. In dire financial straits, Victor, the eldest son, is tempted by a developer's offer on their land. But if his father finds out it promises to tear their family apart. And at the big house, Lewis remains absolutely besotted by his baby daughter, while his family still secretly wonder if she really is his. And as Molly starts to take advantage of Lewis' good nature, can Ginny bear to keep silent about her feelings for him?

Release date: March 7, 2013

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 320

Sample

Fliss and Hector Ralston-Kerr – Hector is the Laird of Prior’s Ford and lives with his wife Fliss and their son Lewis in ramshackle Linn Hall

Genevieve (Ginny) Whitelaw – Is helping to restore the old kitchen garden at Lin Hall

The Fishers – Joe and Gracie Fisher are the landlord and landlady of the local pub, the Neurotic Cuckoo. They live on the premises with their widowed daughter Alison Greenlees and her young son Jamie

Jenny and Andrew Forsyth – Live in the private housing estate, River Walk, with their young son, Calum and Jenny’s teenage, rebellious step-daughter by a previous marriage, Maggie Cameron

Helen and Duncan Campbell – Helen records the village news for a local newspaper and is also, secretly, the newspaper’s agony aunt columnist. Duncan is the gardener at the Linn Hall, the ‘big house’. They have four children: Gregor, Gemma, Lachlan and Irene

Clarissa Ramsay – Lives in Willow Cottage. A retired teacher who is rebuilding her life after discovering that her late husband betryaed her with her best friend

Sam Brennan – Lives in Rowan Cottage and runs the local Village Store with his partner, Marcy Copleton. They have a somewhat stormy relationship

The Reverend Naomi Hennessey – The local Church of Scotland minister, part Jamaican, part English. Lives in the manse with her Jamaican godson, Ethan

The McNairs of Tarbethill Farm – Bert and Jess McNair are struggling to keep the family farm going with the help of their two sons: Victor, who cares more about money than the land and Ewan, whose deep love is shared between the farm and the local publican’s daughter, Alison Greenlees

Alastair Marshall – An artist, lives in a small farm cottage on the outskirts of the village. Although Clarissa Ramsay is some twenty years his senior, Alastair has strong feelings for her

The McDonalds – Jinty and Tom McDonald live with their large family on the village’s council housing estate. Jinty is a willing helper at Linn House, and also cleans the village hall and the school, while Tom is keen on gambling and frequenting the Neurotic Cuckoo

Molly Ewing – Lewis Ralston-Kerr’s girlfriend, and mother of his baby daughter, Rowena Chloe. Molly looks forward to being Lady of the Manor one day, but in the meantime, her love of travelling worries Lewis. The prospect of Molly as Lady of the Manor worries Lewis’s mother, Fliss

‘I’m taking you to the pub for a drink,’ Clarissa Ramsay said as she and Alastair Marshall left the village hall. ‘You deserve it for courage above and beyond the call of duty.’

‘I only saw to the slides. You were the one who had to give the talk.’

‘I didn’t mean just that, I meant you having to judge the rock-cake competition as well. I didn’t realise we would be expected to judge things,’ said Clarissa, who had had to deal with the home-made jam competition.

‘The rock-cakes were good … well, most of them. It was the dirty looks I got from the people who didn’t win that unnerved me. You were great,’ Alastair said admiringly as they turned into Adam Crescent and began to skirt the half-moon village green. ‘As cool as a cucumber, even at question time.’

‘Being a school teacher trained me for every eventuality, including dealing with parents. To be honest, I quite enjoyed myself, but I’m sure you were bored to tears, ploughing through all those letters I sent while I was away, then having to listen to it all over again while we sorted out the photographs for the talk … and, again, this afternoon.’

‘I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.’ He had, more than she realised. Clarissa had been brought to Prior’s Ford by her domineering husband when he retired; he had died suddenly a mere seven months later. Alastair, an artist, had come across her one wet day, sitting on a stile in the middle of a field, rain-soaked, wretched, and with no idea of what to do next with her life.

When he took her to his shabby farm cottage on the fringe of the village he hadn’t realised at the time that it was to be one of the most important days of his life. Although Clarissa was in her fifties and Alastair in his mid-thirties, they had become firm friends. With Alastair’s encouragement, Clarissa had regained her confidence to the extent that she had rented out her cottage for a year and gone off to travel the world, an adventure that resulted in being asked to give a talk about her experiences to the Prior’s Ford Women’s Institute.

It was mid-April. Easter was behind them but the schools were still on holiday. A group of teenagers loitered by the war memorial on the green, and as Clarissa and Alastair neared the pub a couple detached themselves from the group and came towards them.

‘Hi,’ Alastair said amiably as they passed. The dark-haired girl mumbled a ‘Hello,’ back, while the youth with her, his head covered with dyed-blonde spiky hair and with three hoops through the lobe of one ear, shot them a swift sidelong glance that seemed to Clarissa to take in an incredible amount of detail in a single second.

‘Who’s that pretty girl?’ she asked when the youngsters were out of earshot. ‘I’ve seen her around the village a few times since I got back.’

‘That’s Maggie Cameron, Jenny Forsyth’s stepdaughter. Apparently Jenny acquired her as part of a brief marriage before she and Andrew met. Her first husband died and Maggie was raised by his parents, but her grandfather’s suffering from ill health, so she’s come to stay with the Forsyths. The lad’s not local but I’ve seen them together a few times. Must be her boyfriend.’ Alastair, tall and lanky, reached out a long arm and pushed the pub door open, holding it in place while he eased back to let her pass. ‘After you, ma’am.’

Jemima Puddleduck skimmed over the bridge and in no time at all was bowling into Prior’s Ford. Ginny Whitelaw heaved an enormous sigh of contentment and slowed Jemima down so she could look her fill.

The village had not changed in the seven months or so since she had last seen it. The sunshine on this mid-April day gave the well-cared-for houses and shops a scrubbed-fresh look. The primary school, the community hall, the village store, butcher’s shop and church were all as she remembered.

Ginny drove past the green before easing the steering wheel to the right. Jemima, obliging as ever, turned into Adam Crescent. The first house at this end of the crescent was Willow Cottage, where Ginny and her mother had stayed the year before. ‘Hello, you,’ she said affectionately to the house, neat and tidy behind its little front garden, as she passed.

At the centre of the crescent a young woman swept the pavement before the village pub, a long freshly whitewashed building. ‘Hi, Alison,’ Ginny called through the open passenger window as she stopped the caravanette. ‘Remember me?’

Alison Greenlees stooped to the window. ‘Hello, Ginny – working at Linn Hall again this summer?’

‘I am indeed; back to see how the kitchen garden’s been getting on without me.’ Ginny climbed out of the caravanette and walked round the bonnet to lean against the passenger door, glancing up at the painted sign above the pub’s open door. The Neurotic Cuckoo, it proclaimed, beneath a painting of a bird that might or might not be a cuckoo, but certainly seemed to be troubled. ‘Good old Cuckoo,’ she said affectionately, ‘I’ll be in for a pint tonight.’

‘You’re welcome to have one now,’ Alison offered. ‘Mum’s gone to the Women’s Institute meeting, Dad’s taken Jamie fishing and Alastair’s having a drink in the bar with Mrs Ramsay – the lady who rented her cottage to your mother last year.’

‘Are there many fish in the river?’

‘I said fishing, not actually catching. Jamie’s got his own wee net and he just likes splashing around with it. Coming inside?’

‘Thanks, but I’d like to get settled in first.’ Ginny studied the other girl, noting the healthy colour and sparkling eyes in a face that had been thin and pale last year. ‘You look well. In fact, as a gardener, I’d say you’re positively blooming.’

Alison’s parents, Joe and Gracie Fisher, had become the landlord and landlady of the Neurotic Cuckoo almost fifteen months earlier, following the death of Alison’s husband. A barman in the Fishers’ Glasgow pub, he had been murdered by a group of drunken youths he had evicted earlier. When Ginny first arrived in the village Alison had been thin and withdrawn, but over the winter she had gained much-needed weight, her brown hair, in a page-boy that almost reached her shoulders, was glossy and the once down-turned mouth now smiled easily.

‘I’m not a pale city girl any more. The country air suits me.’

‘It certainly does. So … how’s Ewan?’ Ginny asked with a lift of the eyebrows.

‘He’s fine.’ Alison’s tone was carefully casual, but her colour heightened slightly.

‘Will I see you both in the drama club’s show this summer?’

‘I’m in it, but Ewan’s too busy now he’s got his new wormery to see to as well as working hard on the farm. The wormery’s coming along well.’

‘That’s good. I’ll have to go and see it some time. Still walking out together, are you?’

‘I wouldn’t call it that. He’s busy there and I’m busy here.’

‘So you don’t see much of each other these days?’

‘Well – Jamie likes being taken to the farm and Mrs McNair’s very kind to him,’ Alison said evasively. ‘It’s good to see you back again, Ginny.’

‘It’s good to be back,’ Ginny said warmly. ‘I’ll be in tonight for that drink.’ Then, as she settled into the driving seat and switched on the engine, she said, ‘You might have stopped blushing by then.’

‘I used to be quite intimidated by Alexandra,’ Clarissa was saying in the lounge bar. ‘She was at university when I first met her, but even then she was so cool and confident, but when I called in on her on my way back home from my travels, I felt she was much more human.’ She fixed Alastair with the sort of gaze she must once have used to wrest the truth from reluctant pupils. ‘I can’t help wondering if you had anything to do with that.’

‘Me? Good Lord, no … How could I?’ He tried hard to meet her eyes, but found it difficult. ‘I scarcely know the woman.’

‘She mentioned you quite frequently, as it happens. I don’t know how you managed to break through her protective shell, but she likes you.’

‘She scares me,’ Alastair said firmly. It wasn’t entirely a lie. The first time he encountered Clarissa’s stepdaughter and stepson at the dinner party where Clarissa announced her intention to set off to see the world, cool efficient Alexandra had terrified him. But while her stepmother was away she had paid an unexpected visit to the village and Alastair had found himself helping her, as he had helped Clarissa. It was a surprise to find that even a cold beauty like Alexandra Ramsay could fall in love with the wrong man – in this case, a married man – and get hurt. But he had given his word to keep her secret, and Alastair never broke his word as Clarissa knew.

‘It’s so good to be back again,’ she said, letting him off the hook. ‘I can’t believe that when Keith died I almost went back down south. Going off on my own to see the world made me realise where my home really is – right here, with genuine friends.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said lightly, knowing she had no idea how much he meant the words. During her absence he had hungered for her letters, tearing them open when they arrived, devouring the contents, looking again and again at the enclosed photographs showing the real Clarissa emerging from the dull-coloured chrysalis that had been her marriage to a man who, he suspected from comments made by Alexandra, had not been faithful to her.

She had left Prior’s Ford a quiet, middle-aged ex-teacher, dressed conventionally, with brown hair worn in a tidy knot at the nape of her neck. She had returned looking at least ten years younger, her hair cut in a soft feathery style, skin glowing and eyes sparkling; a woman not afraid to wear bright colours and modern styles.

The problem facing Alastair Marshall now was that she had left the village as a good friend, and had returned as more than that.

And given the difference in their ages, he doubted if he would ever be able to tell her of his true feelings.

Jemima Puddleduck passed between identical gatehouses originally built for the head gardener and head groom and swept up the long driveway leading to Linn Hall.

‘Wow,’ Ginny said as she saw the unexpected activity at the front of the building. Two vans were parked on the great gravel sweep, and the honey-coloured stone walls were covered by scaffolding. Several men were busy working on the three tiers of windows.

She continued following the drive to the rear of the house, where she raised her eyebrows at the smart people-carrier parked on the flagged courtyard. She couldn’t see Lewis Ralston-Kerr wasting a penny of the money his impoverished parents had been gifted on a big car. Then, as she brought Jemima to a standstill by the stables, she spotted his shabby little car lurking behind the strange one.

Once out of the caravanette she couldn’t resist taking a quick peek at the kitchen garden before announcing her arrival. The year before, she had rescued the large walled area from obscurity and gone some way to restoring it to its former glory. It had been her special project and she longed to see how well it had come through the winter. She had almost reached the gate when she heard an odd mixture of heavy breathing and scratching behind her. Before she could turn to investigate something banged against the backs of her thighs, and then she was on the ground, slightly winded and being smothered in some sort of woolly blanket while her face was washed by a warm flannel.

‘Muffin!’ a voice yelled. ‘Get off, you daft mutt!’

The blanket and flannel suddenly retreated and Ginny was free to roll over on to her back and blink up at Lewis Ralston-Kerr.

‘Sorry, Ginny, he’s just— Muffin, stop it, I said! Too friendly. Here …’ He hauled her to her feet.

‘What is it?’ Ginny asked of the large creature gambolling round the two of them. ‘And what did you call it?’

‘Muffin. Silly, I know, but Mrs Paterson – the old lady who owned him – apparently thought he looked like a little toasted muffin when she got him as a puppy.’

‘So it’s a dog?’ Ginny brushed herself down. ‘He looks more like a Shetland pony having a bad-hair day, or perhaps a great pile of unravelled double-knitting wool that’s taken on a life of its own.’

‘Now that you mention it, Mrs Paterson was never seen without knitting in her hands, even in church. Perhaps she knitted him herself. She died, poor old soul, and nobody was willing to take Muffin in. So, as this is the perfect place for a large dog, we offered. I like the wheels,’ Lewis said.

‘Meet Jemima Puddleduck. She’s more useful than the little car I bought last year.’ Ginny patted the caravanette affectionately. ‘Third hand, so I got her for a reasonable price. She’s been well looked after, so everything’s working. And it means that I can be completely independent. Right now she’s packed with plants for the kitchen garden.’

‘Good. I’m glad you’re going to see it through another year.’

‘Things look busy at the front of the house.’

‘Stage two,’ Lewis said happily. ‘All the windows are being dealt with now. It’s costing more than we budgeted for because they’ve got to be restored rather than replaced, but once the roof and windows are sorted we’ll be in a position to apply for a loan to start on the interior. Come on in and say hello.’

Ginny eyed the people-carrier. ‘You’ve got visitors.’

‘It’s Molly and her parents and sister – and Rowena Chloe, of course. They’re all going on holiday for a couple of weeks and we’re looking after the baby while they’re away.’

‘Oh.’ As Lewis led her towards the house Ginny felt her excitement at returning to Prior’s Ford begin to evaporate at the news that his red-headed girlfriend and mother of his daughter was on the other side of the kitchen door.

‘Ginny’s arrived,’ Lewis announced, leading her into the large kitchen.

While Jinty McDonald, who lived in the village and helped out at Linn Hall, poured tea for the newcomer from a large battered metal teapot, Fliss Ralston-Kerr, Lewis’s mother, began to introduce her visitors to each other, but was interrupted by the plump red-haired woman sitting opposite Ginny.

‘No need to be so elaborate about it, Fliss pet, we’re all family here. I’m Val, dear,’ she told Ginny, ‘Molly’s mum, and this,’ she laid a possessive hand on the arm of the burly man by her side, ‘is my husband, Tony. You know Molly, don’t you?’

‘Hello, Ginny.’ Molly Ewing still wore her glowing red hair in two long plaits and looked too young to be a mother. ‘How are things?’

‘OK. You?’

‘Great!’

‘And that’s our other daughter, Stella,’ Val prattled on, indicating the bored-looking teenager reading a book at the end of the table.

‘Hi,’ Stella said briefly before returning to her book. She had none of her sister’s or her mother’s lush roundness, and her hair was more auburn than Molly’s, though they had the same green eyes.

‘And this,’ Lewis said proudly, lifting the baby from Molly’s lap, ‘is Rowena Chloe. Isn’t she gorgeous? Just like her mother.’

As he dropped a kiss on her soft red curls the baby reached out to pat his face with the hand that held a half-chewed crust. It fell to the ground and a loud gulp told that Muffin had claimed it. Rowena’s round little face puckered up and she let out a protesting wail as she reached down to the dog.

‘Never mind, pet, I’ll get you another,’ Jinty cooed, setting a mug of tea before Ginny.

‘Isn’t this a grand place?’Val Ewing rattled on. ‘I remember when our Molly worked here that summer, she said in her letters that it was the grandest place she had ever seen. Like a palace.’

‘A tumbledown palace,’ Fliss Ralston-Kerr said ruefully.

‘But that’s all behind you, isn’t it, now that you’ve got all that money given to you to do it up. It’s going to be lovely once it’s finished. We can’t believe that one day our Molly’s going to live here, mistress of Linn Hall, can we, Tony? It’s like a fairytale!’Val beamed round the table.

Someone was missing, Ginny realised. Mr Ralston-Kerr was probably hiding in the large pantry used by the family as a living room, since the usual family rooms were too chilly, even in summer. A shy man, he must feel quite intimidated by the Ewings, who seemed – Molly and her parents at least – to have taken over the place.

‘Molly said you’re Meredith Whitelaw’s daughter. Is that right?’Val asked and, when Ginny nodded, went on, ‘That must be lovely. Bridlington Close on the telly hasn’t been the same since she left. What’s she doing now?’

‘Filming a television series.’ After her character in a television soap had been killed off the year before, Meredith Whitelaw, in search of somewhere to sulk, had rented Willow Cottage in Prior’s Ford. Ginny had accompanied her, out of pity for her humiliated mother rather than affection. During her time in the village, Meredith had played havoc with the local drama group before being offered a role in a costume drama for television and departing as suddenly as she had arrived.

‘When can we see her in her new play?’Jinty held out a fresh crust to Rowena Chloe, who snatched at it. ‘We’re all looking forward to it.’

‘Quite soon, I think. They’ve almost finished filming.’

‘Is she starring?’

‘I believe so.’ Over the winter Ginny had been working as a gardener for the local council in Leeds while her mother had been filming in London. On the few occasions when they met, Meredith had been vague about her work, claiming that talking too much about the character she was playing could spoil the essential concentration needed before the cameras. Since Ginny was as interested in television dramas as her mother was in gardening, she had not asked any questions.

‘It was lovely having a celebrity living in the village,’ Jinty told Val. ‘She’s a very nice lady. She helped Mr Pearce with the drama club, and she gave acting lessons to my eldest girl, Steph. Steph wants to be an actress. Did you know,’ she turned to Ginny, ‘that your mum’s told her to get in touch if she decides to go to drama school and needs a good reference? Steph’ll be finishing with school in July.’

‘No, I didn’t. She must have been impressed.’ Ginny meant it; it wasn’t like her mother to hold out a helping hand unless she thought it would eventually be worth her while.

‘A really lovely lady.’ Jinty nodded.

‘Well, I just wish she was still here,’ Val enthused. ‘I’d love to meet a real live television actress.’

Ginny was no longer listening; she was watching Lewis, noticing how comfortable he seemed to be with the baby in his arms. She envied Molly for having found him.

Maggie Cameron took her new boyfriend’s hand as they reached the bus stop. He pulled his fingers free at once, but as the bus taking him home to Kirkcudbright came into view he turned her to face him and gave her a long, lingering kiss, sticking his tongue into her mouth and holding her close by clamping both hands on her bottom. She didn’t care for that sort of kiss, but pretended that she did. She still couldn’t believe that Ryan, seventeen years old, in the year above her at school, and handsome too with his fair hair and piercing blue eyes, had chosen her from all the girls who fancied him. She was so lucky but at the same time terrified of letting him down and being dumped.

‘See ya,’ he said, breaking away as the bus arrived. He leapt up the steps, one shoulder nudging aside a woman who had just alighted.

‘See ya,’ Maggie called after him.

‘They’ve got no manners these days, young people,’ she heard the woman complain to her friend as they walked away. Maggie shrugged and grinned. They could say what they liked – what did she care?

The past fifteen months hadn’t been kind to her. An orphan raised by her grandparents until her grandfather’s ill-health made it impossible for her to stay, she had been moved from Dundee to Prior’s Ford to live with her stepmother, Jenny Forsyth. Jenny’s apparent desperation for a sweet, loving daughter had alienated Maggie, who retaliated by being as difficult as she could. It was like living on a battlefield and, deep down, she had been wretched until Ryan had come into her life. For the first time since arriving in Prior’s Ford, Maggie Cameron was happy.

But she had a lot to learn. She quite liked Alastair Marshall, an artist who lived in an old farm cottage outside the village, and there was nothing wrong with Mrs Ramsay even though she had been a teacher. She had said hello to them earlier without thinking, and then had to endure merciless teasing from Ryan for behaving like ‘a nice little girlie’.

Ryan was so cool, and she was so nerdy! As she headed down River Lane to the smart housing estate where she now lived, she vowed to herself that she would work hard to become the sort of girl Ryan wanted her to be.

‘Is that you, Maggie?’Jenny Forsyth called when she heard the front door open.

‘Yeah.’

‘Cup of tea? I was just thinking of putting the kettle on.’

‘No.’

Jenny went to the kitchen door as Maggie began to climb the stairs. ‘I’m making a risotto for tonight. OK?’

‘Fine.’

‘Had a nice afternoon?’

‘OK. Ryan came over.’

‘That’s nice. You should have invited him for dinner. We’d like to meet him.’

Without . . .