Read Online A Grave Inheritance by Anne Renshaw - Free Book Online

become victims of the previous night’s storm. Flowers were stripped bare and petals had scattered like confetti, gathering here and there in granite corners. A couple of thin branches from the sycamore had broken off and lay across the path. Grace bent down and pulled them to one side, out of her way, then stood bemused, studying the graves and headstones surrounding her. The older part of the cemetery looked haphazard. Dull grey marble gravestones, some upright, some leaning at an angle and some flat on the ground, were dotted here and there. In the newer section, blocks of graves were lined up in neat straight rows between paths. These weren’t dug randomly but were precisely managed, Grace realised. The only thing the old and new had in common was that all the gravestones faced east. Grace was sure that a plan, some sort of map, denoting each deceased person’s plot, must exist. It was too early in the day to visit Reverend Lanceley and ask him about it not that Grace felt inclined to. It occurred to her that Reverend Lanceley would have to employ a grave digger, and she looked around for a shed where tools would be stored.
    Aimlessly Grace wandered up and down until she came to a path running alongside the perimeter wall. Here the wall had crumbled in places and blackberry bushes filled the gaps. Through the brambles she saw fields undulating away towards the village and stood for a moment stood trying to spot Primrose Cottage. It was then that Grace noticed the gate. She walked through it and found on the other side of the wall four unmarked graves, just indentations in the ground. The one nearest her feet had a jam jar pushed into the soil; it was filled with buttercups. A flutter of white wedged between the yellow petals caught her eye, and bending down to have a better look she saw a crumpled piece of paper. She picked it up and, not wanting it to litter the cemetery, put it into her trouser pocket.
    Grace began walking back the way she had come and then remembered her intention to look inside the church. The latched iron bolt on the church door clicked against its handle and the oak door swung open. Grace stood peering into the dimness. The aisle ran in a straight line in front of her with rows of wooden pews on either side. At the top of the aisle, set to one side, was a low wooden platform reached by two steps, and that was where the lectern rested on its pedestal. Leaded arched windows cut into the stone walls let in mellow light and looked out onto the cemetery. Large cream candles sat unlit on two-foot-wide window sills. Grace stepped in and let the door swing shut behind her. Almost tiptoeing, she walked along the central aisle and slipped into a pew a few rows from the front. Ahead of her, on a long narrow table covered in a white cloth and a tapestry runner stood a large gold-coloured cross. Behind the cross and equalling its splendour, quatrefoils and fleurs-de-lys formed part of a stained glass window that depicted Bible scenes in a myriad of colours. In awe Grace sat in silence, enjoying the peace, and absorbed the spiritual atmosphere inside the building. Without thinking she bowed her head and whispered a prayer.
    Unexpectedly the church door opened and a shaft of light fell across the opposite row of pews. Grace bent lower, hoping not to be seen in the faint light, but a rustle of material and a slight cough nearby told her she’d been found.
    ‘Miss Farrell, are you all right?’ Reverend Lanceley asked.
    ‘Yes, thank you. Is it okay for me to come in here? The door was open,’ Grace replied, feeling a little uncomfortable under his gaze.
    ‘Yes, of course. The door is open for a few hours each morning for that purpose,’ David Lanceley assured her.
    ‘You have a lovely church,’ Grace blustered, forcing a smile.
    ‘Do you mind me saying, you look as though you’ve been crying. Would you like to talk to me?’ the vicar asked kindly.
    ‘I’m fine, but there was something I wanted to ask