on your own,” Rachel agreed, “but I’ve made a list here of all the men named.” She pulled out a paper from her bag and looked at it. “Captain Frederick Hurst. Well, you told me a bit about him last time I was here, and I’ve found out some more. He had a daughter, Adelaide, born posthumously, and his wife was married again to a man called Richard Anson-Gravetty. I read a report of Sir George’s funeral in 1921, and it said they were there. Do you remember that funeral? Did you go?”
“Everyone in the village went,” Cecily replied. “I was only a child still, of course, but I remember the school closed as a mark of respect, and we all stood alongside the road when the coffin was carried from the manor to the church.”
“Do you remember his daughter-in-law being there? Or the little girl? She’d have been about five.”
“I suppose I knew they were there,” Cecily said doubtfully, “but I can’t say I remember actually seeing them.”
“Not even at the tea in the village hall afterwards?”
“Us kids weren’t asked to the tea,” Cecily said. “We were packed off outside to play. All the grown-ups went into the village hall and there were some speeches and that, but we weren’t interested in any of that, we were just pleased to have the extra holiday from school.”
“So you don’t know where the Anson-Gravetty family lived in London?”
“No, love you, I haven’t a clue. I didn’t even know it was London.”
“It was in the report in the paper.”
“Then it must be right,” Cecily said. “All I know is that Freddie’s wife seldom came back here after Freddie died, and certainly not after Sir George did.”
“Well,” sighed Rachel, “it’s going to be difficult to trace Adelaide Hurst now. She may well have taken her stepfather’s name as she never knew her real father, she probably married and so had yet another name and on top of that, it’s quite possible she’s already dead. If not, she’s in her eighties and could be living anywhere.”
She glanced down at her paper again only to look up with a start when Cecily said, “And of course Miss Sarah never came home again either.”
“Miss Sarah? Who’s Miss Sarah?”
“Miss Sarah? She was Sir George’s daughter, Freddie’s sister. Went nursing, she did, in the war, though Sir George thought she ought to stay at home and look after him.”
“But I didn’t know Freddie had a sister. There was no mention of her at the funeral.” Rachel was amazed.
“No,” agreed Cecily, “I said she didn’t come home from France. I think she was killed there when the Germans shelled a field hospital.”
“Shelled a hospital?” cried Rachel.
“They did that kind of thing,” Cecily asserted.
“But on purpose? Surely not on purpose.”
“Who knows?” Cecily shrugged. “I’m sure she was killed. She didn’t come home, anyhow.”
“She isn’t mentioned on the war memorial,” said Rachel thoughtfully. “I wonder why? I mean, she was Sir George’s daughter and he arranged for the memorial. He must have wanted her commemorated too.”
“She wasn’t fighting,” pointed out Cecily.
“Maybe not,” Rachel agreed incredulously, “but she died for her country just the same!”
“Most people wouldn’t have looked at it like that,” Cecily said, and Rachel had the feeling that Cecily was one of them. Although she didn’t say so, Rachel got the feeling that Cecily didn’t approve of Squire’s daughter gallivanting off to France to nurse wounded soldiers and she wondered why.
“I still can’t believe he wouldn’t commemorate his daughter in some way.” Rachel was baffled and then she suddenly said, “Of course! The ninth tree! He must have planted the ninth tree for her. You know, there are eight men and nine trees.”
Cecily looked doubtful. “I never heard it was for her,” she said.
“Well if it wasn’t, who was it for?” demanded Rachel.
“I don’t know,” said Cecily, leaning forward to
“Everyone in the village went,” Cecily replied. “I was only a child still, of course, but I remember the school closed as a mark of respect, and we all stood alongside the road when the coffin was carried from the manor to the church.”
“Do you remember his daughter-in-law being there? Or the little girl? She’d have been about five.”
“I suppose I knew they were there,” Cecily said doubtfully, “but I can’t say I remember actually seeing them.”
“Not even at the tea in the village hall afterwards?”
“Us kids weren’t asked to the tea,” Cecily said. “We were packed off outside to play. All the grown-ups went into the village hall and there were some speeches and that, but we weren’t interested in any of that, we were just pleased to have the extra holiday from school.”
“So you don’t know where the Anson-Gravetty family lived in London?”
“No, love you, I haven’t a clue. I didn’t even know it was London.”
“It was in the report in the paper.”
“Then it must be right,” Cecily said. “All I know is that Freddie’s wife seldom came back here after Freddie died, and certainly not after Sir George did.”
“Well,” sighed Rachel, “it’s going to be difficult to trace Adelaide Hurst now. She may well have taken her stepfather’s name as she never knew her real father, she probably married and so had yet another name and on top of that, it’s quite possible she’s already dead. If not, she’s in her eighties and could be living anywhere.”
She glanced down at her paper again only to look up with a start when Cecily said, “And of course Miss Sarah never came home again either.”
“Miss Sarah? Who’s Miss Sarah?”
“Miss Sarah? She was Sir George’s daughter, Freddie’s sister. Went nursing, she did, in the war, though Sir George thought she ought to stay at home and look after him.”
“But I didn’t know Freddie had a sister. There was no mention of her at the funeral.” Rachel was amazed.
“No,” agreed Cecily, “I said she didn’t come home from France. I think she was killed there when the Germans shelled a field hospital.”
“Shelled a hospital?” cried Rachel.
“They did that kind of thing,” Cecily asserted.
“But on purpose? Surely not on purpose.”
“Who knows?” Cecily shrugged. “I’m sure she was killed. She didn’t come home, anyhow.”
“She isn’t mentioned on the war memorial,” said Rachel thoughtfully. “I wonder why? I mean, she was Sir George’s daughter and he arranged for the memorial. He must have wanted her commemorated too.”
“She wasn’t fighting,” pointed out Cecily.
“Maybe not,” Rachel agreed incredulously, “but she died for her country just the same!”
“Most people wouldn’t have looked at it like that,” Cecily said, and Rachel had the feeling that Cecily was one of them. Although she didn’t say so, Rachel got the feeling that Cecily didn’t approve of Squire’s daughter gallivanting off to France to nurse wounded soldiers and she wondered why.
“I still can’t believe he wouldn’t commemorate his daughter in some way.” Rachel was baffled and then she suddenly said, “Of course! The ninth tree! He must have planted the ninth tree for her. You know, there are eight men and nine trees.”
Cecily looked doubtful. “I never heard it was for her,” she said.
“Well if it wasn’t, who was it for?” demanded Rachel.
“I don’t know,” said Cecily, leaning forward to
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