Unforgettable (Gloria Cook) - By Gloria Cook Page 0,57

Summer Fair, the deaths of Delia Newton and Lorna Barbary. Aunt Dorrie and Uncle Greg were attending the coroner’s court today to hear the official verdicts of the deaths, accidental everyone assumed, although most were only really sorry about the long-suffering Lorna’s untimely end.

For now Verity contented herself with the sad death of Lucinda Newton. She had got all the facts that her aunt knew about the unfortunate woman.

‘No one locally knew the poor woman and few of us even caught a glimpse of her. Jack met and married her in Italy, brought her home without announcement and she never left Meadows House unless with him in the car. Jack spoke of Lucinda warmly but offered little information about her. I went over to the house to welcome her to Nanviscoe and was shown into the conservatory. She told me she liked to be there with the vines and greenery, and preferred to be out of doors as much as possible. Apparently, she spent most of her time out in the grounds, with her little white poodle. Jack found her body hanging from a beech tree, the dog howling up at her from the ground. The poor thing pined to death soon afterwards and was buried in Lucinda’s grave.’

‘So what was Lucinda like, Aunt Dor? What did she look like?’ Verity had demanded excitedly. ‘Were she and Jack madly in love?’

‘I don’t think it was that sort of marriage. I think Lucinda was a troubled, fragile soul and Jack married her to protect her. He certainly doted on her. It was the one time he rarely left the house. But Lucinda liked to be alone with her dog, Polly. I think she lived mostly in her own make-believe world, a child’s world. She had lots of dolls displayed about the house and looked at them often, almost as if she was talking to them. I think she found comfort in them. Sadly, I wasn’t at all surprised when I learned she had killed herself. She didn’t seem to belong to this world. Her looks? She was tiny and delicate and gorgeous, beautiful in an old-fashioned way, like a doll herself. She had thick ebony hair and long eyelashes and eyes that were so dark they seemed pitch black. Her voice was soft and faraway. It was like being with a real-life fairy, but one that had had her wings stolen. She spoke only of Polly, whom she cuddled and cosseted incessantly, and the plants and trees and the stream. You couldn’t help being drawn to her, to want to protect her. When Cathy brought us high tea she fed all her cake to Polly and only took a sip of tea. She was a lost waif and I instinctively felt sorry for her. I sensed if she stepped outside of the grounds alone she would be very frightened.’

‘Golly, she sounds the complete opposite to me.’

‘She was, poor soul. Every time I called on her after that, Jack or Cathy said she wasn’t available, invariably out in the gardens or resting. I really felt for Jack. I could feel his sorrow and concern for her, and his devotion. Yes, he loved her very much and he was distraught when she died, yet somehow . . . relieved for her, I felt.’

‘Poor Lucinda, sounds like she had run away from something haunting her. Poor Jack too, I can understand why he plays the field now. After being attached to such an ethereal being, it would be hard to settle down with a woman in the normal way.’

‘I think you’ve hit the nail on the head there, Verity. I know Lucinda sounds fascinating.’ Dorrie had raised her brows purposefully. ‘But I think it would be most inappropriate to pry into her past . . . don’t you?’

‘Absolutely, Aunt Dorrie,’ Verity had replied, but she had meant it rather tongue in cheek.

She had not mentioned Lucinda to Cathy or the Kellands, but she had looked in every downstairs room and the conservatory for Lucinda’s dolls. None were to be found, but there was a photograph of her and Jack, holding hands, among the framed Newton family parade on the piano in the drawing room. Dorrie’s description of Lucinda was spot on. Lucinda was shown in a long white lace dress and pumps with a white ribbon threaded through her black hair. Only as tall as Jack’s upper arm, against which she was leaning. Yes, she had been like a very beautiful child and her