Chapter 7

Abby awoke to the sound of rain hammering on the window. Rising she walked over and looked out on a Grey, squally day, of great clouds billowing up the valley from the West, driven by a wind, which bent the trees of Huish Coppice with its force. In many ways Abby was relieved that the weather was bad, otherwise she would be tempted to walk down to the Station and immerse herself in its atmosphere, but this time in brighter colour imbued with greater knowledge of her Grandfather. But she remembered the Solicitor, she had promised to see him at ten o' clock. Looking at her watch she was relieved to see that it was just past seven, an hour which had rarely featured in her life in London. So it gave her time to conduct a more leisurely introduction to the day than she would normally enjoy.

Mary was bustling around as usual when Abby came down to breakfast, and greeted her with that beaming smile.

"What would you like for breakfast this morning?" she asked, "and don't tell me just Toast." Abby laughed.

"To tell you the truth, Mary, I do feel quite hungry this morning. Could I have some scrambled egg on toast?' Mary seemed quite pleased that at last Abby was going to eat properly, and went off to her kitchen humming. The scrambled egg when it arrived looked like a great yellow mountain, steaming, and running with little rivulets of butter. Alongside were two rashers of Bacon, grilled crisp. Abby would have protested, but the delicious aromas kicked her salivary glands into gear, and she attacked the plate with delight. In short order the two rashers had been consumed and half the mountain, when the full sign went up and Abby pushed the plate away. Thus fortified she could contemplate the day ahead. Wondering what revelations this day would bring, after all, every day so far had brought her nearer to her Grandfather, whose existence hitherto was only a biological fact, and also to her mother, who she now realised had once been a young, carefree, girl.

The rain was easing when she left the Combe Inn, enough to make driving a little easier, but not enough to avoid her getting soaked running round to the back of the Inn, where the car had been parked. The wipers swished steadily as she drove the road to Paverton, soon clearing the road film from the screen; their steady arc sporadically interrupted as droplets of rain, shaken from the trees by the gusting wind bombed the car, and spattered the windscreen like bullets. Her initial thoughts that the rain was easing were dashed upon reaching the moorland at the top of the valley. Here the elements ruled absolutely, the wind hurling slabs of rain horizontally across the road, whipping the gorse, bracken and occasional Beech into a moving undulating mass, more akin to a stormy sea than open country. Even the sheep had sense to take cover, as she had a fleeting glimpse of a small flock huddled into what appeared to be three walls of a ruined cottage. (Abby would later find out that this enclosure and others like it were specifically built for this purpose). She was glad to leave the moor behind as she descended into Paverton, for whilst the rain still fell, the wind had been left behind. As she drove towards the square her car splashed through rivers of surface water cascading down the hill like a torrent, she understood now why the gutters were made so deep. Deciding that leaving the car in the car park and walking would be a little unrealistic; she turned off the square and down the road to where Chorister, Brooks and Son were situated. The road was lined with double yellows, but today Abby was prepared to pay any fine levied, she didn't want to arrive looking like a drowned Rat. She was happy to see that others felt the same way, as cars were parked along the pavement, as if the parking regulations did not exist.

Mrs Forbes met her in the reception, and hearing Abby's explanation about leaving her car on the yellow lines, assured her she had nothing to worry about.

"We don't have a Warden here, except in the summer when they come in like a Posse, twice a week from South Molton. The Police don't bother with parking regulations, unless you're causing an obstruction, so don't worry at all, you are quite safe." Mrs. Forbes seemed have warmed a little from yesterday. "Would you like to come through, Mr. Brooks, senior, is here already, which is a wonder." As she opened the door through to the offices she went on Sotto Voce, "When he was practising he would keep clients waiting an hour, and be surprised when they complained. Not many did though, in those days the Solicitor ranked alongside the Clergy and the Doctor, as someone who had a greater calling than most mortals." The stern matriarch sounded to Abby as if she regretted the passing of those days. A door was opened and Abby was ushered in to an office, to meet Mr. Brooks senior, who got up out of his chair and extended his hand to shake hers.

"This is Miss Tregonney, Mr. Brooks," Mrs. Forbes announced in a loud voice.

"Thank you Mrs. Forbes, I am sure that Miss Tregonney would like a cup of Coffee, I certainly would." Muttering that she would see to it, Mrs. Forbes withdrew. Mr Brooks was a tall well-built man with a thick thatch of grey hair. Abby would have expected him to be soberly attired as most Solicitors, but presumably having retired Mr. Brooks had forsaken the uniform. Instead a check shirt, no tie, well worn Jacket and flannels with brown shoes were his preferred mode that morning. Abby was a little shocked. Brown shoes! Different modes applied here, nobody would ever wear brown shoes in the City.

When Mrs. Forbes was safely out of earshot Mr. Brooks grumbled.

"She seems to think that because I am old, I must also be deaf. Please, do sit down Miss Tregonney." Abby sat, and immediately thanked Mr. Brooks for seeing her.

"Nonsense; think nothing of it. I have a client file and Instructions, which have not been carried out. Hopefully today, I can finalise the work that I started over thirty years ago." He took a file from a side table and placed it on the table in front of him. From her position Abby, who had become accustomed to reading material upside down in the chaotic environment of the trading world, could see clearly the label. THOMAS TREGONNEY. Mr Brooks looked up and said.

"We must observe the formalities first; would you by any chance have your Birth Certificate with you?' Abby nodded and delved into her bag for the document, attached by a paper clip was her mother's death certificate. She also handed to him the expired passport. Mr. Brooks nodded vigorously.

"Excellent, excellent. You don't have your mother's will by any chance?' Abby shook her head.

"Mum didn't make a Will, but I do have the probate, not with me But I can send it to you." Mr Brooks waved his hand in a gesture that suggested that would be acceptable. He opened the file and the first document was a copy of her mother's birth certificate.

He sorted through the papers in the box. "You will appreciate that I have to be certain that you are the immediate family and sole surviving relative of Mr. Tregonney. I knew from Mr. Tregonney that your mother was an only child. Mrs. Forbes accessed the B.M.D. files online, I wish we had been able to do that thirty years ago, progress eh? Anyway her results together with these documents are sufficient proof that you too are an only child, so I can proceed. I must admit that I was curious that your Grandfather should bother to make a Will. Admirable, though. I wish more people were as conscientious. There was no Estate to speak of, merely some personal effects of little value. However, when I heard of the unusual circumstances of his death, his insistence became a little clearer." Abby interrupted

"Unusual circumstances? What do you mean?" Mr. Brooks looked at her with an anxious and nervous glance.

"Well, yes unusual, eh, ahem," he cleared his throat, "you don't know how your Grandfather died?" Abby shook her head.

"No, was it an accident or something. I had assumed that it was a natural death." Mr. Brooks was now even more flustered.

"Oh dear, oh dear, Ah here's the coffee." A young lady came into the office bearing a tray with two cups of coffee, milk and sugar, also a plate of digestive biscuits. He seemed grateful for the interruption, and having made sure that Abby had the coffee to her liking, attended to his own. Abby, however was impatient to hear to what circumstances Mr. Brooks was referring.

"Mr. Brooks, please tell me, how did my Grandfather die?' He regarded her with sympathy.

"My dear, I have spent many years as a Solicitor, and having retired thought that I would never have to perform an unpleasant task like this again. I cannot wrap this up in flowery language. I am sorry to tell you that your Grandfather committed Suicide."

Abby sat there stunned. She couldn't believe it. After all the stories that she had heard from Sam, she had seen her Grandfather as a strong, determined man, not one to let life's troubles get him down, and yet she was now being told that he had taken his own life.

"Thank you for telling me that, Mr. Brooks; it cannot have been pleasant for you. Could you tell me how?" He regarded her sympathetically.

"I believe he hung himself." Abby absorbed this new information without expression. Now her own character came into play, she wouldn't dwell on his death, however horrible, she could allow herself to think about this later, but she wasn't going to break down with grief here in this office. His sympathetic look remained with him, but he had seen the steel come back into her expression and mentally agreed with her that the business before them was more important.

"We collected the effects mentioned in the Will from the Undertaker, and made the usual enquiries for Next of Kin. No one in the village knew where your Mother had gone, nor if she was still alive. We placed Advertisements in the local papers, and in The Times, which are the normal organs for tracing relatives, but after twelve months, having no replies to our enquiries, the file was placed in our archive storage. Today there would be little trouble in finding someone; unless they were determined to be lost; everyone is on a computer in some Government department or other, but back in sixty-seven there was little chance." He continued. "As there was little or no estate to speak of, we took our fees from the capital that was there. I hope that you will find that procedure acceptable, there is a full accounting of the monies found and those spent in the file." Abby told him that she was sure that his actions could not be faulted.

"Now," he said, "the effects." and he lifted to the desk a Box-file. "First there was the Will, I will not read it now, and you may peruse it at your convenience. In effect it wills everything to your mother, with the usual paragraph concerning prior demise etc. I am sure that you were the sole beneficiary from your Mother's Will, so become the same from your Grandfather's. I should at some time like to have sight of the probate, if that is possible, just a formality of course." He paused to sip from his coffee. "The effects are Documents, a Journal, some badges, this watch and these keys. I believe these were gathered by the Police at the time." He held up the extra large Pocket Watch, complete with chain. Although it had lain in this box for so many years; the years before, of constant use had polished it to a shine; only partially diffused where the original plating had been worn away. "The watch may be of some value, I am told they are keenly sought after by collectors of railway memorabilia these days. Particularly when they bear the initials of the railway on the face." He showed Abby the face.

He took the Documents and a large quarto sized notebook from the file and laid them on the desk in front of Abby. The watch he placed on top. The last item in the file was a small oblong box, very like a jewel case, which he opened; inside the similarity was continued as it was lined in what appeared to be a Green Baize cloth. The contents were two small badges, which proclaimed in intertwined initials, G.W.R., and one other; a more modern badge, which had the word "Stationmaster", set in the original British Railways motif. Abby sat there with a stone in her stomach. This was the sum total of her Grandfather, all those years of unremitting work, and these few items were his legacy to his daughter.

Mr. Brooks had watched her face carefully. Like his son he had weighed Abby's motives, and decided that money was not her quest, in fact he would be prepared to bet that this young lady was already very comfortable in that direction. Her search was for some roots, and this exchange was but a small part of that search.

"Would you like me to leave you alone for a while?" he asked kindly. Abby looked up with a wan smile.

"No, that won't be necessary. Is there anything that I have to sign?" Mr. Brooks pushed a paper towards her.

"Just this acknowledgement of receipt of the bequest." Abby signed the paper where he pointed.

"More importantly, is there an account outstanding, I am sure that your searches would have been relatively costly." Mr Brooks shook his head.

"Please do not worry about that, if there were an outstanding account, it will have been written off quite a few years ago." He knew well that there was a shortfall between the monies recovered and the expenses, but he decided that it might be a sensible thing to have Miss Tregonney leave with a feeling of Goodwill. There might be some further service that the practice could perform. He helped Abby collect the various items together, and suggested that she use the box-file, "it will be more convenient to carry that way."

The rain had ceased completely when she left the office, and blue sky was showing between cushions of white cloud scattering across the sky, driven by the same winds from the south west, which earlier had brought the downpour. Abby put the box file on the back seat of the car, and decided to drive back to the square, where she parked and again bought a ticket, notwithstanding Mrs. Forbes' assurance that there would be no parking Warden for some weeks. She then strolled around the corner to the Library for the promised Coffee with Toni.

Toni was not at her desk when Abby entered the reference library, but the sound of the door closing behind Abby soon brought her out from the racks where she had been. She was delighted to see Abby,

"Oh, Hi, Abby, how did it go?" The question rekindled Abby's pain, and it obviously showed on her face, as Toni's face immediately fell. "What happened?" she asked, guiding Abby to a chair.

"My Grandfather! He committed suicide." Toni was shocked.

"Suicide?" she repeated, "suicide. Oh my God, how awful for you." Haltingly, Abby told her as much as she herself understood, of her Grandfather's life, her Mother's running away, and the closing down of the Railway. As she spoke the picture became clearer, and she could start to imagine the complete and utter despair that her Grandfather may have suffered. Was this the way it happened, perhaps? Probably only Sam could pour more light on the affair. Her growing understanding, helped her, and she was soon able to mention the Coffee that Toni had invited her for.