‘I don’t know,’ Delia admitted. ‘I know nothing of his life; he barely spoke to me except to tell me to fetch him something, or clean his boots.’
She walked carefully to where the metal trunks were stacked. Some had collapsed on to their sides as if they’d fallen over; a pile of soft grey ash was scattered over the floor. ‘They used to have an old rully,’ she said. ‘And boxes and trunks were always stacked on top of it. I never knew what was in them and I didn’t dare look.’
A spanner was lying on the floor and she bent to pick it up and hit the bolt on one of the upright trunks to open it. It didn’t budge and she hit it again and still it wouldn’t move.
‘There used to be a can of oil for oiling hinges or shears,’ she said, looking about her, ‘but I expect that went up in flames too.’ In exasperation she held the spanner with both hands and hit the bolt again and this time it slid across. ‘Hah,’ she said. ‘Now let’s see.’ She lifted the lid and her hands were immediately black with soot. There were layers of cardboard and beneath that several sheets of paper. With the tips of her blackened fingers she lifted those and beneath found two metal boxes. She lifted out one of them and raised the lid. Inside was a stack of white five pound notes, and beneath that another wad of ten pound ones.
Delia said nothing but looked at Peggy, who stood staring. Then she lifted the other box. It was heavy and locked. She shook it and it rattled. ‘Coins,’ she whispered. ‘Ill-gotten gains. What do I do with these? I don’t want them. They haven’t been come by honestly.’
‘You don’t know how they’ve been come by,’ Peggy murmured. ‘So who would you give them back to?’
Delia shook her head; she only knew she didn’t want them.
Then Peggy said slowly, ‘There’s a young fisherman in ’village deprived of his living because somebody took his boat out and it’s apparently now lost. You could give some of it to him to buy another, or give him one of Deakin’s boats that were left behind.’
Delia looked about her. ‘Yes,’ she said vaguely. ‘I could do that. But what if he comes back? And I still don’t understand why he would take a boat that wasn’t his. Or maybe it wasn’t him; maybe it was my mother who decided to leave him and didn’t realize it was the wrong boat. But if so, where is he and where is the boat?’ She sighed. ‘We’ll never know. Help me, Peggy. We’d better take these to the cottage and hide them.’
‘Not safe there,’ Peggy said. ‘We’d best tek them to our house. Nobody would think of looking there and we’re allus about the place. Shall I fetch Mr Dawson to carry them? Do you trust him enough?’
Delia gave a wistful smile. ‘With my life, Peggy,’ she said. ‘With my life.’
CHAPTER FIFTY
Delia rose early the next morning. Robin was still sleeping and she gazed at him before dressing and going down. Peggy was already up and putting bread in the oven, and looked in surprise at Delia.
‘I thought you’d have had a sleep-in this morning. Would you like tea?’
‘No, thank you, not just now. I’m going across to the cottage. If I don’t go now, then I won’t go at all.’
Peggy put her hands on her hips. ‘On your own?’
‘Yes; I thought about it in bed last night, and decided it’s what I have to do.’ Delia gave a little huff of breath. ‘Get rid of the final ghosts.’
Peggy slung the oven cloth over her shoulder. ‘Sometimes we have to be brave enough to do things on our own, but you don’t need to prove anything any more, Delia. You’ve shown your courage since you were seventeen years old and made a future for yourself and your son. Now you have friends and family who’ll stand by your side.’
Delia went towards her and kissed her. ‘I know,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘But this is the very last thing and then I’ll know that I’m whole again.’
Buffeted by a brisk wind, white clouds scudded across the sky above the estuary, which still showed silver and gold streaks of dawn. The estuary too was running fast, and white-crested waves tossed and churned on their irresistible journey to the sea.
Delia crossed the yard and over into old Foggit’s farm. The fence dividing the two properties had been taken down by Aaron and Jack and she didn’t see Jack straighten up from behind the pigsties as she passed through. She came to the fence where a wooden gate led onto the track and paused for a moment, then went through and closed it behind her and walked down the track to the old cottage with the squeaking gate.
The smell of burnt timbers still lingered but she didn’t look towards the barn and went purposefully towards the cottage door. Peggy had told her that the key was under a stone and she’d given a slight nod; that was where it had always been hidden.
The iron key was large and heavy in her hand but it turned easily enough though the door creaked as she pushed it. A heavy dusty curtain hung behind it and she wondered if it was the same one that had always been there. She hesitated before entering the kitchen, almost expecting to see her father sitting by the fireside, but the room was empty and cold and any fire that had been there had burned down to a muddy grey ash.
Her eyes went to the cupboard at the side of the range; she had spent many hours
