Free Secrets and Lies by Janet Woods Page B

stare that would have been intimidating, had she been easily intimidated. ‘Yes, they are, but answering back is still a tiresome trait, especially when it comes from a child. It must be the Sangster in you coming out.’
    Meggie’s ears pricked up. Any information was better than none, even if it was of a mean and gossipy value. Grandmother Elliot didn’t disappoint her.
    ‘Richard Sangster always had a smart tongue on him, right from when he was small. But then, his mother came from a long line of Scottish aristocrats and the Sangsters always thought they were a cut above the rest of us. You would be aware of your Sinclair inheritance, I suppose?’
    Meggie learned a lot from listening to gossip, and she’d heard the Sinclair inheritance mentioned a couple of times, when she wasn’t supposed to be listening to the adults’ conversation. She muttered in a vague, casual manner. ‘Oh yes . . . the inheritance.’
    Her curiosity was gnawing a hole through her skull now. What about the inheritance?
    ‘Foxglove House used to be such a lively place when Margaret Sinclair Sangster was alive. That was before the last war, of course, though goodness knows, we seem to be heading for another one. After Margaret’s accident the inheritance went downhill, I understand. Now the house is shuttered tight. Goodness knows, you’d think the Sinclair trust would let the place instead of allowing it to run down. When it becomes yours, you’ll never be able to afford to keep the house up as it should be kept up.’
    When it became hers?
    The phone rang. ‘That’s probably the gardener. I want him to take that lilac out and plant a tree in its place.’
    Drat Matthew Bugg for ringing at such an inconvenient time, just when she was learning something new! ‘My mother loves that lilac, you know. The fragrance drifts into her bedroom when it’s in bloom.’ Grandmother Elliot wasn’t listening, and anyway, her mother would sort it out in her own way, once she was home.
    When Foxglove House became hers? The snippet of information stuck in her mind. Should she ask Grandmother Elliot to tell her more?
    But she had gone to answer the telephone, and Meggie heard her say, ‘Oh, it’s you, Barbara. Thank goodness I can sit down and have an intelligent conversation. I’d forgotten how tiresome children can be.’
    ‘So could grandmothers,’ Meggie whispered darkly under her breath.
    Shadow appeared, carrying his leash in his mouth, his tail wagging, and not in the least bit shamed by his beggarly behaviour.
    ‘Sit,’ she said, and went up to see the boys, the dog following closely after her in case she forgot him. He wagged his tail when she frowned. ‘I thought I told you to sit.’
    He sat.
    ‘I’m taking Shadow for a walk, boys . . . coming?’
    Her brothers were busy, engrossed in what they were doing, which was carefully pasting bits and pieces on a card . . . a welcome home gift for their mother. It would join the other cards they’d made her over the years, their felicitations carefully captured in a box that once contained her mother’s favourite Oxfords . . . little scraps of love hoarded in a shoe box.
    The boys looked up at her, saying together, ‘Must we?’
    ‘It’s not compulsory.’ In fact she’d rather have the freedom of going out alone. ‘Leave some space on that card for me to write a message, if you would.’ She fetched the letter for the major and headed out into the day, Shadow still carrying his leash.
    The stark lines of winter were beginning to paint over what remained of autumn. There was a faint smokiness in the air, as if someone was burning the dead leaves. Those that still littered the ground were picked up by miniature hurricanes and swirled about in whirling blurs of ochre.
    Foxglove House was her inheritance? Was it possible? Yes, it probably was, she thought. If it had belonged to her father then it would have been passed on to her. What about Major Henry, though? Her fingers ran over the