The Ghost of Emily Tapper Read online

  “You should call the police, they would want to be certain, and they would want evidence for themselves.”

  Maggie waved him off whilst she thought it through. “So if the brakes were cut then I can’t blame it on the ghosts then?” she said.

  “Not unless ghosts use pliers and a hacksaw.”

  “It doesn’t make sense.” Maggie shook her head. “Why on earth would anyone do something like this?”

  “I’ll show you the tool marks if you like?”

  “No, it’s okay Phil. As I said, I trust your judgement. You have never let me down.”

  He shrugged. “Someone doesn’t like you.”

  “It looks that way doesn’t it?”

  “Will you call the police?”

  “And tell them what?” Maggie asked.

  He looked thoughtful for moment. “I suppose you’re right. Keep them out of town business. Anyhow, Mrs. Jackson asked me to mention a few things.”

  “All right, what are they?”

  “Did you know Arthur Wainwright was taken to hospital, the other night? Looks like a heart attack.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “I’m not sure, but the wife thinks it’s not good at all.” Phil said.

  “I’ll go see Mrs. Wainwright later, she must be in a terrible state. Is she at the hospital?” Maggie asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Anything else?”

  “My wife wondered what you were going to do with old Maud’s place.” He looked discomforted. “It is a shame to allow one of your houses to go to waste when there are people here who are in need.”

  “Like your son?”

  “Like my son, his wife, and a little one on the way,” he admitted.

  “Congratulations.”

  “Shame there is no place for them to go.”

  “I know Phil, I know how difficult it can be to get started, but I can’t build any houses for you. All the farmsteads are tenanted and the cottages are full. I wish I could do more.”

  “I understand, but like I said, Maud’s house is empty now she has passed on so you can do whatever you want with her place.”

  She smiled. “It isn’t my house Phil. Maud owned it.”

  “What! Owned it? Are you joking? Every house this side of the river belongs to your estate. We are all your tenants, and you can do what you like with the houses.”

  “That’s not quite true, Phil, I don’t own the pub and I don’t own Maud’s house. My Grandfather sold the house to the Tappers long before I was born.”

  “Sold it! Do you plan to sell any more of the estate houses?”

  “No, Phil. I have no plans to sell anything.”

  “Folks will be happy to hear their homes are safe, but what will happen to Maud’s house now she’s gone?”

  “It forms part of her estate and will be held for her kin.”

  “Maggie, you know as well as I do, Maud Tapper doesn’t have any kin. She has no children, and no family left either. She was the last.”

  “Perhaps she didn’t have family herself,” Maggie muttered, but a vision of deep brown eyes filled her view. “But there is a Tapper out there.”

  “Have you met her then, the young Tapper?”

  “No.”

  “But you know it?”

  Maggie nodded.

  “To be expected with your history. If you pay attention to the world, it’ll tell you what’s coming.”

  “Yes. We’ll know about her soon enough.”

  “Aye, we will,” he nodded. “And how will you feel, your history with the Tappers being as it is?”

  Maggie shrugged. What could she say?

  “My apologies, it is not my place to talk about such personal matters.” He scrunched his eyes. “It would have been better if there were no more Tappers. You could put the past to rest, at last, and mayhap there would be peace for a change.”

  “I don’t think issues like ours can be fixed so easily. It will take time and a great deal of effort.”

  He shrugged. “It is what it is. Maggie, you will do what you can.”

  “I will.”

  “Meanwhile, is your brother coming to give us a hand? There is lots to do and not enough time to do it all in.”

  She shook her head. “Not much point in asking is there?”

  Philip chuckled. “Always worth asking. You never know.”

  “Not in this lifetime Phil. Not in this lifetime.”

  Chapter Four

  AS FAR AS Emma was concerned, Marcus Riley was the biggest prat on the planet. Alas, he was also her boss and he never let her, or anyone else, forget it. “Emma,” he bellowed from an office a mere thirty feet away, “my office.”

  Barbara, who sat at the workstation opposite, rolled her eyes. “Oh look. It’s your turn for his delicate attentions.”

  Emma snorted, and she didn’t care whether he heard her or not. She got to her feet anyway. “I’m coming,” she grumbled, and gathered pencil and paper because he often liked to treat her as his personal secretary rather than the creative director she was supposed to be.

  “He’s got someone in with him,” Barbara whispered as Emma walked next to her desk. “Looks like an undertaker. I bet you’ll be the one to write some dreadful commercial about coffins.”

  Emma snickered, “Anything would be a whole lot better than bloody stupid jingles for spray cheese.”

  “Yes,” Barbara grinned. “You could always tell him, you know, being a media company involves more than selling shoddy jingles and running dubious ad campaigns for things no normal person would buy.”

  “Right. You’ll get me fired and unemployment is what I don’t need right now.”

  “He hates you anyway, unemployment is a tantrum away.”

  “Don’t I know it?” Emma stopped where she stood. “I wish his father was still alive. Maybe we could get back to what we’re good at.”

  “Don’t hold your breath. Marcus is a fool and he’s not going to change any time soon.”

  “You’re right, of course, but I don’t fancy looking for a replacement job now.”

  “Maybe you should sleep with him. It would keep him sweet at least.”

  Emma snorted, “You have a warped sense of morality.”

  “Yes. And look where it has got me.”

  “Married with three kids and a husband who adores every step you take.”

  “Dreadful isn’t it?” Barbara grinned. “Jealous?”

  “Of course,” Emma chuckled as she strolled to the office door. Her boss could yell all he wanted, but she sure as hell was not going to give him the satisfaction of making her rush. “You called?” she said from the doorway. Barbara was right about the visitor. A tall man in a long dark coat stood ramrod straight in the middle of the room. Marcus, in his expensive leather chair, looked ill at ease, and his reaction was odd in itself.

  “Come in Emma,” he beckoned her in. “Close the door behind you. This is Mr. Schilling.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Riles,” Mr. Schilling interrupted in a soft voice, little more than a whisper.

  “Mr. Riley,” he corrected with a frown.

  “Mr. Riley. This is a private matter.”

  “It is private here.”

  The tall man nodded. “This is a private matter for the ears of Emma Blewitt only. It need not be in this office, so if you could point me in the direction of a suitable location I’ll be out of your way.”

  “I’ll be in the main office in case you need me,” Marcus said and walked out.

  Emma knew she would pay for this. Marcus would perceive this as an insult, but for now, satisfying her curiosity outweighed Marcus’ happiness. “Excuse me, Mr. Schilling, what can I do for you?”

  The man turned to her, but he did not speak until Marcus closed the door behind him. He handed her a plain looking business card, glossy white, with text in blue.

  “Schilling, Peterson, and Herring. Solicitors.” She read from the card as though it would answer all of her questions. “And?”


  “Please. Take a seat,” he said and gestured to one of the seats in front of Marcus’ desk. He smiled. “Forgive me, but I need to make sure you’re who I think you are. You’re most difficult to locate and we must not err, not in this.”

  Emma frowned. “Am I difficult to find? I am in the phone book.”

  “I wish it were all so simple. Still, we are here now. Might I be so bold as to ask a few questions first, before we get into the matter in hand?”

  Emma nodded.

  “You are Emma Blewitt?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am she.”

  “Of flat three B, number fourteen Church Row?”

  “Yes.”

  “Daughter of Peter and Maureen Williams.”

  “What? Oh no, not me. Not me at all.” Her voice faltered.

  “What?” Even mister cool exterior looked a little flustered, and her answer had knocked his confidence.

  “I...I,” she hesitated.

  “Are you sure? Really sure?”

  She was prepared to mutter something about knowing her own family, but she stopped herself. “I’m sorry, your question took me by surprise. You see I was adopted as a small child, and so I have always called my adopted parents mum and dad. I no longer consider anyone else to be family, so I forget, sometimes, where I came from.”

  “Indeed.”

  “However, I do recall my biological parents were called Peter and Maureen. I never thought about my surname much, it’s always been Blewitt as long as I remember. I saw the adoption papers, once, many years ago, but as I say, it’s not the first thing I think about when you mention my parents, or anything to do with them.” In her mind’s eye, she could see a pile of documents as though it sat on the desk in front of her. “Before the adoption I was Emma Williams, daughter of Peter and Maureen Williams.”

  Emma watched as his shoulders eased, and he relaxed a little. “Good,” he said. “You were so very young it is not surprising your birth name does not come to mind, and it has been such a long while since you used it.”

  “Perhaps. So what’s this all about?”

  “We, that is the company, have been trying to locate you for quite a while now. We were instructed by your aunt—”

  “Aunt? What aunt?”

  “Your aunt, I would suppose she is a great aunt rather than aunt. A Miss Maud Tapper of Castlecoombe.”

  “What? What are you talking about? I have no biological family. My parents looked. I looked.”

  “I can appreciate that, but your mother, your birth mother, did have kin.”

  “No, impossible, we looked. I’d just gone sixteen and I needed to know where I came from.” She heard a hint of defensiveness creep into her tone. “There was no one. I’m sure.”

  “This is where I come in. Our researchers are second to none in most instances, and if something can be found, they will find it. You would have found your father, but Peter Williams has no surviving kin. I can confirm this to be true.”

  Emma nodded in agreement.

  “Your mother, Maureen, was Maureen Green before she got married, her mother was Millicent Green. Am I correct so far?”

  “Yes, Millicent Green, formerly Millicent Hardwick, before she got married,” Emma confirmed.

  “Indeed, except it goes all wrong at this point.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your grandmother, Millicent Green, or rather, Millicent Hardwick, does not exist.”

  “Impossible. I saw her birth certificate, the marriage certificate, and so on.”

  “This was a deception. The child born Millicent Hardwick died aged six months old.”

  “No, that can’t be. I don’t understand. I saw the records.”

  Mr. Schilling even looked as distressed as Emma felt. “Let me explain. We understand Millicent Tapper took a job in the city, and soon found herself working for the National Archives.”

  “She worked for the government then?”

  “Yes, she dealt with collating records of births and deaths. That’s where we think she found the records for the dead child and used those details to become someone else, and that was Millicent Hardwick.”

  “You think? Do you not know?”

  “At this point Miss Blewitt we can surmise what happened, and what happened next is Millicent Tapper ceased to exist in the records and Millicent Hardwick took her place.”

  “This is too weird.”

  “If this is all true, and we believe it is, then your grandmother wasn’t Millicent Hardwick. She was born Millicent Tapper, of Castlecoombe, sister to Maud and Agnes Tapper. We know, from Maud, that Millicent left home during the War, to help with the war effort of course, and at some point during her absence, the family lost all trace of her. Now we know why. She became someone else.”

  Emma didn’t know what to say. “How long have you been looking?”

  “Several years. As you can appreciate, the records from the time are somewhat uncertain, and when times are so uncertain it is easy for someone to disappear in the chaos. At this point, her trail seemed to vanish and it seems deliberate.”

  “She disappeared?”

  “Well, yes. Even if she hadn’t changed her name, you have to realise it was a time of war. There was so much damage to places, to things, and to people, the world changed, records got lost and people vanished. At the time, it was assumed, like so many others, she had perished in the bombing.”

  “But she didn’t?”

  “No. A few years later she sent Maud a letter saying she was well, she was happy, and she had a child, but they would never see each other again. Maud let it pass. It was her belief Millicent would come back when she was ready.”

  “But she didn’t, obviously.”

  “No, and although Maud accepted Millicent’s choices, she missed her sister. One by one her relations died, either from sickness or old age, and Maud thought it was time to restore what was left of the family. She instructed us to look for Millicent, or if the worst happened, her descendants.”

  “What did you find?”

  “We found Millicent Tapper, who became Millicent Hardwick, and then married Archie Green. Then we found her daughter Maureen, your mother, and finally you. The last in the Tapper line. Unless you have children our searches have yet to discover?”

  She shook her head. Words failed her, and even if she could have thought of anything to say, the lump in her throat ensured she could not speak. Her vision blurred, and she wiped away the tears at the corners of her eyes before they could fall. “So where do I find this great aunt, at Castlecoombe is it?”

  “I’m sorry Ms. Blewitt, your aunt passed away some months ago.”

  Hope, crushed, almost brought her to her knees and Emma stifled a sob. From his pocket, Mr. Schilling produced a packet of tissues and offered her one. He waited until she had settled down before he continued, “It was her wish we should find you, and pass on her legacy.”

  “I have a legacy?” She knew she sounded stupid, and her ability to form sentences left a lot to be desired, but she couldn’t do anything about it. There was too much to process.

  “Indeed you do.”

  Emma blew her nose.

  “So,” Mr. Schilling continued, “I am one of the primary executors of Maud Tapper’s last Will, and it is a substantial holding. There will also be a refund of expenses of course.”

  “A refund?”

  “In the latter part of her life, Maud wanted us to spare no effort to find you so our retainer was a substantial one.” He blushed. “It was a straightforward commission, until we started looking, and then it was clear Millicent didn’t want to be found. Our efforts, I am saddened to say, were not as determined as they might have been. The unspent retainer will be refunded, and, of itself, the refund also amounts to a substantial sum.”

  “So how did you find me?”

  “Luck. One of the firm’s partners is a historian who acquired a number of photographs from a newspaper covering some picnic arranged by the war office. There he found a pictur
e of Millicent Tapper, holding the hand of a man later identified as Archie Green. It was our first and solitary lead, but it led to you. So it was all sheer luck.”

  “Oh.”

  “I understand this can be quite a lot to take in. Perhaps you should come to the office at your convenience, and we can get the required paperwork signed. There is a lot to show you, and the sooner we attend to the details the sooner you can get your legacy.”

  “All right,” she agreed.

  “Now take a few days, if you like. If not, I will be at the address on the card until quite late this evening.”

  Emma stared at the card a few moments. “I will be there,” she promised. “I’ll be there.”

  Chapter Five

  EMMA SAT AT her desk and yawned so hard her face ached.

  “What’s up with you?” Barbara asked.

  Emma put a finger to her lips, “Shush,” she said, “someone might hear.”

  Barbara gestured towards the closed door which marked the edge of Marcus Riley’s domain. “He’s got a call, and he’ll be too busy shouting at the telephone to notice what we’re doing.”

  “Good.”

  Barbara smirked, “Come on then, spill. Who kept you up so late you’re still yawning at this hour?”

  “It’s eight a.m.”

  “Just in time for lunch then. So what’s her name and where did you meet?”

  Emma laughed. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

  “Gutter? Then you admit she kept you up all night. You whore!”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “Pity. You could do with someone keeping you up all night. Shame you won’t do anything so shameful, will you?”

  “One day I’ll shock you.”

  “I’ll not hold my breath. So, if you haven’t discovered new nocturnal habits, what’s up then?”

  Emma glanced toward Marcus’s office. “Can we talk about it later? We can grab a cup of coffee and chat.”

  “I have to wait?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right then, if you must. I’ll have to wait for lunch time. You can take me to The Royal Swan and buy me one of those bright blue drinks with the cherry and an umbrella.”