"The Forest Secret" - Chapter 15

The road rounded a grouping of trees and turned towards a stately old manner that had clearly seen better days.  It possessed a lower profile than many others from over 200 years earlier but carried an intimacy that Charley regarded as quite beautiful.  It looked like four buildings of differing heights joined together to form one large manor.  Chimneys rustically rose above the peaks of all four roofs, with smoke coming out of the largest structure.  The slate roofs were stained from years of weathering and the windows and doors appeared badly in need of repair and paint.

Their guide led them across the great grassy lawn that spanned the entirety of the building’s width and was brilliantly green from the rains of spring.

“My name is Thomas, by the way - Thomas Culper.  I’m the groundskeeper you were referring to earlier,  although the lady of the manner has little interest in outer appearances anymore.  She just wishes me to do basic maintenance.”

Before they could ask any questions, the three of them approached the front door, which was at ground level, without any stairs or elevation - unusual for the time in which is was constructed.

Thomas opened the door and had the two women follow him inside, proceeding through an entrance way, an old-fashioned kitchen and into a sitting room.  Before them in an upholstered chair sat an elderly woman whose eyes were keenly on them.

“Please, sit in these chairs,” she said,  pointing directly in front of her.  “I have asked Maisie to prepare us some tea - or would you prefer coffee?”

“Tea is fine,”Charley responded as she and Stephanie took their seats.

“You are American,” the woman noted.  “I can tell by your accent.

Charley nodded.  

“A pleasure to meet you,” the woman said graciously.  “I am Mrs. Sandhurst and I’m the proprietor of these grounds, at least for a little while longer.”

Something in her accent and intensity of her gaze was alluring and unusual for someone her age. She appeared sharp and intuitive. She remained in her seat with a throw covering her legs, likely because of the cold.  She had kept herself well - her hair well coiffed and her face alive and still radiant.

“So, you have a come on a mission?” she asked.

“You might call it that,” Charley said through a smile.  “Actually, I’m from the New York Times and was sent on assignment to cover the terrible fire at Notre Dame Cathedral a few days ago.”

“I wept for hours,” he woman responded.  “We English put a lot of stock in our cathedrals, as you surely know, but for the Europeans, Notre Dame was the epicentre of Christendom.  It was so tragic.”

There was something deeply moving in how she said her words - a sincerity that was obvious.  

“So, you are on assignment with this lovely creature,” she said, pointing to Stephanie.  Charley did the introduction, including that she was Canadian.  “Ah, one of Commonwealth sisters,” she said with a natural affection.

“But you were kind of correct when you said we were on a mission.  It didn’t start that way, but it turned out that an elderly French gentleman perished in the cathedral fire and we …”

She stopped the moment as she saw the colour drain from the woman’s face.  She appeared to be in some kind of shock.

“Aramis died in the fire,” she gasped, pulling a tissue from her sleeve.  “And you wish to talk about Aramis Caron because he was the man in the fire?  I … I didn’t know.  The news programs I watched said no one had perished in the fire.”

“His body was discovered the next day as they were cleaning up the debris.  You … you knew him - Aramis, I mean?”

“Why would you say that?”

“In our research, we discovered that the Weatherby family had a link to Mr. Caron.  And the look on your face just now seemed to imply that you might know him, Mrs. Sandhurst.”

“Why do you say that the Weatherbys would know him?”

Both Stephanie and Charley filled her in on what had been discovered in the time since the fire and of the painting hanging on the wall in Caron’s majestic study.

“Do you know who the woman in the painting was?” the host inquired.

“Yes, her name was Mary Weatherby and for a brief time she was in love with Caron while her family was stationed in Paris in the 1960s.  For some reason, her father and mother looked down on their relationship and sent Mary back here, to Canterbury.  But she didn’t come back alone.  Apparently the mother Elizabeth and a sister named Millicent returned with her. After that, the trail runs cold and we know nothing else.”

“And what of this Mary person?”

“That’s just it, we found out yesterday that she died a few years ago.”

This time that woman revealed a mixture of surprise and humour on her face.

Charley decided to take a leap.  “Was it your sister that died?”

The woman merely nodded. “She died of Alzheimer’s five years ago. It as a sad end, but gentle in its own way.”

A moment’s silence followed, partly out of sadness and also out of respect.

“Our researchers in Paris discovered that the painting was composed by Claude Baudin, who apparently was a friend of Aramis.  Had you heard of him?”

“O yes; I even met him on a number of occasions.  Quite charming, though somewhat moody,” Sandhurst answered through a quaint smile, then continued.  “Can I ask what is the purpose of this story of yours and why is Mary so vital to it?”

“Few know that Aramis died in the fire, though it was in a couple of media stories.  But no one knows why he went into the building, knowing what was waiting for him.  However, he left behind over 80 journals in which he kept meticulous notes.  Some of the pages have spoken of his love for your sister.  In fact, he seemed besotted.  And then when it was over with Mary, it appears as a tragedy to him.  He seems to have never fully recovered.  We had just hoped that Mary could fill in some of the blanks, but that’s not to be.”

“Did he suffer - in the fire, I mean?  He must have.”  

To their surprise there were tears in the older woman’s eyes as she asked the question.  Charley wanted to reach out to her, but she was too far away.

“The coroner doesn’t think so.  Seems he believes that Aramis Caron died of smoke inhalation before the flames reached him up there.”

“Up there?”

“Yes,” Charley replied. “High up in roof.”

“The Forest, you mean?”

“How … how do you know that name?”

She was fully sobbing now.  “We spent many a time up there, Aramis and me.  You see, it was my sister Millicent that died of Alzheimer’s.  I am Mary - Mary Weatherby, and I think you should probably stay for lunch.”