The Old Bakehouse Read online

  The Old Bakehouse

  Daphne Neville

  Copyright © 2019 Daphne Neville

  KINDLE Edition

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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  Other Titles by This Author

  TRENGILLION CORNISH MYSTERY SERIES

  The Ringing Bells Inn

  Polquillick

  Sea, Sun, Cads and Scallywags

  Grave Allegations

  The Old Vicarage

  A Celestial Affair

  Trengillion’s Jubilee Jamboree

  PENTRILLICK CORNISH MYSTERY SERIES

  The Chocolate Box Holiday

  A Pasty In A Pear Tree

  The Suitcase in the Attic

  Tea and Broken Biscuits

  The Old Tile House

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter One

  One morning in early September, Kitty Thomas crossed the road outside the Crown and Anchor public house and stepped into Long Lane where she hurriedly walked up the hill carrying a basket of shopping. Although in her late sixties Kitty was fit for her age; she walked a lot, talked a lot and kept her weight down. Nevertheless, she was convinced that Long Lane was steeper than when she was younger; longer too for that matter. When she reached the top of the hill, she turned right into Blackberry Way where to her delight she saw sexagenarian twin sisters, Hetty and Lottie, pulling weeds from a flower bed in the front garden of their home, Primrose Cottage.

  “I’ve just come up from the village,” puffed Kitty, as she leaned on the front garden wall. “There’s quite a buzz in the post office this morning because word’s just got out that old Joe Williams is dead.”

  Hetty dropped a handful of dandelion seedlings into a bucket and then stood up to ease her back. “Who on earth is old Joe Williams? I’m sure I’ve not heard that name mentioned before.”

  Kitty frowned. “Hmm, no, on reflection I suppose you wouldn’t have. He used to be the baker here many moons ago as did his father, grandfather and great grandfather before him. In fact, it probably goes back even further than that because the Old Bakehouse is one of the oldest buildings in the village and it’s always been a bakehouse. Well, it was, it’s not now and hasn’t been since I was a nipper and that’s going back a bit.”

  “So, whereabouts is it?” Hetty removed her gardening gloves and dropped them into her bucket of weeds.

  “On the corner just before the Pentrillick Hotel and next door to the hairdressers.”

  “Oh, you know where it is, Het,” said Lottie, “it’s the shabby looking place with mullioned windows.”

  Kitty nodded. “Yes, that’s the one.”

  Lottie stood up and brushed loose soil from her kneeler. “Come on, let’s go indoors for a coffee and then you can tell us more. That’s unless you’re in a hurry to get home.”

  Kitty turned and took a few steps back towards the open gates. “No, I’ve all the time in the world. Tommy’s out this morning so I don’t even have to bother with lunch.”

  Kitty and her husband Tommy, both retired, were near neighbours of Hetty and Lottie and lived at Meadowsweet, the last of eight houses that made up Blackberry Way; an idyllic spot which overlooked the seaside village of Pentrillick.

  “So why is the death of this old baker causing a buzz?” Lottie asked, as they sat around the living room table with mugs of coffee and a plate of biscuits.

  Kitty laughed. “Well, I’m not really sure but it’s probably because it seemed he’d live forever. Most reckoned he’d make a hundred and they were even planning to see that he got a birthday card from the Queen. He was certainly the oldest person in the village.”

  Hetty was intrigued. “So how old was he?”

  “Ninety-nine so I’m told and he’d have been a hundred next January.”

  Hetty sighed. “Oh dear, he nearly made it then.”

  “A good age nevertheless,” acknowledged Lottie, “especially if he was still living at home.”

  “It certainly is,” agreed Kitty, “and yes he was still living at home and it’s said he was able to look after himself right up until the end. Apparently he died in his sleep and was found by Karen and Nicki when they opened up the hairdressers this morning. You see, they were concerned because Joe’s little dog was barking and seemed distressed and so they popped round to see if he was alright. Joe didn’t answer the door when they knocked and so they went in. As they called out his name, Crumpet, he’s the dog, came running down the stairs and seemed to want them to follow him. They did and found Joe dead in his bed.”

  “Nice way to go,” said Lottie.

  Hetty tutted. “Hmm, not so nice for Karen and Nicki though.”

  “No,” agreed Kitty, “it’s said they’re quite upset. They often used to pop in to make sure he was okay, you see and Karen used to take the dog for a walk during her lunch break.”

  “So out of curiosity, did he have any family?” Lottie asked.

  “Ah, now that’s the sixty-four-million-dollar question,” chuckled Kitty, “He did but as far as I know he’s not seen anything of his offspring for years. His first wife died in childbirth donkey’s years ago and I believe the child was adopted. Sometime later he married again and he and his new wife had a son but then suddenly she, the new wife, got up and left him and took the boy with her. Rumour has it she had another chap but whatever the reason old Joe was never the same again. He closed up the bakery after she went despite the fact it was a highly profitable business and he never baked another loaf again.”

  Hetty tutted. “Poor chap. How long ago was that?”

  “About sixty years I’d say. As I said earlier, I was only a nipper and I wouldn’t have remembered at all were it not for the chat in the post office this morning.”

  “Poor, poor man,” said Lottie, “how horrible to have lost two wives and two children.”

  Kitty looked over the top of her glasses. “Well, yes, I suppose so but it’s said he was a real ladies man in his day and a shocking flirt so that’s probably what drove the second wife away.”

  Hetty laughed as she dunked a chocolate biscuit in her coffee and quickly took a bite before the chocolate melted. “And it’s probably why the bakery was a profitable business.”

  “So what’ll happen to the Old Bak
ehouse now? Will it be sold do you think?” Lottie asked.

  Kitty shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose so. Time will tell no doubt but from what was said this morning I reckon it’s pretty rundown.”

  Hetty looked at her sister. “Are you thinking about Bill and Sandra?”

  Lottie nodded. “Well yes, a rundown property in the heart of the village sounds the perfect place for the family to live in, providing the price is right of course.”

  “And that it’s big enough,” Hetty added.

  “Are your family thinking of moving down here then?” Kitty was surprised.

  “Yes, they’ve been talking about it for some time and if you remember we told you back in June that Sandra’s widowed mother had died. Bill rang yesterday to say they’ve just finalised the sale of her house and so because Sandra was an only child, they now have a substantial sum of money and they want to put it towards a property down here. Then of course they’d have the money from the sale of their own place which even after the mortgage is paid off will be a tidy sum.”

  “And as luck would have it,” added Hetty, “Bill and Sandra’s next door neighbour has let it be known that if they ever want to sell up and move to Cornwall then he’d like the chance to buy it. The houses are semi-detached, you see, and he’d like to knock the two into one.”

  “Ideal,” said Kitty, “but what would your Bill do about work?”

  “He works for one of the large supermarket chains and so can get a transfer down here. He’s already asked and so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Kitty frowned. “And the children? What about their schooling?”

  Lottie sighed. “Hmm, that’s not so good I must admit. Zac will be okay because he’s finished his A-levels and is now looking for a job. The girls, however, have just started theirs and so it will mean finding them another school.”

  “Ah, but they’re bright girls so they’d soon adapt I’m sure,” Kitty acknowledged.

  “Yes, they will,” agreed Hetty, “and the entire family is so keen to move down here that I’m sure we’ll be able to sort everything out.”

  “And if the Old Bakehouse does come up for sale and is a suitable proposition the family could stay here for a while if any major work needed to be done,” added Lottie.

  “Sounds perfect then,” enthused Kitty, “I’ll give Tess a ring when I get home and put her in the picture. She’s sure to know what’s going on before anyone else.”

  The following morning, Kitty called again. “Tess just rang. She’s been asking around and says she’s finally found out that the Old Bakehouse is to be sold and the estate agents are hoping to have details on their website by Saturday lunchtime. She doesn’t know which agents are dealing with the sale though but the solicitors handling the will are the ones young Kyle works for but she couldn’t remember what they’re called. I’ve been wracking my brains too but I’ve drawn a blank, however Tommy reckons there’s a Tremayne somewhere in the name. Not that that’s a great deal of help.”

  “Hmm, well I haven’t the foggiest idea,” sighed Hetty, “I don’t think I’ve ever even heard the name mentioned.”

  Lottie agitatedly twisted the wedding ring on her finger. “Well we must try and find out because I should imagine there will be quite a bit of interest in the place when it first gets advertised. I rang Bill last night, Kitty, to tell him about it and he sounded quite excited at the prospect of living in an old bakehouse.”

  “That’s good to hear, and yes, you’re right. Houses in the village always get snapped up pretty quickly so there’s no time to waste.”

  “So how can we find out more? We need the name of the estate agents or the solicitors,” Lottie felt panic stricken.

  “I suppose you could ask your grandson to find out,” suggested Kitty, “After all he and Kyle seemed to get on well together.”

  Hetty slapped her knees. “Of course, it’s the obvious solution. You must ring Zac, Lottie.”

  “But will Kyle be allowed to pass on information like that? I mean surely it’d be unethical to pass on personal details and I don’t want to get him into trouble.”

  Hetty shook her head. “No, we only want to know the name of the estate agents who’ll be handling the sale so that we can keep an eye on their website. I can’t see as that will be a problem.”

  “You’re right,” Lottie stood up, “I’ll ring Zac right now.”

  Inside the offices of Tremayne, Watts and Braithwaite, Solicitors, Kyle said goodbye to his work colleagues and stepped outside into the late afternoon sunshine. From his pocket he pulled a bunch of keys and jangled them as he walked to the small staff car park where his new car gleamed in the sunlight. With pride he unlocked the door, stepped inside and began the short drive home to Pentrillick.

  Kyle was very happy with life; he had done well in his university studies and had received a worthy degree in law for his efforts. He was now in his third week of working as a trainee solicitor and he loved every minute of it.

  As he pulled up on the pavement outside the house where he lived with his parents, his mobile phone rang. To his surprise it was Zac, a friend he had first made when the Burton family were on holiday in Pentrillick back in the summer of 2016.

  “Hiya, mate. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine but I’ve a favour to ask.”

  “Okay, what is it?”

  “Is your office handling the will and estate of some chap in the village called Joe who was a baker? Apparently, he died yesterday.”

  “Oh, you mean Joe Williams. Yes, we are. Why do you ask?”

  “Because if the place where this old Joe lived is to be sold, Grandma thinks it might be of interest to us lot. Mum and Dad are dead keen so we desperately need to know the name of the estate agents so that we can get in quick. If it’s to be sold, that is.”

  “You mean there’s a chance you might be moving down here?” The smile on Kyle’s face spread.

  “Yep, looks that way.”

  “Wow, that’s brill news, Zac. I hope you do then you can join the pool team.”

  Zac laughed. “That’s just what I thought.”

  “Anyway, I know it’s definitely going to be sold but I can’t tell you the name of the estate agents right now simply because I don’t who they are but I’ll find out tomorrow and message you straight away.”

  “Cheers, Kyle. I appreciate that.”

  Chapter Two

  Just before midday on the following Monday morning, Lottie’s son Bill, and Sandra, his wife left their Northamptonshire home for the drive to Cornwall and, because they intended to be away for no more than two days, they left their three children, Zac aged eighteen and the sixteen-year-old twins, Kate and Vicki to fend for themselves. At first the twins had objected but then agreed it was silly to miss school, especially if the Old Bakehouse proved to be an unsuitable future home.

  After they had crossed the Tamar Bridge, Bill and Sandra drove through Cornwall and eventually joined the A394. Several miles later after they had passed through Helston they turned into the lane which led down to Pentrillick. The sun was setting over the rooftops as they drove along the main street and up towards Primrose Cottage where they were to stay with Hetty and Lottie.

  The following morning, Bill and Sandra were up bright and early and after breakfast walked down into the village where they were due to meet someone from Thomas Bolitho Estate Agents’ office. They purposely arrived early for the appointment so they were able to take a good look at the property from the outside.

  “Looks like there’s no parking,” Bill glanced around the corner of the house into Goose Lane where a solid green door led into the back garden, “so we’d have to park on the street.”

  “Well it did say that in the details on the agents’ website and it’s probably a good thing because it might put other potential buyers off.” Sandra attempted to peer in through one of the downstairs windows but her vision was blocked by net curtains.

  “Did it? I must have misse
d that bit.” Bill noted the paint on the front door was peeling badly. “Having the entrance of the house opening out onto the pavement should put people off too. I’m not sure whether I like it or not.”

  Sandra laughed. “Well it was a shop so I suppose it’s to be expected. I just hope there aren’t lots of things to put us off because at the moment we’ve only found fault. I don’t think I mind it opening out onto the street but I do object to that door, it’s hideous.”

  “It is, and that’ll be the first thing to go.”

  “Oh, no it won’t because if you remember the building is Grade Two listed so the door will have to stay.”

  “But it’s not the original,” groaned Bill, “it looks like something from the fifties or sixties.”

  “It doesn’t matter. If that’s the door that was here when it was listed then that’s the door that will have to stay.”

  “Oh dear, well never mind. Let’s be positive: after all the house is in a nice location in a village we love and I reckon from the upstairs windows on the front you’d be able to see the sea over the rooftops of the houses opposite, so that’s three positive things.”

  “And it’s right next door to the hairdressers,” laughed Sandra, “so there will be no excuse for me ever having messy hair. I also like the fact it’s on a corner.”

  As she spoke a car pulled up by the pavement and a young man wearing a dark suit stepped out. He offered his hand. “Mr and Mrs Burton, I assume.”

  “Correct,” Bill shook the proffered hand and Sandra did likewise.

  The front door of the Old Bakehouse led straight into a good sized area which would in the past have been the shop but which since its closure Joe had used as a dining area. From it a door led into a spacious hallway where a straight, steep staircase ran to the upper floor; a door opposite led into a large sitting room with an inglenook fireplace; two windows on the front looked into the street and French doors at the back led into the garden. Upstairs there were four bedrooms, and a bathroom with an ancient suite and overhead toilet cistern; the water appeared to be heated from a boiler hanging precariously on the wall above the bath and the lino covering the floor was worn and brittle.