by Jenny Kane
‘Another plus in the fortlet’s favour. A pre-existing river crossing.’ Tom took a sip of coffee before asking, ‘And the nearest Iron Age hillfort to here, that’s at Brewer’s Castle, near Ashwick, right?’
‘That’s close certainly, but the nearest is almost on top of us.’ Helen pointed in the direction of a stretch of woodland nestling on the other side of the road to Mill Grange ‘Oldbury Castle. Iron Age again, and largely ploughed out now. You can just imagine how they must have felt watching the Romans arrive and the fortlet being built.’
‘Terrified, I suspect.’ Tom drew a rough circle on the map, marking it ‘Oldbury’.
‘And don’t forget all the individual barrows and standing stones on Exmoor. Especially the Wambarrows.’
‘The what?’ Tom glanced up from where he’d been adding woodland to the map. Helen was a different woman when she was talking about her passion. She’d stopped trying to make her hair flatter, and the lines that had furrowed her forehead and creased her freckles were completely gone. Her eyes shone. They were almost emerald.
Oblivious to Tom’s appreciative gaze, Helen told him about the local ancient monuments. ‘The Wambarrows are three Bronze Age bowl barrows over on Winsford Hill, about seven miles away. They form part of a barrow cemetery. There are loads of others as well. The West Anstey Barrows, Twitchen Barrows, and so on.’
‘And there I was thinking Dylan might get bored with me at the weekends. I knew there was a lot to explore, but I hadn’t realised how close to Upwich everything was.’
‘The placing of the fortlet has to have been influenced by the presence of so much earlier activity.’ Helen almost asked about Dylan, but decided to stick to safer ground. ‘You were saying about having some ideas for the certificate?’
*
Coffee, Tina noted, was served in sturdier china than the wafer-thin ceramics that tea came in at Malvern House. Still a million miles from chunky mugs, the cups rested easily in the hand. Tina would have put money on Bea having chosen them. They were tasteful yet practical. A lot like her.
‘Sponsorship then, son.’ Lord Malvern lifted his cup to his lips. ‘How do you imagine it working?’
‘The fine details will need ironing out once we get the paperwork from Landscape Treasures, but we hope they’ll agree to provide the bulk of the equipment we need. Trowels, ranging rods, shovels, sieves, and so on, in return for having their logo on the bigger items.’
‘And if they dig as well, time allowing, they’ll pay a fee?’ Lord Malvern’s coffee cup paused en route to his lips. ‘Which could go towards the repair the greenhouse?’
‘Maybe.’ Sam nodded. ‘And just think how often the old episodes of Landscape Treasures are repeated. It’s positive marketing for life.’
Tina added, ‘According to Thea, the producer particularly liked the fact that although any potential sponsorship won’t bring them heaps of publicity, they’d be supporting recovering military personnel.’
‘And be seen to be supporting recovering military personnel,’ Lord Malvern responded.
‘Oh don’t be so cynical, Charles,’ Lady Malvern snapped, but Sam smiled.
‘To be fair, Father is right.’ Enjoying the flabbergasted shock on his father’s face, Sam added, ‘Of course they get to look good; that’s part of why they’re doing it. But as Tina said, the logos on the wheelbarrows and so on won’t be seen by many people compared to, say, sponsoring a festival or something. I’m okay with Landscape Treasures getting some kudos out of it, if it helps Mill Grange get off the ground. We’ve only had three people stay so far. Practice guests, but it felt rewarding.’
‘I bet it did.’ Lady Malvern looked as if she’d burst with pride. ‘And they were all happy with the set-up at Mill Grange?’
‘They seemed to be.’
Tina took his hand. ‘The reports they gave us were glowing. In fact, one of them, Woody, is back already. He’s helping Helen and Tom with the chickens while we’re away.’
‘How kind.’ Lady Malvern’s forehead creased into concern for the man she didn’t know. ‘Is he going to be alright when he has to leave? Does he have something to do afterwards?’
Tina felt awkward. It hadn’t occurred to her that Woody, so much the life and soul of the party, could be helping because he had nothing else to do. ‘Do you think he’s alright, Sam?’
Lord Malvern chipped in, ‘You don’t need a hanger-on, son. Harsh I know, but this is your business, not a charity.’
Tina had tensed, expecting Sam to react badly to his father’s implication, but instead he said, ‘Woody is doing well. He’s as used to his prosthetic legs as anyone can be. He decided to explore Exmoor a bit while he was down our way. The archaeology idea appeals to him. I suspect, although we haven’t had time to talk about it yet, that he’d like to do our course when it’s up and running.’
‘Course?’
‘Yes, Father. That’s another idea we’ve had. We’re planning to make our archaeological techniques workshops into an official course.’ Sam grabbed Tina’s hand as he spoke. ‘How does the Mill Grange Archaeological Techniques Certificate sound?’
‘Wordy!’ Tina laughed.
Sam’s parents exchanged glances, before Lord Malvern reached out to shake his son by the hand. ‘Dreadful title, but an excellent idea. Well done, my boy.’
*
The first raindrops fell on the open-topped MG as they pulled off the motorway at Taunton and wove their way towards Exmoor. Tina wrapped her shoulders and head in the thick woollen shawl Lady Malvern had given to her as they left. With her knees tucked under a travel rug that Karen had also found for them, Tina felt cold and damp, but nothing like as chilly as on the journey there.
She glanced at Sam. His face was screwed up against the raindrops and his hands looked cold, but the air of anxiety that had clouded the last few miles of their arrival had gone.
Closing her eyes against the elements, Tina smiled.
Forty-Two
September 26th
Sophie could see Thea, Shaun, Phil, and a gentleman she didn’t recognise, talking in a huddle around the table usually occupied by the AA. Every now and then they glanced in her direction.
‘You okay, Sophie?’ The local archaeologist next to her glanced up from the newly exposed section of wall she was cleaning. ‘You seem miles away.’
Taken by surprise by the enquiry from her previously silent trench companion, Sophie said, ‘Yes, sorry. I was wondering who that man with Shaun and Phil was?’
‘That’s Dan.’
‘Dan?’ Sophie felt offended, as if she was the only one in the dark. ‘They told you we were expecting visitors?’
‘Um, no, why would they tell me?’ The young woman looked as if she’d wished she hadn’t enquired after Sophie, and turned back to her work.
‘Sorry.’ Sophie swallowed, realising with a jolt that she’d sounded just like her mother. ‘That came out wrong. So, who’s Dan?’
‘Head of the Cornish Heritage Trust. My boss, so I’d better get busy, especially as he keeps looking this way.’ The girl took a trowel from her pocket and eased away a line of soil that clung to the row of brickwork near her knees.
Crouching back over her work Sophie cringed. Perhaps it wasn’t me who was being observed. Perhaps it was… I didn’t even ask her name. What’s the matter with me? When the dig first started everyone was so friendly. I fitted in – at least I thought I did, and then Shaun and now… Embarrassed by her own shortcomings, Sophie whispered across the trench, ‘Sorry, I’m having a bad week. What’s Dan like to work for?’
‘Good. He’s nice.’ The girl brushed the loose soil from around her knees. ‘Dan’s the sort of guy you want to work hard for because he always makes that work feel appreciated.’
‘Like Shaun.’
‘Very similar, yes.’ Tilting her head to one side, she introduced herself. ‘I’m Amber.’
‘Sophie.’ She found herself apologising. ‘Sorry I was short with you. My mother is
giving me a hard time about bringing everyone here without considering what would happen once Landscape Treasures have gone again. I feel bad for the trouble I’ve caused. I get ratty when I feel guilty.’
Amber emptied the contents of her dustpan into the bucket by her side. ‘What’s done is done. What matters now is doing it well, so let’s make St Guron proud.’
‘Good idea.’ Sophie trowelled the soil at her feet with renewed spirit.
As Amber passed her the dustpan and brush she asked, ‘What’s it like living here? Don’t you get a bit lonely?’
*
Shaun and Thea stayed seated, too dazed to move as Phil took Dan on a tour of the site. ‘Did that really just happen?’
‘I think so.’ Shaun glanced at Sophie. ‘Do you think she’ll be pleased, or will she think we’re interfering?’
‘Could go either way, but if you look now, you can see her talking to the girl next to her. That’s a step in the right direction. I don’t think she spoke at all yesterday.’
Shaun sighed. ‘When Sophie first joined the team, she fitted in well. But slowly, as it came to light among the team that she was the owner’s daughter, she became more distanced.’ Shaun signalled towards the trench where Sophie was working. ‘That’s Amber she’s talking to. She works for the Cornish Heritage Trust.’
‘Handy.’ Thea studied the proposal for the future of the St Guron church site mapped out on a piece of paper they’d roughed together with Dan. ‘Just the big hurdle left to jump.’
‘I don’t think Sophie deserves this after all she’s done.’ Shaun grimaced.
‘I’m sure she doesn’t.’ Thea stared towards the blonde. ‘But the fact remains, this is her home and, as you’ve told me more times than I care to mention, Sophie is a natural archaeologist.’
‘Thea.’ Shaun slipped both hands into hers. ‘I really am sorry.’
‘You said.’ Thea sighed. ‘All that effort she went to, just to keep you here. If only Sophie knew how much you snore, she’d never have bothered.’ Thea confronted her partner. ‘If you’re ever that stupid again, you will not be forgiven so easily. Got it?’
‘Message received loud and clear.’ Shaun ran a hand through her hair. ‘I can’t say I’m looking forward to talking to Lady Hammett though.’
‘I don’t think we should talk to her, not yet.’ Thea watched the figure observing them through the drawing room window. ‘I think a meeting with just Sophie and Lord Hammett would be the most productive way forward.’
‘Oh course!’ Shaun mentally kicked himself. ‘Lord Hammett’s father! I’d forgotten all about him.’
‘Sophie’s grandfather?’ Thea frowned. ‘You’ve lost me.’
‘Come on, let’s go and see if Sophie can sort us out an audience with her dad. I’ll tell you about his father’s wish to have the church uncovered on the way.’
*
Lord Hammett was overjoyed as Shaun rolled out a set of plans onto the kitchen table. Sophie was hopping from one foot to the other as if her shoes had hot coals in them. Her eyes kept wandering to the kitchen door, half expecting her mother to invade her father’s paper-reading hidey-hole.
Picking up the church plans, Lord Hammett placed them on his lap and sat by the range. ‘Am I right in thinking that the uncovered areas are drawn in black, while the so far uncovered parts found by those survey chaps, are in red?’
‘Exactly.’ Shaun let their host take his time working out how close to the front of the house the hidden sections of the church, and the associated outhouses, got.
‘So, Sophie was right, this is St Guron’s church?’
‘Everything points to that, my Lord. We’ve followed up on the documentary leads Sophie gave us and come to the same conclusions as your daughter: that this is the place of worship built in honour of the founder of Bodmin. Not only that, but the type and age of the building materials help place the church prior to the Norman invasion. Approximately 1010 would be a good estimate. St Guron’s is in the Domesday Book of course, but for some reason the exact location was never stated beyond that it was on the moor; we can only guess at why they were uncharacteristically inaccurate. The lack of other churches on the moor was probably a factor in that.’
Thea could see the fascination on Lord Hammett’s face as she said, ‘The method of construction is another time marker. Church building styles changed almost decade by decade back then. We can be fairly precise in placing ecclesiastical architecture in the historical timeline.’
Lord Hammett stroked the document before him. ‘What does this mean in practical terms?’
‘It means that you have, in your front garden, one of the most important churches in Cornwall.’
‘Umm. Initially my wife wanted to cover it back over, but I’m making headway persuading her otherwise. I might even be able to get her to agree to a ticketed system for people to come and take a look at the site.’
Sophie, who’d been biting her lip as she stood in the corner of the room, couldn’t stay silent any longer. ‘Do you think she would agree to that, Father?’
‘She’s coming around to that way of thinking. She liked the idea of the semi-open house set-up you have at Mill Grange, but without people coming inside.’ Lord Hammett looped an arm around Sophie’s waist. ‘Your grandfather would be thrilled to know about this. I should warn you though, while your mother might agree to keeping the site open as it is for a while, it’ll be difficult to get her to agree to uncovering the rest of the church.’
‘I know.’ Sophie looked enquiringly at Shaun and Thea. ‘Is that what you were talking to Dan from the Cornish Heritage Trust about?’
Shaun was surprised. ‘You know him?’
‘No. Amber told me who he was.’
The delight on Lord Hammett’s face could have warmed the room without any help from the Aga. ‘Amber? Sophie, are you telling me you’ve made a friend out there?’
Seeing Sophie blush, and feeling sorry for the young woman, who suddenly appeared as if she was fourteen rather than twenty-five, Thea said, ‘It’s a friendly team, but I think you’ve hit it off with Amber the most, wouldn’t you say, Sophie?’
‘Well, yes. She’s very kind, but we only really got talking today. We have a lot in common. Well, we don’t, but we read the same books and are interested in similar things.’
Waving the church plans over his head like they were the World Cup, Lord Hammett leapt to his feet. ‘By God, Sophie, you’ve done it.’
‘What? What have I done?’
‘You’ve made connections on the team; found a friend, become part of a group. Worked with others on an equal footing.’
Sophie went the colour of beetroot, and Thea felt even more awkward on the girl’s behalf.
‘I made a private deal with your mother, and you did it. You proved me right. If we play our cards right, we might yet keep the church open permanently; at least, what’s been dug so far.’
‘How do you mean? What deal?’
‘Now don’t be cross, but I told your mother she could have her way and cover the site back up once the locals have all seen it, if you didn’t fit in. If you weren’t cut out to work with others and…’
Sophie sat down at the table with a thump, her elation dying. ‘You mean Mother was so sure I’d fail as an archaeologist – as a team player – that I’d just be the spoilt daughter of the manor and not fit in or mix or cope with being told what to do, that she’d get her way. Hence her agreeing to your deal.’
Lord Hammett looked worried as he saw Sophie’s face. ‘Aren’t you delighted? You proved your mother wrong. She’ll be cross, but not with you. She hates being wrong.’
‘But Mother’s right. I’ve been awful. Apart from the first couple of days and today I’ve been just like she said I would be.’
Thea put an arm around the young woman’s shoulders. ‘But today is what counts, because today is the day you have a job interview based on your work here.’
‘I have a what?’
Lord
Hammett’s mouth dropped open. ‘Might be harder to convince my wife about a job for Sophie and to keep the site uncovered. Learn to pick your battles as my father would have said.’
‘That’s just it though, my Lord.’ Shaun looked at Sophie, trying to decide if she was really up to the job as Phil and Thea thought she was. ‘The two things are connected. The job depends on the church staying open. It also depends a lot on you and your wife’s willingness to work with the Cornish Heritage Trust when it comes to looking after St Guron’s.’
Lord Hammett stood up. ‘I think we’d better discuss this over a pot of tea.’
‘With Mother?’ Sophie’s expression was caught between hope and terror.
‘Of course. She has your best interests at heart, Sophie.’
‘Are you sure, Father?’
‘Well, she will have in a minute.’ He winked at Shaun and Thea. ‘Come on, everyone; let’s brave the ritual that is elevenses in the Hammett household. Bring your preconceptions with you.’
Forty-Three
September 26th
The last broken trestle table was heaped up in the corner of the stable, ready to be chopped into firewood. Bert and Sam had taken out more cobwebs than they cared to mention, along with broken chairs, decrepit tennis rackets and, from the stable’s forgotten past, a rotting leather bridle. As they rested on their brooms, the floor swept and clean, Bert surveyed a job well done.
Neither of them had mentioned that the force of the wind and rain had blown one side of the stable doors to. And while no one spoke of it, Sam felt he could pretend it wasn’t shut; while staying as close to its open brother as possible.
Noticing the door, but not wanting to flag up the situation, Bert dragged an unbroken chair from a set of three survivors and sat down. ‘Sorry I haven’t been up to see you since you got back from Malvern, lad. Been busy on the home front. Mabel tells me young Tina was delighted with how it went, although the journey was a touch chilly.’
‘Chilly is a kind way of putting it. We froze on the way and got drenched on the way back. She didn’t complain though.’
