by Jess Foley
At the end of the afternoon Grace was sent back to the station in a cab. She was glad to see the end of the working day, finding herself somewhat exhausted from having been on her feet for so many hours.
She was back again the following morning, and the task was resumed. And so it went on for four days when, on Thursday afternoon, Mr Fairman pronounced the work finished.
The house looked complete now. Grace had rarely known such coming and going: the seemingly endless round of unpacking, dusting and polishing and then finding the right sites for the various items, whether the item in question was a porcelain statuette or a pan for the kitchen. Sometimes it took more consideration and several tries before the right home could be found for a particular piece, but in the end everything had been found a place.
And Grace would have had to admit that she had more or less enjoyed the experience, though she had still, at times, found herself less than easy in the company of Mr Fairman. She could not have explained why, but she was only aware that she was more at ease with him when others were present, such as the maid or the nurse, and she did not feel – as she sometimes did – the unaccustomed focus of his concentration.
She ate lunch each day with him and Sophie, sitting in the dining room, the three of them, and served by Emma the new maid. And there were moments at such times when they laughed together. Mr Fairman would relate some anecdote that would set Sophie giggling and before long Grace would be brought into the laughter, unable to resist.
While there on one occasion Mr Fairman spoke again of finding a school for Sophie, and although Sophie protested, saying that she was very happy having Miss Harper as a governess, and would like to continue to do so, it was pointed out by her father that such a situation could not continue. Miss Harper, he made clear, was teaching her only as a special favour, and would soon have to return to her main task, the help and support of her employer, Mrs Spencer.
When Grace set off back to Asterleigh at the end of that Thursday, she found that although she was glad that the task was finally finished, she was also sorry that her time at the house had come to an end.
On arriving at Asterleigh late that afternoon, she thanked the cab driver and made her way round to the rear of the house. Billy came to her from the stables as she walked across the yard. He had been helping Mr Johnson with the horses, he said, and then asked whether she would be going back to Mr Fairman’s house the next day. No, she told him; her work at the house was finished; tomorrow Sophie would be coming back to resume her lessons at Asterleigh.
She left Billy to his work then and went into the house. As she drew level with the kitchen door she saw Mrs Sandiston at work at the table. The cook looked across the room and greeted her, going on to say that Mr Spencer was back.
As she moved towards the rear stairs Jane came from the front of the house. Grace wished her a good evening and Jane returned the greeting, though in a rather half-hearted manner. Briefly Grace wondered at the girl’s coolness, but then Jane was saying:
‘I’ve just come from Mrs Spencer, miss. She was asking me if you were back yet.’
‘Do you know what she wants me for?’
‘No, I don’t, miss. She’s up in her sewing room.’
Grace went on by and into the hall and along the passage to where the sewing room was situated. There she tapped on the door and a moment later heard Mrs Spencer’s voice calling to her to enter. She went in and found her mistress sitting by the hearth. There was a small fire burning in the grate.
As Grace moved across the room, Mrs Spencer said, ‘Hello, Grace, I was just asking Jane if you were back from Upper Callow yet.’
‘I just saw her. She said you were asking for me.’
Mrs Spencer pulled her shawl more closely about her shoulders. ‘Look at me, Grace,’ she said, ‘ – a beautiful May day with fine weather and here I am sitting by the fire. I just can’t seem to get warm these days. Did you just get in?’
‘Just a minute ago. Can I do something for you, ma’am?’
‘Yes, you can. Mr Spencer’s back, did you know?’
‘Cook just told me as I came in.’
‘He got back this afternoon. I wanted to ask you if you’d mind doing my hair for me tonight. Would you mind?’
‘Of course not. I’d be glad to. What time d’you want me?’
‘Say in an hour? About half past six – quarter to seven?’
‘In your room?’
‘Yes, in my room.’
‘I’ll be there.’
Grace let herself out, moved along the landing and started down the stairs. Only a few steps down and she heard her name called from above her. Looking up, she saw Mr Spencer looking down from the gallery on the top floor.
‘Grace,’ he said, smiling, ‘how nice to see you.’
‘Good evening, sir,’ she said.
‘You’ve been out all day, is that so?’
‘That’s correct, sir.’
‘I just got back, this afternoon.’
‘So I hear, sir.’
‘And I hear you’ve been over at Upper Callow for most of the week giving Mr Fairman the benefit of your artistic tastes, is that so?’
She smiled. ‘That’s putting it rather grandly, I think, sir.’
‘I’m sure it’s not.’ He paused, then added, ‘Perhaps while you’re here you might like to give me the benefit of your artistic tastes.’
‘Are you serious, sir?’
‘Never more so. Come on up, will you?’
Turning, she started back up the stairs, and continued on until she reached the gallery two floors above. There she found Mr Spencer now standing beside the niche holding the figure of Rigoletto the court jester.
‘It’s our friend here …’ Mr Spencer said as Grace approached. He gestured towards the stooped figure in the alcove. ‘I want to get him repaired. I wish your talents ran to sculpture as well as painting.’
Grace smiled. ‘I could wish they did as well, sir. And I’m not sure that I know so much about painting either.’
‘That’s it, Grace – modest as ever.’ He turned back to the figure. ‘I know he’s not the most handsome fellow, but he belongs here. And I’d like to make him whole again. As he is, he detracts from the others. Trouble is, we don’t know what form his missing hand took.’ He turned back to Grace. ‘Have you any ideas?’
‘I’m afraid I haven’t, sir.’
‘You don’t even like him very much, do you?’
She said nothing.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I shan’t be offended if you tell me the truth. Confess it, you think he’s ugly, don’t you?’
‘Well – yes, sir, I do think he’s ugly. But my thoughts are of no relevance whatsoever.’
‘That’s not so at all. I wouldn’t have asked your opinion if I didn’t value it. But anyway, your liking or disliking him has nothing to do with his missing hand.’ He turned back to look at the figure. ‘I’ll have to look for a sculptor who can do the right kind of work.’ He stepped back a little, head slightly on one side, looking at the figure appraisingly. ‘He’ll look as right as rain once he’s complete again.’ He turned back to her. ‘Anyway, that aside, tell me what you think of Mr Fairman’s house?’
‘Oh, I think it’s very fine, sir. And now that the furniture and everything else are in place it looks quite splendid. I’m sure he’ll be very happy there.’
‘Well, let’s hope so. He could do with a little happiness.’
The next morning Mr Fairman brought Sophie for her lesson and came up to the library with her.
‘We want to invite you out, tomorrow,’ he said, and Sophie, almost hopping with excitement, said, ‘Papa, let me tell it.’
‘Go on, then.’
‘Papa says if the weather is still good we can go for a drive. Will you come, miss? Please say yes.’
Grace was considering whether or not to accept when Mr Fairman said, ‘This would include your brother. If you think he’d like to come, we’d love to have him. I hope
you can both come. I’ve hired the horse and trap.’
‘Will Billy come, miss?’ Sophie asked. ‘Will you ask him?’
‘We’ll come by for you both around two o’clock,’ Mr Fairman said. ‘And you won’t have to bring anything but yourselves.’ He paused. ‘So – what do you think?
‘Thank you,’ Grace said. ‘I’d love to – and I’m sure Billy would also. Of course, I shall have to get Mrs Spencer’s permission, but I don’t think she’ll object.’
Mrs Spencer did not object – on the contrary, she expressed pleasure at the idea – and the trap called at Asterleigh just on 2.15 the following day. Billy, sitting on the bench outside the back door – he would not have dared wait at the front of the house – had waited eagerly for news of the appearance of the trap, and as two o’clock had approached had become almost anxious. But then Grace had come out to him, and he had run around the side of the house to where the trap waited on the gravel.
When all the greetings were over, Mr Fairman helped Grace up into the trap with Sophie, then said to Billy, ‘Now, young Billy, perhaps you’d like to ride beside me on the box, would you? And we’ll leave the ladies to their talk.’
Billy needed no second asking, and in a trice Mr Fairman had hoisted him up and then climbed up beside him.
‘Well,’ said Mr Fairman as he took up the reins, ‘we’re off to Marshleigh Abbey, is that all right?’ and with a flap of the reins and a click from his tongue, they were off.
Marshleigh Abbey was situated some four miles away, between Little Berron and Marshleigh. The building had been mostly destroyed by fire some fifty-odd years earlier and now, long deserted by its religious erstwhile inhabitants, remained solely as an occasional venue for picnickers and ramblers and courting couples. Where it had once served only in the matter of privation, self-sacrifice and gravitas, now it served only in matters of pleasure.
On reaching the site Mr Fairman jumped down and led the horse through a gateway to a wide stretch of green between the building and the lake’s shore. The area had once been a spacious lawn, but now it grew wild and overgrown with weeds of every kind. Here, to one side, Mr Fairman halted the mare and helped the passengers down and took the hamper from the box and set it down on the grass. He also took down a couple of rugs. Releasing the mare from the shafts, he hitched her to a slender silver birch. He’d bring her some water soon, he murmured to her, and then turned and, calling to the others, set off across the grass.
There was not another soul in sight, and they chose their picnic place in the shade of some shrubbery at the edge of the lawn where the grass had been kept cropped by the rabbits. Here Mr Fairman put down the hamper and spread out the rugs, partly in the shade and partly in the sun. Before them, the former gardens sloped down to the lake, its long-abandoned boathouse on the right almost hidden by the encroaching weeds. Behind them the roofless shell of the old abbey reared up against the blue of the May sky, its paneless windows like blind eyes. After watering the horse, Mr Fairman asked if anyone would care to go and look round the place, and at once Sophie and Billy spoke up with eagerness, saying they would like to go.
‘Miss Harper,’ Mr Fairman said, ‘ – what about you? Will you come too?’
‘What about our things?’
‘They’ll be safe here.’
And so, with Mr Fairman leading, the quartet made their way into the ruined shell of the old building. A few of the lower rooms were intact, and looked barely touched by the consuming fire, their floors and window frames unmarked even by smoke. Other rooms had been completely destroyed, so that not even the joists remained, and the little party could only stand awed on the thresholds and look into the chasms where once floors had lain and wonder at the fierceness of the blaze. Their steps carefully placed, and only venturing into those areas that Mr Fairman deemed safe, they continued to explore for some thirty-odd minutes, when Mr Fairman suggested that they might now have had enough. Grace and Sophie at once concurred. Their skirts so hampered their movements in the more confined spaces, many of which were choked with encroaching plant-life – brambles, cow parsley and other wild plants – added to which it seemed that they could not touch any surface without getting smeared with soot. Billy, however, was eager to continue, and as they made their way back to the chosen picnic spot he pointed up at the tall tower with the turret reaching into the sky, and said he would like to climb the circular staircase to the very top. No, it was too dangerous, Grace said at once.
‘But, Grace,’ Billy said, ‘there’s nothing to be afraid of, and I’d be careful, really I would.’
‘No, I couldn’t think of it,’ Grace said. They had reached the sheltered place by the shrubbery and she picked up one of the rugs and opened it out. ‘We’re going to have some tea and some lemonade. Come on.’
‘Ah, but Grace …’
‘Maybe another day,’ she said, and realized even as she spoke how foolish were her words. At once Billy said, ‘There won’t be another day, Grace, you know there won’t.’
At this Mr Fairman said, ‘He won’t come to harm, I promise.’ He wiped his smut-stained palms one against the other. ‘I’ll be with him and I’ll make sure it’s safe.’
Billy, his face lit up, turned to Grace. ‘Oh, Grace, can I?’
‘What do you think, Grace?’ Mr Fairman said. ‘Would it be all right?’
He had called her by her first name. She looked at him, seeing his slow smile, the small crease in his right cheek. ‘Well …’
‘Truly,’ he said, ‘I’ll look after him.’ He turned to Billy. ‘We’ll look after each other, Billy, right?’
Billy grinned. ‘Yes, sir.’ Then to Grace, ‘Is that all right, Grace?’
And Grace smiled now. For years she had been denying her brother pleasures that other boys his age took for granted. For years she had been watching over him, afraid of his risking further injury. Now, seeing him with Mr Fairman, she felt she could relax in the knowledge that he would be safe. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, of course.’
Mr Fairman nodded his satisfaction while Billy gave a little whoop and grinned. ‘Good, then we’ll get off,’ said Mr Fairman. ‘Come on, Billy.’ With Billy beside him he took a few steps away, then paused to say over his shoulder, ‘Perhaps you two ladies could get our tea ready in the meantime. I’ve no doubt that we shall be thirsty when we get back.’
A moment later he and Billy were heading back towards the ruined building. Grace, standing with the tartan rug spread out on the grass before her, watched them go, seeing Billy, small and slight and limping, walking by the side of the tall man. She continued to watch them as they reached the entrance to the ruined building and disappeared from her sight.
‘Shall we, miss?’ Sophie’s voice came interrupting her thoughts, and she turned to where the child stood beside the hamper. ‘Shall we get the tea ready?’
‘Yes.’ Grace turned her back on the building, and gave Sophie a wide smile. ‘Yes, let’s get tea ready for when they come back.’
After they had gone down to the edge of the lake to wash their soot-stained hands they opened the hamper and took out a chequered cloth. They spread it out on the grass and then took out the plates and cups and set them out. Turning to face the ruined building, Grace looked at the tower. There were narrow slits of windows in the walls and she gazed at them one by one hoping perhaps to catch a glimpse of Billy going past as he climbed the stairs. But there was no sign of him. Dragging her glance away, she took the other rug and spread it out on the other side of the cloth.
‘Now – it’s all done,’ she said to Sophie. ‘All we need are Billy and your papa.’
As she finished speaking there came a shout, her name being called: ‘Grace! Grace!’ but in happy, excited tones, and turning, raising her head, she looked up to the top of the tower and saw Billy and Mr Fairman standing there. Mr Fairman’s tall figure was clearly to be seen, while Billy’s head was only just visible above the parapet.
She waved back, and Sophie waved too, and
then came Billy’s voice, calling again: ‘Can you see me all right, Grace? Look at me! I’m right up here.’
‘Yes,’ she called back, ‘I can see you. You’re so high up!’
‘I know.’ His tone was full of pride. ‘It’s marvellous, Grace. You should come up too.’
She laughed. ‘Thank you, but I don’t think so.’
And at this she could hear Mr Fairman’s laugh coming briefly over the intervening green of the shrubbery. And then his voice, calling to his daughter: ‘Can you see us, Sophie?’
‘Yes, Papa,’ Sophie’s voice rang out in the soft air. ‘I can see you both.’
Billy’s voice came again: ‘We’re coming down now, Grace.’
‘Good,’ Grace called back. ‘We’ve got the tea almost ready.’
A final wave from the top of the tower and then the heads of Mr Fairman and Billy vanished from sight again.
Several minutes passed and then Billy’s voice came once more, but this time from the lower level of the earth, his voice moving rapidly closer as he ran limping towards them over the grass. Turning to him as he approached, Grace could see Mr Fairman behind, walking at his steady pace.
‘Oh, Grace!’ Billy yelled ecstatically, ‘it was wonderful. It was just wonderful. Those stairs, they’re like a corkscrew, and they go up and up to the very top. And once you get up to the top you can see for miles and miles. It’s marvellous. You should come up and see for yourself. Oh, Grace!’
Looking past him, Grace smiled at Mr Fairman as he came to a halt beside the rug. ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘so much.’
