by Gwyneth Rees
‘So do you think he’ll give you the job?’ I asked. I couldn’t understand how Ben could still be in the running after everything that had happened, but it sounded like – by some miracle – he was.
‘I don’t know. He’s got to interview the other guy first. Apparently the third person dropped out. But since we’re the only ones who’d want to make use of the cottage, he’s asked Mrs Daniels to show it to us now, in case we don’t like it and want to withdraw our application or something.’
‘Why? Is it a really horrible cottage?’ I hadn’t thought of that possibility.
‘No one’s lived in it for over a year apparently. Oh, and get this – apparently Mrs Daniels’ husband used to be the gardener here before—’
He broke off as Mrs Daniels suddenly appeared in front of us, holding a big bunch of keys.
‘My late husband was the gardener here for fifteen years,’ Mrs Daniels informed us coolly, having obviously overheard Ben. ‘We lived in the cottage until he passed away eight years ago.’ She paused. ‘No other gardener has lasted very long here since then.’ She started to walk away from us, her fingers curled tightly around the keys.
‘Why has no other gardener lasted very long here?’ I whispered urgently to Ben, but he had already scurried after her.
‘You live in the main house now, don’t you, Mrs Daniels?’ Ben was saying in his most carefully polite voice, clearly trying his hardest to make up for laughing at her earlier. ‘Mr Rutherford says you know the house even better than he does.’
‘I know the grounds better too,’ she replied sharply. ‘I know exactly how these gardens are meant to look. I soon knew when those other gardeners weren’t doing their job properly.’
Ben swallowed. ‘The gardens look OK to me,’ he mumbled.
‘The lawns have been cut recently, that’s all. My Geoffrey would turn in his grave if he could see the state his gardens are in now.’ She led us on down the front driveway, but before we got to the bottom she turned off along a narrow footpath. ‘You can also reach the cottage from the main road,’ she told us, ‘but this way is quicker if you’re coming from the house.’
The path cut through an overgrown bushy area before eventually emerging into an open space where we found ourselves staring straight ahead at the gardener’s cottage. It was made of the same light grey stone as the house itself and had little latticed windows. From the outside it was just as I’d imagined it – apart from not having any roses growing round the door.
‘Wait here,’ Mrs Daniels told us as she turned the key in the lock.
But I couldn’t wait. Less than a minute after she’d gone into the cottage, I followed her. I stepped excitedly into the little hallway and, to my surprise, found Mrs Daniels on her hands and knees on the living-room floor, peering under the settee as if she was searching for something. Her skirt had risen up and I could see the tops of her stockings and her suspenders.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked curiously. Ben, who had followed me inside, was tugging at my arm to pull me away, but I ignored him.
Mrs Daniels stumbled to her feet, looking cross. ‘I thought I told you to wait outside,’ she snapped, ‘but clearly there’s no point asking you to do anything you don’t want to, is there, madam?’
Ben cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘Sorry . . . Er . . . Perhaps if we just take a quick look round? Then we can get out of your way.’
‘Go ahead. You clearly don’t need my permission to come in.’ She brushed past us, heading back out through the front door.
We quickly looked over the rest of the cottage. It was clean enough, though the carpets and wallpaper were old-fashioned, with too many swirly patterns on them for my liking. The kitchen had a cooker, a sink, a washing machine, some old-fashioned Formica-topped units and an ancient-looking fridge that was unplugged and standing with its door wedged open. The bathroom had a bath, sink and toilet, but no shower. There were two small bedrooms, both with dark wooden wardrobes and chests of drawers, with a double bed in one and a single bed in the other. The room with the single bed had a window that looked out on to the garden of the cottage and through the trees you could just make out the tower of the main house. I tried hard to imagine the bedroom with my curtains and duvet and bright fluffy cushions from home. Maybe it would look OK.
We went back into the living room and had another look in there, at the heavy maroon sofa and matching armchair, the square dining table with its four non-matching chairs and the big ugly sideboard. It all looked like it had come from one of those second-hand shops where they sell off the furniture of old people who’ve died.
‘I can always redecorate,’ Ben said, as if he could tell what I was thinking. ‘Tell you what . . . if we get the place, I’ll paint your room first, OK?’
I nodded, feeling more hopeful. ‘OK! And at least we’ve got throws to cover the sofa.’ Lou had always been big on using brightly coloured throws to cover the tatty bits of furniture we had in our flat.
‘Well?’ Mrs Daniels asked as we stepped outside into the sunshine again. She was looking hopeful too – hopeful that we might have been put off wanting to live here. I guessed that meant that she still hadn’t forgiven us for laughing at her earlier. (Like I already said, Ben is always going on about how first impressions make a big impact on people and I reckoned Mrs Daniels was proving him right, even if Mr Rutherford wasn’t.)
‘It’s fine, thanks,’ Ben replied politely. ‘I’m going to take May down to the village now for some lunch. Mr Rutherford said he’d let me know about the job later this afternoon so we’ll come back then, if that’s OK.’
Mrs Daniels nodded. ‘The food in the tea room isn’t up to much,’ she said. ‘You’ll do better in the pub. They’ll let your sister in, so long as you sit in the garden.’
‘Right,’ Ben said. ‘Thanks.’
As we turned to go she suddenly added, ‘I was checking for mice under the sofa just now. There were some droppings when I came in to look the place over the other day.’
‘Yuck!’ I pulled a face.
Mrs Daniels’ face was grim. ‘I didn’t think you’d like it. That’s why I asked you to wait outside. It doesn’t matter though. We can get the pest-control people in if necessary. Unless you’ve got a cat?’
Ben shook his head.
‘Shame.’
As we walked off down the driveway to the road, Ben whispered, ‘I reckon Mrs Daniels could scare mice away better than any cat.’
And I giggled my agreement.
There was one tea shop in the village, situated just across from the train station in a little row of shops that also contained a newsagent’s, a hardware shop, a chemist’s and a small foodstore. We had spotted the pub on our way down the road, but somehow we both felt it was safer to do the opposite of what Mrs Daniels had recommended.
‘The pub is probably well known for giving you food poisoning or something,’ Ben said. ‘That’s probably why she wants us to eat there – so we don’t actually make it back this afternoon.’
As we went inside the tea room, a bell rang above the door. It was past lunchtime and the place was empty apart from one couple who were in the process of leaving. We sat down at the window table and waited to be served. The tables all had white lacy cloths with white plastic ones underneath. The white lacy one on our table had stains on it and looked like it could do with a wash.
Normally when we eat out Ben doesn’t chat much to the staff, apart from maybe asking something about the food. But today the lady who took our order asked us all about ourselves before she even asked what we wanted to eat, so he ended up telling her that we had just come from Thornton Hall and that he was applying for a job as gardener there.
That brought the other lady in the tea room over to our table. The two of them introduced themselves as Kathy and Barbara, and it turned out that they were sisters who lived in the village and ran the shop together. They hadn’t really known Mr Rutherford’s aunt who had died last year, but they did know Mrs Daniels
.
‘Snooty piece of work, she is!’ the lady called Kathy said. ‘The last time she came in here, she complained about my scones! I’d think twice before you take any gardening job there, if I were you. Jimmy, our cousin’s lad, was the last gardener they employed. He’s only just left the place. Apparently that Daniels woman was always making out he didn’t cut the mustard compared with her late husband—’
‘– whose name you’ll never hear the last of if you take that job,’ her sister added.
‘Exactly so – and in the end poor Jimmy got sick of hearing how her Geoffrey did this and how her Geoffrey did that, so he handed in his notice.’
‘Really?’ Ben was looking thoughtful, as if he reckoned that having Mrs Daniels telling him exactly how her husband used to do things in the garden would be a blessing in disguise if he got the job.
‘Did Jimmy live in the gardener’s cottage?’ I asked them.
‘Goodness, no! He lived with his mother in the village. You don’t want anything to do with that cottage, let me tell you!’
‘Now, Kathy . . .’ her sister began, but the woman was clearly on a roll and there was no stopping her.
‘They might as well know what they’re dealing with, Barbara!’ She pulled out a seat from the table next to us and sat down. ‘Mrs Daniels moved out of that cottage and into the big house with the old lady just after her husband died. Thick as thieves, those two were after that! Mrs Daniels was given a whole suite of rooms there, all to herself, so people say. Well, over the years a few other gardeners came and went – some stayed in that cottage and some didn’t, but nobody made it their home for very long. She was always hostile towards them, so I’ve heard. Then, nearly a year ago, the old lady dies, leaving Mrs Daniels up there on her own, acting like she owns the place. That’s until the old lady’s nephew moves in a few months ago. Well, it’s around that time that the weird goings-on start . . .’ She paused dramatically.
I was getting excited now. I felt like I’d landed right in the middle of a proper adventure – as if I really was Mary Lennox in The Secret Garden.
‘What weird goings-on?’ I asked breathlessly.
‘Lights in the cottage when it’s meant to be empty. And noises!’ Kathy had lowered her voice to a whisper.
‘Maybe someone’s been squatting there,’ Ben suggested.
‘That’s what Jimmy thought – he told that Rutherford chap straight away and they checked it out together, but they didn’t find anything. Then Jimmy was walking past one night and he saw the lights again. Mr Rutherford was away that week so Jimmy went to investigate and he swears that he heard voices coming from inside the cottage. He knocked on the door and who should open it but Mrs Daniels herself. She got all cross with him and told him she’d just popped in to check up on the place. She said it was just her in there – nobody else – though Jimmy reckoned otherwise.’ Kathy paused for breath, but not for long. ‘Then, about a week later, she comes in here for a cream tea – which she has the nerve to complain about, would you believe? – and I ask her about that cottage myself. I tell her our Jimmy’s a sensitive boy, but he’s not the type to imagine things. And she actually says to me that she knows that, and that she wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t her late husband’s ghost causing all the racket everyone’s been hearing in the cottage. She says she reckons her Geoffrey might not be able to rest in peace on account of the mess all those other gardeners – including our Jimmy – have been making of his life’s work since he passed on.’
‘Ach – she was having you on!’ her sister said.
‘You should’ve seen the look she gave me. If that’s her having a joke, I wouldn’t like to get too near to her when she’s being serious!’
I could see that Ben wasn’t too impressed by their story, and I didn’t believe in ghosts either, but I was still very curious to know what had really been happening in the cottage.
After Kathy had gone off into the kitchen and Barbara had brought us our lunch and was starting to clear the other tables, Ben asked, ‘Excuse me, but I was wondering . . . do you know what the local secondary school is like?’
‘Oh, it’s very good,’ Barbara replied, turning to face us again. ‘My son went there.’ She explained how it was only a short bus ride away and how it had a very good reputation. ‘My son’s at university now,’ she added proudly.
I could tell that Ben was far more interested in the school than in anything else he had been told all day. In fact, if he’d just been told that Mrs Daniels was an axe-murderer, I reckoned it wouldn’t have made any difference to his plans now that he knew there was a really good school here for me to go to.
Ben looked at his watch, then pushed away his plate even though he hadn’t finished his baked potato. ‘Mr Rutherford must have finished interviewing that other bloke by now,’ he said. ‘Come on. Let’s go and find out what he’s decided. You can bring that sandwich with you.’
Since I’m a picky eater at the best of times, I was only too happy to leave my half-eaten sandwich where it was. The bread was pretty dry in any case. As Ben paid the bill I noticed a plate of scones sitting behind the counter. They looked dry too, as well as being burnt on top, and I found myself wondering if Mrs Daniels hadn’t been right after all about the pub food being better. But if we hadn’t come in here, we wouldn’t have got all this information about her, would we?
And I suddenly thought that maybe the quality of the food wasn’t the only thing that had prompted her to suggest we had lunch in the pub.
‘I really can’t believe it!’ Ben kept saying over and over for the next few days after he found out he’d got the job. All he could talk about was how he didn’t want to let Mr Rutherford down. He even used our credit card to buy himself four gardening books, despite the fact that they were expensive. Apparently gardening books had become essentials in our life now.
‘You know, I can’t figure it out,’ Ben said as he handed me one of his new books and asked me to test him on the names of a long list of different types of weed. ‘I mean, why give the job to me? That other guy was an experienced gardener – a bit surly, maybe, but then so is everybody else at Thornton Hall. I reckon he’d have fitted in fine there, whereas you and me, with our sunny personalities . . .’ He was only half joking, I could tell.
‘I can do surly,’ I replied swiftly.
He laughed. ‘I guess that’s true.’
We moved into the cottage at Thornton Hall the weekend after Ben’s interview. In the space of a week Ben had given notice on our flat, got rid of our own furniture to a local second-hand shop and borrowed a mate’s car to transport the rest of our things from the flat to our new home. We had also had to inform my school, say a rapid goodbye to our friends and email Lou with our new address. There had been two emails waiting for us from Lou – one for me and one for Ben – telling us all her news from India. Apparently the food wasn’t agreeing with Greg, who had already had a bout of diarrhoea, but she was fine and really enjoying herself.
The day after we moved – the whole thing was so sudden that Ben and I were both feeling like this was just a weekend away rather than a permanent change in our lives – Mrs Daniels came round to drop off some extra bedding and some mousetraps. ‘I haven’t found any more droppings, but you never know,’ she informed us briskly. She wasn’t dressed in black this time. She had on a navy skirt and a dark green blouse. She told Ben she would meet him at nine o’clock sharp on Monday morning to show him where all the gardening equipment was kept. ‘And then Mr Rutherford wants to show you the grounds himself – and let you know what he expects from you.’
There was one thing I was desperate to know about Thornton Hall – so desperate that I even felt brave enough to ask Mrs Daniels about it. ‘Is there a walled garden here?’ I blurted out as she was about to leave. If there was, then that would make me feel even more like Mary in The Secret Garden.
‘There’s the old sun garden,’ she replied crisply. ‘It’s on the south side of the house, though it
’s in a dreadful state compared with how it was in my Geoffrey’s day.’ She looked at Ben. ‘That’s something else you need to sort out.’ She sighed loudly. ‘When I think how my late husband toiled over the gardens here . . .’
And that’s when Ben made his move. ‘Mrs Daniels,’ he began earnestly, ‘I really want to do a good job here. I really want to make the garden as good as it was when Mr Daniels was alive. I was wondering . . . would you help me by telling me a bit about how he did things?’
She looked taken aback and a bit suspicious. ‘I thought you’d have your own ideas! You young ones usually do!’
‘But you’ve seen the grounds when they were at their best,’ he reminded her.
‘Well . . . I do have some photographs of how the garden used to be,’ she began slowly, in a slightly softer voice. ‘And it’s true, my husband had a great knowledge of gardening, some of which he did pass on to me. It’s like I kept saying to that Jimmy – he was the last boy who came here, who called himself a gardener – there’s no substitute for experience when it comes to gardening. It just isn’t the sort of thing you can learn from a book.’ Her gaze fell on one of Ben’s gardening books which was lying on the table – Gardening for Beginners. She frowned at it.
‘That book’s mine,’ I said, picking it up.
‘I guess we all have to start somewhere, Mrs Daniels,’ Ben put in quickly. ‘I mean, when your husband started out he must have been new to it all too.’
‘Oh yes, but then my Geoffrey was a born gardener,’ Mrs Daniels said proudly.
I was about to point out that surely you either needed experience to be a good gardener or you didn’t? And nobody was born with gardening experience, were they? But the look Ben gave me when I opened my mouth soon made me close it again.
I said what I thought to Ben as soon as she’d gone though.
‘She just meant that her Geoffrey . . .’ He grinned. ‘. . . I mean, her husband, had a natural talent for gardening, that’s all.’
