A Winter’s Tale

by Trisha Ashley

  ‘Yes, in a nutshell, though of course costs rise and income may fluctuate,’ he pointed out. ‘The bank loan was spent entirely on the garden—large yew trees to extend the maze to its original size did not come cheaply—and the repayments are now a heavy drain on the estate on top of all the other expenses.’

  ‘Oh God!’ I said, closing my eyes briefly. ‘Well, given all that, and with four gardeners but only one cleaner, the house was bound to deteriorate to the point where there’s a huge amount of work to do to get it back into good order. I only hope it’s structurally sound, because there’s no contingency fund in these figures, is there?’

  ‘No, I am afraid not, though one of the other paintings Sir William had cleaned proved to be a Herring—a horse painting, though not, of course, in the same league as the Stubbs. He put it to one side.’

  ‘I’ll look for it later. I don’t really want to sell off more heirlooms than I absolutely have to, though clearing that bank loan has to be a priority. But on the other hand, it would be pointless doing that if the house then fell down about my ears, wouldn’t it? Jack seems to think Winter’s End needs a lot of expensive repair work.’

  ‘Oh, I should doubt that very much,’ he exclaimed, shocked. ‘Sir William may have been, if I may say so, blinkered by his fanatical ambition to fully restore the gardens to their previous glory, but he would not have let the fabric of the house disintegrate to that extent.’

  ‘Let’s hope you’re right; it will make things so much easier. Did you know I’d spent my working life in stately homes, Mr Yatton? I expect I know as much about the best way to clean a marble floor, or get the dust out of a carved overmantel, as any professionally trained conservator, though applying those techniques here will be a bit like shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted. I’m going to do my best to conserve what’s left, but to do that I’ll need help—and without increasing the staffing bills.’

  ‘Do I deduce, therefore, that you will be reducing the garden staff and increasing the indoor?’ he guessed intelligently.

  ‘Not exactly, because I couldn’t possibly fire any of the people working for Winter’s End. They all seem to have been here for years and years! But obviously I can’t afford to take on more until I find a way of drastically increasing the revenue, so—’ I sat back—‘it looks like I will just have to reallocate some of the gardeners to help around the house when needed, won’t I?’

  ‘I suppose that would be the logical solution,’ he agreed after a moment, ‘but of course Seth won’t be pleased, with the garden restoration scheme finally being so close to completion. The last stage is the lower terrace, for which the original plan is missing. We found most of it in that chest over there, mixed up with all sorts of papers, though the bottom had been ripped off. But even when finished, the gardens will take quite a bit of maintenance.’

  ‘But not so much in the winter.’

  ‘No, there is that, though of course a lot of woodland maintenance takes place then, and there is the mistletoe harvest.’

  ‘Exactly how much do I pay Seth Greenwood for his services?’ I asked curiously, realising I hadn’t seen any mention of his salary among all the figures.

  ‘Nothing at all, though he lives in the lodge rent free. Sir William treated him as one of the family, since he is also your great-aunt Ottilie’s stepson. Seth agreed to come back and oversee the remainder of the restoration after his father died, as nominal head gardener, with the proviso that he was free to do his own work whenever he pleased.’

  ‘His own work being…?’

  ‘Designing and restoring knot gardens and parterres—that is his speciality, you know. He writes books and articles, too. Indeed, he is also the author of the little pamphlet on the history of Winter’s End that we sell on open days.’

  ‘He’s a man of many talents,’ I said, curiously put out to find I was getting his services for free. ‘Renaissance Man, in fact!’

  ‘Sir William was very fond of him and treated him almost like a son—though, of course, he couldn’t have left him Winter’s End, since there was no relationship other than through marriage.’

  ‘And there was Jack, the obvious heir,’ I pointed out, wondering if Jack had felt jealous that Seth had claimed his rightful place in Grandfather’s affections, just as he had claimed mine in Hebe’s? This nest had had two rival cuckoos jostling for position…

  ‘Er—yes, though he never really entered into your grandfather’s passion for gardening. Are you fond of gardening, Sophy?’

  ‘I love walking in gardens, or sitting in one with a drink in my hand; but I had enough of grubbing about in the soil in all weathers when I lived in a commune in Scotland.’

  I contemplated the knotty problem that was Seth Greenwood, and concluded that there wasn’t really any way I could get rid of him if he was working for nothing and Ottie’s stepson—though of course, he might leave in high dudgeon when I radically cut the garden budget…

  ‘I do intend completing the restoration, but perhaps not as quickly as my grandfather would have liked, since the house must take priority now. And to fund anything that needs more than simple hard work and elbow grease, I’ll need to increase the revenue from Winter’s End in some way.’

  ‘The woodland is already well managed and the tenancy terms for Brockbank Farm are very fair,’ Mr Yatton said doubtfully.

  ‘Yes, I expect they are, but I was thinking more about increasing visitor numbers. Opening Winter’s End to the public seems to have been a bit half-hearted and I’m sure there must be lots of opportunity there to generate income.’

  ‘Sir William hated opening the house at all, though the family side was shut off and so quite unaffected by the visitors. But certainly you could open for more days, if you wished.’

  ‘I’ll give it some serious thought and perhaps, meanwhile, I should harden my heart, sell the Herring and use the money to renovate the visitor facilities? We could enhance our existing assets, like having Alys Blezzard’s portrait cleaned and making more of the witchcraft angle, and the legend that Shakespeare might have visited Winter’s End could be turned into a major draw too…Bigged-up, as they say.’

  I was starting to feel hopeful and enthused—washed over by one of those golden glows of unfoundedly optimistic second sight. ‘We could have a shop as well as a better tearoom, and sell all kinds of merchandise.’

  He looked dubious. ‘Sir William hated anything commercial.’

  ‘Commerce is what kept a roof on the last house I worked in, and the Scottish castle where I was before that. I know what visitors want,’ I said confidently. In fact, in the past I’d frequently wondered why half of them even bothered going round the buildings at all, and didn’t just have lunch and then buy souvenirs.

  He had been scribbling onto a notepad while we had been talking and now came to a halt and looked up. ‘So, your initial idea is to redirect most of what income there is away from the garden and into restoring the house. Then, secondly, to generate new income from increased visitor numbers. Any work needing to be carried out to enhance visitor attractions is to be funded in the first instance by the sale of the Herring painting.’

  ‘Yes…that’s it so far. That way we should be able to keep repaying the loan and still have some profit left over. I haven’t really had much time to work on the finer details, because until I got here I thought I would probably sell the estate to Jack.’

  ‘Oh, no, that wasn’t at all what Sir William intended,’ he said, looking shocked. ‘He expected you to take on the running of the estate and thought that your daughter, Lucy, had a good head for business and perhaps could replace me when I retire.’

  I stared at him. ‘He did? But he only met her once!’

  ‘Sir William was extremely good at summing up character and—excuse me!—from the sound of it, their encounter seemed to have been a case of like meeting like.’

  I cast my mind back to Grandfather’s visit and had to concede that he was right. ‘They clashed, but th
ey did both seem to enjoy it. And I am sure she will be invaluable in running Winter’s End, though she’s in Japan at the moment, you know, teaching English on a year’s contract. I’d like to get her home, because she’s being stalked and there have been all those horrible cases in the newspapers lately.’

  ‘You could send for her now, if you are worried,’ he suggested.

  ‘No I can’t, because for one thing I’d have to buy her a plane ticket, which would be horrendously expensive, and for another, she’s dead stubborn and took this job to try and pay off some of her student loan debts, so I’d have to have something to offer her.’

  ‘If you explain to her that you need her help, then give me her email address so I can start sending her figures, spreadsheets, and an outline of what I do, she may well become so involved and interested that she will agree to come back early,’ he suggested craftily.

  ‘You know, Mr Yatton, you may just be right? You’re a genius!’ I kissed him, which made him go slightly pink and flustered.

  Then Jonah came in with coffee and butterfly sponge cakes, after which, fortified, Mr Yatton took me off in an ancient Land Rover to meet the tenant farmer, bumping down the back drive behind the coach house, past a slightly neglected tennis court.

  He dropped me off at the door a couple of hours later, by which time I was exhausted, my head buzzing. He seemed enlivened, if anything, by the whole thing and clattered off with a cheery wave, saying he had to go and collect his sister, Effie, since it was the Sticklepond teadance club tonight down at the village hall and they were dining at the pub first.

  ‘Tell Miss Hebe that she must save me a jive,’ he said, on departing.

  A jive?

  Charlie, looking faintly aggrieved, was sitting on the doorstep, a vision of short black and white fur and lurid tartan coat, a small bone-shaped device under his chin holding, I discovered, a couple of matching red doggy bags. Very tasteful. He kept shaking his head, so it seemed to be annoying him—but then, King Charles spaniels don’t have a lot of chin. Perhaps it would be better clipped to his lead, instead?

  ‘Milly said poor Charlie’s claws were so long they were going into his pads,’ Mrs Lark told me when I went into the kitchen. ‘She’s going to pop out and give him a going-over once a month, if you like.’

  ‘Yes, I think she’d better,’ I agreed, though here was yet another expense.

  ‘Do you want a sandwich? You’ve missed your lunch and it’s gone teatime. I’ve just made one for Miss Hebe and taken it through into the stillroom. She’s been in the garden all day, and if you don’t remind her to eat or put it in front of her she’d be no wider than a piece of knotted string.’

  ‘Is she in there now?’ I asked, looking at the closed door.

  ‘Yes, brewing something heathenish up for a customer—I didn’t ask what. Now, about that sandwich?’

  ‘Oh, no, thanks,’ I said with a shudder. ‘I’ve just been out to the tenanted farm, and I’m full of strong tea, fruitcake and Lancashire Crumbly.’

  I took Charlie out for a quick walk down the drive and back in the wintry late afternoon gloom, then took his coat off and hung it up in the kitchen with his lead. I left Mrs Lark feeding him and went upstairs to change.

  I’d left my mobile behind and there were two voicemail messages: one from Anya, asking how the bloated plutocrat was feeling today, and the other in Jack’s smoothly spine-tingling tones, saying he hoped I’d liked my flowers, and he looked forward to seeing me on Saturday.

  So, Aunt Hebe hadn’t told him about my decision to keep Winter’s End yet? Maybe she thought that I would change my mind when I realised the enormity of the task—or that Jack, when he arrived, would change it for me? Or even that restoring Winter’s End would quickly become a joint venture.

  I did keep imagining what it would be like if Jack accepted my decision with good grace and then helped me restore Winter’s End. It was going to be enjoyable, but also very hard work, and it would be fun to share that with someone else…

  I still had the phone in my hand when it rang, making me jump, but this time it was Lucy.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’

  ‘That was good timing, darling. I’ve just come in from spending the most exhausting day, being given a crash course in estate management! I thought I had the estate manager for that—or steward, as Mr Yatton calls himself—but I suppose I ought to try and get my head round it, if only to understand how much I’ve got—or not got—to keep the place running. That bank loan is crippling and since we’ve only just repaid the interest and started on the capital, there would be nothing to be gained by paying it off early even if we could…’ I tailed off. ‘But, Lucy, just wait until you see Winter’s End! I only hope you love it as much as I do.’

  ‘Actually, Mum, I already have.’

  ‘Have what?’ I said, puzzled.

  ‘Seen Winter’s End. After Great-Grandfather visited us I was curious. You’d always made Winter’s End sound like some lost Eden, the Shangri-La of Lancashire, so I thought I’d have a look.’

  ‘But no one has mentioned—’

  ‘No one knew,’ she interrupted. ‘You always said I had the Winter colouring, so I disguised myself with a beanie hat and dark shades and just came on an open day. I saw Great-Grandfather on one of the lower terraces, talking to a gardener, but he didn’t see me. He looked ill—much frailer than when he visited us.’

  ‘You could have told me.’

  ‘I thought it might upset you. You always said you could never go back, though I didn’t see why not.’

  ‘Because my mother always said—’ I stopped. Susan had said a lot of things, not always the exact truth—more an embellished retelling of old stories that grew and changed in time. But somehow her fear of going back to Winter’s End had infected me, so that even long after she had died and I was an adult with my own child, it had never occurred to me to return.

  Perhaps it was partly because I had loved it so much and felt secure there that I feared to go back and find it all changed. I didn’t want the memories tarnished by reality. Just as well too—I’d have been devastated to find Jack had taken my place in Hebe’s affections, and Seth in Ottie’s and Grandfather’s. Not that I think I had ever featured much in either of the latter’s, since Ottie was the most unmaternal woman I had ever met and Grandfather had seemed at the time to regard me merely as an irritating blot on the family escutcheon.

  ‘What did you think of it, Lucy?’

  ‘Well, I only saw the gardens and the Great Hall, really, though the maze was…well, amazing! The house looked pretty shabby and the catering facilities were tea and buns in this sort of outhouse at the back. But it…I don’t know, as soon as I started up the drive I knew it was one of those magic spots that seem to be in a time warp of their own. Do you know what I mean? Like when we took the van up to the Roman fort at Vindolanda, that was a magical place too. You felt you’d stepped out of time.’

  ‘That’s interesting, because I feel the same way, and I just can’t let Winter’s End go. Mind you, I can’t really afford to keep it, either, because the house has been terribly neglected. All the money for its upkeep has been poured into the gardens and no one even took an interest in keeping the place properly clean. It’s disgustingly dirty!’

  ‘Oh, Mum!’ Lucy sighed. ‘Handing you a big neglected house of your own is like the best present ever! What have you cleaned so far?’

  ‘Only the dog. There’s a little spaniel called Charlie, and he was all matted and dirty. But I didn’t do it myself—he was beyond that. I had someone come out to clip and bath him and do his toenails.’

  ‘Bet you are dying to get on with sorting everything out, though?’

  ‘Yes, I am, but I had to have this session with Mr Yatton, today first—and apparently the solicitor, the accountant and even my personal bank accounts manager are going to visit me too, in the next few days. I wish you were here, Lucy. You are so much better at business and figures and stuff than me.’

  ‘I
should be; that’s what I did my degree in.’

  ‘Yes, and amazingly enough, Grandfather seems to have sussed that out. He suggested to Mr Yatton that you could learn to be the steward when you came back, and take over from him when he retires. I don’t know how you feel about that? If you like the idea, Mr Yatton said he could start sending you figures and spreadsheets (whatever they are) by email right now. I gave him your address. Is that OK?’

  ‘He emails?’

  ‘The estate office has a computer, but he has a swish laptop too—he’s a silver surfer.’

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘So, what do you think? He said he could teach you quite a lot of it by email.’

  ‘Why not? He can send me the figures over and keep me up to date, and I can discuss it with you, or send him emails to show to you—and we’ll see how it goes when I get back. But it would be a job, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, a proper job—though the salary might not be huge, to start with. But if we can keep Winter’s End going, then one day it will be yours.’

  ‘That’s a really, really odd thought…though Winter’s End sort of got to me, and I keep thinking about it…’ She added more briskly, ‘Don’t do anything sudden without asking me first, especially involving men. You know you always go for the wrong sort.’

  ‘I don’t! In fact, I’ve hardly had a chance to go for any sort, and it’s not my fault that when I started dating again only the dregs of humanity were left over.’

  ‘Jack sounds to me like the wrong sort, or why wouldn’t Great-Grandfather have left Winter’s End to him? Bet he’s a snake in the grass. Don’t be too trusting.’

  ‘He is not a snake in the grass and I am not too—’

  ‘I’ll have to go. Love you lots. Byee…’