But apart from the Elizabethan chest there wasn’t much else in there of any value—just the display of wax flowers under a glass dome, a couple of dead spiders, the almost-certainly fake ushabti figures, and a cheap and hideous Japanese teaset messily painted with dragons.
Once the cupboard was clean inside and out, I dusted off the little wooden coffer with a new hogshair brush I had borrowed from Ottie. It still looked dull and homely, but I decided to wait for the specialist (and expensive) Renaissance wax I had ordered to arrive, rather than use Aunt Hebe’s beeswax polish on it.
Then I washed and dried the glass dome and teaset before gingerly replacing everything, so that when I finally stepped back to admire my handiwork, the china sent out subtle gleams of red and gold from the dark depths of the cupboard and the wax flowers glimmered palely like spectral coral.
I was so unbelievably filthy after just doing that one corner that I had to go and take a long shower before dinner. It was obviously going to take me hours to clean the whole room to the point where I could start making my patchwork cushions in there, but I was dying to get on with the rest of it.
Call me a sad person if you like, but cleaning is such fun!
Before I went down for dinner I tried ringing Jack’s mobile yet again, not expecting him to actually answer—so that when he did the sound of his warm, caressing voice immediately threw me into a panic.
We’d barely exchanged civilised greetings before I was confessing, in a rush, ‘Jack, there’s something I have to tell you! I’m terribly, terribly sorry—but the instant I arrived back at Winter’s End, I realised I couldn’t possibly ever sell it, even to you.’
There was a small silence and then he said, reasonably, ‘But, darling, you wouldn’t be so much selling it as helping to keep it in the family. It will cost a small fortune to put the place right and even the everyday expenditure just to keep the place running is huge—way beyond your means. You have no idea!’
‘Well actually, Jack, I do. The costs will be huge, you are right, but I’ve worked out a plan, and I think if we all pull together as a team we can do it, even if it is a bit of a gamble. I’m going to sell the Herring horse portrait, but instead of paying off that horrible bank loan with the money, I’m going to use it to upgrade the visitor facilities, with the aim of greatly increasing revenue from opening the house. I’m having a staff meeting tomorrow morning, to tell them about it and get them on board—and I really hope you will be there too, to support me, Jack.’
‘Hebe mentioned something about a staff meeting, and I’ve no objection to you taking control of the housekeeping and putting the place to rights, Sophy, because goodness knows it needs it! And it is your home too, after all,’ he said magnanimously. ‘I hope it always will be.’
‘Gee, thanks,’ I said, the sarcasm just slipping out. Hadn’t he been listening to me? ‘Look Jack, you don’t understand! I’m going to—’
‘Don’t worry your head about revenue or selling things, darling, just mobilise the troops for a spring clean and leave the rest to me. We’ll work something out. See you tomorrow!’ he added, and was gone.
I was so unnerved by this exchange that I immediately rang Anya and told her all about it.
‘Jack sounds to me like the sort of spoiled brat who hasn’t grown out of thinking that he can have whatever he wants,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘It will never enter his head that he can’t charm you into seeing things his way—and maybe he can, because you’re a sucker for that kind of man.’
‘He could charm the birds down from the trees,’ I agreed ruefully, ‘but really, Anya, I’m not such a soft touch—or not where Winter’s End is concerned, anyway.’
‘Well, watch out. That kind of man can turn quite nasty if you cross them.’
‘Jack’s not “that kind of man”, he’s really warm and lovely and interesting,’ I said, with more assurance than I actually felt. I mean, he was a bit scary that time he turned up at the caravan, until he realised I hadn’t persuaded Grandfather into leaving Winter’s End to me, though I suppose that was perfectly understandable. I might have added that he was also cloth-eared and obtuse—but affectionate…‘It’s only that he does seem to feel that Winter’s End is his by right—only now, unfortunately, so do I!’
‘Sounds to me like he hasn’t grasped that at all, Sophy. He just thinks he’s got a gullible free housekeeper,’ she commented bluntly.
‘Well, he hasn’t, as he will find out tomorrow if he arrives in time for the meeting! But don’t think the idea of selling it to him and just being the housekeeper didn’t sound tempting. I mean, I could stay here always, looking after Winter’s End, without any of the responsibilities and financial worries!’
‘You’re not serious?’
‘No, it was only a moment’s weakness when I was feeling overwhelmed by it all. Oh, and about Seth—you know, the head gardener? He’s having a fling with the local beauty, a rich and very beautiful widow!’ I told her what I’d heard and seen in the graveyard.
‘Pity. He sounded like he had more possibilities than Jack.
’ ‘He has no possibilities—what gave you that idea?
’ ‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it was when you described him as very tall, dark, green-eyed and bad-tempered. But if this local beauty has got her claws into him, obviously that’s that.’ Then she told me the good news—that Guy had got a job near Manchester, so she was going to come down this way, once he was settled.
I was dying to see her and show her Winter’s End—and see Seth’s face when she rolled up in her converted ambulance. I wouldn’t warn him she’s coming, because that would spoil the element of surprise.
I wondered if there would be any fireworks from Seth at the meeting tomorrow…but perhaps not, because he should have picked up some idea of my intentions from our conversation while he was showing me the gardens. But then again, like with Jack, I was not sure he was really taking in what I was saying.
But if they didn’t take me seriously, that was their problem…And whatever Aunt Hebe, Anya, or anyone else thought, there was no way Jack could charm Winter’s End out of me: it was mine, all mine. Though if he actually did feel about it the way I did, then I was sorry for him and I’d be more than happy if he wanted to spend lots of time here, helping me get the place up and running.
What with the thought of all the morrow’s ordeals—giving a speech of sorts, trying to second-guess everyone’s reactions and convincing Jack that I meant what I said—I tossed and turned restlessly for the second night in a row and only fell asleep with the dawn, waking very much later than I ought to have.
Downstairs Jonah brought me fresh coffee and informed me that Aunt Hebe had breakfasted early and was now rearranging the seating in the Great Hall. ‘This bacon’s dried out—shall I get Mrs Lark to cook you up some fresh?’
‘Oh, no thanks, Jonah. There isn’t time. You can clear that away now, if you want to.’ I just gulped down my coffee and then ran back up the solar stairs for my notes and to take a few deep breaths, before going stealthily along to the minstrels’ gallery and peering over the rail.
Aunt Hebe had evidently grouped the chairs by the fire to her satisfaction, and was now sitting there, together with Ottie, Mr Yatton, and Mrs Lark, who was crocheting something lacy.
Seth, a finger of wintry sunshine haloing his very unangelic dark head, was seated on one of the ancient cast-iron radiators, morosely whittling something. I hoped it was up to his weight, but since the radiators never seemed to rise to much above lukewarm at least he was unlikely to burn his extremities.
That Mel Christopher might, though.
The rest of the staff and several total strangers were standing about talking, but went silent when I came slowly down the stairs, pausing at the bottom. To my relief I noticed that the stag now had two eyes, even if he was hung aslant, so that he seemed to be looking at me with sideways suspicion—but then, so were half the people present.
In fact, there seemed to be an awful lot
of staring eyes in the room, but I soon realised that the occasion had become an extended family outing, with an impromptu mother and toddler group set up in one corner and a senior citizens’ day centre on the window seats.
There was no sign of Jack: I didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.
‘Here she is,’ Ottie remarked loudly. ‘I’d stand two steps up and talk from there, Sophy, otherwise we won’t be able to see you, let alone hear you. This lot are the Friends of Winter’s, by the way.’ She gestured to a dozen or so elderly strangers, who all nodded at me and then sat down in two rows on the benches behind the chairs, like a jury.
I did as Ottie suggested, looking down into a circle of expectant faces and feeling hideously self-conscious. ‘I’ve called you all together,’ I began—then stopped, horrified to find my voice coming out in a much higher pitch than usual. I coughed and started again: ‘I’ve called you together today to explain to you how things stand. I’m sure you must all be anxious to know what my future plans are for Winter’s End.’
Seth raised his head and I looked away from his direction hastily. ‘What I would like to do is make my home here at Winter’s End, as my grandfather intended, and for it to go on as before so that you all keep your jobs. But if this is to happen, then the estate must start to pay its way.’
‘That’s right,’ Jonah agreed with absent heartiness: he was cleaning his fingernails out with a pocketknife, which was something I wished he’d done before serving breakfast.
‘The house has been allowed to fall into a state of neglect and disrepair over the last few years—through no fault of the staff, I hasten to add. For too long, the money that should have gone into its upkeep has been entirely diverted into restoring the gardens, an imbalance that must now be redressed.’
Out of the corner of my eye I could see the three gardeners, Derek, Bob and Hal, turn as one man and look nervously at Seth, whose green eyes were fixed on me in a way I was coming to recognise meant trouble.
I looked down at my notes quickly. ‘The garden is nearing completion in any case, and so now the first priority must be to refurbish the house. Additional funding for this will be raised by increased visitor numbers, with an extended season, a larger entrance fee, improved refreshment facilities and the sale of Winter’s End-related merchandise.’
‘You mean a shop?’ Aunt Hebe said after a minute, in a very Lady Bracknell way.
‘Yes, the existing tearooms could be turned into a sort of giftshop-cum-café area. I’ve seen it work very well elsewhere, because when visitors are sitting having tea surrounded by things to buy, they very often do. The temptation is too much for them. We could even sell a range of your rose-based products, if you wanted to, Aunt Hebe,’ I added with low cunning. ‘With a cut going to Winter’s End, of course.’
She sat up a bit straighter. ‘What percentage?’
‘My sister was always mercenary at heart,’ Ottie commented to the room at large.
‘That’s easy for someone to say who only has to slap a bit of wet clay onto twisted wire to rake in a fortune,’ Hebe snapped.
‘We can discuss percentages later.’ I turned back to the rest of the room. ‘So, the situation at the moment is that there’s a huge amount of work to be done in the house, where we have very little assistance, but much less in the garden, where we have a larger staff. Clearly that needs addressing and, while I certainly don’t want to lose any gardeners, you all need to be aware that you’ll have to become multitaskers, helping with any jobs around the house as and when asked—such as cleaning all the outside windows, for a start. That will take two of you, and I’d like it done on Monday, please, weather permitting. Perhaps you could decide among yourselves who will do that?’
‘I’m up for it,’ Bob said, the pink daisy in his hat bobbing. ‘Make a change from all the eternal tree clipping! I’m cutting box spirals in my sleep, these days.’
‘Do they lean sideways like the ones you do when you’re awake, Bob?’ asked Hal, and they all laughed.
‘Thanks, Bob,’ I said. ‘After that, I’d like a start made on rubbing down the front gates by the lodge, ready for repainting. Rusting gates aren’t exactly the image we want to give our visitors when they first arrive, are they?’
I looked around at the sea of faces. ‘Well, that’s about it, really. The goalpost we’re all aiming for is a grand, preseason opening day to get publicity going before the season starts in earnest at Easter—say Valentine’s Day, February the fourteenth. Given the amount of work that needs doing, that doesn’t leave us a lot of time.’
Seth stood up suddenly. ‘No, it doesn’t—and it’s the gardens that bring in most of the visitors, so you can’t just take the men away and tell them to clean windows, or anything else that isn’t their job, whenever you feel like it!’
‘Yes I can,’ I said mildly, ‘and clearly they understand why.’
‘But the restoration is so near completion—it would be madness to stop now!’
‘We’re not stopping,’ I said patiently. ‘Weren’t you listening? I’m not taking the gardeners away entirely, just asking them to help with things they wouldn’t normally do, when necessary, especially in the run-up to the visitor season. If we don’t all pull together as a team my plans won’t work, I’ll have to sell Winter’s End—and that will be an end of it.’
‘What about Jack?’ Hebe asked doubtfully. ‘Have you discussed all this with him?’
‘Well, I’ve certainly told him all my plans,’ I said with perfect truth. I swept a glance over the rest of the room. ‘So, what do you all say?’
‘Hear, hear,’ Mrs Lark called. ‘You’re a sensible lass and your grandfather would be proud of you.’
‘He wouldn’t be too happy about delaying the garden scheme,’ Seth snapped, ‘especially rebuilding the retaining wall of the lower terrace. I think you’re making a big mistake. Old manor houses are two a penny, but the garden scheme is unique.’
‘William may have been as blinkered on the subject as you, Seth,’ Ottie informed him crisply, ‘but it’s more than just an old manor house to Sophy, and I think you’ve met your match. She’s as passionate about it as you are about the garden. It won’t hurt for you to lend a hand and I’ll certainly do what I can to help.’
‘Like what?’ Seth demanded sarcastically. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to start cleaning the windows or polishing the furniture?’
‘No, I’m going to make a sculpture for the garden,’ she said simply.
‘Oh, that’ll get the crowds in!’
‘It’ll certainly get a different crowd in from the usual visitors,’ she agreed, ‘and help with publicity about Winter’s End. And if times get really hard, Sophy can flog it.’
‘Thank you very much, Ottie,’ I said, grateful for the thought even if unsure how one of her very modern sculptures would fit into the garden. From the look on Seth’s face, the same thought had just struck him too.
‘A mixture of verdigris green and shining copper, I think…’ she mused, her eyes going distant.
‘Regarding the lower terrace, Seth,’ I said boldly, encouraged by Ottie’s stance, ‘and our discussion about it, since we’re going to create a Shakespeare garden, I thought it would be an interesting idea to have some of the stones in the rebuilt retaining wall inscribed with short quotations from the bard.’
This was a brilliant idea that had come to me in the unsleeping night watches, probably due to looking up all those Shakespearean plants.
I was about to add a joke about a bard in the hand, but after a glance at Seth’s face, thought better of it.
There was a horribly silent pause vibrating with tension and leashed energy, of the kind that you get before a thunder storm. Then one of the toddlers burst into noisy tears, shattering the silence, and Seth raised his voice above the yelling and said shortly, ‘Sir William didn’t want anything out of keeping with the sixteenth-century design of the other terraces. I think that would look incredibly naff, anyway
.’
‘Not if they’re carved into the original stones that you’re rebuilding the wall with,’ Ottie put in thoughtfully. ‘I didn’t know you were having a Shakespeare garden, Sophy? I’ve visited one in the States—Boston, I think.’
‘Now, just hold on a second! Nothing has been definitely decided yet about that and—’ began Seth.
Ottie talked over him. ‘I think it’s a great idea and the inscriptions are too: and I know a young stonemason who could do them. We’ll all have to think of our favourite quotes.’
‘“The truth is out there somewhere”,’ suggested Jonah.
‘I’m not entirely sure that’s Shakespeare,’ I said doubtfully.
‘“Abandon hope, all ye who enter here”!’ Grace piped up suddenly from the darkest corner.
‘That’s more like it,’ Seth remarked gloomily.
The rest of the gardeners, who had been in a huddle talking in low voices, now said they were agreeable to lending a hand with anything needed, especially if it was that or Winter’s End having to be sold up and their jobs going, and also if there was a possibility of any overtime, they were up for a bit of extra money.
‘I don’t think I could do much more cleaning than I’m doing now, love,’ Grace said. ‘Five mornings and a bit of extra help when visitors come round.’
‘No, that’s fine, Grace, I wasn’t expecting you to do more. So, what do you all say?’ I waited expectantly.
‘They say yes, of course,’ Aunt Hebe said feudally, giving them the cold blue eye. Agree with my plans or not, she certainly wasn’t having any dissension in the ranks. And maybe the thought of cashing in by selling her potions and lotions in the shop might have helped swing the balance, too—that and my having deviously given her to believe that Jack knew all about my plans. (And if he didn’t, it was his own fault.)
A chorus of ragged ‘that’s rights’ came from most throats, except Seth’s. He turned on his heel and walked out.
A Winter’s Tale Page 16
