A Winter’s Tale

by Trisha Ashley

  As if this was some kind of signal, Mrs Lark folded up her crocheting and rose to her feet, then she, Jonah and Grace began serving tea and three sorts of cake from a trestle at the back of the hall, while Charlie walked around hoovering up dropped crumbs. The children, released from their corner, ran about shrieking. A good time seemed to be being had by all and I was so relieved it was over that I’d eaten two giant rum truffle cakes before I realised it.

  ‘I’ll have to put my whole stillroom operation on a more professional basis,’ Hebe said, appearing at my side.

  ‘What?’ I said, swallowing a mouthful of truffle.

  ‘I’ll need to produce a line of basic products with nice jars and labels—have to put my prices up too, because of the bigger overheads. Shall we say two per cent of the profit goes to Winter’s End?’

  ‘Shall we say twenty?’ I countered, which I thought was moderate considering she was growing most of the ingredients in my garden, and producing it, rent free, on the premises.

  In the end we settled on ten. I thought I’d been done.

  Then the Friends of Winter’s, who also seemed to be friends of Hebe, surrounded me and promised their support.

  ‘We will discuss it among ourselves at our regular meetings—we’re a historical re-enactment society too, you know—and then talk it over with you at the Christmas gathering,’ said Mr Yatton’s sister, Effie, who looked just like him.

  ‘Which Christmas gathering?’ I asked blankly.

  ‘Have you forgotten?’ Aunt Hebe asked. ‘The staff, tenants, Friends and all their families—anyone connected with Winter’s End—come here on the morning of Christmas Eve.’

  Into my head came a sudden memory of Father Christmas sitting by the fire handing out presents…the smell of fir trees, mulled wine and mince pies in the air. ‘Yes…I think I do remember.’ And come to think of it, Christmas now wasn’t that far away—weeks, rather than months—and I really hadn’t given it a thought until now.

  Soon people started to drift away home, though some stayed to give Mrs Lark and Jonah a hand to clear the plates and urns back to the kitchen. Ottie returned to her studio and when Hebe vanished in the direction of her stillroom, I picked up the last of the piles of crockery and followed her towards the kitchen door.

  I’d barely nudged it an inch open with my shoulder when the sound of voices in discussion stopped me in my tracks, even though I know that eavesdroppers rarely hear any good of themselves.

  One of the gardeners—it sounded like Derek, the morose one—was saying: ‘But Jack said he would either overturn the will or buy out the new owner, and when he did all our jobs would be safe.’

  ‘Ah, but he says a lot of things, does Jack, and it’s mostly hot air,’ Hal said. ‘Who knows what would happen? I heard him trying to order Seth to just shore up the wall on the bottom terrace and leave it at that—not that Seth took any notice. But it doesn’t sound to me like he means to finish what Sir William started. No, I reckon Sophy’s ideas are worth a go, at any rate.’

  ‘Seth isn’t going to like it. He’s like a bear with a sore head.’

  ‘Looks like Seth will have to lump it, then.’

  ‘Sophy’s got some odd ideas in her head,’ Mrs Lark said, ‘like wanting me to cook less food. But her heart’s in the right place. She’s letting me have a kitten, which is something Sir William didn’t hold with.’

  ‘And she said she didn’t expect me to work more hours than I do now,’ fluted Grace.

  ‘That’s right,’ Jonah agreed. ‘I think we should wait and see. And she didn’t say she wasn’t going to let Seth finish the garden, just that it would be slower than he wanted, so I expect he’ll come round. And if it all works out, things at Winter’s will go on pretty much as they always have, it seems to me, only better.’

  ‘You’re not going to do less baking, are you, Mrs Lark?’ said another voice, which was probably Bob’s, though it was hard to tell because he sounded as if he had his mouth full.

  ‘No, don’t be daft! There’ll always be a scone or a bite of cake for anyone who wants it in my kitchen, and Sophy’s got as hearty an appetite as any of you.’

  I felt myself blushing hotly and vowed to stop being such a pig. If I carried on eating at this rate they would be able to roll me down the hill on pace-egg day.

  ‘Haven’t any of you lot got homes to go to?’ said Aunt Hebe’s voice suddenly—she must have opened the still-room door.

  ‘Just giving Mrs Lark a hand with the crockery, Miss Hebe,’ Derek said, ‘but we’ll be on our way now.’

  I took a couple of quick backwards steps into the passage, so it looked like I was just coming round the screen as they came out, wished them goodbye, and went into the kitchen thoughtfully.

  Jonah had begun to stack things into the dishwasher in a slapdash sort of way.

  ‘It’s only plain stuff. I don’t put the fancy china in there,’ Mrs Lark explained, ‘or the good glasses. Jonah or Grace do those by hand.’

  ‘I think that went quite well, don’t you?’ I said, suddenly filled with the euphoria of having got something tricky over with and, after all, what I had just overheard had been mostly positive. ‘I’m going up to change, then show by example and start cleaning again, but first I’ll just take Charlie for a quick walk round the wilderness, or he’ll be getting too fat now he’s got his appetite back.’ I could do with some fresh air too—what with the crowd of people and the roaring fire, the Great Hall had become overheated and stuffy.

  ‘All those things you sent Jonah to the shops for, he put in the cleaning room,’ Mrs Lark said.

  ‘Great. Everything else should come by delivery van next week, and can be put in there for me to sort out. I’ll explain it all to Grace later. Come on, Charlie!’ I added, dangling the lead before his little black nose.

  Charlie would much rather have slept off his cake in front of the kitchen fire, so it was more of a quick drag than a walk until he gave in and condescended to trot by my side.

  In the orchard a chilly, woodsmoke-scented wind was tossing the piles of dead brown leaves about like an invisible hand, though the bare-branched apple trees were covered with the surprisingly fresh spring green of mistletoe.

  It was too cold to linger. Cutting back to the house through the courtyard I came across a spectacular red sports car, which could only be Jack’s. My heart did a quick little hop, skip and jump.

  Chapter Fifteen: Boxing

  There is a priest in the house. They do not yet trust mee with such secrets, despite my father having entertained these dangerous guests. But I have observed their comings and goings and know it to be near where I often sit in the solar.

  From the journal of Alys Blezzard, 1581

  After leaving Charlie in the kitchen I went through the West Wing looking for Jack, but finding no sign of him, climbed the steep, winding solar stairs to my bedroom.

  I had my hand on the doorknob when the floorboards suddenly creaked heavily overhead, and my first thought was that it was Grace—until I remembered that it was Saturday and she would have gone straight home after the meeting, not upstairs for a sneaky smoke. I ran up the narrow stairs and reached the upper landing just as the door to the attics opened and Jack stepped out, a canvas bag in one hand.

  He stopped dead, looking totally taken aback and guiltily thrusting the holdall behind him, but he made a quick recovery, dropping it on the worn cord drugget so he could take me into a warm embrace and kiss first my cheek and then my lips before smiling warmly down at me. ‘Hi, Sophy, how great to see you again—and even prettier than I remembered!’

  ‘There you are,’ I said inanely, thinking dazedly that he was twice as handsome as I remembered—if that was possible. My lips had gone all tingly and my knees weak just from one fleeting kiss…but with an effort, I managed to get a grip. ‘I just saw your car, Jack. Did you arrive while I was talking to everyone in the hall?’

  ‘Yes, and I didn’t want to disturb you so I came up the backstairs and lis
tened from the gallery long enough to get the “all hands to the pumps or the ship will sink” message, then popped up to the attic. I’ve still got some stuff stored up here,’ he explained, closing the door behind him and leading the way back down the stairs. ‘Must sort it out sometime, because I don’t suppose you want my childhood junk cluttering up the place if you are having a big clear-out.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ I replied, wondering what he had kept up there that was so embarrassing his first impulse had been to hide the bag behind his back. Old girlie mags, maybe? ‘Some of my and Lucy’s things are up there too, because it’s where Jonah put them when I sent them down. You’ll have to point out to me what’s yours eventually, but it’ll take ages to get the rest of the house in order before I even think about sorting out the attic floor and—’

  ‘I can see you want to clean the place up, Sophy,’ he interrupted me, ‘and as I’ve said, I’m all for that—but I did suggest you ought to defer any major plans until we’ve had the roof and timbers looked at, got some estimates, and discussed it all.’

  I noted the ‘we’ with a sinking heart and turned to face him squarely as we reached the corridor outside my room. ‘Jack, I did mean it when I said on the phone to you that I couldn’t bear to give up Winter’s End, you know. I simply can’t sell it, even to you.’

  ‘But, darling,’ he said in his lovely, mesmerising voice, his blue eyes hurt, ‘I know it’s early days yet, but I thought you felt the same as me and—well, that you wouldn’t so much be selling Winter’s End as transferring it back to its rightful owner, before we settle down here for ever—the perfect partnership! I want this always to be your home, too.’ He put his arm around me and looked down into my bemused face. ‘You know it’s the only thing to do, Sophy—the right thing to do?’

  One little part of my brain—the everyday, sane, Sophy bit—was jaw-droppingly stunned, wondering what exactly he’d meant by a ‘partnership’ the rest of me was drowning in the deep, sincere, cerulean depths of his eyes. His soft voice lapped over me like warm waves, my heart was thumping away like mad and I was starting to go dizzy.

  Then suddenly it felt as though someone had poured a bucket of iced ectoplasm down my back and Alys’s translucent face materialised, palely glimmering, from the darkness behind Jack.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t do that!’ I said, with a gasp.

  Alys shook her head, more in sorrow than in anger, before fading away, leaving me shivering violently.

  The spell was well and truly broken, but Jack had clearly felt nothing, for he was still looking down at me expectantly. ‘Do what?’

  I pulled back gently. ‘Jack, it’s so wonderful to find family I never knew I had, and you know you’ll always be welcome here, because it’s just as much your home as mine. But I didn’t realise how deeply I cared about Winter’s End until I came back, and now I feel that control of it simply has to stay in my hands. It’s what my grandfather wanted, what I want—and what the house wants too.’

  I might have added that it also seemed to be what Alys Blezzard wanted, but thought that might be an assertion too far for him to take in at present.

  ‘I know just how you feel,’ he said, though going by his confident smile, I still didn’t really think he’d grasped what I was saying in the least. In fact, he looked like a man who’d always known he could have anything he wanted, whenever he wanted it—including me. ‘But you couldn’t possibly take it on alone, with no resources, because it needs an awful lot of money spending on it. I’ll show you later. There’s woodworm up in the attics for a start—and probably worse.’

  ‘Worse? What do you mean?’

  He shrugged. ‘Wet rot, dry rot…maybe even deathwatch beetle…’

  I stared at him with horror. ‘Surely not?’

  ‘It may not be as bad as it looks,’ he assured me.

  ‘Oh God! Look, just let me change into my jeans and you can show me now.’

  ‘Sorry, didn’t I say? I’m going out to lunch.’

  ‘Out? But you’ve only just got here!’

  ‘I’ve got lots of friends locally, and we like to catch up when I’m here,’ he explained, and I immediately felt like Billy-no-mates, especially since he didn’t invite me to go with him. ‘I thought I’d get it out of the way, so we can spend the rest of the weekend together.’

  ‘Of course,’ I agreed, wondering if the friends included the luscious Melinda. ‘And actually, I’d decided to make a proper start on the cleaning today anyway. I’d better get on with it.’

  He raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Not on your own, surely? Aren’t you going to get people in to help?’

  ‘No, rough cleaning has already done too much damage and I want to conserve what’s left. I’ll do it one inch at a time and get there in the end—you’ll see. I’ve got industrial-sized amounts of cleaning materials arriving early next week and Hebe has given me beeswax polish and bushels of rose potpourri.’

  He looked at me strangely. ‘You look excited about cleaning the place!’

  ‘Oh, I am, I’m dying to see what a bit of TLC and elbow grease can do. Another pair of hands would be really useful, though, and there are one or two things you could help me with while you’re here if—’ I had begun enthusiastically, when he glanced at his Rolex and exclaimed at the time.

  ‘Must dash!’ He kissed my cheek in a cloud of that delicious aftershave and dashed off, tossing gaily over his shoulder, ‘See you at dinner.’

  Dinner? Was he going to be out to lunch all afternoon?

  Only after he’d removed his effulgent presence from before my dazzled eyes did I start to wonder how he’d got into the locked attic in the first place. At least, I was pretty sure I’d locked it…hadn’t I? I went back up and, opening the door, switched on the light. In the first room my and Lucy’s boxes and bags and sticks of furniture were stacked up, and I noticed that the top cartons were untaped.

  Had they been like that before? I couldn’t remember—but maybe Aunt Hebe had been curious enough to come up here and rummage round when they arrived. Or perhaps neither she nor Jack had believed that I hadn’t got Alys’s book and one or both of them had searched my possessions for it?

  It was not a comfortable thought. I could imagine Aunt Hebe thinking she had the right to do it, but I found it hard to believe that Jack would poke and pry into my personal possessions. He seemed such a sincere person, whatever everyone else said about him, though I suppose there must be a touch of ruthlessness about him where business is concerned, as both Mr Hobbs and Mr Yatton had implied, or he wouldn’t be a successful entrepreneur.

  Alys didn’t seem to trust him either—did she know something about him I didn’t? Maybe I should buy a Ouija board and ask her.

  I had a quick early lunch alone in the kitchen, helping myself from a vat of cockieleekie soup pushed to the back of the Aga, and then decided to start on Lady Anne’s parlour in earnest. I felt drawn to the room, but also I wanted to start making my patchwork cushions in there in the evenings. They’re not just a lucrative sideline, they’re an addiction.

  It was lucky I hadn’t advertised for a while, and so had completed what orders I had had before I moved here. Now I could start making a stock of cushions to sell in the brand-new gift shop-cum-tearoom instead, perhaps with the family crest embroidered on each one.

  But first things first. I removed the grubby chintz covers from the furniture, revealing a rather nice bergère suite with faded red velvet cushions, a ladylike pair of small Victorian armchairs in a dull, mossy green and a padded tapestry rocking chair. I took the huge armful of dusty-smelling fabric through to the utility room and loaded the first batch into the washing machine on a cool cycle, hoping they wouldn’t shrink, before collecting a stepladder and cleaning materials.

  ‘I’ll be glad when everything else I ordered arrives,’ I said, finding Mrs Lark in the kitchen as I was on the way back, loaded down and shadowed by Charlie. ‘I need the proper solutions—and Renaissance wax.’

  She
popped a piece of rather chewy Dundee cake in my mouth, as though she were feeding a baby bird. ‘Grace’d love a Dyson. She says that old Hoover’s more blow than suck.’

  I chewed and swallowed. ‘Good idea—and ideally we should have one upstairs and one down. I’ll put them on my list when I’ve got my hands free.’

  I’d taken to wearing my little embroidered bag with the notebook, pen and big bunch of keys, permanently slung across my ample chest, messenger style, and the list was now assuming the proportions of a short novel. As soon as I crossed one thing off, ten others took its place.

  A few hours later I stepped back and looked at the parlour, brushing strands of hair from my face with one grimy hand, hot despite having opened one of the windows to let in the chilly breeze.

  What had looked like a century’s worth of cobwebs were gone from the ceiling and light fittings, and I had taken the worst of the dust off everything, though careful washing and polishing remained to be done.

  Using the stepladders I’d managed to unhook all but one of the heavy curtains, which now lay bundled on the floor, ready to be sent to the cleaners. I only hoped they would survive the experience. I was just struggling with the last one when Seth’s dark head suddenly popped in at the open window.

  You know that bit in Jurassic Park where the velociraptors are chasing the children round the kitchens? Well, it felt just like that. My heart stopped dead and I nearly fell off the ladder.

  He shot out one large hand and steadied it as I wobbled precariously, then regarded first me, and then the room, with mild surprise. ‘“And beauty making beautiful…”’ he quoted unexpectedly, adding complacently, ‘Shakespeare—one of the sonnets. I forget which.’

  I blushed even though I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or offering an olive branch, in his own fashion. ‘I’m in a beautiful state of filth, that’s for sure! And the room still has a long way to go.’

  ‘A bit of dirt never hurt anyone. I revel in dirt,’ he said amiably.