Battle had commenced, and I knew who my money was on to win. ‘Everything is pretty well finalised already,’ I agreed. ‘It has to be, though the February open day is a sort of dry run, to see how it all goes. Then we can fine-tune it ready for the start of the season at Easter.’
‘Mum’s got some brilliant ideas to increase visitor numbers.’
‘Why don’t you come to the Friends meeting, Jack?’ I suggested, but he said tersely that he had other things to do and sloped off to his bedroom, probably to catch up on his sleep and sulk.
Hebe and Lucy headed for the walled garden and I helped Jonah clear away the breakfast things before dashing upstairs to change into a festive red tunic and jingle-bell earrings, because I didn’t think I’d have time between the Friends meeting and the party.
I hadn’t seen Seth that morning, but when I looked out of my bedroom window he was standing on the middle terrace, looking down at his new knot. I only hoped he wouldn’t forget about the party and start messing about with the design, because he wasn’t wearing his gardening clothes and also—well, it wouldn’t be the same without him looming about the place.
Anya arrived with just enough time to dump her bags in her room and then have a cup of coffee and a slice of pudding cake in the kitchen with the Larks and me. Then Lucy and Aunt Hebe came in, slightly earthy, and joined us.
‘We’ll have a good catch-up later, Lucy,’ Anya said, having given her a rib-crushing hug. ‘And Guy is coming shortly too, if he can get that terrible old car of his to start.’
I looked at my watch. ‘Come on, it’s almost time for the meeting and everyone will be arriving shortly. We’ll go into the breakfast parlour, out of Mrs Lark’s way.’
‘Jonah had better take Gingernut up to our rooms. He keeps getting under my feet and he’ll be safer up there,’ Mrs Lark said as the kitten made a dive for the hem of her apron. ‘And I’ll keep Charlie in here when the party starts, so he doesn’t get trodden on.’
I was worried about how the Friends would react to my plans, because asking them to voluntarily staff and steward Winter’s End for more than twice the number of days next year, and over a longer opening season, was a big ask.
They all came in together and took their seats around the table, which Jonah had extended again by inserting a couple of the leaves. None of the group was young, and some of them already looked familiar, like Mr Yatton’s sister, Effie, a spare, wiry woman wearing a tweed skirt and a lilac jumper sewn with pearls, and a pair of elderly men who were so alike they had to be twins. They all cast curious looks at Anya, with her red dreadlocks and nose ring, but Lucy’s presence seemed to be not unexpected.
‘Welcome to the meeting,’ I said nervously. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know all your names yet, though I hope I soon will. First of all, I’m going to outline my plans for Winter’s End and see what you think of them—I’m sure there will be a lot to discuss. But before we start, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Lucy.’
‘Hi,’ Lucy said, from her seat beside me.
‘And my friend, Anya. I’ve asked Anya to be here because she is going to create a gift shop in part of the tearoom area and will be in overall charge of both operations.’
‘You mean, she would run the tearoom too, and be in charge of the money and everything?’ Effie asked, and I braced myself for resentment.
‘Well, yes, that’s the idea. You would be doing the actual catering, of course, but Anya would cash up for you and get change, order stock…all that kind of thing.’
‘How wonderful! That will take a great deal of pressure off you serving wenches, won’t it, Pam?’ Effie exclaimed, and the others murmured agreement.
Pam, who was a buxom woman with a high colour in her apple cheeks, beamed. ‘Oh yes, Effie! I mean, we can take the money and serve the food all right, but when it comes to even adding up the float for next day, we get stuck, let alone totting up the takings!’
This was a good start and they listened to the rest of my plans with interest, seeming fairly enthusiastic about it all—and not terribly surprised. But since they all seemed to be friends of Aunt Hebe, I am sure she had kept them updated on things.
‘I intend opening four afternoons a week, so we would be closed from Sunday to Tuesday. I know Sunday would be a good day for visitors, but since so many of the people involved with Winter’s End attend church that day, it wouldn’t be practical or right. But we will open on Bank Holiday Mondays.’
Effie seemed to be the one in charge of the group, arranging the rotas for who did what on which day. It appeared that the Friends liked to do everything in twos, from manning the gatehouse to stewarding the minstrels’ gallery. They all like to stick to their particular areas too, though when I said that I proposed having a sort of taxi service from the car park to the front door by golf buggy, for those who had difficulty walking so far, four elderly gentlemen fought a battle over who got to drive it.
‘If Winter’s End is going to be open four days a week you can take it in turns,’ Effie pointed out firmly. ‘We always have a few Friends free too,’ she said to me, ‘so someone can fill in as and when necessary if it is busy, or during tea breaks.’
‘Yes—tea breaks,’ I said, looking down at my notes. ‘From now on, you will all be entitled to a free pastry or sandwich during your break. If the teashop is busy, Mrs Lark doesn’t object to your taking it through into the kitchen, though I hope before the end of our first season of working together to make a little Friends staffroom out of one of the disused rooms in the East Wing.’
That idea seemed to go down well.
‘Lucy and I will be sort of floating personnel, filling in where needed, so if any of you can’t get to the house for a break you can radio for what you want, and one of us will bring it.’
‘Meals on wheels,’ Pam said.
‘Meals by golf buggy, anyway,’ I agreed. ‘Now, two other changes that I hope will also make your jobs easier are that you will all have radios, so you can contact each other if necessary; and all Friends will be paid travelling expenses.’
‘By radios, do you mean walkie-talkies?’ asked one elderly man, whose head had been going up and down like a nodding dog throughout the whole meeting.
‘Yes—little ones. We had them where I worked before, and they are very useful.’
An excited buzz of conversation broke out. Effie held her hand up. ‘I think I can speak for all of us when I say that that is all very acceptable and shows you value our input into preserving Winter’s future.’
‘I certainly do. I don’t think Winter’s End would have a future, without you,’ I said sincerely. ‘None of my plans would work without your help.’
Pam, the buxom lady, nudged Effie and said something in a low voice. ‘Ah yes,’ Effie said. ‘There is just one thing that I wished to ask, on behalf of us all.’
‘Ask away,’ I said lightly, though my heart sank, wondering whether it would be something that would scupper my whole plan.
‘It is this: the Friends originally started as a re-enactment society, which we still are, really.’
‘Effie and I started it up,’ Aunt Hebe put in, ‘though these days I have so many other commitments that I can’t always attend the meetings.’
‘Oh?’ I said, interested. ‘What historical period do you re-enact?’
‘Elizabethan England,’ Effie said.
‘Well, that’s very interesting,’ I began, not quite seeing where the question lay.
‘The thing is,’ Effie added in a rush, ‘that what we would all really like is to be in costume when we are working at Winter’s End.’
‘You would? All of you?’ I looked around the ring of faces, astonished.
‘Oh yes,’ they all chorused.
‘Cool,’ Lucy said. I could see she was wondering how she would look in a farthingale and ruff.
‘Each of us has our own preferences. We take on parts from all walks of life,’ Pam said, ‘but we serving wenches prefer working in the teashop, approp
riately enough!’
‘And we’re yeomen,’ said one of the twin brothers. ‘We collect the entrance money at the gatehouse.’
‘Well, I think that would be a lovely idea,’ I said, ‘if that’s what you really want to do. And it would certainly fit in with the increased emphasis on the Shakespearean connections of Winter’s End and the late sixteenth-century knot gardens. But won’t the costumes be uncomfortable, especially in summer?’
‘Oh, no, we’re used to them,’ Effie said, ‘and we would welcome the opportunity to wear them more often.’
‘I did ask William once,’ Aunt Hebe put in, ‘but he didn’t like the idea.’
‘What part do you play?’ I asked her.
‘Queen Elizabeth, of course,’ she replied, as if I should have known. And I suppose I should have guessed, since apart from her hair being no longer red, she bore a striking resemblance to portraits of the Virgin Queen.
‘I also would have no objection to donning my costume for an hour or so on visitor days, and walking about the house and grounds with my courtiers.’ She bestowed a regal smile on Mr Yatton. ‘But I won’t have time for more than that—there is much too much to do in my garden and stillroom.’
‘That would certainly be an added attraction. Thanks, Aunt Hebe.’
‘You must be guest of honour at our next meeting, which will be in the New Year,’ Effie suggested. ‘Costume optional.’
‘Thank you, that would be lovely.’ I looked around the table. ‘Well, that was certainly a surprise—but a nice one. I was already thinking of having quiet sixteenth-and early seventeenth-century music playing in the Great Hall, so to have everyone in period dress too will really add to the whole experience.’
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll stay as I am,’ Anya said.
‘Oh, yes, we don’t all need to dress up,’ I agreed. And it was just as well, because Seth in a doublet and hose could be an attraction to rival Aunt Hebe’s Gloriana—I mean, visitors could be killed in the rush.
We had thrashed out lots of details by the time Jonah popped his head around the door.
‘People are gathering on the drive, Sophy,’ he announced, ‘so I’m off to put me Father Christmas suit on.’
‘We’d better adjourn the meeting, then,’ Aunt Hebe said, getting up. ‘Have you mixed the punch, Jonah? Not too strong, I hope.’
‘Ottie’s doing it now—the usual mixture, that wouldn’t hurt a lamb.’
‘It had better not,’ she said. ‘Several of them are driving.’
We all went through to the Great Hall, which smelled of pine and looked magical, with the decorations, sparkling tree and the leaping flames from the fire in the enormous hearth. Anya and Lucy went to help with the food, and Seth came out of the kitchen door backwards, carrying an enormous punch bowl hung with little cups, followed by Ottie bearing a tray full of glasses and cloudy lemonade in a huge glass jug.
There were already big bottles of dandelion and burdock and Vimto at one end of the table, next to a stack of festive paper cups. I helped peel the cling film off the plates of sandwiches, party pies and sausage rolls, helping myself to one or two as I did so. It felt like a long time since breakfast.
‘Where’s Jack?’ Hebe asked. ‘He should be here!’
‘Perhaps he’s still asleep. Maybe someone should go and knock on his door?’ I suggested. ‘He’ll miss all the fun.’
‘No, I won’t—I’m here,’ he called from above, and ran lightly down the stairs, a vision in a silky, open-necked shirt, his golden hair attractively ruffled. ‘All ready to hand out alcohol and good cheer to the masses, as usual.’
Clearly his batteries were now fully recharged, which was just as well, for Aunt Hebe sent him straight back upstairs to switch on the CD player.
Good humour unabated, he returned to the sound of ‘Good King Wenceslas’ and started filling cups with punch for the Friends. Then Jonah appeared from the kitchen, unrecognisable in a totally bogus cotton-wool beard, red suit and black wellies. He arranged himself in the hooded chair while Grace, who had flitted in after him like a wizened Tinkerbell in silver stilettos and a spangly handkerchief-hem dress, prepared to assist in finding the right presents.
‘Ready, Miss Hebe,’ he said.
‘I can hear people crunching about on the gravel outside, Aunt Hebe,’ I said nervously, as we took up our positions in front of the door, ready to regally receive our visitors. ‘Why haven’t any of them knocked?’
‘They are waiting for the door to be opened, of course. Seth—could you do the honours?’
Seth, who had been leaning on the fireplace with one booted foot up on the fender, looking rather broodingly into the fire like a mislaid extra from a romantic drama, said, ‘Of course.’
Then he cast a handful of pine cones onto the flames, which changed colour like a magic trick. ‘Let the festivities commence!’
Chapter Thirty-one: Lord of Misrule
They have not let mee sleep these three days, so that I grow dizzy, and have little time alone in which to think—which I must suppose is their intention. I have ink and paper for letters, so may still write, but it becomes harder to conceal my book. I must ask them to send Joan to mee soon, and let her take it away.
From the journal of Alys Blezzard, 1582
By the time Aunt Hebe finally let me relinquish my place at the door, my hand had been shaken so many times it felt twice the size it usually did, and slightly numb.
The Great Hall was full, hot and noisy, and I didn’t remember seeing half the people there come in. Many of them were total strangers, but there were lots of familiar faces too, like Mike, off duty and in jeans and sweatshirt, talking to Anya, Milly from the mobile dog parlour, the tenant farmer, the gardeners, the Friends…and all their families right down to grandchildren and, for all I knew, great-grandchildren.
No wonder my Christmas gift list had been a long one!
And thank goodness I had wrapped up a few extra presents too, because an excited queue of children still waited for their turn with Santa. The adults had found their own (mainly food and drink) gifts on one of the trestles, and they also seemed to have found the punch bowl…
In fact, there must have been a run on it, because it looked as though Jack was mixing a fresh batch. As if feeling my gaze he looked up and smiled at me, then abandoned his post and brought me a glass over.
‘Drink this—you look as though you need it!’ he said, slipping a friendly arm around me and giving me a squeeze. ‘Enjoying your first Winter’s End party?’
‘Actually, I don’t think it is my first,’ I said, sipping the spicy mixture cautiously. Lady Betty had always mixed a mean bowl of punch, but although it caught at the back of my throat in a familiar way, this tasted nothing like it. ‘I vaguely remember them from when I was a small child, especially Santa. It’s odd how things keep coming back to me that I’d totally forgotten about.’
‘Ho, ho, ho!’ bellowed Santa suddenly, his eyes glittering and his cheeks flushed above the white beard. A small child burst into tears, snatched her present and scuttled off, and Jonah took a long drink out of a small tankard. I hoped it contained lemonade or something else entirely innocuous, but rather doubted it.
‘There’s hardly any alcohol in this punch, is there, Jack? Only Jonah looks a bit flushed and…well, lots of people seem to be getting very noisy and a bit excited.’
He shrugged. ‘That’s parties for you, darling—the punch is harmless, about one part brandy to a hundred of the other stuff.’
‘Wassail!’ yelled Bob in my ear, almost unrecognisable without his hat, clinked glasses with me and then ambled off, grinning. Someone had stuck a ‘this way up’ sticker on his back that I remembered from the hippo crate.
I took another, more suspicious, sip of my drink and rolled it around my tongue. My eyes watered. ‘Jack, I’m sure this—’ I began, when to my astonishment I spotted Mel Christopher making her way into the hall, supporting a small, silver-haired woman with black eyebrows and
red lipstick.
‘What’s she doing here?’ I exclaimed.
Jack turned and looked where I pointed. ‘Mel’s mother’s an old friend of Hebe’s but her health isn’t good, so I haven’t seen her about for quite a while.’
‘I think Mel’s got a damned cheek, showing her face here after booby-trapping my summerhouse!’
‘Well, even so, I don’t think you can very well throw her out without causing a scene, if Hebe invited her mother. But let’s not worry about her,’ he added, and I realised he had been quietly edging me into the darkest corner, near the pushed-back screens, without my noticing. ‘Now, darling, let’s talk about you and me and Barbados—’
‘Jack Lewis!’ said a voice pitched to shatter glass. ‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you!’
‘Er—hi, Mel,’ he said weakly, letting go of me suddenly. ‘Happy Christmas!’
Her eyes flashed with fury. ‘Balls to that! I’ve just discovered you’ve knocked my house down without even bothering to mention it to me—and without permission from the council either.’
He looked taken aback. ‘I told the boys to do it after Christmas when I was away! And I was going to tell you, Mel. We’re partners, remember?’
‘But there’ll be a swingeing fine for knocking it down without permission. I didn’t expect to be partners in that,’ she snapped.
‘The fine’s nothing, when you think how much we will make from selling the land for development,’ he assured her. ‘They can’t make us rebuild the house so we’re bound to get the planning permission eventually.’
‘And you were going to tell me this when, precisely?’
‘Before it happened, obviously, Mel.’ He tried out a charming, placatory smile, but it didn’t seem to be having much effect.
Her cold brown eyes fell on me. ‘Something else seems to have slipped your mind too—like telling me you were off to Barbados with Ben’s crowd by private jet right after Christmas—and taking her with you.’
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