“Does that mean you’re coming home, Win?” She sounded hopeful, which was exactly what Winnie had wanted to avoid. “Should I take your house off the market to rent?”
“I don’t think I’ll come home for a while. I still want to rent it.”
“What would you do there without the show?” Winnie could tell she was disappointed.
“I’m trying to figure it out, we all are. My boss offered me a job as his assistant, if he gets another series, and he probably will. He’s hot right now. Beauchamp really put him on the map. I could do that. I like working for him. He’s very businesslike and matter-of-fact and polite, not like a lot of other actors.” She hadn’t been favorably impressed by many she’d seen, except him. She liked working for him even more than she had for Elizabeth, who had been very flighty, although she was sweet and good to Winnie. But Elizabeth’s personal life was a mess, with the affair with Bill Anders. They were still all over the press, even after she left the show. Edward kept his private life much more discreet. “I’ll let you know what I’m doing, when I know.” She asked about Jimmy then, and Marje said he was doing well, and the headaches had gotten better.
Nigel came over that night and hadn’t been there in three days, a long time for him. But he just hadn’t been in the mood. He was quiet that night too. She didn’t ask if the union had called about upcoming jobs. She didn’t want to upset him more than he was.
“I may stay with my parents for a while after we wrap,” he said quietly. “Or go to stay with my cousin in Ireland. Would you want to come, Winnie?”
“I might,” she said vaguely. “I haven’t figured out my plans yet either.” And then she decided to tell him. “Edward offered me a job on his next show, when he gets one. I might do that. He’s good to work for. Simple and direct, and no nonsense. He’s a pro.” Nigel looked depressed by what she said.
“Are you in love with him?”
“Not at all. He just got engaged, and he’s crazy about her. They’re getting married fairly soon. He’s not a cheater. And neither am I.” Nigel had heard it all before and didn’t believe her, but this time he looked as though he might. He was so down and lethargic he was even less jealous.
“I don’t know if that’s true about him. But I think it is about you,” he said fairly, for the first time. “What do I have to offer you anyway? You’d have a much better life with him. I’m just a broke sound guy, about to be out of a job.”
“You’ll have another job soon. And he’s not offering me a ‘better life,’ he’s offering that to his fiancée, some lord’s daughter in London. I’m no fancier than you are. He’s offering me a job, not marriage.”
“You won’t go home to Michigan?” He seemed surprised.
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t decided. It seemed pretty dreary when I went back. I’ve gotten spoiled here. I love it.”
“Well, you can’t stay here when the series ends. It’ll be a ghost town, half the shops will be closed, and people will have to go to other towns for jobs. That’s what England is like these days.”
“Beecher isn’t exactly a hot job market either. That’s why I left. I didn’t want to work at a motel, or the hardware store.”
“You’d look cute in a set of overalls,” he teased her. “Small towns are like that.”
“I should have gone to New York fifteen years ago, but I didn’t. I missed my chance. I can’t start out there at my age. And I really love it here. I’ll be sad to move on.”
“Won’t we all,” he said wistfully.
They made love that night, but he didn’t spend the night. Their relationship seemed more tenuous now, like a summer romance as the leaves begin to fall. They could both sense a reckoning time coming and needed to face if the relationship was viable or not. She wasn’t looking forward to that either. And she didn’t think their brief romance would survive.
She picked up the book about the Havershams from her night table after Nigel left, to help her sleep. She liked reading in bed. She fell asleep with the light on and the book in her hands. She slept fitfully, woke, dozed, and woke again, with strange people she didn’t know in and out of her dreams. She was in a grand house surrounded by people and there was a woman in a wedding gown, and a director shouting at all of them that someone had been murdered and everybody laughed. It felt like a nightmare, but it wasn’t, and she sat up in bed with a jolt at four in the morning, shaking, and everything about the dream came clear. She thought it was important, and wanted to remember all of it. She grabbed a yellow pad she kept on her night table for lists of things she had to do, found a pen beside it, and began writing down the dream frantically, before any of it could slip away.
The people the director had been shouting at were actors, but at the same time she knew they were guests. They were all in elaborate period costumes like the ones on the show, she even recognized one or two of them as gowns Elizabeth had worn. The bride in the midst of it was real, and the murder a hoax, which was why everyone laughed. And then they had all taken a tour of the castle, where scenes from the series were being played out in different rooms by the actors, but Winnie could see now that they were being played out on giant video screens. They all left the castle via some kind of museum where Rupert was selling souvenirs, cups and mugs and plates, beautiful hats and tiaras, and they were all being interviewed by reporters. She realized that the bride she had seen was Edward’s fiancée, Grace, and he was with her. She’d only seen Grace in photographs so far, but she was sure it was her. Grace looked ecstatically happy, and everyone including the reporters threw rose petals at them as they drove away in Rupert’s food truck with JUST MARRIED written on the back. The dream was crazy, but parts of it made sense to her. She read what she’d written over and over again, and added to it, and then divided it into sections. Some sounded more lucid than others. She tried telling herself that the whole thing was ridiculous, and turned off the light at five-thirty and tried to get another hour or two of sleep, but she was too excited to drift off, and kept thinking of more things she remembered to add to her notes. By eight o’clock, she was certain that the dream had been an inspiration, and she knew who she wanted to share it with.
She dug through some production notes and papers, and found the general number for the castle, in case of some major problem on the set, if there was an emergency like a flood or a leak, or a major power outage. She wasn’t sure if a butler or a janitor or a property manager would answer, and instead she recognized the voice of Lady Beatrice Haversham. She was having breakfast and sounded surprised by the call.
Winnie explained who she was, and reminded her of where they’d met.
“Yes, yes, I know,” Lady Beatrice said, sounding worried. “Do we have a leak from the upstairs master bath into the library again?”
“No, everything’s fine. I know this sounds a little odd, but could I meet with you at lunchtime or after work today? I had an idea I’d like to share with you.”
“If it incorporates murdering an irresponsible brother, I’d be most willing,” she said crisply. “He drove my car into a pond yesterday. Odd, he never does that kind of thing with his own, or his Bugattis.” Winnie laughed, but Lady Beatrice did not sound amused. “Might I ask what this is about, by the way?”
“It’s too complicated to explain on the phone.”
“Ah, very well. After I dispose of my brother’s body and fish my car, or what’s left of it, out of the pond, I’ll be free at noon. Come in through the door to the family living quarters. I’ll meet you in the main parlor. It’s a bit dusty, I’m afraid, I haven’t had time to hoover in there for three weeks, but meeting you in our boot room seems a bit rude.” Winnie had seen all of it on the tour except the private quarters, but it suddenly seemed more personal going there to see Lady Beatrice. It sounded exciting, and so was her dream.
* * *
—
Edward noticed her h
igh spirits when she got to work, but she didn’t explain it to him. He guessed it was due to a romance, but didn’t ask her. She warned him before he walked onto the set to play a scene that she would be leaving a few minutes before noon for an appointment. He had no problem with it. Alexander Nichols, their historical consultant, was on the set, correcting them just as intensely right to the end. He wanted everything to be perfect and was relentless to ensure it.
She left the set and walked around to the back of the castle, and wandered in through the back door the Havershams used now as their private entrance. There were two small sitting rooms for visitors to wait in, but most of the furniture and paintings had been removed to use as props on the set, and she walked past them into an enormous parlor filled with sunlight, overscale antiques and magnificent paintings, some as high as six and seven feet tall, and the ceilings were high too. It was a splendid room. They had filmed there a few times in the first two seasons, then decided there were other rooms they preferred, and the Havershams had been happy to reclaim it for their own use. It had been called the “day parlor” in the heyday of the house.
Winnie wandered around looking up at the paintings, and stood gazing intently at one of a woman riding sidesaddle on a white horse, and she jumped when she heard a voice behind her.
“That’s my great-great-aunt Charlotte. She was quite mad apparently, but lovely to look at, and very amusing.” Winnie turned to see Lady Beatrice in a crisp white men’s shirt, tailored to fit her, jodhpurs that were obviously custom-made, and perfectly polished tall black riding boots, with her blond hair cascading down her back. She was every bit as beautiful as the woman in the painting.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Winnie said, somewhat cowed by the surroundings, and feeling shy now that she was face-to-face with the lady of the house, who would surely think she was “quite mad” too, once she explained her dream, and her interpretation of it.
“Don’t be silly, of course. Won’t you sit down?” Winnie did, at the edge of a large antique chair covered in deep red velvet that was frayed but still impressive. “Would you like some tea?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you.”
“Sorry I look like this. I got the damn car out of the pond. I’m not sure we can get it running again. My brother is an incredible nuisance.” She looked as exasperated as she had sounded that morning on the phone. “No one should have to live with their siblings past the age of eight. We shipped him off to Eton and Cambridge, but he always came back. And now we’re stuck with each other, trying to run this place. And there’s always some little actress to chase, with the show here, although that will be all over now. He’ll be bored to sobs once they leave. But so will I. And broke as well, so dreary.” She sank into a velvet couch facing Winnie, with an enormous painting over it, of another of her ancestors, but didn’t explain who it was. “So what did you have in mind?” She talked a lot, but was lighthearted, articulate, and funny, and very British. The series was full of people with accents just like hers, which they imitated to perfection, with the help of diction coaches to make them sound upper crust, whatever their origins. Lady Beatrice always found it amusing.
“I had a dream last night,” Winnie started cautiously.
“Oh dear, not a bad one, I hope. I hope you haven’t come to warn me of some dreadful premonition. I’m frightfully superstitious and shan’t sleep for weeks.”
“No, a good one. At least I think so. And I know it sounds terribly presumptuous, but you mentioned the other day how concerned you are about the fate of Haversham, and even the village, once the show moves on. And it worries me too. I love it here, I fell in love with the show months ago, but now I’ve fallen in love with the people here, the village, and the castle, and what it means to everyone. It’s been troubling me, and I think that’s how the dream happened. It was all an insane jumble, but I pulled it apart when I woke up, and made some notes. I think you have some amazing possibilities here to make Haversham Castle even more important, and even more lucrative than it was as Beauchamp Hall.”
“How do you imagine that?” Beatrice Haversham looked skeptical. “I’ve rattled my brain too and all I can come up with is selling lemonade and biscuits at the door after our beastly tour, which will be even more boring now.”
“It doesn’t have to be. You have some opportunities you may not have explored yet. First of all, weddings. What more fabulous place to have a wedding? Holkham Hall does them near here, and I’m told they do very well with them. There have been several weddings in the series, and they’ve been spectacular. People will want to get married here because they’ve seen the weddings on the show, which makes this a highly desirable location. You can do less expensive weddings in the house, all carefully organized in a package. They could be period weddings in costume, if you like. You might be able to buy some of the costumes when the show leaves. You could do more elaborate weddings with tents outside. All you need is a good caterer and florist, and this would be an ideal venue in the future. If you can organize some of the rooms, the wedding party could stay here.” Beatrice nodded, thinking about it.
“Getting the costumes would be a great idea. They had five hundred extras for one of the weddings they did here,” she mused pensively.
“Second, mystery weekends. Again in period costumes. People love them. They do them in the States. A group of people rent the castle for the weekend, it doesn’t have to be many. Fifteen or twenty, which is manageable. They wear costumes. You have a script, and they enact a mystery, usually a murder. And they have to solve it by the end of the weekend. Wonderful for a birthday or a house party, or some sort of small corporate event. You could charge a lot of money for it. Someone would have to write the scripts they can all follow. A bit like the game of Clue, but in a real castle in real life. You could use the same script for each group, except for repeat guests.
“Third. A Beauchamp museum for crazies like me who love the show. You could set aside a few of the rooms that were used regularly on the show, have screens in the room with scenes playing in the rooms where they were shot. You could add that as a piece of modern history, as part of the life of the castle. And I know it’s embarrassing, but a gift shop somewhere with souvenirs of the castle and the show, mugs, plates, tea services, all the things that the fans love and buy on the Internet. You can have some local girl selling them after the tour, with your book of course.
“And, lastly, you may hate it, but it’s a possibility. A reality show on television of the life of the castle today, with you and your brother. They could film weddings that happen here, and mystery weekends. Your brother with his cars and horses. They’d even enjoy your car falling into the pond. It’s a vulgar idea, but could be done tastefully. People love royalty and aristocracy, and a peek into life at the castle might excite them as much as the series now. And the truth is you could make a fortune on it, if you can stand doing it. And seeing what’s happening here on a reality show would make them flock here in droves. They’d be throwing money at you to get in.” Winnie fell silent when she was finished as Beatrice Haversham stared at her.
“Good Lord! That wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare! You dreamt all that?” Winnie nodded. “But what an amazing lot of ideas. I have to think about it, but some part of it actually might work. Why on earth did you trouble yourself about how to solve our problems?” As she spoke, her brother walked into the room frowning, with a puzzled expression.
“Have you seen my riding crop, Bea? I can’t find it. I’m going out on Comet in a few minutes. Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you had a guest,” he said when he saw Winnie.
“I did see it. I broke it in half and threw it in the rubbish. Thank you for drowning my car.”
“Don’t be silly, it’ll be fine. And you should have thrown it in the rubbish years ago. What are you doing throwing my crop away?” He glanced from his sister to Winnie as he said it. He was an incredibly good-looking man, with a
ll the marks of good breeding, and was wearing jodhpurs and boots like his sister.
Lady Beatrice turned to her brother with a disgusted expression. “My brother, the Marquess of Haversham,” she said for Winnie’s benefit to introduce them. Winnie wasn’t sure if she was supposed to curtsy or bow, and looked flustered.
“How do you do?” she said shyly as he shook her hand.
“Very well, thank you, other than my sister’s bad temper. And Freddie will do. I hate titles, don’t you?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never had one,” Winnie said meekly.
“How fortunate for you.” His smile was dazzling and full of mischief.
“I have to buy groceries,” Beatrice interrupted him. “Which of your Bugattis would you like to give me to replace my car? And by the way, this is Winona Farmington.” Winnie had used her full name when she made the appointment, in order to sound more credible and formal. “She has a wealth of extraordinary ideas to help us stay on our feet when Beauchamp leaves.” Beatrice stood up then, and Freddie disappeared again to find another riding crop in the boot room. “I have to think about what you said. I don’t know if I’d have the courage to do any of it. But it’s certainly worth a thought. I’ll call you when I’ve had time to digest it.” Winnie nodded and stood up, and thanked her for allowing her to come and share the ideas. “What part would you play in it?”
“None,” Winnie said simply. “I wasn’t in the dream. I just thought some of it might be helpful.”
“How kind of you,” Beatrice said, smiling at her. They were about the same age, and Winnie had a feeling she’d like Bea if she got to know her. And her brother was handsome and funny. They were like people in a book or a play, not real life, or not Winnie’s real life at any rate. “I don’t know where we’d get the manpower to pull it off,” Beatrice said thoughtfully as she walked Winnie to the door.
Beauchamp Hall Page 17
