Heaven is High

by Anne Hampson

  ‘Get them off? Now?’ she faltered.

  ‘First thing in the morning.’

  She put a quivering hand to her mouth, unconsciously taking a step towards him.

  ‘There isn’t anywhere for them to go.’

  ‘Get in touch with the local authority.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t do that!’ she exclaimed, then wished with all her heart that she hadn’t.

  ‘Why not?’

  A long pause and then,

  ‘The Council don’t know they’re on ... what I mean is, it’s an offence to have vans without their permission.’

  ‘So you took the law into your own hands?’

  ‘Had I asked permission it would have been refused, so I just let them on without asking for it.’ He was plainly staggered by this admission, though he said nothing, merely waiting for some further explanation.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry, about everything. It must seem dreadfully presumptuous of me, but at the time it worried me—their plight, I mean. You see, their old site closed down unexpectedly and they had nowhere to go. There was all this land and it didn’t seem sensible to let them have that anxiety when their problem could be solved in a very simple way. It’s only temporary—’ He had turned away to look out again as though recalling something.

  ‘What are those wires connected to the trailers?’ he asked curiously, and Kathryn’s throat went dry as she began to tell him that she had had an electricity supply taken from the summer house.

  ‘Most of them rely on electricity for heating,’ she added, in some haste, for he was facing her again and he seemed to be quite speechless by this time. But after a while he said, in that soft and dangerous tone,

  ‘Is there anything else I should know, Miss Ramsey? If so, let me have it all, if you please.’

  At first she shook her head, but then, in a voice of sudden resignation,

  ‘Only that I’ve had water connected to their vans, too. You see, they’re quite old—some of them, and they couldn’t be expected to carry it...’

  CHAPTER II

  Contrary to Kathryn’s expectations the party was still in full swing when she came down to the sitting-room, and an angry light entered her eyes as she scanned the gathering, before going through to the kitchen where Rita and Dawn, were making refreshments.

  ‘You can leave those, and get that crowd out of here,’ she said, trying to control her quivering voice. After all, it was Rita’s birthday, and Kathryn didn’t want to spoil it altogether.

  ‘But, Kate—’

  ‘Those capers of Phil’s were crude, and definitely not in good taste. All that noise, and laughter, and Mr. Hyland standing there; it was awful!’

  ‘You laughed, too,’ Dawn retorted. ‘You know you did.’ Both girls had obviously forgotten their few moments of embarrassment, for neither seemed in any way perturbed by what had happened.

  ‘You won’t be interested,’ Kathryn almost snapped, ‘but I’m quite sure I’ve lost my job!’

  At that both girls stopped what they were doing and stared unbelievingly at their sister.

  ‘Already? He hasn’t wasted much time!’

  Turning away impatiently, Kathryn went back to the other room and, walking over to the record player, switched it off.

  ‘I’m sorry about this,’ she said quietly, ‘but you’ll all have to leave. The new owner—’

  ‘Leave, at this time? Kate, be a sport.’ Phil retained the hands of the girl with whom he had been dancing. ‘We haven’t even got going properly yet.’

  She turned on him angrily.

  ‘Do as I say, Phil! Mr. Hyland has asked me to show him over the house and he’ll be down here in about half an hour. I want this room in order by then, so you can all take yourselves off, at once!’ She thought vaguely that they would always consider her to be rude, but she must get them out before John Hyland put in an appearance.

  Dawn and Rita came through with trays, stopping just inside the room as they saw the expressions on their friends’ faces.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘We’ve been told to go,’ one young man informed them sullenly. ‘Right in the middle of a smashing party like this. Some people do have spoil-sport relations!’

  It was a good quarter of an hour before Kathryn could begin tidying up. She felt awful, despite her outward anger. After all, she had given permission for the party, and it wasn’t very good manners to order the guests off the premises only an hour after it had begun. Where would they go? There was nowhere in the village, not even an inn. They would have to go into Macclesfield where most of them lived, and where Dawn and Rita had had their flat. There would be some haunt there, or some pub where they could continue the party, she told herself, trying to ease her conscience.

  With the help of one of the maids, Kathryn managed to put the room into order, and she was just going to wash her face and brush her hair when John Hyland entered. A swift glance in the mirror revealed a shiny nose and hair which was awry, to say the least. Luck certainly wasn’t with her today, she reflected dismally. A neat and tidy appearance would have restored at least a little of her confidence. As it was she felt he must be regarding her with some considerable disapproval. Not that it really mattered, for Kathryn was quite convinced she had lost her job. But he seemed to have forgotten some of his anger and irritation as, halting by the door for a while, he stared in surprise at the difference in the room, and in answer to his glance of inquiry she explained that the young people had gone off to continue the party in town.

  ‘It was my sister’s birthday,’ she submitted, convinced he was not in the least interested, but feeling some explanation was necessary. ‘They’d become rowdy, I’m afraid.’

  ‘This, I take it, is the room which was used most by the late owner of the house?’ he said, ignoring her effort to explain. He strode over to the window and looked out on to the wide and undulating lawn sweeping away from the side of the house and ending where a belt of willows fringed one of the lakes. It was a beautiful scene and, watching him, Kathryn saw his eyes flicker in admiration. Did he consider himself lucky in inheriting such a mellowed and historical house? she wondered, reflecting that at the time of the first manor house his country was not even discovered, and even when the newest part of the present Hall was being constructed America had not even begun to be colonized.

  ‘Would you like to see over the house now?’ she inquired politely as he turned back into the room again, and he nodded. ‘I didn’t ask if you wanted any refreshment,’ she said, making no apology for the omission. He must know she had been too flustered even to think clearly. ‘Perhaps you would like something now?’

  ‘I dined on the way here, thank you,’ he replied, and then, ‘Is there someone who will go and do my unpacking?’

  ‘Of course.’ Another omission. She should have told him that one of the maids would do that. ‘Do you wish it to be done now?’

  ‘Please. I expect those cupboards and drawers can be used? They aren’t falling apart from woodworm or anything?’

  Kathryn shook her head and smiled faintly.

  ‘They’re all very ancient, but everything here is in a wonderful state of preservation. Each owner has loved this house, and all his possessions.’

  ‘And you’re wondering if I shall feel the same about it?’ His brows were raised a fraction and Kathryn wondered if he was amused.

  ‘As Burrows said, we’ve all hoped you would like the place and decide to stay here.’ His brows went a little higher; Kathryn could almost hear him saying, ‘And what difference will that make to you?’

  ‘I most certainly intend to stay,’ he assured her. ‘And now, Miss Ramsey, shall we have that tour of the house which I mentioned?’

  She took him into the entrance hall first, talking about the history of the house and pausing now and then to show him the weapons, some of which were very ancient, and very rare. She showed him the coat of arms of the previous owner, explaining the heraldic achievement; and was about to read out the m
otto in English when something made her change her mind.

  ‘Perhaps you’ve read the motto,’ she murmured, watching his expression.

  ‘I have,’ he returned quietly, and Kathryn gave a sigh of relief. She had felt, somehow, that he would know his Latin, but had that not been the case he would have been put in an embarrassing position—and liked her even less because of it.

  ‘The English must have been small people,’ he remarked; lightly fingering the suit of armour by the entrance door. ‘Or isn’t this English?’

  ‘Yes, it’s English—about 1320.’

  ‘So old?’ For the first time he seemed surprised, and, she thought, rather awed. ‘Is it really as old as that?’

  ‘It’s early fourteenth century, yes. This is the resting place for a lance. See, it folds. We have a very fine tilting ground here and tournaments took place regularly—but you probably know about that?’

  ‘I’ve read about it, yes.’

  She then took him to the Library and he stood admiring the numerous books, some very ancient and beautifully bound in leather.

  ‘The mantelpiece is Tudor—about four hundred years old,’ she said, realizing with a little shock that at the time it was installed at the Hall there were still about fifty years to go before those English Puritans set sail to found the colony of Plymouth in that land of promise across the Atlantic. ‘We have proof of a Neolithic settlement here ... this flint axe head. It dates from around 2000 B.C.’ She went on to inform him about the furniture and then they moved on.

  ‘We now come to the Long Hall,’ she said. ‘This table is Chippendale, from the Mayor collection, and you will notice the pictures—these are all Morlands, and over there—the sunset—is a Turner, and that one’s a Constable—’ Arrested by his expression of amusement, Kathryn stopped, flushing, and then said apologetically,

  ‘I’m so used to explaining everything. I’ll take you round more quickly if you like?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he returned, to her surprise. ‘Tell me everything as we go along. What about these famous Fittons?’

  ‘Theirs was a long and splendid history,’ she said, adding that he would find it much more interesting to read about it for himself, and confined her comments to a brief description of some of the marvellous banquets and jousts which had taken place when honoured guests were in residence at the Hall.

  They went into the Chapel, and the Dining-Room, then from the Guard Room to one of the most beautiful apartments in the whole house, the Drawing-Room.

  ‘This was always the main living-room,’ Kathryn explained as they stood by the window looking out upon the view which, like the room itself, had remained unchanged through four centuries of history. The massive wall enclosing the lovely acres of parkland had been built by Sir Edward Fitton, friend of Queen Elizabeth and of whom it was said ‘he has a haughty countenance and contempt of superiority.’ As Kathryn related this she found herself examining John Hyland’s face even more searchingly than before. He might almost have been one of those famous Fittons himself, she decided, moving away from the window.

  ‘This fellow was the father of that Mary Fitton, the Dark Lady of Shakespeare’s sonnets?’ he queried, his eyes flickering with interest.

  ‘Grandfather,’ she corrected. ‘Though her father was an Edward, too.’

  ‘It isn’t a certainty that she was the Dark Lady, I believe?’

  ‘No ... but we think it’s possible. It’s thought that Shakespeare stayed a while at Marbeck Hall at about that time.’ She paused, waiting patiently as he went round examining the pictures with the keen and knowledgeable interest of the connoisseur.

  ‘This—’ He referred to the portrait of Anne, Lady Fitton, mother of the famous Mary and her less famous but certainly more sweet-natured sister, Anne. The children in the portrait with their mother were Mary and her brother Edward. ‘The Fitton arms...?’ He pointed to the shield up in the corner above Mary’s head.

  ‘Sir Edward married a Holcroft—they were a very famous Cheshire family at that time—and the arms incorporate those of Holcroft.’ Heavens, was he versed in heraldry, too? An amused smile came fleetingly to her lips. Those who had written so disparagingly about him were going to have very red faces before they were much older. On the way up she warned him again to mind his head. As she spoke she turned, and surprised an odd expression on his face. He was clearly convinced that her anxiety was for the priceless Waterford chandelier and not for his head!

  He had seen some of the bedrooms, but Kathryn naturally did not remind him of this; instead she took him to the others, answering his questions and explaining anything over which he seemed puzzled.

  From the window of the Fitton bedroom—where Mary was supposed to have slept—could be seen the foothills of the Derbyshire Pennines, for the house was close to the border.

  ‘This is the Blue Room ... the Solar ... the Griffin Room...’ And so it went on, for a long while, with John Hyland never once losing interest and Kathryn never tiring of talking about the house which she had come to love with such intensity that her heart sank at the idea of leaving it, never to return.

  At last they were outside, but by now it was almost dark and after a cursory glance around the house itself John decided he had had enough. But he stood by the front door, obviously enjoying the soft June night and the scented breeze coming across from the flower-filled gardens.

  ‘Perhaps you’re now ready for a drink?’ she said politely when they were back in the sitting-room. ‘I don’t know what you would like ... we have a very good cellar here—’ She broke off, a hint of colour rising. Why did she keep saying ‘we’? It was use, she knew, but this was no time to be saying it.

  ‘I’d like a cup of coffee,’ he said, with that faint drawl which Kathryn was beginning to find attractive. ‘Perhaps you’ll keep me company?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He seated himself comfortably on the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his eyes wandering around the room. He seemed either to have forgotten her presence, or was deliberately ignoring it, and Kathryn went out to prepare the coffee, which she soon brought in, along with biscuits and cakes which were attractively arranged on a silver dish.

  She gave him his coffee, then sat down, on the big chair at the other end of the room. For the first time since coming here she felt awkward and unsure of herself; for the first time for years she had the feeling of not belonging, of being what she really was, a servant.

  ‘You don’t get the maids to do this?’ he queried, picking up a biscuit and putting it on the plate she had given him.

  ‘They have almost every evening free. Mr. Southon insisted on that. They also have two days off each week—taking it in turns, of course, so that we always have one on duty.’

  ‘There are only two?’

  She nodded, and blinked in surprise.

  ‘We have two daily women as well, and Burrows. How many servants was he used to? she wondered. ‘And we have—there are three gardeners.’

  ‘What about a chauffeur? I’m informed that Mr. Southon was in poor health for a long while before he died.’

  ‘I drove him about,’ she replied, and an odd light entered his eyes.

  ‘What else did you do?’

  She hesitated, wishing she could avoid an answer.

  ‘I did all the accounts.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘As you say, he wasn’t in good health, so I—’ She broke off, shrugging slightly. ‘I did practically everything.’

  ‘In other words,’ he murmured, thoughtfully stirring his coffee, ‘you made yourself almost indispensable to your employer.’

  She frowned, and moved uncomfortably in her chair. ‘Naturally I did all I could, but I didn’t deliberately make myself indispensable to Mr. Southon. His illness necessitated my taking on more and more duties as time passed. He relied on me and I helped him all I could.’ Surely it must be imagination, but it did seem as if his expression were one of distrust.

  ‘How long
have you worked for Mr. Southon?’

  ‘Six years.

  ‘And you’ve lived here all that time?’

  ‘I’d been coming two months when Mr. Southon asked me to live in.’ What an odd situation, she suddenly thought. Here she was, sitting with this stranger, telling him all about herself, and her work, and not knowing a thing about him. He had no wife, she knew, for Mr. Lowry had told her that. But had he a family—parents and brothers and sisters? What had been his job? There were so many questions she would have liked to ask, but all she managed was an inquiry as to whether or not he intended carrying on as before and allowing the public access to his home.

  ‘For the present, yes,’ he said, picking up his cup and saucer from the little inlaid table Kathryn had placed beside him. ‘You say you did all the accounts?’ And, when she nodded, ‘You’ve been keeping them then, since Mr. Southon died?’

  ‘Yes. The money has been paid into the bank, and the books go to Mr. Lowry every month.’

  ‘But expenses, and wages?—what did you do about those?’

  ‘I stopped the money before giving it to Mr. Southon.’ She suddenly thought about his insinuations that she had been making money from the caravans and by having her sisters here and with a wholly involuntary gesture her chin lifted and she added, ‘The books are all in order, Mr. Hyland, I can assure you I’m to be trusted.’

  ‘My good girl...’ He seemed quite taken aback for a space and then his brow darkened. ‘I don’t doubt for one moment that you’re honest, Miss Ramsey,’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ No sense in worsening her position by taking offence, she chided herself. For although she felt she had lost her job, he hadn’t actually said anything definite about it. And suddenly she wanted to know, one way or another, for the uncertainty had been going on for over six months. ‘As you are intending to carry on as usual, will you be wanting me to stay here?’

  ‘No, Miss Ramsey. I prefer to engage my own staff.’ Not a flicker of an eyelid, no sign of the hesitancy or embarrassment one would expect under such circumstances. And they had all been awaiting the appearance of a rough and ready cowhand, a rather ludicrous figure without breeding or taste who would be so out of his depth in the refinement of his new position that he would be glad to sell out as speedily as possible and return to his more comfortable environment among his own kind. Instead, here was a gentleman, cultured, confident and poised, with all the savoir-vivre of the aristocratic Fittons themselves.