by K. Velk
He found, to his surprise, that he was beginning to enjoy his status as an independent workingman. Everyone he had met since he had arrived in England and 1928 seemed to simply accept that he had been thrust into adulthood by the bad luck of the premature deaths of his parents and lack of relations. No one asked for any identification or suggested that the authorities be consulted. He was to be sixteen on his next birthday and he was looking for a job. That seemed to satisfy everyone that he was on his own. It was a little terrifying, but also amazing.
His bike tours also quickly and firmly impressed on him a love for the English countryside of 1928. He loved the narrow lanes, the green grass, and the distant hills. The horizon around Dallas was a featureless line, except for the bristle of tall buildings if you were approaching the city from a distance, or a shimmer of heat. And while there was plenty of grass in the carefully tended yards in his subdivision, it was stiff and sharp – bred to stand up against the blazing Texas sun. In England, the grass was soft and fine as a baby’s hair, especially in shady areas under trees. When he wanted a break, Miles would search out a lonely tree and lie on the grass beneath it with his boots off, just to feel it on his toes.
He saw few people on these expeditions. Almost always they were men working in fields. They would look up at him as he passed, probably wondering how a boy of his age managed to skive off work, but they always waved and called hello. Miles waved back, but never stopped. He still regarded every conversation as a potential minefield. “Don’t say anything” still rang in his ears. If he had seen a likely candidate for “the Girl,” he would have stopped – but for better or worse, he was not put to the test.
He did at least make mental notes on those he saw for later discussion with Susannah and Mrs. Peppermore. It seemed they knew everyone for miles around. His description of “a short man with two boys working in a field just beyond a barn with slit windows shaped like crosses” brought not only the family name, “Oh, that’s the Townsends,” from Susannah, but a Townsend family history and genealogy from Mrs. Peppermore. None of this had, however, yet yielded up any information that advanced his mission in the slightest. One night, as they were discussing the young people in the area, the topic turned to the “cleverest girl” in the district. Mrs. Peppermore and Susannah agreed that it was Susannah’s school friend, Gladys.
“She’s gone off to London and works on a magazine now,” Susannah said with a sigh. “She’s a wonderful artist. Can draw anything.” Mrs. Peppermore had then put her finger to her lips and shaken her head at Miles. Desperate as his interest was, after that he did not again raise the painful subject of local stand-out girls.
On Saturday, Molly was the first to sense Jack’s approach. She bayed wildly and he came into the little house with her at his heels, jumping for joy.
“My but you’re looking much better!” Jack exclaimed as soon as he clapped eyes on Miles. “And that shirt looks better on you than it ever did on me. Good thing too, as it’s all set for you to come back with me to Sessions tomorrow!”
16. A Plan Emerges
“I went to Mr. Hardy as soon as I got back,” Jack said as the family quickly assembled at the dinner table. “I explained about you needing a job. He said there weren’t any positions in the kennels, nor the stables, nor the grounds. Things looked bleak then…”
“Oh, they used to have a regular army of help up there,” Mrs. Peppermore said as she handed around a big bowl of mashed potatoes. (Her mashed potatoes were Miles’ favorite cottage dish). “I put a hand in myself many a time in those days, to make a bit of extra, and just to be part of it all. Before the war there was always something happening at Sessions; tea parties, gymkhanas, shooting parties, garden parties and the like.”
Her smile faded. “But since the war the Fishers don’t entertain – and of course the children have all gone. Breaks my heart to think of the place as it is now.”
“Well, they still do the Hunt Ball,” Jack said. “And the village Fête, but Lady Fisher has left all that in the hands of old Grimmy.”
“That’s Mrs. Grimwald, to likes of you,” Mrs. Peppermore said reprovingly. “You mustn’t be impertinent about her, Jack. It’s rude, and besides, it wouldn’t be good for you if it got back to her.”
“Well, she is a witch, I’ll grant you,” Jack laughed. “But even she can’t hear me when I’m at home, unless her familiar is lurkin’ under the table. Have you seen any black cats about, Miles?”
“Watch what you say my boy. There’s few who cross her and get on at Sessions.”
“Who is she?” Miles asked.
“She’s just the housekeeper,” Jack said through a mouthful of potatoes, “though she acts like that puts her at God’s right hand. Still, she don’t scare me, and she has no pull on outside staff, however she may swan it over the indoor lot. But, as I was sayin’, Miles, it was looking bleak for you, but then I remembered about your Professor friend. Well, saying ‘Morgan Davies’ to Mr. Hardy was like saying ‘abracadabra.’ He remembered the Davies family well – said he had worked with the Mr. and Mrs. both and they were very highly regarded. Given your connection, he promised a word with Mr. Scott.”
“You’ll make poor Miles’ battered head spin off his shoulders,” said Susannah. “He doesn’t know who any of these people are.”
“Right. Sorry. Mr. Scott is the butler, superior on staff even to Grimmy, though it irks her to think so. He called me up to his office at the big house within the hour! He asked me all about you and I told him what I knew. He didn’t say much, but he did say I was to bring you to see him on Sunday.”
“Well now, that does sound promising.” Mrs. Peppermore beamed broadly as she handed around a basket of popovers. Miles’ heart picked up its pace. He felt sure that this was the right track. He just hoped he was ready to step out onto it.
17. To “The Big House”
Sunday was Miles’ first wet day in England, but he didn’t mind. The gray skies and banks of mist seemed to make the grass and the trees look even greener. Everything took on a quiet and thoughtful air. Church wasn’t too bad. He mimed along with Jack through the service and he found it a good place to think about what was coming next.
After church, the boys walked companionably the five miles to Quarter Sessions. Miles pushed the Sunbeam along since Jack had no bike to ride. The last part of their route was a shortcut through some dripping woods. When they emerged, they found themselves on a carefully manicured lawn, bordered by tall, dark trees on both sides. The trees made a kind of alley that directed their path and their gaze straight ahead to Quarter Sessions, about a quarter mile in the distance.
It was a sight that Miles felt instantly would live with him forever.
Their view was of the back of the house, but even from the back, the place was majestic. It was bigger than he had imagined and somehow – what was the word? “Enchanted?” “Magical?’ He was reminded of Jack, not his new best friend, but the Jack of Beanstalk fame, breaking through the clouds and seeing the giant’s castle for the first time – the castle where his destiny awaited him. If Jack had been a real boy, this is what he would have felt, Miles thought.
The house was built of gray stone, almost as light in color as the mist that hung in the trees along the approach. It was three stories high. The bottom two rows of windows were rectangular and very tall. Those at the third story were smaller and square. The flat roof bristled with chimneys and a single flagpole. Miles could see a flag hanging wetly above what he supposed must be the front entrance. A feeling of déjà vu, an unaccountable feeling of homecoming, passed through him.
“Wow,” however, was all he could manage.
Jack laughed. “It is a grand old house, for sure. And the Fishers have done it up proper.” He paused as though he were also seeing it for the first time. “Hard to believe that there’s those round here who hold it to be an unlucky sort of place.”
Before Miles could ask what he meant by that, a harsh voice like the squawk of a raven, c
alled from behind them.
“You boy! What do you mean pushing your bicycle over the lawn!”
Jack and Miles spun around and saw, disconcertingly close behind, a tall, thin woman in a black skirt and stylish short jacket. A veil of black net sailed over her wide, white brow. Her lips were very red, and with fairy tales fresh in his mind, Miles was reminded of any number of wicked queens. If the next words out of her mouth had been “who is the fairest of them all?” or maybe “off with their heads!” Miles would not have been entirely surprised.
Jack swiped his cap from his head and jabbed an elbow into Miles’ ribs. Miles whipped off his as well.
“Oh.” The woman said impassively. “It’s you Peppermore. What can you be thinking? In this wet weather those tires will leave a very unsightly track. And who is this person?”
“Excuse us Mrs. Grimwald,” Jack stammered. “This is Miles McTavish, who’s got an appointment to see Mr. Scott today. And, I, I always come back from Westfield this way on Sundays.”
“Not on any wheeled conveyance you don’t.”
“No ma’am, that’s true, I don’t have a bicycle, but he isn’t riding it…”
“Just look!” she said, pointing at the fifty yards of lawn that the boys had just crossed. There was a faint line of bent grass from the bicycle tires. “Kindly go back and follow the road.”
“Yes Ma’am” said Jack. “C’mon Miles.”
Mrs. Grimwald took a few steps toward the house then stopped and looked back.
“Peppermore. Why does Mr. Scott wish to see this cyclist today?”
“Miles is to have a job here, Mrs. Grimwald.”
“Oh, is he?” she said raising her pencil-thin eyebrows.
Jack pulled his hat down hard and began trotting back toward the woods. Miles followed, matching his friend’s pace.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Jack whispered. “She’s a calculating old snake no doubt. We’d best hurry and get you up to the house before she starts bending Mr. Scott’s ear against you. Do you think I could ride you on the handlebars? Maybe we can get there before she does.”
“Why wouldn’t she want me to work here?” Miles asked, feeling genuinely bewildered. “She doesn’t know me. She’s never even seen me before.”
“Didn’t I tell you about Mrs. Grimwald? She won’t want you because it weren’t her idea to have you and she’d like to run the world if she could. Now let’s move.”
18. The Interview
Jack led Miles to a door at the back of the great house. It opened into a vast quasi-subterranean kitchen. The room’s only occupants at the moment were a very old woman and a little dog. The dog resembled nothing so much as a skein of brown wool. It teetered forward unsteadily and barked with unconvincing menace.
“Hush Eubank!” the woman scolded. She was up to her elbows in dishwater in one of the big stone sinks. “You know Jack!”
“Hello Nell!” Jack called loudly. “This is my friend Miles who’s to see Mr. Scott today!” Nell was apparently hard of hearing.
“He’s just back from church,” she said. “His office is down the hall there, last door to the right if you didn’t know.” Jack gave Eubank a friendly pat as he passed and the dog lost his guarding manner and waggled his stump of a tail.
Miles’ heart was hammering. He smoothed his hair and in doing so managed to knock loose the “sticking plaster” that covered his stitches. It had been too soon for them to come out after all. For interview purposes, all concerned thought it best that Miles’ wound remain covered. Now he tried to stick the bandage back into place and felt it take a loose hold on his clammy skin. He felt like he was going to the principal’s office, but with much more to dread than a call to his parents. Jack was trying to be helpful, but he looked as nervous as Miles felt. When they reached the office door, they both stood, paralyzed. Jack breathed, “Well, come on,” and Miles tapped on the door as though it might detonate.
“Come in!” A voice boomed from the other side.
Mr. Scott folded the newspaper he had been reading and peered at Miles over the top of his half-glasses.
“So, Peppermore, you’ve brought me your young American friend as you said you would.” He waved them into a pair of chairs opposite his own.
“Yes Sir, Mr. Scott. This is Miles McTavish.”
“I understand you are seeking employment, McTavish?”
“Uh. Yes Sir.”
“And I suppose Peppermore has explained to you that there is, at present, a dearth of positions on the estate?”
Miles wasn’t quite sure what “dearth” meant, but he gathered it meant there weren’t many jobs to be had.
“Uhh. Yeah… Sir.”
Mr. Scott leaned back in his chair and gave Miles a measuring look. “The Fishers have kept a much reduced staff since the war – following a policy of attrition to take down the numbers. Even with these natural reductions, however, the household remains rather overstaffed. The manpower requirements these days are, it must be said, rather slender.”
Miles wasn’t sure what reaction was expected of him. He just nodded.
“You may also have heard that Sir James and Lady Fisher are rightfully regarded as the most liberal employers in the neighborhood. This means there is never a shortage of qualified individuals seeking employment at Quarter Sessions.”
“Yes Sir.”
“So you see the difficulty then, don’t you McTavish?”
“Yes Sir.”
Miles had used more “Sirs” in this interview than he had used before in his life to date.
“I understand from Peppermore that you have not been much accustomed to work for wages of any kind, is that correct?”
Why did Jack have to tell him that? Miles looked down at his Chinese-made boots and nodded again, twisting his cap in his hands.
“Oh, no, no, McTavish. Don’t be cast down! I didn’t mean to take the heart out of you. I only wanted to explain why we might have to make a rather unconventional arrangement. Sir James and Lady Fisher are visiting Sir James’ brother, the Earl, at Reddlegowt Castle at the moment. I thought we would have to wait for their return before any decisions could be taken and they will be away for several weeks yet. However, when Peppermore explained that you were in, shall we say, rather dire circumstances, and that you are a friend of Morgan Davies, I determined that Lady Fisher would want to be informed.”
He stopped abruptly and looked up. The boys followed his gaze to the door.
“Can I help you, Mrs. Grimwald?”
“Yes Mr. Scott.” She said, advancing into the room. “I wondered if these boys had arrived. They made very good time, I must say.” She gave the boys a suspicious look.
“Have they? I suppose that’s a credit to them. Was the door left open Mrs. Grimwald? I didn’t hear you knock.”
“It was,” she said as she pulled up a chair. “You won’t mind my sitting in? Perhaps I can help clarify matters, explain why we simply could not have another young person on the staff now.”
“In fact, Mrs. Grimwald,” Mr. Scott said slowly, “Lady Fisher has personally given me direction in the matter.”
Mrs. Grimwald blinked rapidly a few times. “I see. Has Sir James altered his plans? I understood the family were at Reddlegowt.”
“The telephone has managed what the Viking hordes could not, Mrs. Grimwald. It has penetrated the walls of Reddlegowt Castle. Lady Fisher arranged for an instrument to be installed prior to their journey this year. Perhaps you were unaware…
“I was unaware. This intelligence was not shared with me. An oversight, I am sure.”
“Ah. Perhaps that was a lapse on my part. In any case, I have telephoned Lady Fisher and taken instructions on the matter of McTavish.”
“He’s a friend of Morgan Davies!” Jack blurted out, no doubt remembering the excellent effect that this revelation had produced on Dr. Slade and Mr. Hardy.
Mrs. Grimwald, however, showed no enthusiasm. In fact, her face became instantly immobile.
“A telephone at Reddlegowt? You astonish me Mr. Scott. Perhaps you would provide me with the number?” She patted the jacket of her elegant black suit in the way that smokers do when they are looking for their cigarettes. The result of her search was not cigarettes, however, but a small mechanical pencil and a notepad.
Something about this gesture and the expression on her face struck Miles as familiar. He felt certain for a moment that he knew Mrs. Grimwald – he had met her before, somewhere. But where? When? It couldn’t be. Could it?
“I will do so presently. When I have concluded this interview,” Mr. Scott said evenly.
Although this was plainly her cue to leave, Mrs. Grimwald remained fixed.
“I worked at Reddlegowt Castle as a girl myself, boys,” she said stiffly. “I grew up there, as a matter of fact, and I daresay the Tudor kings would have felt quite at home in Reddlegowt even as recently as a few years ago. Innovation, you see, has never been sought, nor welcomed, by the Earls of Reddlegowt.”
“With the exception, you must allow, of the current Earl,” Mr. Scott said.
“Yes, well, the present Earl always has been, what’s the word? ‘Malleable,’ I suppose. And of course Lady Fisher has grown quite reliant on the telephone.” Mrs. Grimwald sighed. “In any case, did her Ladyship indicate any recollection of her charity school employment scheme?”
“It was uppermost in her mind,” Mr. Scott said with exaggerated patience.
“Well. Then, there you have it. There is certainly no employment in the house for this boy. Even if Sir James were still keeping a contingent of footmen this one is rather undersized, and he’s hardly…” she paused and looked at Miles as if he were a piece of spoiled fish, “ornamental is he? Whatever has happened to your head, boy?”
