by Nicola Slade
‘Aged retainers?’ Edith’s puzzled frown deepened as Sam Hathaway joined in Harriet’s laughter. ‘What do you mean?’
‘That’s my fault, Edith,’ he assured her. ‘A few days ago Harriet said something about the staff at Locksley Farm Place and I made some crack about how feudal it sounded, having aged retainers around in this day and age. That’s when she put me right.’
‘Well? Who have they got at the moment? The first message I got came from the doctor and I only managed to snatch a brief word with Gran and that was all about Grandpa. I know the couple they got through an advert didn’t work out but I never met them. They were due to start in the New Year, after I’d already flown back to Los Angeles. I heard they’d got someone new but I thought they were still using that agency.’
‘Fingers crossed, it’s working well so far,’ Harriet told her. ‘Remember Karen Norton from the village? She was in your tutor group at school, if I remember. She got married a year or so back and she and her husband moved in to the flat behind the kitchen. She does the cooking and housekeeping and he does the maintenance and gardening, or at least, he supervises the contractors and does the kitchen garden. His name’s Markus but.…’ she paused with a grin, then hurried on. ‘He’s a plumber by trade but pretty handy all round, which is useful. Plus he has, um, other talents.’
‘Other talents? Is there something odd about the husband?’ Edith’s grey eyes narrowed as she caught the smile that passed between the driver and front-seat passenger. ‘What about him? I always got on well with Karen, we were in the same gang, but we’ve lost touch. It’ll be fun to catch up again.’
‘He’s a very nice young man,’ Harriet told her firmly. ‘You’ll like him; he’s very popular in the village. Anyway, as I started to say earlier, if Karen and her husband – he’s Polish, by the way – if they can call me Harriet and he’s only known me a couple of months, I really think you must make an effort. And you might as well say Sam, while you’re about it, especially as he’s likely to be around a lot more in future.’
‘Oh all right, Harriet,’ Edith sounded shy. ‘What’s this about you, Sam? Why are you likely to be around? Do you live in the village these days too?’
‘As of next week I shall,’ Sam explained. ‘Harriet’s neighbour lost her husband in the spring and she’s moving nearer to her daughter in Hastings so she offered me first refusal on her house. It’s ideal, semi-detached from Harriet’s place. Contracts were exchanged almost a month ago and I’m taking another look round the cottage this afternoon before I go home.’
‘Oh,’ Edith looked suddenly subdued. ‘Of course, I’d forgotten.’ She blinked. ‘Harriet told me, I think. I was so sorry to hear about….’
‘Thank you,’ Sam nodded, frowning blankly out of the car window. Even now, after some years, a sudden mention, however oblique, of his late, beloved wife could catch him unawares.
‘Nearly there.’ At the top of the hill Harriet swung into a narrow road, paused in a passing place nestling close to the hedgerow, which was starred with dog roses and bryony, to allow a tractor to rattle by, then headed off west towards Locksley. Just at the beginning of the village she turned left, through brick-pillared posts, the gates long gone, into the winding, pot-holed driveway of the old cream-stuccoed farmhouse that was Edith’s family home, pulling up with a flourish at the front door. ‘Here we are,’ she said, scrambling out of the Mini to let Edith out through the driver’s door.
‘Here, hand me your laptop so you can scramble out. And that bag as well. That the lot?’ She went to the boot and unloaded Edith’s case. ‘Can’t stop, I’m afraid. Sam wants to catch my neighbour before she has to go out. Don’t worry too much about your grandparents, Edith. I believe Walter is due out of hospital tomorrow, and there’s been a rota of people in the village dropping in daily to see if your grandmother needs anything. Besides, Karen and her husband are extremely efficient and they’re very kind too. Give everyone my love.’
She gave Edith a quick hug and climbed back into the ancient but gleaming Mini, leaning out for a parting word as she did a three-point turn. ‘If I don’t see you before, I’ll certainly see you tomorrow night. We’ll both be there – Sam’s coming too.’ As she drove back down the gravel drive to the gateway, Harriet frowned, wondering whether she should have dropped a hint. There was something else that was worrying her: the ongoing village mystery – the missing man last seen in the local pub – but no, there was no need to add that to Edith’s problems. There was surely no connection, was there?
Edith waved goodbye, looking puzzled by Harriet’s last remark, but she shook her head and hauled her bags up the steps and into the entrance hall. Dumping them there she hurried through the silent house to the kitchen where she paused at the door and stared at the curvaceous, auburn-haired young woman who was taking a tray of assorted mini quiches out of the vintage Aga.
‘Karen?’ Edith held out her hands to the other girl who, when she recognized the newcomer, straightened up in surprise, then plonked her baking tray down on the old scrubbed kitchen table and rushed forward. ‘How fantastic! I met Harriet Quigley at the airport and she gave me a lift. She told me you were here but I didn’t really take it in properly. You look amazing! It’s great to see you again – it’s been years. I love the vintage look, very Debbie Reynolds. That’s new, isn’t it?’
The other girl really did look stunning, Edith decided, a 1950s pin-up; her hair was in a bouncy style with a fringe and a perky yellow ribbon, and she wore a pair of what looked like genuine vintage pedal-pushers. Bright red lipstick and a crisp white blouse with a Peter Pan collar completed the picture.
‘Edith?’ Karen Mirowski returned the hug with affection. ‘Goodness yes, it must be at least five years. I’ve been into vintage nearly that long.’ She looked at Edith. You haven’t changed much,’ she said, then she took a step back, casting an appraising glance at her. ‘No, I take that back,’ she said. ‘You actually look tired out. I imagine it was a long flight. I’m so glad to see you, you’re really needed here, I can tell you. But why didn’t you let your grandparents know you were coming home?’
Edith shrugged and smiled. ‘No time. I got the message about Grandpa and hopped on a flight as soon as I could. Besides, my current job had, er, come to a natural close. It was time to come home anyway. Grandpa was cool about me working abroad for a couple of years but I know he wants me to get involved in the place now and I can’t let him down.’
‘Well, I’m glad; you’re certainly needed here,’ Karen told her frankly. ‘They’ll be pleased, your grandparents. You’ll find them a bit shaken up at the moment.’
‘Yes,’ Edith looked anxious. ‘Harriet’s been telling me about Grandpa’s accident. I’d better go and see Gran and break it to her gently that I’m home for good.’
Karen glanced at her watch. ‘I’d leave it for an hour or so,’ she suggested. ‘You know Mr Attlin’s not due out of hospital till tomorrow? And your grandmother usually spends the afternoon resting these days but she was late today and she’s only just gone upstairs to the sitting room. Leave your bags down here. Markus, my husband, can take them up when he gets back. He’s working on a plumbing job in Hursley all day today but he’ll be back soon. He’s got to get ready for a gig in Southampton.’
‘Mmm, all right, thanks.’ Edith sounded distracted as she stared at the array of food she had glimpsed through the open door of the larder, as well as the tray of quiches cooling on the table. ‘What on earth is all this food for, Karen? There’s enough to feed an army here. They haven’t taken in lodgers, have they?’
‘Just the one,’ Karen rolled her eyes. ‘That’s this artist that your grandmother has invited to stay for the summer. He’s—’ She broke off as the phone rang, then reached for a pencil and paper and began to make a list, pointing to the kettle. Edith shook her head, ran the tap for a glass of cold water, then turned away, frustrated. A lodger? What on earth were her grandparents thinking of? She waved to Karen, who was still bu
sy on the phone, and went out of the back door into the courtyard formed by the angle of the mediaeval hall and the house that had been tacked on in the early 1500s.
Out in the sunshine Edith felt again the tremor of excitement that always assailed her when she came home. It had always been home, even when her life during term time was spent in London, where her mother had a high-powered job as a company lawyer. Holidays always meant the far from stately farm of the Attlin family, the old house at Locksley, near Winchester.
When she was a young child her father, an army officer, was blown up by a mortar attack while on a routine deployment with the UN peace-keeping forces in the war in Bosnia. For the four years it took Richard Attlin to die in a hospital outside London, Edith lived in Hampshire with her grandparents while her mother worked to keep them afloat, visiting her husband and daughter as often as she could. After Richard’s death Edith went back to school in London but when she was fourteen her mother married again. Her new husband was a doctor, an old friend from her home town in the Scottish borders, and she moved back there with him, while Edith chose to move permanently to Locksley where she became one of Harriet Quigley’s students at a school just outside Winchester.
Even with the worry about her grandparents, both at present and for the future, Edith felt herself relax. I’m home, she thought, sighing with relief. It had all come together, she realized: a longing for home that had crept up on her and the fact that the children she had been teaching were about to go to boarding school, together with the knowledge that her real job awaited her back at the farm in Hampshire. If only her grandfather was really going to be all right.
Savouring the peace and the sunshine Edith turned the corner and came out to the front of the house, to find a stranger, a tall, very thin young man, contending with Lulu, the stout family dog that looked much like a Labrador but with a curly tail. She was leaping up at him in a ridiculous parody of puppyhood and plastering his chinos with mud.
Oh God, it must be Karen’s husband, she thought, running along the brick path. I hope it doesn’t put him off working here. Harriet says he’s a treasure and it’s so hard to get reliable helpers for Gran and Grandpa. ‘Down, Lulu, down. Bad dog!’
The dog arched in mid-jump at the sound of a remembered voice and twisted round, barely touching base before throwing herself at Edith who, wise in the fat almost-Labrador’s ways, braced herself to receive the onslaught. After a damp but enthusiastic reunion Edith rose and looked up at the stranger.
‘Ohhhh!’ It was a long drawn-out gasp as her hand went to her mouth. ‘But … but who are you?’ She stared at him in astonishment. Not Karen’s husband after all, definitely not, but who on earth could he be? Dark brown hair, a humorous quirk to the mouth, achingly familiar, but goodness, he was thin. Far too thin, surely?
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, looking anxious when she just stood there gazing at him.
‘But … you look just like….’ She pulled herself together and frowned, then shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just … oh well, never mind. Can I help you? Were you looking for someone? I’m so sorry about the dog.’
‘I’m fine,’ he said, patting the old dog as she flopped down beside him, resting her nose on his shoe. ‘I like dogs but I must admit I wouldn’t have worn my best trousers if I’d known what she was like. I wanted to make a good impression on my first day, that was all.’ When Edith still looked puzzled he grinned. ‘I’m the new lodger,’ he explained. ‘I was just exploring. Who are you?’
‘You mean you’re the artist Karen was talking about?’ She stared at him, a frown knitting her brow. ‘I – oh, I’m sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s a bit of a surprise. We’ve never taken in lodgers before and I can’t think what Gran’s up to. It’s not as though she hasn’t got a lot on her plate.’
‘I suppose it must seem odd to you,’ his smile was disarming, ‘but you needn’t worry. I insisted on paying for my bed and board even though your grandparents protested.’ His smile broadened and he held out his hand. ‘You must be Edith. I’m your very distant cousin, Rory Attlin.’
‘Really?’ She hesitated, still puzzled, then shook hands with an apologetic smile. ‘I’ve never heard of any distant cousins. But,’ she glanced at him again then looked away, ‘that could explain why you look so much like….’ The old dog interrupted her at that moment, nuzzling a wet nose into her hand. ‘Oh well, it’s Gran’s business after all. I’m sorry if I sounded rude, I’m a bit jet-lagged.’ She gave him a friendly grin.
He smiled. ‘Thanks, no problem. Just one thing: they did mention in the pub that there used to be witches here. Any truth in that? Just so I know.’
‘They only say that to cadge drinks out of the unwary.’ She laughed out loud at his expression. ‘Caught you, did they? The truth is the Attlin women have always been practical and bossy, and yes, they probably did know a lot about herbs and folklore, but I expect you’ll be safe enough.’
‘Hmm.’ He looked thoughtful, a sparkle in his hazel eyes. ‘Have those particular genes been carried down to the present day?’
She laughed again and shook her head. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment. You’ll have to wait and see. And watch your step.’
‘Look.’ He dug his hands into his pockets and smiled down at her. ‘I’ve clearly arrived at a difficult time, but can we call a truce? I’ll try and keep out of your way and not be a nuisance, but I don’t want to leave. This place is magic.’ He swept a comprehensive glance round the garden and looked down at her slightly shyly as if reluctant to admit to such enthusiasm.
She wasn’t proof against such obvious appreciation of her home. His presence might be an unwanted complication at a time of such uncertainty and anxiety, and his appearance was something of a disturbing mystery, but the hand caressing the stone angel beside the original entrance to the hall was the hand of a lover. His expression as he gazed up at the mosaic of dressed flint that glittered above the porch, as the sun caught it, was one of startled pleasure.
‘Call me Edith, everyone does. Look, I’m really sorry if I was a bit short,’ she told him again. ‘I shouldn’t have, it’s just that you look so….’ She frowned. ‘There’s a portrait, you see … well, I’ll show you later, then you’ll understand. But as I was saying, there’s no point me making a fuss. If Gran thinks you should be here, then here’s where you have to be.’
‘She’s been very helpful. We fixed things up earlier in the week and I moved in this morning. Your grandmother’s friend in the village told her about me and that I was looking for somewhere to live. She vouched for me because her sister used to live next door to us.’ Rory filled her in on some details. ‘I’m starting a new job at the university next term and this gives me a good base for getting to know my way about and doing some leisurely house-hunting.’
Edith shivered, suddenly cold. ‘Earlier in the week? You were here? When was that? Was it before or after Grandpa’s accident?’
He stared at her abrupt question. ‘I heard about that. It was the same day, I think, Wednesday. At least, I think it was that night he was injured, wasn’t it? Why? Does it make a difference? I promise not to get underfoot.’
‘It’s not that … oh, never mind.’ She still felt chilled and suddenly very tired as well as paranoid. Somebody walking over her grave, perhaps? ‘I was just wondering, that’s all.’ She led him through the original stone-flagged entrance into Locksley Farm Place. ‘Let’s go and have a cup of tea,’ she suggested. ‘I’m parched.’
Rory lagged behind, staring up at the entrance. ‘You’d never know this was here, would you,’ he said, nodding towards the mediaeval building. ‘Tucked round here you don’t see it at all when you come up the drive, it’s amazing.’
He caught up with Edith and as they crossed the great hall Rory paused to look around. The room was dominated by an enormous refectory table that stood across one end, gleaming with centuries of elbow grease. Silver pots filled with roses stood at eithe
r end and there was a larger flower arrangement in the middle.
‘I see the village Flower Club ladies have been here.’ Edith looked puzzled as she nodded towards the artfully elegant display. ‘I wonder why. Maybe it’s just a compliment to Gran as she used to be their chairman.’
Rory was clearly only half listening. ‘This table is incredible,’ he murmured, stroking it with an appreciative hand.
‘It is, isn’t it,’ she agreed, giving him an approving look as her suspicions faded into the background. ‘It’s the genuine article too. My umpteenth great-grandmother is supposed to have pinched it from her convent during the Dissolution of the Monasteries. Though, to be more accurate, she sent for it when the convent was closed down as she had already run away with my umpteenth great-grandfather. I doubt she paid anything for it; the legend says she was a tough cookie.’
‘A runaway nun?’ He looked intrigued.
She was gratified to note his interest so she continued. ‘It’s said that they were distant cousins and forbidden to marry because her family were poor. His father actually bought off her parents with the price of her dowry to the convent so he must have taken the affair seriously. There’s no way of knowing why she went along with it and took her final vows. Maybe they forced her, or perhaps she was just biding her time.’
She took out a tissue and wiped up a scatter of drops of water from the flowers. ‘Anyway, two years later, at the time Henry VIII started getting heavy with the monasteries, she and her cousin, Richard Attlin, turned up at the Angel House bearing a marriage certificate that might very well have been legal. Apparently, everyone turned a blind eye and it was never queried. The forbidding father had died, which was why Richard took off to fetch her and as the convent was broken up soon afterwards, I don’t suppose anyone thought it was worth checking.’
