by Lisa Olsen
Joanie waved her hand back and forth, unconcerned with logic. “So? England is basically an island. It’s like a nothing commute to get to the water.”
A snort came from the front seat, and Sara looked up to catch a flash of the driver’s grin. “I’m not too sure about that,” she murmured, looking out the window, but she couldn’t penetrate the gloomy fog apart from the occasional glimpse of an empty paddock or a copse of dark trees. “We’ve been driving an awful long time.”
“You’re telling me, I shouldn’t have had those drinks on the train,” Joanie muttered, shifting in her seat. “Excuse me, driver?” she leaned forward, bright auburn hair glowing as it caught in the dashboard lights. “How much longer is this gonna take?”
“Just until we arrive, Miss.”
“Okay, thanks,” Joanie slumped back against the seat and Sara looked up again, teeth pressed against the inside of her lips to keep from laughing as she caught his wink in the rearview mirror. Had he introduced himself? Sara couldn’t be sure with all the rigmarole to get their luggage to the car and make sure Jack didn’t go wandering off on his own. What he must think of them… Sara wasn’t sure what to expect from the locals yet. Would they accept her as the new heir or did they have their hopes set on a different disposition for the estate? Would they even care? It wasn’t clear how much her family’s estate was tied up in the local community, but for a town called Darlington, she imagined it was close.
Incapable of maintaining silence for more than a few minutes, Joanie snuck her way back onto Sara’s train of thought. “What is a Baronet anyway? Is it like a baby Baron?”
“Near as I can tell it’s not as high up as a Baron; it just means Jack will have to get used to being called Sir.”
“That makes you a Lady I guess, huh?”
“I suppose so,” Sara smiled faintly at the tinge of jealousy in Joanie’s voice.
“Thank God you got the call after your divorce came through,” she said, out of the blue.
“What?” Sara blinked, not tracking the change in subject right away. “Oh, I don’t know, I could have used the luck a little earlier in the game.” When she thought of the tiny little apartment they’d been crammed into for the past six months… the call couldn’t have come soon enough.
“Are you kidding me? Peter would have pissed it all away inside of a year.”
“Joanie!” she exclaimed, somewhere between a whisper and a hiss.
“What?”
“Shh, I don't want him to hear you,” Sara scowled, even if it was true.
“Oh please, you know Jack can sleep through a hurricane,” Joanie demonstrated by poking the boy in the ribs with no response. But for the slight rise and fall of his chest, Jackson appeared dead to the world.
“Still…” Sara looked down at her sleeping son, slumped over on the seat between them. Small for a boy of eight, his dark brown hair was the exact shade as hers, blue eyes hidden behind round glasses that slipped low on his nose in his present position. Despite the fact that she knew he wasn’t listening, it didn’t feel right to talk about his father with him right there, even if she did agree with her friend’s opinion of the guy.
“I'm just saying, it gives me a happy to think he won't get his hands on all your money. Can you imagine Peter with some serious cash behind him?” a roll of the eyes was given.
“I’m having a hard enough time picturing me with money,” Sara answered diplomatically, hoping to change the subject. For the next twenty minutes they chatted about what might be waiting for them at the end of their journey. Joanie seemed to think they’d land in an episode of Downton Abbey; the liveried servants lined up in front of the building, neatly dressed and pressed to greet her. Sara couldn’t imagine owning something so large; she was convinced it’d be more along the lines of a cottage with some pretty gardens. At least she hoped so; gardening was one of the few things she missed about the three bedroom split level home in LA.
A crunch of gravel alerted them as the car pulled onto the private road. “This is it, we’re almost there,” Sara breathed in excitement, wondering if she should wake Jack or let him keep sleeping. As they drew closer to the hulking shadow of the building, she decided to go with the latter; for the moment there was nothing to see. The house was completely dark, no signs of life to be found as they approached.
“Are you sure you have the right place?” Joanie frowned, leaning forward with a squint that couldn’t penetrate the darkness.
“This is Darling Park right enough,” the driver spoke, the lilt of his accent reminding Sara of the brief wink she’d seen in the mirror. “Don’t worry; I’m sure they’re about somewhere. Hold on a tick, I’ll get things sorted out. I’ll leave the engine running to keep the car warm for you.” Before either of them could so much as blink, he was out the driver’s side door, bounding into the fog that closed ranks behind him, enveloping him into the velvet murkiness.
“See, I told you it wouldn’t be like in the movies,” Sara’s voice fell to a whisper as she focused her attention on the driveway.
“Sure it is; it’s just the type of movie where we get murdered in our beds before sunrise,” Joanie replied sourly and Sara gave her a playful shove.
It was pretty creepy out there, the fog encasing them in a cocoon of silver mist, completely obscuring the house from view. She got the sense it was big, bigger than she’d thought, but that was about it. “At least we’re warm enough.” No sooner had she made the pronouncement, than the fates intervened; the car engine dying with a sputter. “I’m sure he’ll be back in a minute,” Sara added, unsure which one of them she was trying to convince more.
“This is stupid; why don’t we get out and go up to the front door?” Joanie muttered, unbuckling her seat belt.
“Fine,” Sara nodded, preparing to do the same. All at once, the mist swirled higher, cloaking the car in darkness. Sara shivered as the temperature plummeted, her breath visible in the sudden chill. “On second thought…”
Joanie pulled up the fur collar of her coat, bringing her hands up to blow on them. “Did I say murdered in our beds?”
“It’s just fog,” the words full of false bravado, Sara leaned against the window, desperate to find anything in the swirling fog to give her a point of reference. They could be completely cast adrift at sea for all she could tell; even the hulking shadow of the house was entirely hidden. Another shiver went through Sara as her fingertips pressed against the frigid glass; the sudden crunch of gravel the only warning before the door flew open and she nearly tumbled out, if not for the strong arms of the driver.
“Careful, my Lady,” he smiled, restoring her balance. Behind him, she could make out the entry of the house and then the fog seemed to dissipate, the porch lights dispelling the gloom with warm, yellow light.
“Thanks… I mean, sorry… for falling all over you like that. We thought you’d left us,” Sara offered a sheepish grin, releasing her death grip on his arms and busying herself with picking up Jack who still slept the sleep of the innocent.
“Would you like me to take him for you?”
“Oh, no, I’ve got him, thanks,” she flashed him a quick smile as she scooted out of the back seat, Joanie hot on her heels.
A matronly woman with iron gray hair pulled back into a bun in a severe black dress hovered by the door, peering at them with interest. “You’re early; we weren’t expecting you for another hour.”
“I’m sorry…” Sara’s teeth caught at her bottom lip, “we didn’t mean to be a bother…”
“Heavens, don’t apologize, my Lady,” she chuckled. “I wasn’t blaming you in the slightest,” her eyes lit upon the driver who deposited the first of the bags in the hallway.
“The train’s come early. I tried to call…” he started to explain, but she waved him off.
“The phones are a bit spotty every now and again. Come in, come in, you must be cold to the bone,” she waved them deeper into the entryway that stretched at least thirty feet high before a grand
wooden staircase stained a rich mahogany.
The wallpaper was a little faded and the furnishings old fashioned, but there was no mistaking the grandeur of the home. An alternating pattern of honey yellow and dark brown marble tiles decorated the entry floor in a mosaic pattern picked up in the crystal chandelier that hung above. If a few tiles were weathered and cracked, it was still more impressive than anything Sara had seen outside of the silver screen, and it was polished to a high sheen.
The air felt wrong to Sara, a bit musty with disuse perhaps, but it was warmer than the chill outside. Next to the woman, a man stood at the door in a pair of gray trousers and a worn cardigan with leather patches on the elbows, his weathered face split into a welcoming smile.
“Thomas close the door, you’re letting all the heat out,” the old woman chided him gently, and he rushed to do her bidding, closing the door on the driver who still struggled with the last of the bags by the car.
“I’m Mrs. Poole, the housekeeper. My husband and I are the only regular staff for Darling Park at present. Thomas, hurry get a fire going in the parlor while I get them some tea.”
“Right-o, we’ll have you warmed up inside and out in no time,” he grinned, revealing a flash of store bought teeth, but Sara called him back, not wanting them to go to too much trouble on her behalf.
“That’s not necessary,” she shifted her hold on Jack, his head lolling against her shoulder. More than anything she was a little tired, and the worst of the chill had already worn off. “It’s sweet of you, really, but I think all we want to do is get some rest. Oh, this is my friend, Joanie and I’m Sara Bailey, or Darling.” Not used to using her maiden name again, it sounded strange to her ears.
“Of course you are, you’re the spitting image of Lady Margaret, isn’t she?” Mrs. Poole replied and Thomas nodded sagely.
“Indeed she is.”
“Who’s Lady Margaret?” Joanie asked, suddenly finding her voice after spending the last few minutes gawking at the size of the foyer.
“That would be her ladyship’s grandmother, a few generations removed, of course,” Thomas replied genially, and it was odd for Sara to think she had a common ancestry with the Lady of the house. Of course, now she was the Lady of the house…
The door opened and the driver deposited the rest of the bags with a thud that echoed in the open space. A frown knit Mrs. Poole’s brows together at the unceremonious interruption, but she smoothed her expression before turning to Sara. “Would you like me to have Will take the young master up? There’s a proper fire laid out for him in preparation.”
“Oh no, I can do it,” Sara shook her head. “Just point me in the right direction, I’m used to it.”
Another flutter of distress went through Mrs. Poole and the young chauffeur stepped up. “Of course you are, but you’ll be knackered after your long journey,” he held his arms wide to take Jack from her. “Don’t worry, my Lady, I'll take care of him like he was my own.”
Sara hesitated, her arms still curved protectively around her young son’s body. The driver, or Will as Mrs. Poole had called him, waited patiently, his grey-blue eyes snapping with his own private amusement. He was cuter than she’d first thought, or maybe it was the earnest way he smiled at her, as if he understood how strange it all was for her.
“Let him take Jack for chrissakes, Sara,” Joanie nudged her. “It’s just upstairs, it’s not like he’s gonna disappear and never come back.”
She’d been about to give in anyway, but now she felt like she was being a big, fat ignoramus for objecting in the first place. “Okay, that’d be nice, thanks.” The transfer was easily made, and in a few seconds Sara watched him disappear up the stairs with her son.
“Will you be wanting anything then if not a cup of tea?” Mrs. Poole commanded her attention once more. “I could have something light for you to eat very quickly.”
All these people ready to jump if she gave the word… After years in the service industry it felt surreal to be catered to. “To be honest, my time zones are a little wonky right now, so I’m not all that hungry. Joanie, what about you?” Sara replied, since they seemed to be addressing everything to her as if Joanie didn’t exist.
“No, I’m good. I just need to visit the loo,” she winked at Mrs. Poole, who drew in a sharp breath behind her hand and Sara thought she might have heard an ‘oh dear’ slip out, but she couldn’t be sure.
“Yes, well… let’s go upstairs then, shall we?” Mrs. Poole turned on her heel to lead the way.
Sara turned to say goodbye to Thomas, but he was nowhere in sight. She must be more tired than she’d thought…
At the top of the stairs they turned left and down the wide hallways that boasted rich artwork she couldn’t wait to get a better look at once she could keep her eyes open.
“I thought to put Miss Wilson in the yellow room if it suits, my Lady,” she opened the door wide for them to take a look.
“Shut up…” Joanie’s jaw dropped as she stepped into the room. Pretty and feminine, the wallpaper was a pale yellow with tiny posies of flowers. The heavy woodwork was painted a muted white which brightened the room considerably, even in the subdued light. Besides the high bed, there was a small sitting area in front of the windows and a roaring fire going behind an ornately enameled grate.
“Is there a problem with the room?” Mrs. Poole blinked and Sara was quick to reassure her.
“No, no problem at all. She meant that in a good way, I promise.”
“I’ll say,” Joanie flopped on top of the bed, shoes and all, rolling one way and then the other. “I could definitely get used to this,” she let out a dreamy sigh.
“There’s electricity in all of the rooms,” Mrs. Poole reported proudly, “and the main guest rooms all have bathrooms en suite,” she opened the door to the adjoining bathroom with a flourish and Joanie leaned up on her elbow to get a better look.
“Is there central heat?” Sara asked, stepping closer to the fireplace and Mrs. Poole shook her head.
“Sadly, no, we rely on the fireplaces to heat the house, but there are fireplaces in all of the bedrooms and the main living areas apart from the conservatory.”
“The conservatory,” Joanie made an exaggerated face, lifting her nose into the air as she put the exact same inflection to the word; only from her it sounded positively snooty.
“Yes, the conservatory,” Mrs. Poole repeated, brows drawing together in confusion as Joanie’s sense of humor went over her head.
“That’s great, Mrs. Poole, thanks. You’ll be alright here, Joanie? I’m going to head to bed,” Sara changed the subject, eager to find her own room.
“I think I can muddle through,” Joanie smiled up from the pile of pillows.
“Okay, goodnight, see you in the morning.” Sara felt like she could sleep for a week, but a low current of excitement thrummed under her skin at the thought of seeing the master bedroom. From the architecture of the house, it was obvious it was at least a few hundred years old, hence the housekeeper’s pride in the use of electricity, and she couldn’t wait to see the set up in there.
“Here we are, my Lady,” Mrs. Poole sang out as they reached the massive mahogany door at the end of the long hallway.
It was everything a master suite implied and more. Dominated by a huge four poster bed built into the room itself, it was richly dressed in burgundy and green bed clothes trimmed heavily in gold. A crackling fire blazed within a massive hearth in front of the seating area where two wing backed chairs and a small sofa sat across a low table laid out with an ornate chess set. Whoever designed the room was heavy on the wood trim; in fact, the entire ceiling was covered with a series of heavy beams with delicate carved inlays forming a scrolling grid pattern that encompassed every square inch of surface area.
It was exquisite, but very dark; not at all like the feminine yellow room Joanie had been assigned. Patterned rugs covered much of the polished mahogany floor, offering muted spots of color, but they’d long ago faded into dull
ness, missing a tassel here and there. None of it was exactly to her tastes, more masculine than anything else, but nice, very nice.
Wandering into the adjoining bath as Mrs. Poole turned down the bed, Sara smiled at finding an old copper bathtub, big enough to sink up to her nose in. It was tempting to take a soak after the long trip by planes and trains, but more than anything she wanted to curl up in the big fluffy bed and catch some z’s. A door off the bathroom led into a dressing room bigger than the living room of the last apartment she’d shared with Jack, the same masculine decor carrying over. Another door off the bathroom was locked up tight when she tried it. Did she have to share the bathroom with another room? That could be awkward…
“What’s this door to?” Sara called out, and Mrs. Poole was quick to hurry over.
“That goes to the Lady’s dressing room and living apartments. I had given some thought to whether or not you’d be more comfortable in those quarters, but they’ve been vacant for such a long time, I’m afraid the bed wouldn’t do at all.”
“Oh, I gotcha. The old Lord and Lady didn’t share a bed, huh?” Sara grinned.
“It was very common to keep separate apartments, especially in the day of arranged marriages,” she nodded, returning to finish with the bed and Sara wandered back in to stand by the huge stone fireplace. Her suitcases had appeared while she was in the bathroom, and she lugged one up to prop on the wooden chest at the end of the bed to find her nightgown and toiletries.
“I apologize, my Lady, we’ll have a proper lady’s maid in here for you tomorrow,” Mrs. Poole clucked, still fussing with the pillows.
“Oh, no it’s fine,” Sara waved her off. “I don’t need a maid; I can take care of myself.” It was weird enough having someone fluff up her pillows for her. “Do you have to get sheets made special for that?” she pointed to the massive bed.
“Ah… yes, my Lady, as a matter of fact, we do. I didn’t presume to make any decorative choices for you; I assumed you’d want to be involved in the redressing of the room to your liking. Or you can take over the other rooms if you’d prefer.”
