Cecelia gently put down her teacup, trying to work out the best way to approach the topic. ‘I’m afraid I don’t think the Heritage Council will allow you to touch them. They’re a listed monument. In fact, as far as I understand, the whole house is.’
‘What do you mean?’ A deep line appeared on the bridge of Jemima’s nose. ‘It’s our house. Surely we can decorate it however we like.’
‘You would think so, but that’s not the way it works with these old places. There are all sorts of restrictions,’ Cecelia explained. ‘You can’t alter any decorative element that’s listed other than to restore it to its former glory. We had a devil of a time getting plans approved for our kitchen renovation a few years back. We got there in the end because the original kitchen wasn’t practical at all and had been an add-on at some point, but the rest of the house stands pretty much as it was built,’ Cecelia explained.
‘But I’ve got inspiration boards! I want to take this house into the twenty-first century and get rid of the fuss and frills,’ Jemima griped, as she cut a piece of cake.
Alice-Miranda bit her lip. ‘Perhaps you could do something with the gardens,’ she suggested. ‘There’s a lot of room out there.’
Jemima looked up and smiled. ‘That silly maze really does have to go. I’ll speak to Mr Wilson this afternoon to see if he can call for a bulldozer right away.’
Cecelia and Alice-Miranda looked at each other and Alice-Miranda’s stomach sank. Lady Tavistock’s idea reminded her of the time one of her parents’ business acquaintances, who owned an equally impressive estate, had decided to replace a historic formal rose garden with a go-cart track for his very spoiled son. The man ended up with the head of the planning authority camped out on the property for three whole weeks to put a stop to things.
‘I’m sorry to be a stick in the mud,’ Cecelia said, ‘but you may find that most of the grounds are also listed. I think Alice-Miranda was suggesting you might like to make a new garden elsewhere. I know, years ago, old Lady Tavistock had intended on planting a lot more vegetables, and Mrs Mudge would no doubt enjoy that too. She is such an extraordinary cook.’
Prigg hurried into the room, his feet overtaking the rest of his body. ‘I do apologise for interrupting, ma’am, but there is a call for you,’ he said. ‘The woman was rather insistent that she speak with you immediately.’
‘Thank you, Prigg,’ Jemima said sweetly. ‘I’ll call her back after our morning tea.’
‘But, ma’am,’ the butler replied, lowering his voice, ‘someone who identified herself only with the initial M said that she needs to speak with you urgently.’
Alice-Miranda didn’t miss the panic that flashed across the woman’s face.
‘Do excuse me, ladies,’ Jemima said, smiling from ear to ear. She rose gracefully, smoothing invisible creases in her dress. ‘Please enjoy another cup of tea and I’ll be back in a tick.’
Alice-Miranda and Cecelia watched on in bewilderment as the Lady of Bedford Manor practically sprinted the length of the Great Room. She whispered a few words into the hall telephone before racing into her husband’s study and locking the door.
Alice-Miranda and her mother drove back to Highton Hall with Cecelia promising to take her daughter to the stables later in the afternoon. There were some jobs she had to get done at home first and several phone calls to be made. Cecelia headed off to her study while Alice-Miranda hovered in the kitchen, wondering what she could do to be helpful.
She poked her head around the corner into Mrs Oliver’s tiny kitchen office only to find the woman asleep on her notepad, snoring gently.
‘Poor thing,’ Alice-Miranda whispered, and set about making Dolly a strong cup of coffee. The aroma of freshly ground beans soon roused Mrs Oliver from her stupor and she stood up, straightened her skirt and walked out into the kitchen, glancing at the clock.
‘Oh, hello, dear,’ Dolly said, stifling a yawn and fluffing her hair. ‘I’m afraid I nodded off.’
‘I can understand why,’ Alice-Miranda said as she placed a small plate of biscuits and the coffee onto the pine table. ‘You must be exhausted.’ She looked at the woman’s face and smiled. Alice-Miranda then touched the side of her own cheek and offered Mrs Oliver a tissue from the box on the bench.
‘What is it?’ Dolly tried to catch her reflection in the glass doors on top of the kitchen cabinets. ‘Good heavens! My pen must have leaked.’ She licked her finger and wiped the smudge of blue from her powdered face. ‘I’m glad you noticed or I might have looked like that for the rest of the day.’ She sat down heavily at the table. ‘And this,’ Dolly said, lifting the cup to her lips, ‘is exactly what I needed. Have you only just got back?’
Alice-Miranda nodded. ‘Mummy and I had a surprise invitation to morning tea with Lady Tavistock at Bedford Manor.’
‘Oh?’ Dolly took a sip of her coffee.
Alice-Miranda wriggled into the seat opposite. ‘It was lovely. Lady Tavistock is very glamorous and she’s certainly full of ideas about how to improve the property. There was something about her that does seem a bit of a mystery, but I’m not quite sure what it is yet. I’ll let you know when I figure it out,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘Speaking of puzzles, have you made any progress?’
Dolly exhaled loudly and shook her head. ‘Nothing. I cannot for the life of me work it out.’
‘May I help?’ Alice-Miranda asked. ‘I could tick off lists and cross-reference ingredients and see if there’s anything that jumps out on grocery receipts. And before you tell me that I have other things to do first, I’ve written all my thank-you letters and made lots of get-well cards for Mummy to send to the hospitals and I’m halfway through the school reading list for next term. I really don’t want to sit and watch boring television, especially when I could be doing something much more useful.’
Dolly looked at the child with adoring eyes. ‘I wouldn’t say no to an extra pair of hands,’ she said with a smile. ‘But I don’t trust myself to help you down the cellar stairs.’
At that moment Alice-Miranda heard a hedge trimmer start up outside. It was very close by. ‘Mr Greening could help,’ she said, pleased to have found a solution. ‘I’m sure I can walk, but if you’re really worried about me tripping, then he could hold on to me. My foot doesn’t hurt much at all anymore.’
The noise outside stopped and, shortly afterwards, Mr Greening appeared at the back door. He knocked and poked his head around.
Alice-Miranda grinned at him. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you have the best timing?’
The old man frowned. ‘No, why? Is there cake?’
‘We were about to ask you to help me downstairs,’ the child replied. ‘And of course there’s always cake if you’re hungry.’
‘Well, the trimmer’s just run out of fuel and I was going to see if I could catch Max at the stables to bring me a jerry can,’ the man said. ‘So I’m at your disposal, but I might wash my hands first.’
He ducked into the utility room off the end of the veranda. When he returned, the man insisted on carrying Alice-Miranda down to the cellar, where she was soon perched on a stool at one of the stainless-steel benches. With ruler and pen in hand, the young girl began the exacting task of checking off everything on Mrs Oliver’s very long list.
By two o’clock, Jemima Tavistock had asked Mr Prigg to move the irises in the entrance hall three times, before finally settling on the table in the centre, where he’d put them in the first place. She was now wandering through the vast Great Room, with butler in tow, pointing out the various pieces she wanted banished from the house. Her morning tea with Cecelia Highton-Smith and her daughter had proven most disheartening. Anyone would have thought the stupid Heritage Council owned the place. And then there was the phone call. Things were happening much more quickly than she’d anticipated.
‘That ghastly thing has just got to go,’ Jemima said, shuddering at the peacock under the dome. ‘It’s hideous. Look at its beady little eyes staring out at me, as if I was the one who p
ut it there.’
Cedric Prigg felt a pang at the thought of how much Lord Tavistock had adored that bird. Dally had once been a much-loved member of the family menagerie. When he had been found dead in the garden, after years of loyal companionship, old Lord Tavistock had insisted they send him off to the taxidermist so he could continue to say hello to his pet every morning, as he’d done for thirteen years. His wife hadn’t been quite so keen on the idea, but she understood that her husband’s softer side manifested in ways that were somewhat out of the ordinary.
‘And that thing there. I don’t even know what it is.’ Jemima gestured towards a square cabinet on a rotating base.
‘I can show you, ma’am,’ Prigg offered, walking over to unlatch the mahogany lid. ‘It’s terribly clever. You might even enjoy it.’
The woman shook her head. ‘Don’t bother. It’s ugly and I won’t have anything ugly in my house.’
‘Very well,’ Prigg agreed, though it went against every fibre of his being. He wouldn’t have said that it was unattractive at all. On the contrary, the piece was extremely interesting and one of a kind. He could only imagine what it would fetch in the auction rooms. He had an awful feeling that the new mistress of the house and her lack of sentimentality might see many of the manor’s treasures disappear.
Jemima had paused in front of a vase that had been gifted to the family by Queen Georgiana, when her phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at the screen. Her body stiffened and a chill entered the air. ‘I-I’ve got a headache,’ she stuttered. ‘We can sort the rest of this mess later. Thank you, Prigg.’
The butler looked at her curiously. ‘Would you like me to bring you something?’ he asked. ‘A cup of tea? Some aspirin?’
The bleating phone continued.
‘No, just leave,’ she said curtly. ‘Thank you.’
As Prigg marched the length of the room, Jemima took the call. He turned to close the doors behind him but not before catching the look of dismay on Lady Tavistock’s face.
Alice-Miranda hobbled into the stables on her crutches, having spent the past couple of hours helping Mrs Oliver in the lab. Although her cross-checking had been meticulous, the investigations had so far come to nothing, which was disappointing, to say the least. Her head had started to ache when her mother suggested she might like to accompany her to deliver a package to Max at the stables. Alice-Miranda had leapt at the chance to see Bony, and Chops too.
‘Darling, do be careful on the cobbles,’ Cecelia pleaded, hovering over her daughter.
The child barrelled ahead and greeted the horses in the first two stalls. ‘Hello Phinnie! Hello Boo!’ she sang.
The Highton Hall stables comprised of an enormous square stone building with a cobbled courtyard and equine accommodation on three sides, accessed via a wide internal passageway. In addition to the large wood-panelled boxes, there were feed and tack rooms and a flat above, where Max resided.
At the sound of Alice-Miranda’s voice, Bonaparte stamped his foot and let out an almighty whinny. He thrust his head over the door second from the end of the row and pawed at the ground. Chops, who was in the furthest stall, shook his head and neighed.
‘Bony!’ Alice-Miranda hurried along to him as fast as she could. It was the first time they’d seen each other since the accident. ‘You must have had a terrible shock when I didn’t wake up and they took me away in the ambulance. You poor boy.’
Cecelia arched an eyebrow at the pony, wondering if he was truly glad to see her or if he was just hungry.
Max walked out of the feed room further down. ‘I think someone’s happy to see you on your feet again,’ he said, grinning. ‘This brute hasn’t eaten a thing since I picked him up. I’ve offered him carrots and apples and, when he rejected those, I tried to woo him with a teensy bit of cabbage, despite knowing I’d suffer the consequences of his noxious wind, but he hasn’t touched any of it. If I was any sort of equine psychiatrist, I’d say Bony has had quite a shock. Even old Chops, here, looks worried about him.’
Alice-Miranda leaned on the stable door and rested her head against Bonaparte’s neck. He nibbled at her ear and snorted. ‘It’s all right, Bony. I’m fine. See?’
He raised his head and eyed her as though wanting to be absolutely certain for himself. Alice-Miranda blew softly into the pony’s nostrils. He rested his lips on her forehead and it looked for all the world as if he were giving her a kiss.
Cecelia walked across to the feed room and returned with a small bunch of fresh carrots. Bonaparte sniffed the offering, then, with the best manners anyone had ever seen from him, nibbled the tip of the vegetable before he gently took the rest from the woman’s outstretched hand.
‘Goodness me, your manners have improved,’ Cecelia said. ‘I’d like you to keep this up, young man.’
The others laughed as Bonaparte shook his head up and down as if to agree.
‘What are you going to do with him while I’m out of action?’ Alice-Miranda asked Max, who had just picked up a curry comb and opened the stable door.
‘I thought I’d lunge him for a bit and then take him for a long ride to make sure he’s not skittish. He might be a little out of sorts after what happened and you’re not getting back on until you’re properly healed and he’s had some work,’ Max said firmly as he combed in circles on the pony’s neck.
‘I’m almost as good as new,’ Alice-Miranda declared. ‘In fact, I was hoping Millie and I could go riding next week. If she comes, that is.’
‘We’ll see,’ Cecelia said, shooting Max a knowing look. ‘We’d better get back to the house, darling. Daddy should be home by now.’
‘I’m so glad. It feels as though he’s been away for ages.’ Alice-Miranda kissed Bony’s nose and said goodbye to Max and Chops. ‘I’ll see you again tomorrow,’ she promised, and gave a wave.
Bonaparte nickered then bared his teeth. If they didn’t know any better, they would have thought he was smiling.
Alice-Miranda giggled. ‘Now, that’s more like it. I knew the real Bony was in there somewhere.’
Francesca Compton-Halls sat on the edge of her bed with Rodney on her lap. She felt a twinge in her tummy. Term was nearly over and the thought of seeing her mother had perked her up considerably – it was probably the closest she’d come to feeling happy since she’d arrived at Bodlington. Her room mates were still at their after-school activities and she’d just about finished her packing.
‘What do you think my bedroom will be like?’ she asked the tatty toy dog. ‘I hope it’s lemon-yellow or cauliflower-blue and has a four-poster bed. Do you think there might even be secret passageways in the house? Mummy says it’s huge and very beautiful. I can’t wait to see it for myself. Do you think there are stables too? Perhaps Mummy will get me a pony and maybe even a real dog – not that you’re not real, Rodney. You’re as real to me as anything else in my life,’ the girl prattled.
She wondered if her mother would realise just how much she’d missed Chessie and let her stay. If she insisted on Chessie going back to boarding school, perhaps she could ask to transfer to one a lot closer to home.
The door creaked open and Chessie flinched at the sight of Madagascar Slewt’s pinched face. She quickly tucked Rodney under her pillow, hoping the girl hadn’t seen him.
‘Hello Madagascar,’ Chessie said warily.
‘You’re supposed to be in the sitting room,’ the girl snapped. ‘Everyone’s waiting for you.’
Chessie looked at the clock beside her bed. She was sure Mrs Fairbanks had told them to be in the sitting room at half past five and it was only half past four. ‘Really?’ she said, her eyes wide.
‘Are you calling me a liar?’ Madagascar sneered.
Chessie gulped. ‘No, I didn’t say that.’ The last thing she wanted to do was get into an argument with the girl.
‘Well, you’re late, so hurry up.’ Madagascar wrinkled her nose.
Just as she was about to leave, Mrs Fairbanks appeared behind her.
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br /> ‘What are you doing in here, Madagascar? Shouldn’t you be packing your things? Your room is a disaster and you’ve only got another hour before we’re going up to the hall. I wouldn’t want to be the only girl who’s not ready if I was you.’
Madagascar rolled her eyes.
Chessie wondered what the girl was playing at this time.
‘Off you go,’ Mrs Fairbanks ordered.
Madagascar narrowed her eyes threateningly at Chessie. But this time Chessie had resolved not to cry. She was feeling a whole lot better about everything right at the moment.
‘Bye, Madagascar.’ Chessie smiled, much to the girl’s annoyance. ‘See you later.’
‘I’m pleased to see you two getting on better,’ Mrs Fairbanks said as Madagascar turned and disappeared down the hall.
Chessie nodded. This time tomorrow she’d be home and even the prospect of Madagascar Slewt perpetrating another of her evil deeds couldn’t extinguish the flicker of excitement that had ignited in her belly.
Cecelia drove the short distance back down to the side entrance of Highton Hall. She smiled at the sight of her husband’s silver sports car, glad to have him home. Hopefully, they could spend a quiet weekend with Alice-Miranda and their guests. Perhaps they might have lunch over at the Rose and Donkey in Penberthy Floss on Sunday, depending on how Alice-Miranda was feeling. They hadn’t been there for ages and a Sunday roast sounded like just the ticket. Dolly could have the day off too. The poor woman had been working herself silly trying to keep up with the house, the preparations for the garden party and the investigations in the lab. Even if things weren’t solved by then, Dolly had to take a break or she’d be completely worn out.
Cecelia’s brow furrowed then eased as she spotted a black sedan parked beside Hugh’s car. She hopped out and handed Alice-Miranda her crutches. The two of them walked onto the veranda and through the side door, where Mrs Shillingsworth was arranging three cups and saucers on a tea tray. The woman turned as she heard them arrive.
Alice-Miranda Holds the Key 15 Page 8
