by Jodi Taylor
I heard a shout and turned around.
A short stocky man was striding towards us, almost completely engulfed in what seemed like a sea of Labradors. Two black, two golden, and a brown one. Five dogs. No, seven! Scampering at his heels were two Jack Russells as well.
They loved Jones, fawning and dribbling all over him. He forgot both the suitcases and me, and stroked and patted them and pulled their ears and generally made himself their best friend. I couldn’t see any of them being any use in a crisis. Jones included.
‘Good afternoon,’ said the man, somewhat breathlessly. His colour was full of soft greys and greens – the colours of the landscape around him. Even the outline of him, all straight lines and sharp angles was the shape of the craggy cliffs from which the castle was hewn.
‘Welcome. Welcome. Get down, Juno. Sorry. They won’t hurt you, although you may be trampled under their affectionate feet. Get off. Get off.’
The dogs subsided.
‘Hello there,’ said Jones.
‘Nice to meet you,’ he said. ‘Thomas Rookwood at your service. You must be Mr and Mrs Jones.’
‘We are,’ said Mr Jones, while Mrs Jones resolved to have a number of words with her husband later on. ‘Michael and Elizabeth. I wonder, could I take my wife inside. She’s not been too well recently.’
‘Of course, of course. Sorry to hear that, Mrs Jones, but I’m sure our good Northumberland air will soon buck you up.’
I smiled weakly, mentally doubling the number of words I would be having later on.
They seized a case each, the dogs galloped ahead to clear the way, and I entered my first castle, through the enormous gates and into a long, low-roofed stone passage.
‘Do you have a portcullis?’ asked Jones, castle enthusiast.
He pointed upwards. ‘We have two. One at this end of the passage and one at the other. And murder holes. Look.’
I dutifully stared upwards at the holes in the roof above our heads.
‘Boiling oil,’ said Jones knowledgeably.
‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘but hot sand is more effective. Or even just large rocks of course.’ His colour surged to and fro with his enthusiasm. He loved his castle.
We left the passage and emerged into a large open courtyard, irregularly paved with ankle-turning cobbles. To the right was an enormous wooden door, heavily studded with nails and with hinges the size of my arm.
Thomas Rookwood turned left. ‘Your rooms are here, in the south-west tower. Here’s your front door key. He handed Jones a small Yale key. I think Jones had been expecting something made of solid iron and six inches long – however, he concealed his disappointment well.
‘We’ll get Mrs Jones inside,’ continued Mr Rookwood, ‘and I’ll give you an idea of the layout and the grand tour tomorrow morning, if you like. The fridge is stocked, the fires lit and everything working. Including the telephone. We’re a bit remote here and you’ll find the wi-fi’s a bit dodgy and the mobile signal is dreadful, I’m afraid.’
‘Excellent,’ said Jones. ‘We really want to get away from it all.’
‘Well, you’ve come to the right place for that. I’ll leave you now. I hope you’ll be comfortable. If you need anything, just pick up the phone and dial zero. Someone will pick it up. Good day to you.’
He strode off across the courtyard, surrounded by a frothing sea of Labrador tails and entered a corresponding door in the opposite tower. There was a small amount of turbulence as seven dogs all tried to get through the door together, and then the door closed and I was alone with my ‘husband’.
He inserted the key and opened the door.
‘You go in first,’ he said. ‘Get out of the cold. I’ll bring in the suitcases.’
I found myself in a small stone passage, obviously used as some sort of cloakroom. There was a row of pegs on one wall and two enormous wicker baskets filled with logs. A disappointingly unimposing door in the right-hand wall led into a large square room, comfortably warm with a bright fire burning in a large fireplace. Two sofas sat either side of the fire with a coffee table in between. The surface was covered in magazines and brochures detailing local attractions, which I thought was rather optimistic in this weather. There was a bookcase against one wall, bright with paperbacks, packs of cards and board games. The walls were roughly plastered and painted cream. Wall lights made it cosy. The floor was wooden and slightly uneven. Despite Jones shoving folded card under different legs of the table every time we sat down, we were never able to stop it wobbling.
A small alcove contained a tiny kitchen. I could hear Jones opening the fridge to investigate the contents. A small door over in the corner revealed a stone staircase excitingly spiralling up into the gloom. I groped for the light switch and set off to explore.
Only just around the first bend was another room – a small bedroom with a view over the courtyard and a very comfortable bathroom. In this bedroom, the floor was of stone, but covered in brightly coloured rugs. The curtains and bedspread were in dark red and green geometric pattern and there was a wardrobe and large chest of drawers. Fresh, fluffy towels were piled on the bed. The whole atmosphere was one of cosy comfort.
‘Nice,’ said Jones, sticking his head around the door. ‘You can have this one, Cage.’
I hadn’t given any thought to the sleeping arrangements.
I could hear him stamping on up the stairs. ‘Oh, cool. Come and look at this.’
I followed him up the stairs and around the next bend to a rather grand bedroom. A four-poster bed was hung in thick crimson cloth that matched the cover. Windows on two walls gave a panoramic view over the countryside and a neat en suite nestled in the corner.
‘Bags this one,’ said Jones, tossing his suitcase on the bed. ‘You go and unpack and I’ll get us something to eat.’
I trailed back down the stairs and disobeyed his instructions. I sat on the bed in my room and wondered what on earth had happened to my life. This time last month, Ted had been alive and now … I curled up on the bed and cried. I forgot everything. I forgot Sorensen and Jones and Northumberland and burning hospitals and everything. I lost all track of time. I just cried.
I think it must have been quite some time later when Jones turned up. He scratched at the door. ‘Cage? Are you in there?’ The door opened quietly. The afternoon had turned dark and he had to switch the light on.
He took one look, said, ‘Oh dearie, dearie me,’ and returned a few minutes later with a steaming mug of tea and helped me sit up. Out came the wipes again. He made a big thing of staring out of the window while I dealt with the devastation. I was actually quite touched by his kindness.
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he said. ‘Isn’t it lucky that I’ve reduced so many women to tears during the course of my life that I know exactly what to do. Are you hungry?’
I shook my head.
‘Well, I suggest you finish your tea, have a hot bath and go to bed. I promise you things will look better in the morning.’
Chapter Thirteen
He was right. Things looked much better the next morning.
I awoke, warm and comfortable after a good night’s sleep. I could hear snow and/or sleet pattering against the windows. My suitcase stood against the far wall and even as I contemplated getting up, Jones knocked at the door.
‘You still alive in there, Cage? Or are you dead?’
‘I’m dead,’ I shouted back. ‘Go away.’
‘I’ve brought tea.’
‘In that case come in.’
‘Shitty day out there,’ he said, dumping a mug of tea on the bedside table. ‘I hope you weren’t contemplating a healthy trek across the moors.’
‘God no,’ I said, curling my hands around my mug.
‘Well, I thought I’d make you some breakfast and then you could unpack – you know, like a normal person would.’
His words touched a nerve and for a second I was back in the past, when I had to watch my every move, every word, always thinking, what
would a normal person do?
He was watching me. ‘What did I say?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I’m a good cook, you know,’ he said, and I couldn’t decide if he was deliberately misunderstanding me. He too seemed more relaxed this morning. His golden colour was growing and deepening. Definitely less fragile than a week ago.
‘Are you?’ I said, slightly disbelieving.
‘I am. And if you can drag yourself out of bed then you’ll find out. Twenty minutes, Cage. Don’t be late.’
‘I’ve just swapped one tyranny for another, haven’t I?’
He laughed and took himself off. I swung my legs out of bed and went to investigate the contents of my suitcase.
They were my clothes. They were my clothes from my house. Someone had been to my house, sorted through my possessions and carefully packed them in this suitcase. They’d even picked up the book I’d been reading off my bedside cabinet. Everything I could possibly need was here, immaculately packed. There was even tissue paper between the layers!
I went downstairs.
‘How did you do that?’
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand me this time. ‘Sorensen is not the only one who can indulge in a bit of surreptitious breaking and entering, you know.’
‘You broke into my house?’
‘Of course not. That would be illegal.’
‘Oh.’
‘I got someone else to do it.’
‘Who?’
‘The bloke whose garage we used yesterday. When we swapped number plates.’
‘And where are they now?’
‘The plates or the bloke?’
‘Either. Or both.’
He shrugged. ‘Bottom of the river, I expect. The plates, I mean. Don’t know where old Jerry will be.’
‘You are beginning to lose the power to surprise me.’
‘Sorry to hear that. You don’t want breakfast then?’
‘You cooked breakfast?’
‘Well, we both know you didn’t, so that just leaves me. Sit down.’
I expected burned toast. I got delicious creamy scrambled eggs and crispy bacon on wholemeal muffins, washed down with fragrant coffee.
‘You can cook!’
He sighed. ‘I like cooking.’
‘You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?’
‘And I’m not the only one.’
I grinned reluctantly and felt some of the tension I hadn’t known I’d been carrying just melt away.
I cleared away the breakfast things and Jones laid and lit the fire. Cheerful flames pushed back the horrible day outside. We took a sofa each and stretched out. Jones worked his way through the pamphlets and brochures, occasionally reading out bits he thought might interest me. I read my book. The snow fell, the fire crackled and it was all very peaceful. I was just beginning to relax when someone knocked at the door and I sat up in a hurry.
‘Stay calm,’ said Jones, getting up. ‘One of the reasons I chose this place is because you can see everyone approaching from about forty miles away. This will be our host come to give us the guided tour.’
It wasn’t our host. It was our host’s children. ‘We were told not to disturb you too early,’ said the oldest, ‘but it’s nearly lunchtime so we thought you wouldn’t mind.’
‘I suspect you were told not to disturb us at all,’ said Jones.
They shuffled their feet.
‘Come in.’ He held the door open and in they came.
He closed the door behind them and then immediately had to open it again to let in an aged Labrador who shoved everything else aside and dropped heavily in front of the fire. The smell of hot dog began to pervade the room. He closed it and reopened it again to let in another one, younger this time, who immediately began to bustle around the room, investigating everything.
‘That’s Juno,’ said the oldest boy, indicating the sleeping dog.
‘And that’s Harry,’ said the youngest, indicating the other who appeared to be checking the waste bin for anything edible. ‘He’s her son.’
‘And you are …?’ said Jones, getting up to shoo Harry out of the kitchen and close the door.
‘I’m Alex,’ said the older one.
‘And I’m Leo,’ chirped the younger.
They didn’t look like each other at all. I would never have taken them for brothers. Alex was tall and fair and slender. His colour was an unusual bluey purple, shot through with pale blue and gold. Leo, on the other hand, not only had his father’s build – short, stocky and brown haired – but his father’s colour as well. His was more green than grey though, and bubbling with excitement and enthusiasm for life.
‘We thought we’d come and welcome you,’ they said.
‘How kind,’ said Jones. ‘Can I offer you any refreshment and do your parents know you’re here?’
‘Yes and no, but they won’t mind.’
Something else scratched at the door.
‘I’ll go,’ offered Alex. ‘That’s probably Benjy.’
Another dog trotted in, heaved itself onto Jones’s sofa and went to sleep.
‘Are there likely to be any more of you?’ enquired Jones. ‘Should I leave the door open?’
They grinned at him. Great. Dogs and small boys loved him.
‘I am Mr Jones,’ said Mr Jones. ‘And this is Mrs Jones.’
I did my best to look like Mrs Jones. ‘Hello.’
I was subjected to intense scrutiny. ‘Daddy said you were ill,’ said Leo.
‘She’s getting better,’ said Jones, straight-faced.
‘I’ve just had chickenpox,’ said Alex.
‘I had it first,’ said Leo.
‘Yes, but I had it best.’
‘I suspect you mean worst,’ said Jones.
‘I’m sure you both had beautiful chickenpox,’ I said, in the interests of world peace.
‘My spots were huge,’ said Leo, dramatically. ‘I looked like a spotted hyena.’
‘You do anyway,’ said his brother and a potential scuffle was only averted by a knock at the door.
Thomas Rookwood was there, accompanied by all the other dogs who weren’t already fast asleep in our room. He took in the situation at a glance. ‘I’m so sorry. What can I say?’
I was still curled up on the sofa, facing the door and saw everything. I saw Alex’s colour dim and then retreat, wrapping itself around him as if for protection. Little red flecks of anxiety began to appear. Leo’s on the other hand, roared out towards his father. Their two colours were very similar. They touched briefly and then curled back again. So, Alex was afraid of his father and his father didn’t seem to like Alex very much. Interesting. But nothing to do with me. I struggled to stand up.
‘No, please, Mrs Jones, don’t get up. Things were so quiet in our wing that I suspected the boys were here, together with any dogs they had managed to scoop up on the way. I do apologise. Boys, what did I tell you?’
‘It was my fault,’ said Leo, quickly. ‘I made him come and once we were here it would have been rude not to come in when they asked us. Mummy says we mustn’t be rude.’
Thomas Rookwood stared around. ‘Did you have to bring all the dogs?’
‘We didn’t,’ pointed out Leo. ‘We only brought a few. You brought the rest, Daddy.’
‘I’m here to guide Mr and Mrs Jones around the castle. Why are you here?’
‘To welcome them,’ said Alex quietly.
‘Well, you’ve done that, so off you go now. Take this lot with you.’
‘But I wanted to show them round,’ wailed Leo.
Again, his father’s colour streamed towards him.
‘Actually,’ said Jones, ‘we were about to have elevenses if you’d like to join us.’
‘Not just at the moment,’ he said. ‘I have rather a lot on today.’
‘In that case,’ I said, ‘please let the boys show us around. I’m sure they’ll make an excellent job of it. And neither of us minds the dogs at all.’
&
nbsp; It occurred to me as I said it that I should possibly have consulted Jones, but consoled myself with the fact that if he didn’t like it then he shouldn’t have married me.
Thomas Rookwood shuffled. ‘I feel rather guilty.’
‘No need,’ said Jones. ‘You have two very able deputies here.’
‘Well, in that case, let me ask you to dinner sometime this week. I know my wife would love to meet you.’
‘Thank you. We’d like to.’
‘Can we come?’ asked Leo. I rather had the impression that they’d worked out they would always have more chance of success if Leo always did the asking.
‘It’s rather late for you, boys …’
‘Oh, Daddy, please.’
‘Oh very well. If you’re good. And no dogs.’
They both nodded.
He smiled at us. ‘I’ll leave you with these two terrors then, shall I?’
We all explored the castle together. Jones, me, the boys, the dogs – with the exception of Juno, who sensibly couldn’t be budged from the fire, so we left her behind.
We started in the courtyard.
‘That’s our tower and wing over there,’ said Leo. He pointed to the enormous door I’d noticed yesterday. ‘That’s the Banqueting Hall through there. It’s got armour and a minstrel’s gallery and everything. Do you want to see?’
‘Yes, please,’ I said.
‘This way.’ He began to walk away. Jones wandered over to the very imposing wooden door that had to lead to the Hall. ‘Can’t we go this way?’
‘No. That door is always locked. We have to go this way.’
Jones lingered a while, peering closely at the massive iron hinges and lock. ‘Bet you need a key the length of your arm for this one.’
‘Nearly,’ said Leo. ‘I put my arm in the keyhole once to see how big it was and my arm got stuck.’
‘I got my head stuck in some railings when I was a kid,’ said Jones.
‘Did they have to use butter? They used butter on me.’
‘Butter is for wimps,’ said Jones. ‘I had the Fire Brigade.’
He was regarded as a god.
We saw it all. Starting with the Banqueting Hall, a great cavernous place with a massive fireplace and faded and probably very old heraldic banners hanging from the roof beams. And yes, they had three suits of armour lining the walls.
