by Ali McNamara
‘You’re kidding me?’
Benji shakes his head. ‘Nope; madness, isn’t it, in this day and age. There have been some pretty high-profile cases over the last few years where daughters that should have inherited their family’s estate and title have been passed over in favour of a distant male relative.’
‘I can’t believe that,’ I say incredulously. ‘This is the twenty-first century we’re living in, not the fifteenth. We’re fighting for women’s rights all over the world, but this is still going on in our own country. How can that be?’
Benji sympathetically nods his agreement.
‘But why are you telling me this, Benji?’ I ask. ‘And what did you mean about this Earl being forward thinking?’
‘Yes, as I said, the tenth Earl of Chesterford realised that something like this might happen somewhere down the line, and although he couldn’t change the law that said a male must inherit a title, he could dictate where his money and his estate would go in the future. So he decreed that if a suitable male heir could not be found that was a direct descendant of the family, then the next appropriate female would be allowed to inherit both the castle and any monies that went with it, but not the title.’
‘Okay . . . ’
‘So that is where you come in, Amelia. You are indeed the next appropriate female and you will inherit both the castle and the estate of John Crawford Chesterford, the seventeenth Earl, to run as you see fit. But your son, Charlie, as the next direct male descendant, will in fact inherit the last Earl’s title and now becomes the eighteenth Earl of Chesterford.’
Four
‘Whoa!’ I say, holding up my hand. ‘Stop right there. That is never going to happen. I will not be inflicting that noose around my son’s neck. Nah-ah, not now, not ever.’
‘Whether you choose to accept the estate or Charlie chooses to accept the title,’ Benji says calmly, ‘he is still the eighteenth Earl by birth.’
‘Look, Benny, Benji, whatever your name is,’ I say, trying, but not succeeding very well, to control my fury, ‘I thought when I rang you that you were going to tell me I’d inherited something. At best I hoped it might be money. At worst I thought it might be a dog.’
Benji grins, then changes his expression to one of severity when he realises that this time I’m not joking.
‘But now you’re telling me,’ I continue, ‘not only have I inherited a draughty old castle somewhere, but my son has inherited some rich man’s privileged shroud too?’
‘I hardly think it’s a shroud,’ Benji begins.
‘Well, I do. Charlie is being brought up to believe that everyone is equal. No one is better than anyone else. Titles only exist to emphasise the opposite. Calling someone Duke or Countess, or whatever it is, immediately makes them different. It makes them think they’re above normal folk, those that aren’t born into privilege, and I won’t stand for it. I might not be able to change this country’s heritage, a heritage that dictates we all must have a class, but I can make damn sure my son doesn’t buy into all that pompous nonsense.’
I sit back in my chair again, breathing heavily. I’ve let rip on one of my soapbox topics, and Benji has borne the brunt of my wrath.
‘Have you finished now?’ Benji asks calmly, looking at me across the table with a steady expression.
I nod.
‘Good. As a matter of fact, I happen to agree with you. I might be a historian by trade, but the British class system is archaic, out-dated and obsolete. I detest it as much as you do.’
I look at Benji in astonishment. I hadn’t expected him to say that.
‘However,’ he continues, ‘as much as I detest the class system, I think our country’s history must be preserved as much as humanly possible – and that includes houses and buildings of historic interest. You may only see Chesterford Castle as a money-making opportunity, but you must remember, Amelia, that it is not only your family history inside that house, but our country’s history too.’
I’m impressed by his impassioned speech.
‘Now,’ Benji continues in a friendlier tone, his own rant over, ‘you may think I’m speaking out of place here, and by all means tell me to mind my own business if you like, but the situation you currently find yourself in is hardly ideal, is it?’
‘How do you mean?’ I ask cautiously.
‘I mean you’re a single mother with a young son to raise. You live in a tiny council flat in a tower block that should have been demolished years ago. You have little money and no prospects of getting much more any time soon.’
I look down at the table uncomfortably. Benji knows far too much about me for my liking.
‘Your parents have both sadly passed away, you have no siblings and no inheritance of your own. You are over-qualified for the job you do currently, but you can’t get a better one because of childcare issues, even though I believe you ran your own small business for a while a number of years ago?’ He looks at me questioningly. ‘Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong on any of these counts.’
‘How do you know about my qualifications?’ I ask suspiciously. ‘And my recruitment business.’
‘Amelia, it’s my job to know these things. You graduated from university with an honours degree in business and economics, yes?’
I nod.
‘Yet you are currently working as a part-time check-out assistant in a supermarket?’
‘There’s nothing wrong in that!’ I reply defensively. ‘It’s good honest work. Don’t turn your nose up at it.’
‘I’m not. My mother worked in a shop all her life, as a matter of fact, and I was born over the top of one.’
I look at Benji with interest. But he doesn’t continue with the potted history of his own life; instead he resumes his assault on mine.
‘You are destined for so much more than the life you’re living at the moment, Amelia. Life has dealt you some rough blows, I know that. Don’t ask me how,’ he insists, holding his hand up. ‘But when life tries to make it up to you by giving you another chance, don’t let your pride knock it back. Take that chance, and go and make a better life for yourself and for your son.’
‘But—’ I begin.
‘But what? I’ve heard your excuses, and they can all be overcome. Charlie can go to a new school; you can both move into the modern apartments at the castle – yes, there are some, I’m not asking you to move into a ruin! And most importantly you can make a difference. You can choose the type of landlord you want to be; yes, you could be the owner who lords it up over the locals, as in times gone by. Or you could be the sort of owner who makes the castle work for the locals and the community that surround it.’
I gaze over the table at Benji. I hadn’t thought about it that way.
‘I do like the sound of the latter option . . . I still have one big but, though,’ I say apologetically.
Benji’s lips twitch slightly with amusement, and I realise what I’ve just said. But instead of making a comment he clears his throat and says, ‘Go on.’
‘But I don’t know how to run a castle, do I?’
Benji smiles kindly. ‘That skill I’m sure can be learned. There are already staff there who will show you the ropes. As I said before, Chesterford Castle isn’t a ruin; it’s a fully habitable castle already open to the public. I visited it once when I was holidaying up in Northumberland.’
‘Did you? What was it like?’
‘Old.’ Benji winks. ‘It’s quite a magnificent place, actually. It stands, as you can see from the photo, on a hill that looks out over Rainbow Bay.’
‘Rainbow Bay?’ I enquire, smiling. ‘That makes it sound like a fairy-tale castle.’
‘I can assure you that the history of Chesterford has been no fairy tale. There is all sorts of bloody history associated with that place.’
I grimace. ‘Sounds lovely. You’re really selling it to me.’
‘I believe it’s called Rainbow Bay because of an ancient myth about a rainbow shining over the castle. Either that or it
’s to do with the rocks the castle stands upon: if I remember, there are many colours in them – like a rainbow, I suppose?’
I look at the photo again.
‘But what I do remember is the place was definitely in need of some new blood, and now it has some.’ Benji grins at me.
‘I haven’t agreed to any of this yet.’
‘But you’re thinking about it – yes?’
‘Maybe . . . just a bit.’
Benji claps his hands together. ‘Wonderful! When shall I arrange a visit?’
‘Whoa, steady on, I only said I was thinking about it. I have another question.’
‘Yes?’
‘What happens if I don’t agree to take the castle on? You said I couldn’t sell it.’
‘That is correct. If you were silly enough to reject this offer,’ Benji eyes me meaningfully, ‘then the castle would be passed immediately to National Heritage to do with as they see fit. You would get nothing.’
‘I see.’
‘So, Amelia,’ Benji asks, ‘what’s it to be? Are you going to embrace this wonderful offer of a brand-new life for you and Charlie? Or are you going to reject this amazing opportunity, and continue living the dull, monotonous life you are now?’
Five
‘So, Charlie, what do you think of our new home?’
Charlie stares through the windscreen of the old Morris Minor we’ve driven up to Northumberland in. The car had been my grandfather’s prized possession many years ago, and was the one thing he left me in his will. I have many happy childhood memories of trips with him in the open-top car, zooming about the countryside, but there have been far too many more recent times when I’ve come close to selling the vintage vehicle. Luckily something has always come along just at the last minute to bail me out and save me from having to do so. I like to think it was Granddad looking out for me and ‘Bella’, as he used to call the car. It would break my heart if I had to part with her; she’s one of the few links I have left to my family.
So we’d piled as many of our things as we could into the back of the car; the rest of our possessions are due to follow in a removal van, which Benji had helped me organise.
The car had been in storage for so long, I’d wondered a number of times if she was going to make the long journey up to Northumberland. But make it she had, and I felt that by bringing Bella with me, I was bringing a part of my old family to my new home.
‘Is that it?’ Charlie asks excitedly, looking across the rolling Northumbrian hills to the majestic castle on the horizon. ‘Our very own castle?’
‘It’s not just ours,’ I say, looking with equal awe at the magnificent building in the distance. Today the castle is cloaked in a sunny golden hue as it soars up into the bright blue sky behind it, as if it’s floating on its own set of clouds. ‘We do have to share it with a few other people.’
‘Our servants?’
‘No!’ I say sharply. ‘I explained all this to you, remember? Even though we own the castle now, there are other people who are going to help us run it. They are not servants; they are members of the castle staff.’
‘But we’re in charge, right?’
‘Technically, yes,’ I’m forced to agree. ‘But we’re going to need all of their help if we’re going to make a go of living here.’
‘I can’t believe we’re actually going to live in our own castle,’ Charlie says, fidgeting impatiently in his seat. ‘We spent all last term learning about them at school and now I’m going to be king of one.’
I sigh. I’d spent a lot of time since I agreed to accept this challenge talking to Charlie about what was going to happen, and what it might be like for us living in our new home. But Charlie had spent most of last term learning about lords, ladies, knights and medieval battles. His idea of living in a castle is more akin to King Arthur than the modern reality of running a historical visitors’ attraction. Not that my knowledge is a lot broader. All I know of Chesterford Castle is what I learned on the quick day trip I’d taken here before I finally agreed to accept the Chesterford inheritance and move us up here to Northumberland.
Benji had been right, of course: this was too great an opportunity for me to turn down. Charlie would definitely have a better life living here in the fresh air of the Northumbrian coast than on the outskirts of a big, dirty, polluted city.
When I first told him about it he’d taken to the idea without any hesitation. There was no question to him that living in a huge rambling castle was far more appealing than living in a rundown high-rise.
I wished I could share his sense of excitement, but I still had too many worries and concerns that we were doing the right thing.
‘Come on, Mum!’ Charlie says, banging his hand impatiently on the dashboard. ‘Let’s get going. It’s all right for you, you’ve been here before. I want to see our castle! Benji has told me all about it, but now I want to see it for myself!’
Benji has been wonderful to us throughout this huge transition in our lives. I’m sure he’s done much more than was required of him. He’s not only kept us informed about what’s going on, he’s also helped me a great deal with the paperwork side of things, and with the practical stuff too, like changing Charlie’s schools and working out how we could move all our stuff up here. There was only one thing we disagreed on. Against the advice of Benji, when I was still in two minds about what to do, I’d decided to pay my first visit to the castle alone. Benji had offered to come with me and introduce me to the staff, but I wanted to see what the place was really like, on my own as a visitor, without people bowing and scraping to me because I was possibly going to be the new owner.
So Benji had very generously paid for a return train ticket for me up to Northumberland (I’d insisted I’d pay him back just as soon as I could afford to). He’d offered to book a hotel, too, but I’d decided that wasn’t necessary: I’d simply travel on a very early train, and return on a late one.
Chesterford Castle hadn’t been busy at all the day I’d visited. It is a Wednesday in late March, I’d told myself as I paid to go in and politely turned down the offer of a guidebook from the young man in the small ticket booth by the entrance.
‘Been here before, have ye?’ he’d asked as I’d picked up my ticket and put my purse away.
‘No; first time, actually.’
‘Ah, I thought as much. Not many come back for a second visit.’
I’d just smiled and carried on through the huge gateway that led from the outer grounds, along a path, across a stone bridge, and under a scary-looking portcullis. The Northumberland coastal skies were dark and heavy above me, and it hadn’t seemed the best time to be wandering around outside, so I’d started with the interior of the castle.
There weren’t any guides waiting for me as I’d ventured inside through a huge solid wooden door, or any signs denoting a particular route I was supposed to follow. So I’d stood for a moment, gazing in awe at the vast marble staircase that swept elegantly from the entrance hall up to the second floor. I’d always wanted to live in a house that had an ornate staircase – the sort people placed a beautifully decorated tree under at Christmas. But when no one came to speak to me, or asked to see my ticket, I’d simply spent the next hour or so wandering aimlessly from room to room, admiring the architecture and interiors I passed.
I’d quickly decided the interior was more like being in a large stately home than a castle. The rooms I visited were full of old paintings and furniture, most of which could have done with a good clean in my opinion, but none of which seemed all that interesting without having a guidebook to look them up in.
But what did impress me as I toured the endless rooms and walked along the long corridors were the huge crystal chandeliers that hung from nearly every ceiling.
‘You look like you could do with a dust too,’ I’d whispered as I’d stood beneath one looking up at it. ‘I bet you’d sparkle even more, then.’
Other than the young man at the ticket booth, I didn’t see many staff on m
y visit. In my limited experience of visiting these types of buildings, usually there would at least be a bored-looking person sitting in the corner of each room you visited or an over-enthusiastic guide who wanted to share with you everything they knew. So either they were very trusting of the visitors they had at Chesterford or there was a great CCTV system secreted away somewhere; or perhaps the antiques in the castle weren’t actually worth all that much. I quickly decided it was probably the latter.
After I’d finished my tour of inside, the skies outside were surprisingly clear. So I’d had a brief wander around the gravel-filled courtyard at the centre of the castle, and up along one of the battlements with its giant black cannons pointed ominously out to sea. Then I’d climbed to the top of one of the four towers that framed the building’s thick strong walls, up what seemed like a never-ending spiral staircase. And for my efforts, at the top, I’d been rewarded with a magnificent view. One side of the tower looked out over Rainbow Bay – an endless sandy beach, edged by the infamous North Sea extending as far as I could see into the distance – and the other side of the tower looked out over a different if not equally pretty view: the small chocolate-box village of Chesterford.
‘It’s a bit better than the view from our flat,’ I’d joked to no one in particular as I’d stood on my own surveying what might soon be the view from my home. ‘Perhaps we could make a go of living here after all? I mean, who wouldn’t want to wake up to this every morning?’
But even though I’d run a small business before, I had to admit the thought of taking on the running of this ancient castle was incredibly daunting. Where would I even begin? Benji had said there were staff here that would help me, but I hadn’t seen many of them yet.
If they were all like the young guy on the gate, I’d be fighting an uphill battle steeper than the gradient the castle stood on. Was this actually such a good idea after all?
My doubtful thoughts had been broken by something spooking me. I’d shuddered and turned swiftly around, certain that someone was standing behind me listening to what I was saying. But of course there was no one there, just the sound of a strong sea breeze circling around my head, and a cool wind chilling my already cold body.
