by Ali McNamara
But even after Arthur had found help, the process still wasn’t without trial; carrying boxes and bags up the narrow stairs was fine, but moving the few items of modern furniture I owned up the spiral staircase and into the appropriate rooms proved extremely tricky and at times almost impossible.
To my intense relief, eventually we’d succeeded, and all our helpers had followed Dorothy to the castle kitchen for tea and biscuits as a reward for all their efforts. Now it’s just Charlie and me again – the way I like it best.
I unpack a few necessary things, insisting that Charlie helps me, even though it is all I can do to stop him abseiling down the tower wall to escape this torture. Then when I can stand his miserable face no longer, I agree we can go and take Charlie’s first proper look around his new home.
While the Northumbrian skies show no signs of rain, we decide to explore the exterior first. Chesterford has more extensive grounds than I’d first realised. In the areas directly outside the inner castle walls there are wide expanses of green grass, dotted occasionally with large beds of luscious shrubs and pretty spring bulbs. We walk on a little further and find a few outbuildings – most of which seem empty, and some pretty derelict – and then on the very edge of the walled border are a series of tiny cottages, only one of which seems to be inhabited.
‘Big, isn’t it?’ Charlie says as we walk along the seaward side of the castle.
‘A bit bigger than our old flat, that’s for sure!’
‘And the house we used to live in with Dad. We had a garden there, didn’t we?’
I nod silently. My stomach still twists sharply when Charlie mentions his father.
‘But it was nothing like this!’ Charlie carries on excitedly. ‘Ooh, where does this lead, do you think?’ he asks as we stumble upon a little gateway in the wall.
I shrug and shake my head, but as always Charlie’s enthusiasm is not only contagious, it lifts me immediately from my melancholy.
‘Let’s see, shall we?’ I suggest in a lighter voice, delighted to see some colour already appearing in Charlie’s pale cheeks. There’s a large rusty key already in the lock, so I turn it and we swing open the door.
The gateway leads down a small walled pathway towards the sea, and at the end we find ourselves stepping directly on to the beach.
‘How cool is that?’ Charlie says, running on to the sand. ‘Our own private entrance to a beach!’
As he scampers off in front of me, I take a moment to breathe in the fresh sea air.
Glorious.
We spend about twenty minutes on the sand together, walking along the water’s edge, jumping when the waves nearly wash over our inappropriately shod feet, and picking up pretty shells and interestingly shaped pebbles with which Charlie insists on filling his trouser pockets.
‘Why don’t you just choose one special shell or pebble?’ I suggest. ‘You’re going to be coming down here quite a lot. If you only pick one each time then you’ll still leave some for the sand to look after.’
Charlie thinks about this. Then he empties his pockets, and after much careful consideration chooses one conical shell.
‘This will be my first-day-here shell,’ he announces proudly. ‘When I look at this shell I will remember our first day in our new home together.’
‘Excellent idea,’ I tell him proudly, pulling him towards me for a hug. ‘Oh, I do hope we’ll be happy here, Charlie.’ I sigh wistfully and gaze up at the castle behind us.
‘Of course we will, Mum,’ Charlie tells me pragmatically. ‘We’re always happy as long as we’re together, aren’t we?’
I’m so touched by his words, I can’t reply. So I just pull him into me again until I’ve blinked away my tell-tale tears.
Reluctantly we eventually have to leave the beach. So we head back up the path, through the gate, which I’m careful to lock behind us, and then I take Charlie on a tour around the parts of the castle I saw on my first visit. Charlie is mostly bored by this, not appreciating at all the antique furniture and objets d’art we find in all the public rooms, that is until we walk into the large ground-floor room known as the Great Hall and he spies a suit of armour standing guard in the corner. While he hurries over to examine it, I take a closer look at this vast room with its intricate wooden panelling and high vaulted ceilings, and in particular the many paintings that hang in between tapestries on the impressive dark oak walls.
Many of the paintings are portraits of past Earls of Chesterford – my ancestors, I suppose. This is a very masculine room, I decide as I move along the rows of portraits, a motley crew of men lined up within their ornate gold frames. I wonder what went on here throughout the castle’s history?
‘That’s the last Earl you’re looking at there,’ Arthur’s voice says behind me as I gaze up at one of the more modern portraits. ‘A fine man he was too. Perhaps a tad unstable towards the end, but he was a wonderful master to serve.’
I flinch at the word master, and think it best not to mention what Dorothy had said earlier about her old boss.
‘The paintings in here are all of past Earls, then?’
‘They are indeed. Many banquets, meetings and important decisions have taken place in this very room over the years, right back to the Norman Conquest.’
‘Obviously decisions made by men,’ I add, looking at all the paintings. ‘Has there never been a female in charge at Chesterford? What about all the countesses; where are the portraits of them?’
Arthur eyes me warily. ‘One of them feminist types, are you?’ he asks.
‘That depends on what type you mean? Am I in favour of equality for women? Then yes. But do I take offence if a man holds a door open for me? Well, no, definitely not.’
‘Nothing wrong with a bit of chivalry,’ Arthur says approvingly.
‘Indeed not. Be careful with that, Charlie, you mustn’t touch it,’ I call to Charlie who is still inspecting the suit of armour.
‘But can’t I try it on, Mum? We do own it now.’
I feel my cheeks flush. ‘No, and we don’t own it – the castle does.’
I glance apologetically at Arthur, but he simply nods his approval at my choice of words.
‘I’m sure I can find an old shield or something similar for you to play with, young sir, if you’d like?’ he offers.
‘Ooh, yes please,’ Charlie says, stepping away from the armour and coming over to Arthur and me. ‘That would be awesome. Do you think you might find me a sword too?’
‘No, no swords!’ I insist. ‘And please call my son Charlie.’
Arthur nods at me and winks at Charlie. ‘Maybe just a blunt one. Now your mum wants to see paintings of some ladies, so if you’d both follow me.’
Arthur leads us across the hall to some wood panelling with roses carved on it. He reaches up and presses on one of the flowers and suddenly one of the panels slides magically across, revealing another room beyond.
‘A secret room!’ Charlie exclaims. ‘Cool.’
‘This room was known as the Ladies’ Chamber,’ Arthur says, gesturing for us to go inside. ‘When feasts where held in the Great Hall, afterwards the men would retire to the Billiards Room down the hall, and the ladies would retire here.’
The Ladies’ Chamber is furnished entirely in shades of turquoise and gold. Embossed turquoise wallpaper adorns the walls, and turquoise and gold upholstered furniture sits amongst walnut tables and bookcases. The walls are covered in more portraits – this time, I’m pleased to see, they are of females.
I go over to look while Charlie is captivated by a tiny piano in the corner of the room.
‘That is Clara, fifteenth Countess of Chesterford,’ Arthur tells me as I gaze at a portrait of a pretty, but proud-looking woman wearing what looks to me like an Edwardian outfit. ‘She was supposed to be quite the socialite – apparently, she hosted many luxurious house parties here; the future King Edward VII was her guest on more than one occasion, I believe.’
‘Really?’ I look hard at the woman in the
painting. She reminds me a little of my grandmother. ‘What happened to her?’
‘She almost brought the castle to bankruptcy. Racked up huge gambling debts and couldn’t pay them back. Her husband, the fifteenth Earl, died young, so she had to sell off some precious family heirlooms to repay her creditors. The rest of the family were none too happy with her; she was somewhat regarded as the black sheep of the family, I believe.’
I look again at the serene face gazing down at me, and I sympathise with my ancestor. Debt is never much fun, whatever form it takes.
Arthur then proceeds to tell me as much as he can about all the other paintings in the room. It seems there were some pretty formidable females in the Chesterford family. And suddenly I find myself feeling proud that I’m becoming one of them.
‘Would you like me to show you around some more of the castle?’ Arthur asks.
‘I’ve actually seen most of what the visitors see before,’ I tell him, ‘when I came to visit myself. What I’d really like to see is the behind-the-scenes stuff; you know, the well-oiled cogs that make everything run smoothly.’
Arthur pulls a face. ‘I’d hardly call it well oiled, but we get by. Come this way, then, and I’ll show you the castle offices.’
Arthur leads us out into the Great Hall, and then we follow him down a long corridor, up some stone stairs that are roped off to the public, and finally through a heavy wood door marked ‘PRIVATE. NO ENTRY’.
On the other side is another narrow corridor, and at the end of that Arthur opens yet another door. This time we find ourselves in a small modern office with several filing cabinets and two wooden desks. Tiffany sits at one of them in front of a computer screen.
‘Hello again, Tiffany,’ I say, smiling at her.
‘Ooh, ma’am, er miss, er . . . ’ she says, scrambling to her feet.
‘Amelia,’ I remind her.
‘Miss Amelia.’
Why is everyone incapable of speaking to me without using a title?
‘Really, it’s just Amelia. Please carry on with what you’re doing, Tiffany; Arthur is just giving us a bit of a tour around the castle.’
‘Er . . . yes . . . er . . . ’
‘What are you doing, anyway?’ I ask, hoping to show interest.
‘I’m . . . ’ She stares at Arthur and flushes. ‘I’m . . . well, you see, it’s a bit quiet today, and Dorothy said if ever I got all my work done it was okay to use the computer for . . . well . . . personal stuff.’
‘What sort of personal stuff?’ Arthur barks, glaring at her. ‘And Dorothy has no business interfering in what goes on in here; the office is not her jurisdiction.’
Tiffany glances at the screen in the very second it changes to the screen saver, but not before I’ve had time to see the words, ‘ . . . your ideal match is . . . ’
‘I see no harm if Tiffany has got all her work done,’ I say, hoping to dilute Arthur’s anger a tad. ‘As long as she’s always safe about what she’s doing . . . ’ I wink at Tiffany.
‘Hmm, well, I’m sure I could find you some work to be getting on with,’ Arthur says gruffly. ‘There’s always something that wants polishing.’
‘Dorothy says there’s a lot of things that need polishing,’ Tiffany pipes up. ‘I’m happy to help,’ she says to me now, ‘but Dorothy says I’m dangerous with a duster. Too many things get broken when I’m around.’
I smile at Tiffany.
‘Let me get settled in and we’ll have to find someone to help Dorothy dust and polish. This castle is too big for one person to clean on their own.’
‘More staff?’ Arthur asks. ‘We’ll need more money before we can hire more staff. I wasn’t going to mention this to you today, but we will need to go through the books together sometime. I’m afraid they don’t make for pleasant reading.’
‘Of course, that’s not a problem. We’ll need to do a good deal more than go through the books, though, Arthur. My intention is to make this castle a profitable and successful business in the future. I have a background in economics,’ I add, hoping this might add a little gravitas to my statement. ‘And I have run my own small business before.’
‘Yes . . . ’ Arthur says, sounding less than convinced. ‘I’m sure that will come in very handy.’
‘Right, perhaps we should leave Tiffany to her . . . well, her endeavours, and see the rest of the castle now.’ I look around the office for Charlie. ‘Where’s Charlie?’ I ask, spinning around. This office is far too small for him to be hiding somewhere.
The other two look around them. ‘I don’t think he’s here,’ Tiffany says vacantly.
‘Ya think?’ I snap, beginning to panic now. ‘Charlie!’ I call. ‘Charlie, where are you? Where has my son gone?’ I ask, fear spreading rapidly through me. ‘Charlie!’ I call desperately again.
But there’s no answer.
Eight
‘Don’t fret, miss,’ Arthur says confidently when we’ve checked the corridor and nearby rooms. ‘He can’t come to much harm here. We’ll soon find him.’
‘He can’t come to much harm?’ I reply, my eyes wide. ‘He’s a ten-year-old boy in a huge great castle! There must be hundreds of ways he could come to harm!’
‘Ah yes, you could be right,’ Arthur says, considering this. ‘Don’t you worry, though; we’ll get right on it.’ Arthur pulls out his walkie-talkie.
‘Is there another way out of this office?’ I ask Tiffany, looking wildly around me.
‘Yes, there’s a door behind that plant over there,’ Tiffany says, leading me over to a tall pot plant in a colourful ceramic bowl. ‘We don’t use it any more, though; that’s why it’s behind the plant.’
‘Where does it go?’ I ask, pulling on the door handle. There’s just enough of a gap behind the plant to pull the door ajar. And just enough for Charlie to slide through without being noticed.
‘It leads to the old servants’ quarters,’ Tiffany says, pulling the plant aside so we can open the door wider. She follows me out into a dark corridor. ‘I think there might be a staircase there that leads down to the big kitchen somewhere too.’
‘Have you got a torch on your phone?’ I ask her. ‘Er . . . mine’s broken at the moment.’
The truth is my basic phone isn’t fancy enough to have a torch.
‘It’s okay, there’s electricity through most of the castle. It was put in in the 1920s.’ I hear a satisfying click as Tiffany pulls on an old Bakelite switch, and some rudimentary bulbs hanging from the ceiling light our way.
We dash along the bare corridor, opening doors along the way and calling Charlie’s name, but all we find are rooms filled with junk, boxes and bits of old furniture. Finally, we reach a set of stone stairs that seem to go on for ever until finally we reach a flagstoned floor and yet another corridor, this one even more dingy than the last.
‘Which way now?’ I ask Tiffany.
‘I don’t know. We’re never allowed down here. Arthur always says it’s out of bounds.’
‘This way, then,’ I say, taking the lead, and we make our way slowly along the dim corridor using Tiffany’s phone for light this time. At regular intervals along the walls there are wrought-iron sconces that must once have held candles to light the way; obviously the electricity never reached this far down.
‘I don’t like it down here,’ Tiffany says apprehensively. ‘It’s spooky.’
‘Neither do I particularly, but if Charlie came down here then we have to find him.’
‘You don’t think this leads to the dungeons, do you?’ Tiffany says, her voice trembling a little. ‘Cos I really don’t want to go down there.’
The dungeons! Of course, that’s exactly where Charlie would try to explore given the chance.
Suddenly we reach the end of the corridor, and in front of us is a huge wooden door with black iron bars nailed horizontally across it. There’s an equally sturdy-looking bolt to pull it open, but also an extremely large padlock.
‘He can’t have gone through there,’ Tiffany s
ays, stating the obvious. ‘He wouldn’t have the key.’
‘Really?’ I reply scathingly. Usually I’m not prone to sarcasm, but I’m starting to get really worried now. These areas aren’t open to the public; in fact, I doubt anyone visits them these days; they could be dangerous and unsafe – especially for a ten-year-old boy. ‘What is through there, then – why is it locked up?’
‘I dunno; like I said, we’re not allowed down here. I think Arthur is the only one who ever comes down here, and that’s not very often.’
Hmm . . . ’ I look around. ‘What about this way, then? What’s through here?’
Tiffany holds up her phone and through a small archway we see another stone staircase, this time winding its way tightly upward. ‘Come on,’ I say to an even more worried-looking Tiffany. ‘He must have gone up here.’
‘What if he never came down this far in the first place?’ Tiffany says as she passes me her phone so I can lead the way up the narrow staircase. ‘He might have been hiding in one of them rooms with all the junk? That’s what my little brother would do – he’s a right little shi— I . . . I mean scoundrel.’
‘No, Charlie is obsessed by gory stuff like dungeons; I’m sure that’s where he would have tried to go.’
‘But we’re going up now, ain’t we? Dungeons aren’t up.’
She’s right, but what choice do I have? Charlie might not have the key to that door back there, but neither do we.
We climb a little higher until suddenly I spy light up ahead – daylight, I realise, as we climb a few more of the stone steps – and then there in front of us is another stone archway leading out into the castle courtyard.
‘Phew,’ Tiffany says, gulping deep dramatic breaths. ‘It’s good to be able to breathe fresh air again.’
