by Ali McNamara
‘I’m in here!’ I call, expecting to hear one of their voices reply.
But instead there’s silence.
I listen again and once more hear footsteps. Actually no, I think, listening hard with my head tipped to one side, that’s more like the sound of hooves trotting over the cobbles. I hurry through to the next room, but find to my surprise that it’s empty.
Okay, that was a bit odd. How could there be the sound of horses’ hooves if there aren’t actually any horses in here?
Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I see something move. I turn swiftly, but not rapidly enough to see what it is – and there’s the same noise again: the sound of clip-clopping on the stone floor, as though someone is just preparing to take a horse out for a ride.
‘Who’s there?’ I ask timidly into the dimly lit room. ‘Come on, who’s playing a joke on me? Is it you, Arthur? I know you don’t like this idea, but this is going a bit far, isn’t it?’
But there’s no reply.
I nearly jump out of my skin when at last I do hear a voice. But then I realise this is a very real voice belonging to a very real body. ‘Hello,’ it says again. ‘Am I in the right place? Are you Lady Chesterford?’
‘Ah,’ I say with relief, turning to the voice. ‘You must be Bill?’ I walk quickly across the flagstones to greet a friendly-looking, middle-aged man wearing jeans and a checked shirt. I reach out my hand to shake Bill’s, and notice it’s trembling a little. ‘Sorry about that. Yes, I’m Amelia Chesterford – we spoke on the phone. If you don’t mind, though, I prefer to dispense with formalities,’ I tell him in a voice that I hope sounds convincing. ‘So please call me Amelia.’
Bill looks a little hesitant at my request, but nods anyway.
‘You didn’t happen to see someone riding a horse on your way in, did you?’ I ask, still feeling a little unnerved.
‘Er, no,’ Bill says, looking at me oddly. ‘I don’t think so. Only a guy on a ride-on-lawnmower cutting the grass – hardly the same thing, though.’
I smile. ‘No, indeed.’
‘Helloo!’ I hear Dorothy’s voice just outside. ‘Anyone there?’
‘We’re in here, Dorothy,’ I call back. ‘We’ll come to you.’
Bill and I walk back through to the other room and find Tiffany and Dorothy waiting for us.
‘Bill, this is Dorothy, who’s going to be running the tea room, and Tiffany, who will be in charge of the gift shop. Dorothy, Tiffany, this is Bill our builder.’
‘You should have been Bob not Bill,’ Tiffany says, grinning.
Bill looks puzzled.
‘Bob the Builder?’ she continues. ‘That was one of my favourites when I was a kid. Scoop, Muck and Dizzy?’ she suggests. ‘No? Roly and Wendy?’
‘Er, yes,’ Bill says, stopping her before she goes any further. ‘I am familiar with Bob the Builder. And you’re not the first to make that joke.’
‘I bet she’s not,’ I say quickly. ‘Now then, Bill, to business. As you’ve probably guessed, these stables are where we’d like to put our new tea room and gift shop. So the first question is, do you think it’s possible?’
We spend the next three-quarters of an hour talking Bill through our ideas. He makes lots of builderish sounds – sharp intakes of breath and tutting interspersed with ooh and ahs – then occasionally he gets out his tape measure and takes a few random measurements, followed by more noises of consternation.
‘So what’s your verdict, Bill? Can we do it?’ I ask eventually when this has gone on for some time.
‘Yes, and no,’ he says, cautiously pocketing his tape measure.
‘Yes and no?’ I ask.
‘Yes, it’s doable, but you’ll have to do some major reconstruction work in here.’
‘Like for instance?’
‘Like you’re going to need secondary walls constructing, so we can insulate between the two, otherwise you’ll never be able to heat the place, or keep draughts out.’
‘Sure.’
‘And we’ll need to put in several RSJs to reinforce that old ceiling and the new one that will have to be erected under it, and that’s only the big stuff.’
‘Right . . . I see. But when you’ve done all that, we can have our new tea room and gift shop? You can do it?’
Bill nods slowly. ‘Yes, I can do it.’
‘You mean you can fix it!’ Tiffany says with delight. ‘Can we fix it? Yes, we can!’
Bill scowls at her.
‘Enough now, Tiffany,’ I say kindly. ‘I think we’ve all got the joke.’
Tiffany nods huffily.
‘I realise you’ll have to get me a proper quote together and everything,’ I say, turning back to Bill. ‘But can you give me a rough timescale of how long this all might take?’
‘Ooh . . . ’ Bill says, pulling another pained expression. ‘Six . . . maybe seven months – depending on—’
‘We have three,’ I say, cutting him off. ‘I want this up and running by peak tourist season, and peak season begins in July.’
‘No chance,’ Bill says matter-of-factly.
‘Not an option,’ I reply resolutely, seeing where this is going. I’d dealt with builders before in our old house – you gave them an inch and they’d take a mile where timescales were concerned. ‘I’m sure there are other builders I can get quotes from if you feel this is a bit beyond your capabilities . . . ’
I may as well have punched Bill in the face, he looks so wounded by this suggestion.
‘I’ll have you know I’m the most well-respected, in-demand builder this side of Hadrian’s Wall. You won’t get better.’
‘I know; Arthur said as much when he recommended you,’ I tell him, even if it was grudgingly, I think. ‘And that is exactly why I’ve offered you the opportunity of taking on this job first. I’m sure working at Chesterford Castle will look very impressive on your builder’s CV, won’t it?’
‘We don’t exactly have CVs . . . ’ Bill begins.
‘I bet in centuries gone by working at the castle brought with it great clout and respect from other tradesmen, didn’t it?’ I continue.
Bill nods. ‘I’m sure it did, but things are a bit different now.’
‘Bill Bailey,’ Dorothy cuts in now, ‘I’ve known your wife Hetty since she was in nappies and I used to push her pram up the hill to this castle when I was babysitting her. Even if you don’t think working here is anything special, I know Hetty would heartily disagree.’
Bill’s cheeks flush.
‘Is Hetty involved in any local groups?’ I ask, inspiration striking.
‘Hetty is the President of the Chesterford WI,’ Dorothy says. ‘She’s in the local craft society too, and she’s Brown Owl at Chesterford First Brownies.’
‘She’d be most welcome to bring any of her societies here,’ I tell Bill. ‘I’m sure we could give them a private tour of the castle when everything is up and running properly.’
‘Hetty would like that,’ Bill says, thinking. ‘That’d get me in her good books, too, which is something that happens very rarely these days, I can tell you.’
‘Excellent!’ I say, attempting to seal the deal.
‘But it still won’t get the job done any faster,’ Bill says firmly.
‘Will money?’ I ask. ‘Money to employ more staff to work with you?’
‘It will take a lot of extra labour – skilled labour,’ he adds.
‘I know.’
‘And they may have to work overtime . . . ’
‘That’s fine. But we will have a completion date, Bill,’ I say firmly, in case he thinks he can pull a fast one on me. ‘And there will be penalties attached to our contract if you run over that completion date.’
Bill looks surprised, but then impressed by my meticulousness. He narrows his eyes and studies me for a moment.
‘Arthur said you were a canny lass,’ he says, and then he smiles. ‘That’s a good thing in these parts, in case you didn’t know.’
I feel myself blush
that Arthur should say anything so nice about me.
‘Shall we shake on it for now, then?’ I ask, smiling at Bill and holding out my hand to him. ‘Just until we’ve agreed fully on the terms and conditions?’
‘We will that, m’lady,’ Bill says, taking my hand and shaking it firmly.
‘Amelia,’ I implore. ‘Please, my name is Amelia.’
Fourteen
Bill and I eventually come to a verbal and then a written agreement about the cost and duration of the stable renovations, and finally the building work gets under way with Bill and his friendly team arriving early in the mornings and heading home by teatime every day.
Our search for new staff is well under way too, and we’ve already filled several key positions with people from the village, which pleases me greatly. Just as Benji had suggested in the coffee shop on the very first day we met, I want to be the sort of landlord who would make the castle work for the village, not against it. We still have a few more vacancies to fill over the next few weeks, but everything so far is going to plan.
As a matter of fact, I’m beginning to get a little worried about Benji. We’ve been here just over three weeks and I still haven’t heard back from him – it seems so out of character for him not to return my calls.
I’ve even thought about ringing Davies & Davies to see if they know where he is, but I stopped myself. After all, I’m just a client, there’s no need for him to keep in touch with me once the job is finished. I just felt we’d become more than that in the time we’d spent together. I’d hoped we’d become friends, too.
Perhaps I was mistaken?
But then why had he sent Tom to see me if he wasn’t interested in helping us any more? Tom is getting on absolutely fine, I have no worries there. To our complete astonishment, Arthur was most affable when Tom’s ‘trial’ period had come to an end. Both he and Dorothy had no issues with welcoming him into our little castle family, and Tom seemed extremely pleased to become a part of it. In fact, he’d been promoted and had now begun to do a little bit of restoration work as well as all his odd jobs.
So I don’t need Tom to be verified by Benji any more; my concern is simply for Benji’s well-being.
I’ve walked down to the village quite a number of times since we arrived at the castle and on each of those occasions I’ve been struck by two things – firstly, how much the castle looms over the tiny village of Chesterford, and secondly, the esteem in which the villagers seem to hold it.
Everyone I come into contact with greets me in a friendly manner. News hadn’t taken long to spread that there was someone new at the castle, and the villagers were obviously keen to find out just who I am, and what plans I have for Chesterford.
I’ve made a promise to them all that I will do my best to live up to my ancestors’ name, and that I will provide lots of new jobs and visitors to the area once we are up and running properly.
I think some of them believe me. But I can tell a few are a bit doubtful.
In addition to my concerns about the castle and Benji, I’ve also been extremely anxious about Charlie starting his new school. I’ve put him through so much upheaval in the last few months and I’m worried that asking him to fit into yet another new environment might be one move too far.
And to be honest, I wasn’t just worried about Charlie on his first day at Chesterford Primary School. I was nervous about how the other parents would be with me, too.
It’s difficult enough trying to fit in with the ‘playground parents’ when you are a regular mum bringing your child to a new school, but now I was what most of the villagers saw as ‘the lady of the manor’ I feared it might be nigh on impossible. I certainly didn’t want Charlie’s relationships with his classmates to suffer as a result of how people perceived me.
So as I walked Charlie down the hill towards his school that first day I’d felt extremely self-conscious (I’d secretly changed my outfit three times before we’d left the castle).
‘You all right, Mum?’ Charlie had asked as I gripped his hand far too tightly. ‘You seem worried.’
‘Me? No! I’m just a bit nervous for you, that’s all – it’s your first day in a new school, it’s another big challenge for you, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Charlie had replied matter-of-factly. ‘Been there, done that before.’
‘Aren’t you even a little nervous?’ I’d asked, hoping this wasn’t simply bravado on his part.
‘Nah, not really. I think you might be, though.’ He’d looked perceptively up at me. ‘You’ll be fine,’ he’d said, reversing our roles. ‘Just be yourself, Mum, and people will forget where we live and who we are.’
My heart had melted as I’d squeezed his hand. ‘I hope you’re right, Charlie. I really do hope you’re right.’
And to my amazement he had been. Just as easily as Charlie had slipped into his new classroom and been welcomed by his classmates, the other mothers and a couple of the fathers had gone out of their way to welcome me too.
So now when I walked Charlie the short distance to and from school, I always tried to go that little bit early so I had time to have a quick chat with anyone that wanted to speak to me. Charlie, to my immense relief, appears to be just as happy at his new school as he is in his new home.
All of the castle staff have taken Charlie under their wing in their own way – Arthur has taught him about the history of the castle, which Charlie loves. Joey shows him how to do practical stuff like gardening and DIY. Dorothy lets him help with her baking, and Tiffany just seems to make him giggle. It’s like having permanently on-call babysitters; I don’t have to worry about what Charlie is up to when he’s here in the castle, because I always know he’s being well looked after.
It’s only Tom that Charlie is a little awkward with. He still seems to see him as some sort of hero after he ‘rescued’ him from the tower. Tom tries super hard with Charlie, but Charlie seems adamant that Tom must be revered, while he’s happy to accept everyone else as his friends – including Chester the dog, from whom Charlie is inseparable when he’s at the castle.
One of the best things about Charlie being so preoccupied, whether at school or at home, is that he hasn’t mentioned Ruby in a long time.
I haven’t heard any further odd sounds either. Bill seems happy enough working away in the stables; he certainly hasn’t mentioned anything untoward about being there. So I’m beginning to wonder if I might have imagined ever hearing anything at all.
*
This morning I’m on my way to the office. I dropped Charlie off at school a little while ago, and now I’m off to catch up on any castle correspondence and, more likely, on any bills.
My now-familiar route takes me along a lengthy corridor that holds some of the rooms that are open to the public. Occasionally I might actually witness people wandering around them too. Our visitor numbers are starting to grow; I suspect a lot of the increase is due to people from the village coming to have a nose at what’s going on in their castle, or to check out the new ‘Lady Chesterford’, as I still kept being called. But after the last disastrous time, I’ve learned not to approach visitors unless they approach me first, in which case I’m always polite and as helpful as I can be. But I do often try to eavesdrop in case I can hear anything that might be helpful to us in the future.
Today as I pass by the Blue Bedroom – a lovely ornate room with an original four-poster bed and some pretty Georgian furniture – I’m sure I can hear someone moving around in there.
I look at my watch. That’s early for a visitor, I think, it’s barely 9 a.m. Actually, wait, it’s a Monday – we’re closed to visitors on Mondays. So who is in there?
I hesitate at the entrance, and then stick my head around the door. But I see no one.
That’s strange, I’m sure I heard something.
Happy there’s no one there I turn away, but then I hear it again, and this time there’s laughter.
I turn back towards the room again.
‘Hello,
who’s there?’ I ask, wondering if someone is in the little dressing room that leads off the main bedroom. I walk hesitantly across the room towards the dressing-room door, but it’s gone quiet again now. I turn the door knob and open the door purposefully to confront any intruder, but the room is completely empty.
How very odd.
I walk back across the main bedroom about to leave when suddenly there’s a creaking sound – it’s coming from this room again. I turn around and to my astonishment I’m sure I can see the bed moving.
The blue silk eiderdown is definitely moving up and down on top of the bed – it’s like someone it sitting down on it so it creases at the edges and there’s a large dent in the usually immaculate cover.
Is there a bird or a mouse caught between the covers? I wonder.
I walk slowly across to the bed and cautiously pull back the covers in case something scuttles or flies out, but when there’s nothing there I feel over the top of the bed in case I can touch the shape of an animal or bird trapped in between the layers. But again, nothing.
I straighten up the bed, and shake my head. I must have been imagining it. I didn’t get much sleep last night; a seagull had decided it would be a great idea to build a nest just outside my bedroom window. So from about 4 a.m. all I’d heard was it toing and froing as it created its masterpiece maternity home. Maybe my lack of sleep was making my mind play tricks on me?
I walk towards the door and turn back to take one last look at the room. Everything seems fine now, no noises, no movement on the . . . I stare in disbelief at the bed. The blue eiderdown which I straightened less than a minute ago is dented again – exactly like someone has sat on it.
‘Too weird,’ I say out loud, shaking my head. ‘Really, way too freaky.’
And then I hear it again: the very definite sound of a man laughing.
