by Jay Howard
~~~
The grandfather clock in the hallway echoed its midnight chimes through the old house. Elaine kicked off her shoes and climbed up onto the huge bed that had been her grandparents’, and their parents before them, all the way back to 1821; the date was carved on the six foot high mahogany headboard, like it was some ancient monument. She studied the decorative carving, running her fingers over the birds, beasts and plants.
“Everything in this house is old,” she thought, “and that includes the staff.” Roza Maria was still sprightly, but shouldn’t she and Basil have retired years before, she wondered?
She rubbed her tired feet before tucking them under her. It felt like she’d walked a million miles and knew she’d have to get some shoes with lower heels if she were to spend more time in the ancestral pile. The house was huge, a warren of rooms that would take a long time to learn her way around, and as for the grounds, the kitchen garden, the farm, the village… It would definitely take time to get to grips with it all. Maybe a lifetime a little voice whispered in her mind.
A lifetime; was she ready for such a change? Did she want such a change? Or should she just sell up and get back to her normal life?
Elaine grabbed her tablet and googled Arts and Crafts movement, getting confirmation of her earlier suspicions. The later architectural additions and details like the tiles in the hallway had definitely been influenced by Pugin, and the decorations were very William Morris. As for the contents, the antiques she had seen had to be worth a small fortune by themselves. She was fairly certain she’d discovered a couple of original Pre-Raphaelites in one of the private family rooms, and they were not as grand as the suite of reception rooms and the dining room, with its table that seated twenty people. She imagined the social occasions her house must have witnessed.
She leaned forward and spread the photos she had found in a semicircle around her. The one that held her attention was of her grandparents, standing arm in arm outside a church, dressed in their wedding finery. There had been a newspaper article in the box too, giving details of the marriage of Lord and Lady Thatchen at their local church, St Barnabus’. She’d had to check the picture very carefully – Lord Thatchen? – but there was no doubt about it being her grandparents. There was another taken from the bottom lawn, looking up at all the wedding guests gathered on the rear terrace, with this huge house she had inherited in the background.
When they’d been walking through the grounds Roza Maria had said to her, “Don’t think badly of your grandmother. She was only obeying your grandfather and by the time he died she thought the rift was too deep to heal.”
What order had she obeyed? Roza Maria wouldn’t say anything else, just that Elaine should ask her mother. She gathered all the photos and settled back into the luxurious soft pillows. She needed to be rested and on top form for the day just beginning, the day her mother would arrive and finally tell her about her maternal family.
