Black Rock Manor

by Shaun Baines

  “I don’t understand,” Holly said, realising the phrase was fast becoming her motto. “You came back to the manor over and over. Something was pulling you back. If you didn’t fall in love with Charles Wentworth, who was it?”

  “Like all good stories,” Nancy said. “It was the butler who did it in the end.”

  The goat bolted into the shrubbery and Holly and Nancy turned to see Callum walking toward them.

  “Is that coffee?” he asked.

  Nancy produced a clean cup and filled it with warm coffee from the stove. “There you are, dear.”

  Callum gulped down a mouthful. “Nothing like coffee brewed outside,” he said, smacking his lips.

  “That’s what your father always used to say,” Nancy said, “but you look more like your mother.”

  The cup dropped from Callum’s face. “Did you know her?”

  Nancy shook her head. “Not very well. Saw her around the village once or twice.”

  “What was she like?”

  “There weren’t many cars back then, but she was the kind of woman who could stop traffic, dear. We were all very jealous. Only someone as beautiful as your mother could turn your father’s head.”

  “What do you mean?” Holly asked, leaning forward.

  “He was devoted to his job,” Nancy said. “Lived and breathed it, but it was a young maid who finally stole his heart. She came in like the Spring winds and was gone just as fast. Nature can be cruel that way.”

  Callum’s face was ghostly white, working a tongue around his mouth before speaking.

  “She died in childbirth,” he said to Holly. “With me.”

  Nancy laid a gentle hand on Callum’s arm. “Your father looked after me while my sister was sick.”

  “You must have known him when he was Wentworth’s butler,” Callum said.

  “I did, dear. Your father kept me out of harm’s way. Took me for walks through the estate. He taught me about plants and animals. His world seemed so big to me back then.”

  Holly gently placed her coffee on the ground before she spilled it.

  “Despite the Wentworth’s dwindling fortunes,” Nancy said, “and Mr Wentworth’s diminished reputation, Callum’s father was fiercely loyal. Wouldn’t hear a word against them. That was just the way it was for him and I thought there was no room in his heart for anything else.”

  “Except for my mother,” Callum said, quietly.

  Nancy stood, stretching the early morning from her bones. She gathered up her stove and collapsed the umbrella.

  Holly and Callum handed back their coffee cups and Nancy squirrelled them away inside her clothing.

  “Do you know anything else about my Mam?” Callum asked.

  “Not really,” Nancy said, leaving Holly and Callum sitting on her blanket. “But she was a very lucky woman. Like I say, we were all very jealous.”

  Holly watched Nancy disappear, wearing an age-old heartache like a cloak around her weary shoulders.

  “Do you believe her?” Callum asked, twisting his shirt collar in his fingers. “About how much my Dad loved my Mam?”

  Holly slapped his hand away and adjusted the collar back into place.

  “Do you?” he asked again.

  She hung her arm through his. “I do,” she said, thinking of the sadness and regret in Nancy’s eyes when she spoke of Callum’s father. “There was no room in his heart for anyone else.”

  Not even Nancy, Holly thought.

  Chapter Fifty

  The rest of the morning was spent in preparation. Maps were consulted, details poured over. Holly was uneasy and the rest of them knew it.

  When Mrs Masterly appeared, she was wearing designer Tweeds and knee-high, fur lined boots. There were no provisions at the manor and no running water, but judging from her appearance, Mrs Masterly had spent the previous night in a health spa.

  Holly patted down the hair sticking up at the back of her head. “Do we need to do this?”

  “This one isn’t my decision,” Mrs Masterly said. Although dressed for a trek across the rough terrain of the estate, her handbag remained in the crook of her arm. She prized the clasp apart and pulled out a sheaf of moisturising wipes, offering them to Holly.

  “If you would like?” she asked.

  “Thank you,” Holly said, using them to clean her hands and face. When she finished, she felt clean, ready for whatever was needed.

  Mrs Masterly delved into her handbag again, producing a hairbrush and vanity case.

  “Whose handbag is that?” Holly asked. “Mary Poppins?”

  Mrs Masterly looked at the handbag as if it was the first time she’d seen it.

  “Christian Dior’s,” she said.

  “It’s almost noon,” Arnold shouted. “Time to get going.”

  Holly and Mrs Masterly joined everyone around the tow truck. Mr MacFarlene was already behind the wheel, avoiding eye contact with Holly. Nancy was beside him, her wrinkled face pressed into readiness.

  Arnold hobbled about on his crutches. His knee was heavily bandaged, but it didn’t stop him from strutting like a general.

  “Nancy and Mr MacFarlene will go on ahead,” he said. “We’ll use the truck to lower ourselves into the dell. From there, I’ll instruct everyone where to dig. I can’t be of more help, thanks to my knee and the flowers won’t be open, but I’ve spent enough time down there to know where they are.”

  Callum raised his hand to speak, but was ignored.

  “There aren’t enough tools to go around,” Arnold said, “and not enough time to find more, so we’ll have to improvise.”

  Callum stretched his arm higher, wriggling his fingertips.

  “What is it?” Arnold asked, swinging a crutch at Callum.

  “What if we’re stopped by the contractors?” he asked. “They won’t like us trespassing again.”

  “Plus, they’ll want to know why I stole their car,” Holly added.

  “Mrs Masterly is going with you to smooth out any issues,” Arnold said through gritted teeth. “Anything else?”

  Holly coughed loudly. “What exactly are we doing?”

  Arnold groaned. “The Star flowers are too localised. Arcadia could simply rope the area off and continue building around them. We need to dig them up and replant them throughout the estate.”

  Mrs Masterly applied lipstick as she spoke. “Natural England will only stop work if they believe the whole estate is filled with an endangered species.”

  “Is anyone concerned with the idea of committing fraud?” Holly asked, looking around the group.

  Nancy and Mr MacFarlene stared straight ahead. Mrs Masterly gazed at the ground. Callum shifted his stance, burying his hands in his pockets. Only Arnold appeared unrepentant, but it was clearly too late to turn back now. Even Holly could see that. There were no more options other than admitting defeat and there was too much at stake for that.

  “Alright, then,” she said. “Let’s get going.”

  The tow truck pulled away first. Holly and Callum were in the front of the Defender. Arnold and Mrs Masterly climbed into the back. They set off in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

  The vehicles traversed a single lane bouncing the occupants from their seats.

  Holly faced Arnold.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  His hands were wrapped around his injured knee, his mouth a thin slash. “Fine,” he said, hissing through his teeth. He took a breath, moistening his lips with his tongue. “Listen, I’m sorry about everything I’ve done to get this far.”

  “Are you?” Callum asked over his shoulder.

  Arnold pressed into his seat, attempting to find purchase. “We shouldn’t have ransacked your belongings and I shouldn’t have persuaded Mr MacFarlene to go through yours, Holly.”

  “Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?” Holly asked. “A lot of people will lose their jobs if you go through with this.”

  “If we go through with this, you mean,” Arnold corrected, “and I
know how they’ll feel. I’ve lost my job, too.”

  The tow truck ahead broke to a stop and Callum pulled up beside it.

  There was no need to ask why. The dell was two hundred yards away, surrounded by traffic cones and orange tape. Cars and jeeps swarmed around like bees.

  Contractors emptied the contents of their vehicles, hurling metal shards, old timber and bags of rubbish into the dell.

  Arnold was first out of the Defender, seemingly faster on crutches than he was on foot. His pain was forgotten and he charged at the contractors.

  “There he goes again,” Callum said, wrestling with his seatbelt and chasing after him.

  Holly followed, without any hope of catching them in time.

  By the time she got there, Callum and Arnold were surrounded by men wearing hard hats and stern faces.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Arnold yelled.

  “It’s nothing to do with you, Long John Silver,” a contractor said. He was tall with shoulders as straight as an ironing board. A red beard hung in tangles from his chin.

  Arnold tried to manoeuvre around Red Beard, but was blocked by his sheer size.

  “You have to stop,” Arnold said.

  Red Beard placed a hand on his chest, shoving him back a step.

  “There’s no need for that,” Callum said.

  “Leave him alone,” Holly added, having finally caught her breath.

  Red Beard looked down his nose at her. “You’re the thief who stole my car.”

  Callum stepped in front of Holly, drawing himself up to full height. “I took the Ranger, mate. Take it up with me.”

  Holly felt a hand on her arm. She turned to see a cowering Mrs Threadle in a hard hat one size too big for her.

  “What’s going on?” Holly asked.

  Mrs Threadle pushed the hat to the back of her head. Her eyes darted around the many faces staring at her. “They’ve been looking for a landfill site. Rubbish at the camp has been building up. Too expensive to have it collected.”

  Holly remembered the stench of the bin bags. “They’re going to dump it here? Why?”

  “We won’t have to dig,” Mrs Threadle said. “It’s perfect.”

  More vehicles trundled to the dell with grim-faced drivers behind their wheels. A grey, blunt-faced truck, like a lumbering elephant, forced its way through the congestion. Mottled tarpaulin covered the contents on its back as it reversed to the edge.

  Callum and Red Beard argued through a series of growls. Arnold used the distraction to press through the orange tape. It didn’t snap, but stretched white with tension, as if he had run a race, but was unable to cross the finishing line. He scuttled to the edge of the dell, peering over the side.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s just debris. We can still dig through to reach the bulbs.”

  Holly’s shoulders sank with relief.

  “Why now?” Holly asked. “Why here?”

  “Because of you,” Red Beard shouted over Callum’s head. “After your joyride in our stolen car, you left it here. I wanted to have you nicked until we realised this place was ideal for dumping rubbish. You got off lightly, I’d say.”

  Most of the contractors had drifted away. The show was over and they had work to do, but Holly sensed the accusing eyes of Arnold upon her. She saw the disappointment in Callum. Her skin crawled hot and she yanked on her jumper.

  “That doesn’t mean you can use it as landfill,” Holly said, her voice weakened.

  “Private property,” Red Beard said, “and we have the permits. When are you hippies going to learn?”

  He barked out a laugh, his tangled beard swaying like seaweed before he joined his companions to share a joke at Holly’s expense.

  Callum placed a hand on the small of Holly’s back. “Don’t worry. Arnold said it was fine. We’ll dig through.”

  The grey truck reached its final destination, the lip of its rear end hanging over the depths. The tarpaulin skin was whipped away to reveal barrels pockmarked with rust.

  Arnold’s eyes widened at the sight.

  The platform on the truck rose and the barrels skidded toward the dell. One by one, they dropped through the air. The first one landed, puncturing its side on a metal shard. Black liquid gushed out, spraying the walls in glossy globules. The second landed with a clang. Its lid ruptured and a wave of unctuous cooking fat soaked the ground in grease.

  Arnold raised his crutches aloft. “Stop what you’re doing.”

  But it was too late. The gradient was too steep and the barrels kept tumbling.

  Holly covered her ears against the din, but she couldn’t avoid watching. She didn’t need Arnold to tell her it was over. Whatever noxious elements were in the barrels were eating their way through the soil, killing the Star flowers under the surface.

  Arnold shouted at her, pointing his crutch in an accusatory manner. His mouth was warped into an ugly maw and Holly was glad she couldn’t hear his loaded words.

  The grey truck finished unloading and with a honk of its horn, returned to the camp. The other contractors continued hurling debris with wild abandon, determined to fill the landfill site Holly had so graciously delivered to them.

  She dropped her hands as Arnold’s tirade petered out. His eyes were red, wet with tears he fought hard not to spill. His jaw clenched and Holly prepared for the second bout. She stood tall, knowing it was her fault, but refusing to look like a victim.

  Arnold shoved his crutches under his arms. “We almost did it, didn’t we? We almost saved the village.”

  He nodded at Holly with a smile that wasn’t fixed and hobbled to the Defender.

  Holly watched his progress as he passed Mrs Masterly talking into her satellite phone. Her arms gestured frantically, flaying in the air. Ending the call, she pitched the phone into the wilderness. She looked up and noticed Holly gazing at her.

  Slowly, Mrs Masterly shook her head.

  The contractors left and Holly and Callum stood together at the edge of the dell until the odour forced them backwards. They stayed close to one another, sharing warmth and loss. Clouds gathered on the horizon threatening more rain. Not enough to wash away their regret, but just enough to dampen the last of their strength.

  “Come on,” Callum said. “I’ll take you home.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  A convoy of vehicles sloped through the tracks of the estate. Out in front was Mr MacFarlene driving Nancy and Arnold back to his farmhouse. When he parked, no one left the tow truck. They sat staring at their hands as Callum’s Defender gave a solitary peep of the horn before continuing on.

  Mrs Masterly’s Rover waited for her at the manor. She climbed from the Defender and smoothed out the wrinkles of her designer clothes.

  “I had hoped we might become friends,” Mrs Masterly said to Holly.

  The blank face of the manor loomed over Mrs Masterly’s shoulder. Its windows were empty eyes, the rooms inside were chambers. There wasn’t anything there for Mrs Masterly. A friend might have made it tolerable, but it was too late for that.

  She delved into her magic handbag and pressed something into Holly’s hand.

  “A gift,” she said before sliding into the belly of her car.

  Holly looked at the perfume bottle. “Thanks.”

  Mrs Masterly smiled, her porcelain skin finally cracking. She issued muffled instructions to the driver and slammed her door shut.

  “What are you going to do?” Callum asked, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

  “I don’t know,” Holly said.

  “What about Derek?”

  Holly scratched at the mud drying on her trousers. “He might already be gone. The car is still in the village and I have the keys, but who knows? He seemed determined to leave anyway.”

  The scenery blurred as the Defender took her home. Holly liked watching it roll by, picking out trees or animals to ponder over, but it was too painful now. She concentrated on her stained trousers, not willing to create memories
she would later be forced to forget. Little Belton had never been hers. She had grown up there and she had left as soon as she could. Returning had served to remind her of that.

  They drove through the village and Holly saw the Winnows in their doorway, searching the barren high streets for customers. The door to The Travelling Star was closed, the windows like mirrors reflecting an open sky. No-one walked the village green, except for rooks and ravens, bickering over scraps. The birds stopped fighting and turned as Holly passed, silently regarding her passage out of Little Belton.

  Black Eye Bobby took flight, its long, black feathers trailing behind.

  Climbing up the road to her cottage, Holly wanted one last look at Knock Lake. It was still, as always, but she blinked at the deer surrounding its shore. She recognised a buck standing alone from his herd. It was the same creature who had rescued Holly on her way to the Faery Ring. His antlers were full, coming to sharp points, but his face remained downy, betraying his youth.

  The buck watched her with careful eyes. The does and younger bucks danced on their hooves, ready to bolt.

  But he stood firm.

  Holly glanced at Callum. His skin was stretched around his neck, the tendons as taut as a guitar string. His eyes were trained on the road, scanning, watching, but his mind appeared to be elsewhere, perhaps contemplating the goodbye ahead.

  He slowed the Defender as they approached the cottage.

  “Oh, no,” she said.

  Derek was by his shed, suitcases gathered at his feet. He wore a long, black coat over a suit that no longer fitted him.

  The door to the shed, the place where Derek sulked and sometimes drank, was finally open. Holly sensed it was some dark portent of things to come.

  She jumped from the jeep and walked toward him, but Callum lingered on his own.

  “Decided to come back, have we?” Derek asked, his face lined with anger. “My brother has been calling non-stop, wondering where I am.”

  “I’m sorry,” Holly said, but she knew how inadequate the words sounded.

  Derek held out his hand. It was shaking, but Holly didn’t know if it was from unease or alcohol withdrawal.