But she’d dumped him and he’d never forgive her. And in any case, how could she leave Polgarry now, just when something about the place had started to seep into her very bones? She couldn’t explain it, but she felt as if it had somehow become part of her, like a child, perhaps, that needed her love and protection. It would be treacherous to abandon it to whatever fate a new buyer might have in store – always assuming that she could find one.
She bit her lip. She could feel tears pricking in her eyes and it was all she could do not to crumple.
‘I can’t leave the manor. I have to see this through.’
‘No!’ Katie cried. ‘You wanted to give it a go and you have. You’ve tried living here and you’ve got nothing to prove – you can hold your head up high. You’re not a country girl; you’re a Londoner through and through. You’ll start to loathe Cornwall when the weather turns and there’s nothing to do except stare at the bloody seagulls.’
She kicked viciously at the gravel beneath her feet, making the little stones fly, and Bramble, watching, sighed.
‘You don’t understand. Why would you?’ she said slowly. ‘Lord Penrose wasn’t your grandfather. The manor’s not part of your history. I’ll miss you like crazy, but I can’t make you stay.’ A tear trickled down her cheek and plopped on to her khaki skirt, making a small, dark circle on the fabric. ‘Will you come back and see me? You can bring your sisters, too.’
Katie took a deep breath.
‘Of course!’ she said eventually, giving Bramble a consoling squeeze that somehow just made her feel even more alone. ‘They’ll love it here – for a few nights,’ Katie added quickly. ‘Maybe when the weather improves in the spring.’
*
They were a sad pair as they made their way back to the manor in Bramble’s yellow VW, squinting slightly as the reddening sun glowed bright and low in the sky. Neither had felt like going anywhere after their conversation, and besides, Bramble had some thinking to do. Now it seemed more urgent than ever to secure the funds from selling the land. Without Katie’s help with painting and so on, not to mention her moral support, Bramble felt that she could achieve little. She desperately needed a cash injection so that she could pay people to do the work for her.
Maria was surprised to see them home so early, as they’d told her they’d be out late and wouldn’t be wanting supper.
‘Do you wish me to prepare something now, Miss Bramble?’ she asked coolly, and Bramble said no, they’d make themselves a sandwich if they were hungry.
Katie went to her room – it was obvious that she couldn’t wait to start packing but felt too guilty to say it – so Bramble went into the morning room, closed the door and picked up the ancient corded telephone from the desk in the corner. She had to steel herself to tap in the number. To her surprise, Piers picked up immediately.
‘Oh,’ he said, sounding slightly shaken as if she’d caught him off guard. ‘It’s you. I wasn’t expecting you to ring.’
Bramble noticed the uneasiness in his voice and felt her heart flutter. If it hadn’t been for Katie, she wouldn’t have pushed it, but she needed some sort of assurance, a proper update, so she pulled back her shoulders and began.
‘Something’s happened,’ she said, drawing in her breath. ‘Katie’s just told me she’s leaving, and I need to know roughly how long it’ll take for the land to sell and the money to come through. I know you said things are in motion, but have you had any firm interest yet? What’s the timescale?’
There was a pause during which she fancied she could almost hear his brain working, the little grey cells powering up.
‘I, um...’ He cleared his throat. ‘I was going to tell you... I was getting the paperwork together.’ He paused again. ‘There’s a slight problem, you see...’
Bramble’s pulse started to race. This was too much after Katie’s news. She needed something positive to hold on to. ‘What problem? What’s the matter?’
Piers coughed. ‘There’s a restrictive covenant in place preventing the sale of any land belonging to the estate.’
‘What?’ said Bramble, not understanding. ‘How do you mean?’
‘I didn’t realise until I got a friend to examine the deeds properly with me on Sunday,’ he went on. ‘It seems your grandfather was determined to keep the estate intact and to ensure the land was only leased for agricultural purposes. There might be a way around it, but it’s an extremely complex matter that will require time and...’ He coughed again. ‘Money.’
‘How long?’ Bramble asked. ‘How much? What exactly are you saying?’
Piers hesitated. ‘I’m saying,’ he went on carefully, ‘that you need a legal expert, someone familiar with this sort of thing. Until you get that advice, I’m afraid you’re stuck. I must warn you that it is possible you might never be able to get the covenant lifted. It’s not unknown...’
Bramble had been standing but she sank down now on to the chair by the desk and clutched the phone as if for dear life.
‘Can’t you handle it for me?’ she asked desperately. ‘Surely you don’t need—’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t have the expertise.’
Bramble swallowed. Her mind was racing, her thoughts flying hither and thither. This changed absolutely everything. She’d pinned all her hopes on that cash; she’d reassured herself that it would be enough to upgrade Polgarry so that she could live comfortably enough and start to make it work for her in some way, though she hadn’t yet fathomed how. Now she couldn’t afford to do anything. She hardly had enough in the bank for a drink at the local pub, and soon the money Lord Penrose had put aside for bills, food and Maria’s wages would be gone as well.
A thought occurred to her and she felt the panic rise even higher, right up to her throat. ‘Gus!’ she rasped. ‘He’s still working for me. How will I pay him?’
‘Credit?’ said Piers unhelpfully.
‘I’m all maxed out,’ Bramble wailed. ‘Debts everywhere. He hasn’t even fixed the roof,’ she went on, thinking of the leaks, and winter coming. ‘There’s no way I can pay for those tiles now.’
‘I expect you can owe it to him,’ Piers offered. ‘You’ll be able to come to some kind of agreement.’
Bramble thought that she detected something in the background, a woman’s voice, and almost jumped. Her nerves were ripped.
‘Who’s that?’ she said sharply before she could stop herself.
‘Just a friend,’ Piers replied, murmuring softly before turning back to the phone.
‘What about you and me?’ Bramble said in a small voice. ‘When will I see you again?’ She hated how pathetic she sounded, but she couldn’t help herself. She needed his support.
‘I, um, I’m not sure.’ He exhaled. ‘Look, Bramble, you’re a lovely girl and all that. It was nice on Saturday, but it was just a bit of fun, wasn’t it? No hard feelings?’
Her stomach dropped into her feet.
‘None at all,’ she said, desperate to retain some shred of dignity, a tiny sliver, just to keep herself from seeping through the floorboards and turning into a puddle beneath the foundations. ‘I – I’ll see you around.’
The sun had sunk below the horizon and shadows loomed like gloomy spectres against the faded walls. Bramble stared out at the darkening land thinking what an irony it was that she’d once viewed those fields as full of promise, her passport to freedom, to a brave new life as the mistress of Polgarry – perhaps with Piers, her handsome consort, at her side. Maybe even a brood of rosy-cheeked children running about the manor and playing hide and seek in the grounds. Fantasy-land. Instead, it seemed, she was yoked to that same land, those same fields, like a beast to a plough or Sisyphus to his rock, fated to drag them with her wherever she went, perhaps till the end of time.
How could she have misjudged Piers so badly? The shame, the sheer humiliation, was like a stab wound in the heart, the sense of loss a great weight of water weighing her down. She might have been thirty feet under. The fact that the veil had been lifted
and she could now see him for what he really was might have afforded some comfort, but her dreams had been shattered and it only made her betrayal of Matt seem all the worse.
When all the light had faded, she tiptoed out of the room, anxious not to disturb Maria; she didn’t know what she’d say. She thought of going to see Katie, but decided against it. She could hear her humming as she moved about upstairs, emptying things into her suitcase, filling her sponge bag. Mentally, she was already far away. It hadn’t taken her long to detach.
Bramble climbed into her four-poster, knowing that she’d struggle to sleep. For some reason she pulled out Lord Penrose’s old sketchbook, which she’d replaced in the bedside drawers. She found it comforting to flip through the pages and look again at his drawings of the cat, the cheeky sparrow, the vase of gorgeous flowers. He’d found such beauty and interest in the small things around him, the everyday sights that others might scarcely even register.
‘What shall I do?’ she said out loud, though whether to herself, the four walls or Lord Penrose’s spirit, she wasn’t sure.
The image of Fergus swam into her head. He was sitting, motionless, on the edge of the cliff, his feet hanging over the side, hands tucked into his trouser pockets and chin raised, scanning the horizon as if searching for something, the wind blowing his dark hair this way and that. It was the way she’d seen him when she’d been for that walk with Piers, when he’d said that he didn’t like the cut of her strange tenant’s jib.
Lord Penrose had obviously liked Fergus, trusted him enough to want to lend him the cottage rent-free, and Fergus had no time for Piers, Gus or his band of merry men, that much was clear. If only she’d thought to consult her tenant first, to ask his opinion, he might at least have saved her from her disastrous dealings with the lazy roofers.
But it was too late now. She shut the sketchbook and lay on her back, staring up into the darkness, willing the night to pass yet dreading the rising of the sun and the advent of the new day. In the past, she’d have phoned her parents, asked her dear dad for advice, but right now she couldn’t even bear to do that, fearing his criticism, his disappointment and, worst of all, his pity. Instead, she closed her eyes and prayed for oblivion.
*
The hours were long and restless, and as the light seeped through a narrow chink in the curtains, rousing Bramble from her fitful slumber, she groaned out loud. The memories of yesterday felt like a fully packed trunk pressing down on her chest, compressing her lungs and making her ribs hurt so that she could scarcely draw breath.
Once again she scrabbled around for an answer, a lost child frightened of every noise and shadow. Common sense told her that she needed to pull herself together, that wallowing was useless and counterproductive, but she felt incapable of rational thought and every instinct screamed at her to pull the duvet over her head and make-believe that none of this had ever happened.
Nature had other ideas, however. A cock crowed, loud and insistent, in the distance and Bramble started, a sudden thought making her snap her eyes open in surprise. Fergus again. Of course! Never mind his advice; perhaps he’d fix the leaks in the roof for her, at least temporarily. He’d offered to help with the garden, after all, and he was extremely handy. Aside from his painting and looking after Wilf, he didn’t seem to have much else to do.
She climbed out of bed, relieved to have some sort of plan, some reason to get up, however tenuous. Though she was groggy, she resolved to walk over there now, without disturbing Katie. She’d probably still be sleeping, and in any case, Bramble didn’t think that she could cope with seeing her bags. Even if Fergus said no, she reasoned, a stroll would do her good and help to clear her head, and she could mentally prepare herself for the conversation that she’d have to have with Gus later in the day. She was dreading it.
The thought of Piers made her retch, so she tried to brush him from her mind and put one foot in front of the other, pulling on one item of clothing after another, hopefully in the right order. Survival, it seemed, was the name of the game now, just getting through each moment, each hour; she wasn’t ready to give up as the world crumbled around her – not quite anyway.
Maria was hovering by the dining room as usual and Bramble told her abruptly that she’d eat breakfast later; she purposely chose not to meet her housekeeper’s eye for fear that she’d expose the vulnerability, the deep sense of insecurity, loss and failure, rattling her very bones.
It was about a fifteen-minute walk to the cottage across the fields and she took her time; she wasn’t in any hurry. The air was warmer again but the sky was overcast, and she felt sweat starting to prick on her back as she trekked through the stubbly wheat and tall grass, watching for scampering mice and voles, taking care not to stumble.
Fergus was in his garden, fixing the wire chicken run, while Wilf stood inside it, stroking one of the hens. His father remained squatting as Bramble approached, only stopping once to see who it was before resuming his task.
‘Morning,’ she said, and he growled something in reply without looking up again.
She hadn’t heard from him since Saturday but hadn’t expected to; he wasn’t the type to send a thank-you note, and besides, he seemed to have left in a huff.
‘We think a fox tried to get in last night,’ Wilf piped up, moving closer to Bramble so that she could stroke the hen’s silky feathers. It clucked obligingly, quite unperturbed by her presence.
‘Luckily, they were all locked in the shed,’ the boy went on, ‘but Dad’s trying to make the fence stronger so they don’t get frightened when the foxes sniff around.’
‘Good job.’ Bramble noticed how deftly Fergus stretched the wire with his fingers and bent it into shape. There was a well-worn tan leather belt round his waist from which hung pockets containing various heavy tools, and his earthy trousers, crumpled fawn T-shirt and muddy boots acted like camouflage.
‘I – I wondered if I could ask you something,’ she began uncertainly, feeling the trace of courage that she’d managed to muster earlier trickle away.
Fergus didn’t reply.
‘I’ve found out I can’t sell any land – not for now, at least – which means I can’t pay Gus. I’ll have to tell him to go, but the manor’s roof isn’t fixed yet, and with winter coming...’
She broke off because Fergus had risen and was stretching his back, arching his spine, his arms above his head, elbows bent.
‘You mean that cowboy’s not done the job?’ he said slowly, bringing his arms down again and resting his hands on his hips. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised.’
He might just as well have crowed, ‘I told you so.’ Bramble felt a stab of irritation, but she was in no position to justify Gus – or anyone else for that matter, least of all herself.
‘I wondered if you could maybe give me a hand,’ she said timidly, examining her tenant’s face for signs of anger. ‘I – I hope you don’t mind my asking. I’m in a bit of a mess...’
He fixed her with intense brown eyes that scarcely flickered. ‘Can’t that land agent friend of yours sort it? He knows everything, doesn’t he?’
She blinked nervously, afraid that she’d give herself away.
‘He’s not working for me any more,’ she said carefully, ‘not now the land can’t be sold for development.’
‘Ah. Scarpered as soon as the pound signs vanished.’
Red spots blossomed on Bramble’s face and neck and it was all she could do not to cry. She felt so stupid and childish, a fool stumbling in the dark. How wrong she’d been to imagine that she could just turn up in Cornwall without knowing anything about the county, its traditions or its people – without a clue about ancient buildings, restoration, land management or land managers, come to that! To imagine that she could make a new life for herself as the lady of the manor and that everything would fall into place... how naïve! How vain and arrogant!
Polgarry needed someone with far more nous than her to take it on, someone with sound business sense and plenty of cash, as wel
l as friends in high places, including lawyers, gardeners, architects and project managers – and builders who actually knew what they were doing. She cursed herself for having thought that she could do it, or that Fergus would be willing and able to help in any way at all. Why on earth would he want to assist an idiot like her? If she were him, she’d run a mile.
‘Katie’s decided to go back to London,’ she blurted, feeling tears spring to her eyes and swallowing furiously. ‘She’s had enough.’
Wilf, who’d been listening intently, popped the hen down and it scuttled off, bobbing its funny head.
‘Never mind. We’re still here,’ he cried as if reading her thoughts. ‘You won’t be lonely ’cause you’ve got us!’
At that point she thought it best to leave before she broke down completely, but to her surprise, Fergus stopped her in her tracks.
‘I suppose I could take a look at the roof. I could bring my ladder. I don’t know if I can fix it but—’
‘Would you? Could you? That would be wonderful! Even if you can just make it more or less watertight, at least for now. Maybe by next year I’ll have a better plan.’
‘I’m not making any promises,’ he muttered, but to her relief he sounded marginally less hostile. ‘I’ll come over on Saturday. Around five-ish. While it’s still light.’
‘Thank you.’ Bramble would have liked to hug him or at the very least shake his hand, but he crouched down by his coop again.
‘See you on Saturday!’ she said, giving Wilf a hug instead. ‘Both of you, of course. I’ll ask Maria to bake us a cake.’
19
NEWS TRAVELLED FAST in Tremarnock, and Liz had heard that Katie was leaving almost before Bramble herself. Of course, Tabitha had had to rush around to Liz’s to tell her about the surprise resignation, and soon Liz had mentioned it to Jean, who’d passed it on to Felipe, Esme and Barbara.
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