A Manor in Cornwall

by Laura Briggs

  It sounded over the top, but that was the point, I realized. Nathan Menton's job was to be the mouthpiece for Wendy Alistair, and this was what her people wanted. Granted, it was a lot more than we imagined, even from their list of demands — and this was a long list of commands from someone whose typical job description meant printing up posters and arranging radio ads and billboards for concerts.

  "Can I see this grove?" asked Nathan.

  "Now?" said Lady Amanda. "Lord William's in London today, I'm afraid, and Geoff is rather busy, as you can see. Could it wait, possibly?"

  "Anyone can take me there," he persisted. "Or just give me a map and point me in the right direction. That'll do."

  I pictured him getting lost in the fields somewhere, and thought this was a terrible idea.

  "Miss Alderson undoubtedly can show you the way," said Geoff. "If Julianne can spare her, that is."

  "Let's go," said Nathan. Even so, he glanced at Kitty, and I could see from his eyes this wasn't ideal, as a spark of concern appeared in them. Kitty crossed her arms, the look on her face not a happier one.

  "Not unless you've got a pair of wellies," said Kitty to Nathan. "It's all mud and muck, that place."

  "What?"

  "Boots," I supplied, eyeing his expensive leather business shoes. Ones that did not look appropriate for hiking across farmland.

  "I don't care," he said. "These shoes will be fine, I'm sure." The look of determination was still fixed on his face.

  "It's your loss," said Kitty. With a tiny smirk, she disappeared from the doorway, forcing the event planner to catch up.

  ***

  "Honestly, how could you choose her?" demanded Pippa. "Lina's a bit of a toff, but she's got a proper smile and speech for the visitors. Not like Kitty, who always looks like she'll bite the heads off puppies."

  "I know she seems an unlikely choice, but she has certain instincts that were better than Lina and the others," I said. "There's potential underneath that arms-length attitude. I can sense it."

  Granted, potential that it wasn't my job to unearth — it was my job to pick someone responsible, reliable, and organized, so I could have more free time for myself. And I had apparently made the poorest choicest possible.

  "You should have asked us," said Gemma. "Or anybody. Everyone knows about Kitty Alderson."

  "Like what?"

  "Like the fact that she steals things," said Gemma.

  "What?"

  "Everyone knows she stole Roddy Fisher's bike. And she was always taking candy and cigarettes from the tobacco shop."

  "She has a record?" I said. "Why didn't you put that on the staff sheet?"

  "No one ever caught her, exactly," said Gemma, dubiously. "But everyone knew it, mind you. And she was definitely caught stealing apples out of Ted Russert's tree, too."

  "She ran with the wrong crowd at school," said Pippa. "Rotten punks, they were. Loafing about corners on evenings. Playing tricks on people. Bit of vandalism going on with them, too."

  For all I knew, Kitty had already shoved poor Nathan Menton into a marsh for being a bothersome 'emmet' whose shoes kept getting sucked into the mud. I was feeling remorse dig a deep pit inside me as I listened to all this.

  "Don't speak so ill of another person," scolded Dinah, who was cooling crumpets on wire racks. "Kitty Alderson's got her problems, same as other folks. On the outs with her mum most of the time — she's a rum'un, mind you — but the girl was well enough when her grandmother was still around."

  "She's been a loner ever since she came back from Land's End," said Gemma. "Runnin' off, all stuck up like about leavin', as if we weren't good enough for her. And back she comes before the year's out. I heard it was just so she could save up enough quid to leave again — as if she'll ever earn enough peddling fish and chips 'round the village."

  "She and her mum have screaming fights all the time, so says all the neighbors. Kitty's been teasy since she was a kid — and her mum's been in a funk ever since her divorce."

  "I'll bet she's never even worn a proper dress," said Gemma. "Julianne, you simply have to pick someone else. Pick Darla. Or Nettie. She's got a proper head for decorating things — used to do everybody's notebooks at school with little glittery stickers and the like."

  I pictured Kitty as the neighborhood hoodlum, spray-painting walls, and stealing bicycles: a far contrast from the glimpses of the girl thus far, the one who picked such intriguing colors on the wheel. Maybe it was just a fluke or a mistake, those colors she chose. Maybe those flower arrangements were just a memory of one from her gran's shop.

  "Why are we all hiding in the kitchen?" Lady Amanda breezed in, her business portfolio tucked under one arm. "Are those crumpets cool enough to eat?" she added.

  "Help yourself," said Dinah.

  "I'm on my way to rally the council. This news will be tremendous," said Lady Amanda. "I can't imagine the excitement for it. After all, we've had a decent number of visitors — day trips from Truro and so on — but not enough to keep the boat cruises afloat, or employ half the people desperate for a job in the village."

  "I don't know if we need more tourists," said Gemma, wrinkling her nose. "Lot of emmets, likely enough."

  "Unless they look like the dishy new event planner, maybe," said Pippa. They both giggled.

  "Go along with you both," said Dinah. "Pippa, I believe I asked you to go fetch some garlic from the kitchen garden ten minutes ago." With a sigh, Pippa rose from her seat at the table.

  "Anyway, I wanted to tell you that Kelly Forrester's back," said Lady Amanda to me.

  "Finally! Some good news," I said. "I'll run along and have the spinet delivered ASAP."

  "Hmm. Bit of bad news on that front," said Lady Amanda, reluctantly. "Seems that she sold it."

  "What?"

  "A gentleman from London saw its photos on her mobile while at the auction. Absolutely adored it. Long story short, he had it picked up by a removal van and carted away to some posh flat in London."

  "No," I wailed. "What am I going to do?" The ballroom needed a musical atmosphere — it needed something special to give its stage a visual appeal besides Wendy Alistair and a microphone. I had been banking on the spinet as that perfect detail. "There's not anything else like it close by."

  Lady Amanda looked thoughtful. "It seems to me that Lady Warrington owned a harp," she said. "A beautiful old instrument made by a Cornish craftsman, but it had gone to ruin over the years. Still quite handsome and striking, as I recall."

  "Who's Lady Warrington?" I asked.

  "Oh — a relation of William's," said Lady Amanda. "Quite eccentric, I'm afraid. She lived here some time ago, in Gossan Cottage on the upper half of the estate. She lives in Edinburgh now because of her health. Loved to collect all manner of things, and had the old barn positively crammed full of them. A hoarder, I suppose you would say."

  "And there's a harp in it?" I asked. "A Cornish harp?"

  "Unless my memory has failed me," she said. "But how we would find it, I haven't the slightest idea. Her memory's almost completely gone, and as I said before, everything was just crammed into the nooks and crannies of her shed. Even the old caretaker probably wouldn't know, and he's got rather particular ideas about looking after the place as it is." She polished off her crumpet with a second bite.

  "Would she lend it to us?" I asked.

  "Heavens, yes! If she was only sane enough to do it," said Lady Amanda. "Pity, because someday it will all be William's, anyway — she's left the money to her daughter, but not her 'collection' at Gossan Cottage, it seems. William was rather fond of her as a child, so I suppose she remembered that when writing out her will." She tucked a second crumpet, wrapped in a napkin, into her coat pocket. "Well, off I go, everyone."

  I wondered if the caretaker could be persuaded to look through the 'collection' and find the antique harp. Surely if I had an hour or two to spare, I could locate it. A piece as beautiful as Lady Amanda suggested would be just the thing for the ballroom.

&nb
sp; Gemma plucked my sleeve. "Have you talked Pippa out of the Silver Perch yet?" she asked.

  "I haven't had time," I said. "But I'll find another place for her reception. Somehow," I added. I was so busy, I couldn't imagine when I would find time to search for an affordable one.

  "You know, when she was a kid, Pip used to play at the old stone barn at Ted Russert's," she said. "It's empty except for some old junk, but nothing like Lady Warrington's old shed, don't worry. But it's quite big, and Ted would probably let someone use it for practically nothing."

  "I'll go and look at it," I promised. "Maybe we could make it work." I pictured a little dressing up for the simple atmosphere, something to convince Pippa it was a lovely choice — surely a celebrity somewhere in the world had hosted a party in a similar spot.

  I added it to my to-do list for tomorrow. Along with deciding if I should give Kitty Alderson a second chance.

  ***

  First stop in the morning was Ted Russert's farm, where I hoped I could get permission to visit his barn, and maybe use it as an event site. And although I gave it a lot of thought last night — between kisses bestowed on Matthew — I couldn't decide on another staffer to be my temporary right hand. So it was Kitty, in her battered red sneakers, grey sweatshirt jacket, and old military coat, who walked up the lane with me to Ted's place.

  Given the rough driveway, I envied Kitty's shoes just a tiny bit, since my Prada heels weren't meant for this sort of hike. And with the silence between us, I had plenty of time for my own thoughts.

  I glanced at her. "So, you used to live in Land's End?" I said, hoping this might be a good subject.

  "Once, yeah."

  "Did you like it?"

  A shrug. "It was all right." Kitty tossed this reply out in offhanded fashion.

  "I guess you must have missed Ceffylgwyn," I added.

  A slight snort from Kitty. One of contempt, I imagined, and I bristled a little, out of my own love for the village. "It's a beautiful place," I said. "I love how quiet it is. Of course, a lot of people prefer a lot of noise, activity, excitement...."

  "Nothing wrong with quiet," said Kitty.

  So it wasn't the village's sleepiness that had driven Kitty out, apparently. This topic hadn't quite worked out, so I shifted the conversation elsewhere. "What do you do in the village now?" I asked. "I know your grandmother doesn't have a flower shop anymore." I had gathered that much from Dinah, who told me that Kitty's grandmother had moved to Truro because of ill health, then died a few years later.

  "I work in the pasty shop," she said. "The one at the bottom of the hill."

  I knew she was referring to the modern snack shop — a fish and chips place near Matthew's childhood home, owned by one of his friends. "You work for Charlotte?" I said. "I love her food, especially the 'oggies.' I go there all the time." I had never seen Kitty there, however.

  "I deliver fish and chips," she said. "I work the fryer when the spare cook's poorly. Nothing grand." An odd, biting humor to this last remark that seemed, well ... different from usual. For a moment, I half believed that Kitty had a playful side — hard-bitten and dark, perhaps, but still playful.

  "And your mum?"

  "She gets a pension. Doesn't do much of anything." Kitty's voice held no emotional clues for this one.

  As we came into view of Ted's house near the end of the lane, I saw Kitty's steps falter. For a moment, I thought her cheeks were slightly paler than before, but maybe it was just the cold wind. She drew her hood on and hunched her shoulders forward as she trudged on towards Ted's place. The farmer himself was in the yard, splitting firewood.

  "Hello, Mr. Russert," I said. "It's Julianne Rose — from Cliffs House?" I still tended to reintroduce myself in light of being Lord William's employee than being Matthew Rose's wife, my recognition as the event planner for the estate tending to prompt people's memories better.

  "Of course. Bit out of the way, aren't you?" he asked, genially.

  "We were hoping to get permission from you to see the old barn near the road," I said. "I've heard you haven't used it for sheep in years, and I was hoping to let some friends use it for an event."

  "That old spot? Well, I suppose," he said. "I guess it's well enough. Not much of anything in it — had some of it carted off as junk a few years back. Probably the place is empty by now. Give it a geek, if you want." I smiled at the Cornish slang for 'look over,' which had such a different meaning in America.

  "We'd be very grateful," I answered. But Ted had noticed the 'we' of right now, Kitty hanging back in the distance.

  "Is that Kat Alderson back there?" he asked.

  I remembered the story about the apples now, and my face grew hot. "It is," I said. "She's with me."

  "I remember that lass," he said. "Caught her shimmying up my apple trees one fine fall 'bout this time. Gave you a hidin' you haven't forgotten, I'll wager," he said to Kitty, with a hearty laugh.

  Kitty's face was definitely paler, but her scowl was still in place. She didn't reply, I noticed. But her body language suggested she wanted to sink into the earth.

  "If you want a few more, there's some late ones on the tree," said Ted, who was still laughing. "You've got more pockets this time for carryin' em — before, she had an armful when she come tumbling down," he informed me. "Like to broke her crown that day, but still quick enough to scramble up with a handful."

  Kitty must have been small, I realized. Not exactly the hardened thief yet of bicycles and cigarettes. Since she was not enjoying Ted's laughter for this memory, I quickly wrapped things up with the farmer.

  Kitty was silent at first as we left, her hands shoved deeper into her pockets than before. "He didn't have to bring it up," she muttered. "It's been sixteen years, for heaven's sake."

  "What were the apples for?" I asked. "Just for fun?" Maybe a few curious questions would be better than awkward silence this time.

  Hesitation on Kitty's part. Then, at last: "I wanted my mum to make a pie. Not that she would've." Kitty directed her gaze elsewhere. "It broke most of 'em when I fell, so he gave me a smack for nothing but a couple of pulpy ones that I tossed into the brook afterwards." She sighed.

  It was time for our second stop for the day, one concerning the much-needed Cornish harp. The path to Lady Warrington's cottage lay through the fields where Lord William was currently restoring the estate's timber holdings. When I came to the rotting rail fence that divided the tiny pasture from the tree rows, I found a padlocked gate, one that was extremely difficult to climb over in heels. On the other side, through the close-growing wood ahead, I could make out a small building in the clearing, one that must undoubtedly belong to Gossan Cottage.

  I glanced at Kitty. "Do you know the caretaker?" I asked. Half hoping the answer would be 'no,' since I didn't want to repeat Kitty's embarrassment with another local farmer.

  "No," she said. "I didn't know anybody lived here, now that old Lady Darlene was gone."

  "Lord William said that his aunt was a little eccentric," I said. "And I gather the man who looks after the cottage for her might be, too." I pictured a little old man in house slippers and overalls, probably shuffling through the barn, meticulously searching for signs of rats and mice among his employer's 'collection.'

  Gossan Cottage was in rougher shape than I imagined, in need of a coat of whitewash and new shingles on its roof. A great tangle of dead roses clung to one side, and its yard was littered with fragments of firewood, empty aluminum cans, and chicken feathers, ones belonging to the large flock of birds who scattered with panic at our approach.

  I could see the barn which evidently contained Lady Warrington's possessions. An old, weathered wooden one, almost grey with age. It was a short distance from the cottage, on the fringe of the woods in this clearing, with rusted paint cans and an old wooden ladder lying beside it.

  "I suppose we should find —" That was as far as I got in my remarks to Kitty, because the door to the cottage swung open with a bang and a large, vicious-looking dog e
merged, snarling and barking.

  I took several steps back — bumping against Kitty, where I stopped short. From the cottage emerged a large figure in a knit vest, worn trousers with suspenders, knee-high wellies, and an old fisherman's canvas coat and knit hat. Resting on one arm was a large shotgun, currently cocked open to reveal two shells in its chamber.

  He shouted at me — not in English, I was fairly certain. But over the dog's bark, I couldn't be sure.

  Kitty stepped forwards and shouted something back in the same language. The man turned and snarled a word or two at his dog, who sat down, growling as it stared at us.

  "Don't want no curious types 'round here," he grunted. "'Tis private property. Be on your way, both of you."

  "Please, Mr. Trengrowse," I began. "I'm from Lord William's — he would like to borrow his aunt's —"

  "Nobody touches her ladyship's stuff!" he roared. "Be off now! I've had enough trouble with fool young hoodlums like her about —" he motioned towards Kitty," — and I've no interest in foreigners, neither."

  "But I'm not a foreigner," I said. "Not anymore." Technically, I was married to a British citizen now. "And besides, I'm from Lord William's —"

  "Get off with ye now, or I'll set me dog on you!" he answered. The dog rose and began snarling again, as if sensing its cue.

  "Who made you king o' this lot?" demanded Kitty. "His lordship'll have a word or two to say about you to her ladyship if you keep on, so you'd best be a bit nicer to his mates."

  That was bold. I looked at Kitty, whose stance was as tough — and fierce — as her voice. She didn't seem afraid of the dog half as much as she was of Ted Russert's teasing. Kitty's scowl made you think you'd best not cross her, but it didn't seem to have much power over Trengrowse.

  "I've no reason to take lip from you,” he replied. “Or your Yank friend! Now be off, the both of you!" He marched back inside the cottage, the dog following on his heels in response to his whistle, although it glanced back at us suspiciously one last time.

  I scowled, too. "We'll just see about that," I muttered. I began walking away, but glanced back to see if the curtains covering the windows moved. They didn't. I turned right, and made my way to the barn instead.