by Dilys Xavier
She selected another key and opened the second door that led off the hall into an enormous, fully furnished square that was obviously an inner hall. This was panelled in oak, and smelled even worse with a thick layer of dust covering every surface. Several doors led off it, and Anna threw each one wide open. The one under the grand staircase refused to open. ‘That must lead to the cellars, so I’ll leave it until another time,’ she said.
Margaret turned left, and walked into a large room that was obviously a dining room. A long oak refectory table stood in the centre, with twelve carved oak chairs neatly arranged around it. Against one wall stood two antique serving tables, and dotted around were other pieces of ancient furniture. A few paintings adorned the walls, mostly of horses and men in riding habit.
She crossed over to the far corner and went through an arched doorway into a large kitchen complete with a long, scrubbed pine preparation table set squarely in the centre. It looked as though it had been well used for years. Her jaw dropped as she stared at the huge iron coal-fired cooking range on the far side, around which enormous pots and pans still hung from conveniently placed large hooks. Other utensils were suspended from hooks set into thick, oak crossbeams. Two piles of pewter dinner plates had been neatly stacked on a wooden shelf nearby, and a row of pewter mugs were suspended on hooks below them.
‘Not a healthy sort of plate for food, nor an ideal place for cooking a meal,’ she sniffed, and then left the kitchen to go back into the more interesting dining room for another look around. She felt totally in awe of the enormity of this room, and stood in the centre, swivelling around on her heels to view it from every angle. The uncarpeted floor was beautifully timbered with narrow planks of a richly coloured wood - polished teak she guessed, but covered, like everything else with a thin layer of grey dust.
As she walked the length of the room, Margaret’s high heels clicked on the bare wood with a hollow echo. It made her feel uneasy, and she stopped in her tracks, suddenly overwhelmed with the creepy feeling that someone was following her. She twisted around, but there was no one to be seen. My imagination, she thought, shaking her head and continuing. A moment later, the horrible sensation that something was crawling up her neck stopped her again. No longer able to ignore the conviction that she could hear footsteps close on her heels, she whipped around again. But still, no one was there.
Disturbed now, and developing beads of nervous perspiration on her forehead, she turned and walked backwards a few steps, so she would be able to see if there actually was someone creeping up on her, for being alone in that huge room made the uncomfortable sensation persist.
Within seconds, her thumping head suddenly felt tightly fixed in one position. She tried to look around, yet all she could do was swivel her eyes. Even that was an effort - it was as though fear had paralysed her. A dry tongue almost filled her throat, choking her; she couldn’t even swallow. Eventually, like a run-down clockwork toy, she managed to turn her head in jerks, but whichever way she swivelled her eyes, there was no one else in the room.
‘Anna,’ she croaked, in a voice so weak she could barely hear it herself. Margaret literally jumped an inch off the floor when a long, drawn-out wail filled the room, as though someone was in trouble. Unable to see who, or what, was making the noise, fear clutched at her breast. Suddenly, a chill breeze wafted around her legs. Shivering uncontrollably, she closed her eyes against the wail that seemed to envelop her, filling the room, filling her head. To her, it sounded like someone in the depths of despair.
Margaret panicked and closed her eyes, moving not an inch as she wrung her hands together. She had to get out of that room as fast as she could. Gathering all her strength she forced her legs to move, inching one foot in front of the other and moving forward in slow motion, each small step becoming stronger until at last she found herself at the entrance to the dining hall. With a deep breath of relief, she made for the door through which Anna had disappeared. Suddenly, just as she reached out to grasp at Anna, there was a loud bang. She clutched frantically on Anna’s arm, ‘Hear that?’
‘Yep,’ Anna said, casually, pulling herself out of her mother’s grasp and hurrying into a short corridor. ‘It’s a loose window shutter, Mum; nothing to get excited about.’ She secured it, and returned quickly to wrap her arm around her frightened mother.
Unconvinced, Margaret was still engrossed in listening to the mournful wail that by now seemed to reverberate through the whole house. ‘Oh, Anna - those voices; listen to them.’ She looked petrified, her face ashen white and her eyes wide with fear. ‘You can hear those wails, can’t you?’ Her eyes swept around the room. ‘Don’t tell me it’s my imagination.’
Her breath came in sharp gasps now, and she clenched her jaw to stop it chattering. She looked around like a terrified deer waiting for the final pounce. ‘Anna,’ she choked, tears welling up, ‘I’m scared; can’t even move my feet.’
‘Mum, pull yourself together. There are no voices. Look here, we’re in the back of the house, facing north, where it’s drafty from broken windows and ill fitted doors.’ From Anna’s impatient tone, it was obvious she was exasperated at her mother’s nervousness. ‘What you can hear is the wind whistling through the cracks in ill-fitting doors and windows.’ She put her arms around her mother. ‘Come on, Mum, it’s okay; you’re making such a fuss about nothing. The wind is blowing hard today, so for heaven’s sake stop this nonsense or you’ll make me nervous too.’
Untouched by what was disturbing Margaret, Anna walked on. ‘Won’t be long,’ she said, heading for the library. She opened the door, then swung around to her mother. ‘Try to contain yourself just for a few more minutes, okay?’
The library was another room with a beautiful wood floor and just a few rugs scattered over it, but by this time, Margaret seemed to barely notice anything. From ceiling to floor, every wall of the library was lined with open bookcases crammed full of books. Anna picked out a few to flick through, and coughed as she blew off the dust that covered them.
‘These are old. Some first editions, and worth a bit.’ She slid them back into position and then ran her fingers across the top of a Georgian mahogany bureau that had a drop-front with a curved edge. It opened up to reveal an interior fitted out with eight dinky little pigeonholes, four tiny drawers with miniature brass handles, a larger central drawer, and a well-worn leather covered writing surface.
‘This old desk is lovely,’ Anna said, and then glanced around quickly, her sharp eyes absorbing every detail of the room. ‘Just look at all the fine quality items in this room for a start.’ She pulled open one of the bureau drawers, and fingered the neatly arranged contents. ‘We’ll have to spend a lot of time going through everything.’
‘We?’ Margaret squeaked. ‘Oh no! Not we. Make no mistake, my girl, once I’m out of here you won’t drag me back.’ She folded her arms across her chest defiantly. ‘It’s dank, dark, and smelly.’
From there, they walked into the sitting room, with yet another polished wood floor. Pretty rugs covered the floor, complementing the room. The design of the soft seating dated the furniture, but even so it looked sumptuous. Anna dropped into one of the brocaded sofas, and sank into the fluffy feather cushions that covered it.
Next, they wandered into the morning room, lit with the cool light of an early sun that struggled through a bank of lazy clouds as they passed by. But, echoing the gorgeous shade of the green grass outside, the beautiful Indian carpet on the floor lifted the sombre look of the room, and gave it a more comfortable feeling.
‘This stuff has seen better days, but some of it is still good,’ Anna said, walking over to the windows and opening those that were still working. ‘The whole place needs a damn good airing; I can barely breathe in here.’
Margaret Williams looked around. ‘I don’t like it here,’ she said, cocking her head to one side. ‘What’s that? Did you hear it?’ Wide-eyed, her grip on Anna’s arm tightened again. ‘Sounded like a door slamming upstairs. Who’s up there?
Squatters? Anna, let’s get out of this place. Come on, the sooner I’m out of here, the better.’
‘Mum, that was the wind again. Stop making so much of ordinary everyday noises. I think you’re doing it deliberately to put me off this house.’ She looked straight into her mother’s eyes. ‘Mum, get this straight for once and for all. I am not giving this place away. It’s mine, and I’m keeping it, so stop your nonsense and get used to the idea.’
‘Don’t speak to me like that.’ Margaret firmed her lips. ‘I’m chilled to the bone and I want to go. You can come back on your own any time, but right now I want the comfort of my own home and a nice hot cup of tea.’ Her eyes darted everywhere as she spoke. ‘You heard me. I’m cold and I want out as soon as possible.’
Anna, still untouched by her mother’s pleas, was determined to make a full investigation despite Margaret’s complaints. She felt confident that as soon as the place was aired and cleaned up, her mother would feel different about it, and once she became used to the old house, she would probably appreciate it for what it was.
As they climbed the beautiful, mahogany staircase it creaked with their weight. The higher they climbed, the stronger the stale smell became. Oil-painted faces of Anna’s ancient relatives stared down on them as they passed and after a while, she felt as though they were being scrutinised by awesome eyes from the past. ‘My family!’ she said, pointing to them with a laugh, yet hurrying past the watching eyes, as though her mother’s mood had reached out to her as well.
‘Ugly faces on some of them, too; glad they’re your father’s ancestors, not mine.’
There were ten large bedrooms, besides the dressing room that had been converted to a bathroom in Victorian times, and right at the far end of the long landing was a second staircase that led down to the servants’ quarters. The furniture in each bedroom was huge; some in carved oak, some in shining mahogany, and some in glowing walnut, but all bearing the signs of age. Satisfied that she had seen everything, Anna made sure all the windows and doors were shut fast before leaving.
Margaret continued to fidget as though ready to make a sprint for the car. ‘Such a smell,’ she said, holding her nose. I don’t want to stay a minute longer.’ The words squeezed through her throat as she clattered down the stairs in her high heels. In moments, she was heading out the front door, with Anna following behind. She turned for just a moment, and wagged her finger under Anna’s nose. ‘If you don’t want great expense and a load of trouble, give the place away - get rid of it. Fast. I would.’
Chapter Six
Anna could see how cold and tense Margaret was, so as soon as they arrived home she made a pot of tea and made her mother rest in the most comfortable chair, with her legs up on a stool.
‘Look Mum, I’m sorry I didn’t realise how distressing you found the visit to Hope House, but those noises you heard were all natural; it’s just an old creaky place the wind sails through.’
But even after two hot cups of tea, Margaret continued to complain. ‘Look, I’m worried you’re taking on such a huge responsibility, and if you get drawn into heavy debts, your father’s no longer here to help you out. I wouldn’t be able to help, for sure.’ She looked plaintively at Anna. ‘And please don’t ask me to go there again. I’m sorry, but I’m not interested. In fact it hurts me to see how keen you are on the place.’ As she held the cup to her lips, the colour began to return to her face. ‘Well?’ she said, turning her gaze to Anna.
‘Well what, Mum?’
‘Have you decided what to do with the place? It’ll ruin you if you keep it - you know that.’
‘Mum, I can’t let it go. It’s all mine and I’m excited about it. There’s so much history there… my history… my heritage. I want to keep it. For a while anyway. I think I’ll get started straight away on doing what’s necessary. It’s nowhere near as bad as I anticipated. It’s dirty and neglected, but habitable, and it certainly is not a ruin; Mr James was wrong. It just needs a lick of paint right through and some bright wallpaper here and there.’
For several seconds Anna’s eyes glazed over as she silently relived her visit to Hope House. What she had seen had made a lasting impression on her. ‘I noticed a damp patch on a wall at the back of the house and that was all. The biggest job will be replacing the slates, and glazing some of the broken windows,’ she said, with conviction. ‘The ceilings upstairs haven’t been damaged, but if the roof isn’t repaired soon, the winter will play havoc with them. My conscience would trouble me if I didn’t do something about it.’
She paced the room for a few minutes, glancing anxiously at Margaret, but then her enthusiasm got the better of her and she picked up the ‘Yellow Pages’, flicked through it, and found the section on builders. ‘I’ll get our local builder to look at it and see what he thinks. Maybe I’ll get a few quotes and take it from there.’ She ran her finger down the list of names. ‘What’s his name…? Ah yes, Ieuan Rees. Let’s see what he says of the old house.’
‘Well, I’ve given you my honest opinion, but please yourself what you do. However, don’t come crying to me if you lose the house, and the money. Think what you could do with those thousands. You could buy a nice trouble-free home of your own; an investment that would increase in value in a few years.’ She seemed to be waiting for Anna’s response to her remark, but when none came, she went on. ‘Anna, please be careful; don’t throw your money away on that rambling old house. Your father would have a fit if he were here now. Be sensible.’
Margaret shrugged impatiently as Anna dialled the builder’s number, leaving a message on the answer phone for Ieuan Rees to call her straight away. Then she immersed herself in the pile of papers the solicitor had given her, and tapped the top sheet.
‘These documents say that in 1765, the Colonel, my great, great, great, great, grandfather, built himself a grand manor house in Jamaica. He named that one Hope House as well. I wondered why he left Jamaica, but it seems that when the Colonel’s immediate Jamaican family died off, he decided to come and live in Wales. He settled in this area in 1798, and built Hope House on the very spot where my ancestors had been hill farmers many generations earlier.’
She looked up at her mother. ‘It’s a fascinating story.’ She tapped the papers again. ‘I must ask Mr James to explain some of this to me,’ she said. ‘I need to find out more about it all.’
‘Huh, even if he could tell you more, it’s a question of whether or not he will,’ Margaret said, making a face. ‘Time is money to him, and his fees are costly. Or do you think he’s going to give you his time for nothing just to satisfy your curiosity?’ She gave Anna a long, hard look, and wagged her finger. ‘Not him!’ she said, and stood up with a sharp intake of breath. ‘There, I feel much better for saying my piece. Now I’ll go and make us some lunch.’
They had just finished eating when Ieuan Rees rang back and asked what Anna wanted. She explained, and arranged for him to call in a day or so if possible. For the rest of the afternoon, she gave time exclusively to the old documents, going over the wills and deeds, the ancient inventories, and the huge copies of the Land Grants given to her ancestors by the British monarch of the time.
As she studied the papers, she read out interesting bits to her mother, but by now, it was obvious Margaret was fed up with hearing about it and didn’t share the same enthusiasm. It was only then that Anna began to realise how much her mother was worrying about the huge responsibility that she had inherited.
Her biggest fear was that Ieuan Rees would give some outrageous repair quotes, and suggest the restoration would be beyond her financial means. She wanted nothing to dampen her enthusiasm. Deep down, she knew that whatever he said, she was already committed to the place, and determined to go ahead if at all possible. She decided she had better keep a wary eye on things and sensibly acknowledged she was hardly someone with experience of this sort of thing.
After a short period of silence about the inheritance, Margaret gave a sigh of acceptance and sat down with her daught
er to look at the documents. As she did so, Anna smiled to herself at the gesture, and thought of the old adage: ‘If you can’t beat 'em, join 'em’, and hoped that her mother was doing just that.
It was seven in the evening when Anna went to meet her two closest friends at the local inn. Liz Edwards was her best friend and joining them for a drink was her good friend Dot Philips, who was currently hoping to find a job in London. As she drove to the Rising Sun, Anna felt excited at the possibilities for the old mansion. It was just a case of working hard enough to get her idea off the ground. In fact, by now she could imagine the place alive with people, all clamouring to stay in the peace and quiet that Hope House would offer as a small hotel.
The marketing would be the secret to success, and she knew how to do that. She smiled to herself as she figured exactly how she would advertise the place nationwide.
Once Anna had told her exciting story, both friends congratulated her on her good fortune, and offered to help in any way they could. Anna kept her mind on how much she was drinking because she was driving home, but even so, it was after eleven when she returned to Rose Cottage, feeling more than a little exhilarated. ‘All set, Mum,’ she said, cheerfully.’ The girls are thrilled with the idea and they’re both willing to help. I think we’ll be up and running before long.’
‘Well, all right, but don’t forget the council planners,’ Margaret warned. ‘They’ll need to approve change of use for the premises from residential to hotel before you can start anything. And have you thought about how much rates they’ll charge you then? It’ll be a business, so it’s going to cost.’
‘I’ll meet that problem when I come to it, Mum,’ Anna said, waiving aside the remark. ‘I’m qualified in business management, remember. I know what I’m doing, so don’t worry.’