With her body feeling like lead, she slowly made her way back up the hill to the stone stable block, built in the shape of a square, two storeys high, with an enormous cobbled courtyard in the middle. Although the Canleigh estate had much to offer in the way of recreation with its tennis courts, heated swimming pool and cricket pitch, along with idyllic walks amongst the woods, the stables were Delia’s favourite place and where she felt most at home, especially during the winter when the horses were brought in from the fields. The animals were always pleased to have visitors and whenever Delia appeared, their heads would raise and their neighs and whinnies of welcome more than warmed up a cold, frosty day.
Delia walked through the entrance, an archway built into the centre of one side of the square, the tack room on her right and the office on her left. One side of the stables had been turned into garages many years ago, providing cover for her father’s Rolls Royce, a Landrover and the ancient shooting brake used for trundling around the estate by anyone who had a need of transport and wasn’t too fussy about the vehicle. Delia couldn’t remember the last time it was driven.
The horses were all in the fields so the stables were silent and restful. She looked about her, glad this was Thursday and Perkins’ day off. He liked to spend his spare time meeting old pals in Leeds with a good lunch and a pint thrown in. He wouldn’t return to the estate until late so there was little chance Delia would bump into him.
All the same, Delia strained her ears in the slim chance that someone was searching for her. It would be apparent in which direction she would head but all she could hear were the pigeons on the stable roof. No-one was calling for her.
Delia entered the office and walked straight to the black telephone on the cluttered, dusty desk. Dialling a number, she bit her lip hard, listening to the persistent ringing which seemed to go on for an age, desperately hoping Philip would be home by now and would answer the telephone. His grandfather, Ralph Kershaw, would no doubt be out hacking with his pupils and Constance, Philip’s grandmother, a culinary genius would be preparing the evening meal.
“Canleigh 103,” announced Constance smartly.
Delia was knocked off balance, her hopes of speaking to Philip dashed immediately and for a second, she couldn’t speak. The words just wouldn’t come.
“Hello. Hello,” urged Constance. “Delia? Is that you?” Her tone was urgent but kind and concerned.
Delia resisted the urge to dissolve into tears again and her voice came out as a squeak. “Yes,” she said.
“Darling child. We know what occurred at the Hall and we’ve been so worried about you. Hardy rang to ask if you were here … he and Betty are about to send out a search party and I was just about to have a drive around and look for you too … now, where are you?”
As hard as she tried Delia couldn’t prevent the waterworks any longer. It was such a relief to discover there were people who were concerned for her welfare and safety, even if her immediate family weren’t.
“In … in the stables,” she sobbed.
“Right,” said Constance, taking command of the situation. “Stay where you are. I need to talk to you urgently. Don’t go back to the Hall. I’ll pick you up in a few minutes and you can come back here, have a nice bath and as you must be pretty hungry by now and I’ve cooked your favourite, cauliflower cheese and strawberry cheesecake, just in case you ventured our way, you can tuck in and then stay the night. I’ll ring the Hall and let them know where you are. You just stay put and wait for us. Promise?”
Delia gulped again, so grateful to the wonderful Constance who made life so cosy and caring. No words of derision from her.
“Yes. I promise … thank you so much.”
“Find something to keep you warm … a horse blanket or something … and we’ll be there in ten minutes.”
The phone went dead and Delia replaced the telephone receiver in its cradle. Her hands were like blocks of ice. Venturing into the tack room she was met by the comforting aroma of saddle soap and reached up to the peg next to the saddles for Perkins old working jacket which smelt comfortingly of his tobacco and horses. Delia hoped he wouldn’t mind her borrowing it, and although it virtually drowned her, felt a lot warmer when it was on her back and she had pushed her hands well down into the quilted pockets.
She stepped slowly outside into the courtyard. A couple of pigeons, perched above the empty loose boxes opposite the office, looked down at her curiously. She ignored them and walked around the courtyard, trying to keep warm, passed all the loose boxes where such a lot of horses were stabled many years ago before cars became popular and reliance on the animals was not so strong. Even when all the ponies were in for the winter, there were only four of them these days. Star and Dolly, and little Samson and Delilah, the two Shetland ponies on which Delia and Richard had learnt to ride and who were now living in well-earned retirement.
The block on the right of the courtyard was used for storing bales of straw, hay and fodder for the horses. Above the stables and garages were very large attic rooms where discarded items from the house tended to be dumped. Over the years the children had enjoyed this fascinating play area and many an afternoon was brightened up by exciting games of pirates and treasure hunts, vampires and ghosts or detectives hunting a murderer following the discovery of a dead body in one of the large boxes. Squeals of delicious spine-tingling terror often rang round the courtyard during the summer months.
The area above the tack room and office had been turned into a flat for Perkins. Delia adored Perkins. Horses were his first love so he and Delia, from the age of two, shared a special empathy from the first time he placed her on Samson’s back, her feet in the stirrups and the reins in her hand. Delia was a devotee of anything equine from that moment and screamed piercingly when that first lesson came to an end, wanting it to go on and on forever. She could hear Perkins calming words now.
“Now then, now then, Lady Delia … you carry on making that dreadful din and poor old Samson’ll be so scared he’ll not let you up on him again.”
Delia’s tantrum ceased instantly and in an effort to put matters right, devoted a good ten minutes to restoring herself in Samson’s good books, smothering him with apologetic hugs and kisses.
Riding lessons became a daily ritual after that and if one had to be missed for some good reason Delia was hard to placate. Perkins taught Delia well, constantly walking the tireless Samson on a leading rein with Delia sitting upright on his back, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed with excitement. As soon as she could balance without falling off, Perkins cycled his trusty old bike around the estate lanes with his charge proudly trotting Samson beside him, smiling broadly and waving merrily to anyone they came across, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that the child was in her element.
Delia liked Delilah well enough but refused to mount her, considering it rather sissyish to ride a mare. Amiable Richard, who had discovered at a very early age that life was made a whole lot easier if Delia got her own way, was quite happy to mount the gentle Delilah and leave Samson to her. He liked riding but hardly excelled at it, which as the children grew older, pleased Delia immensely. Richard’s academic achievements, especially in the harder subjects such as chemistry and physics were high but his enthusiasm and skill with horses could in no way match hers and for once Delia shone more brilliantly than her twin.
Vicky never joined them, being a reluctant rider from the start. She was not enchanted by the idea and flatly refused to mount either Samson or Delilah.
“I don’t like them … they’re too big … they might bite me,” she cried the first time she was taken for a lesson. “I don’t want to get on one … never, never, never!”
Vicky loved her piano and ballet lessons and although she was quite happy visiting the stables, her enthusiasm had nothing to do with live creatures. Vicky was fascinated by the cars and longed for the day she would be able to drive. She so badly wanted to get behind a steering wheel and if it was possible to break free from their Nann
y’s surveillance, was to be found in the front seat of the shooting brake playing with the controls. Their father, somewhat amused by Vicky’s passion, indulged her on the odd occasion by driving along the estate’s winding lanes with his youngest daughter on his knee steering the vehicle, Vicky shouting “faster Daddy, faster,” as they cruised along at a leisurely ten miles an hour.
Unlike the Landrover, now tearing up the lane towards the stables, pulling up to an abrupt halt at the entrance with Constance Kershaw at the wheel. Constance, a bustling, cheerful woman in her mid-fifties, a head taller than Delia, ran towards her and enveloped her in a tight embrace. She had been longing to get hold of the child ever since she and Philip had returned from the school cricket match an hour ago and heard the news of what had occurred at the Hall.
One of Ralph’s grooms had left the ‘News Today’ in the tack room where they all sat for their breaks. Ralph had seen it and brought it into the house to show Constance. Pointedly ignoring the lurid photographs but reading the text to her, Ralph exploded angrily, castigating Margaret from the bottom of his heart. Constance had cried, feeling deeply for the children and so sad for Charles, who had been a good friend to them over the years. She and Ralph had not had much time for Margaret and was not entirely surprised by the turn of events but only wished it hadn’t been so public and so deeply hurtful for all connected with the Duchess. Then, when Hardy had telephoned an hour ago to ask if Delia was with them and briefed her on Delia’s attack on Parfitt’s car and her disappearance, along with the dreadful news of what had happened to the Dowager Duchess immediately afterwards, Constance’s concern turned to fright.
Ralph had been firm. “It won’t be dark for ages so we have plenty of time to search for her. I’ve got lessons until around 8.30pm and if Delia hasn’t turned up by then I’ll ride around the estate and see if I can find her.”
“I’ll go now,” said Philip. “I don’t know whether to it’s best to cycle or saddle up Verity?”
“You’ll be much quicker on Verity,” said Ralph.
“I’ll stay here in case she should ring. I can fetch her in the Landrover if need be,” said Constance, rushing to the kitchen and throwing Delia’s favourite meal together, all the while listening for the telephone. The relief had been enormous when it finally rang and she heard Delia’s voice. Now, to have her in her arms safe and sound was even better.
“You poor, poor dear,” she said now. “You don’t know how worried we’ve been about you.”
Delia smiled weakly at Philip, who, having seen his mother driving smartly towards the stables, waving at him to follow her, tore into the stableyard on Verity, pulling the pony up sharply. He jumped off and rushed over to plant a big kiss on Delia’s cheek.
“I say, Delly, you pulled a blinder, didn’t you? Smashing up that chap’s car … I bet it’ll cost a fortune to put it right.”
“That’s enough of that young man,” said Constance smartly, pulling away from Delia, allowing her to breathe again.
Truly impressed by her actions, Philip continued to grin at his best friend. Delia, remembering the astonished faces of her mother and Parfitt couldn’t help returning his grin and within seconds the pair were doubled up with laughter; Delia’s, much to Constance’s dismay, bordering on hysteria. The girl looked done in and desperately in need of loving tender care and there was also the dreadful news of what had happened to the Dowager to impart yet. That was going to be really hard. Constance knew how Delia loved and revered her grandmother.
“I think we should get Delia home,” Constance said speedily. “She needs a hot bath and some food. Come on, Philip. Where are your manners? Open the door for Delia.”
Within minutes the Landrover was bowling back down the lane, Constance in the driving seat, Delia safely beside her still wrapped in Perkins old coat. Philip, on Verity, cantered behind.
Ten minutes later they drew up outside Tangles, Philip disappearing with Verity towards the paddock where she would spend the night. Delia looked up at the lovely old house. It hadn’t the elegance of the Hall, the treasured paintings, the object d’art or the Chippendale furniture but that didn’t matter one jot. It was cosy, comfortable and welcoming. Two rescued old Labradors, one black and one golden, along with Gruff, a middle-aged mongrel with hints of Alsatian blood, treated the whole house as their own personal kennel, even though they possessed big, well-padded baskets in the kitchen. Wherever the family were, they had to be too, draping themselves over sofas and chairs and the thick rugs near the fireplaces, uncaring that their muddy paws and shedding hair caused the cleaning lady, Molly Seddon, more work than a little.
The house, especially the lounge, which was on their left as Constance and Delia walked through the front door, was always an orderless jumble with Constance’s knitting, books and papers scattered all over the place, Molly having strict instructions not to move anything. An ardent bird watcher and rescuer of abandoned animals, Constance’s books on their welfare and care were rarely returned as she was forever pulling them out to check a fact and invariably neglected to put them back. Overdue library books also graced the two worn and scratched coffee tables.
The kitchen, on the right of the hall, was a homely muddle. Cookery books were strewn across worktops and the enormous oak table standing in the middle of the room on the slightly uneven stone floor. There were six chairs around the table, a rocking chair in a corner of the room and the three dog baskets all lined up along another, all empty as the occupants were down at the stables with Ralph where they would lay patiently by his side while he gave instructions to his pupils.
“Oh, this is heaven,” said Delia on entering the kitchen. The mouth-watering aroma of the cauliflower cheese and jacket potatoes keeping warm in the Agar made her realise just how hungry she was.
“We’ll eat as soon as you have had a bath,” said Constance. “You’ll get a chill if you don’t have one.”
She turned to Philip who had entered the kitchen. “Please go up and run the water and put a few drops of my lavender oil in. There are fresh towels in the airing cupboard too. I’ll make a nice hot pot of tea and Delia can take a cup up with her.”
Constance noticed Delia was pressing her forehead with her hand.
“Headache?” she asked.
Delia nodded. “It’s frightful … and getting worse.”
Constance rummaged in one of the kitchen drawers, produced a packet of paracetamol, and filled a glass of water from the kitchen tap. “Take two of these and gets yourself upstairs. You’ll feel a lot better once you’ve had a hot bath and a decent meal. Then we’ll get you to bed, my girl.”
Once Delia had left the room, Constance bustled about the kitchen, worrying about the best time to tell the child about her grandmother. Constance badly wanted to cry herself. She had spent many hours with Anne over the years, tending to abandoned and wounded dogs and cats. Anne could be pretty formidable but if one was on her wavelength where animals were concerned there were no airs and graces and she was a friend for life.
She bit her lip anxiously and wished fervently Charles hadn’t dashed off so quickly to see Richard and Vicky. No-one had been able to contact him as he was obviously still driving, although Hardy had left messages at both schools for him to ring Constance or Ralph the first chance he could. It would be horrendous if he found out about his mother’s demise from a stranger … or even worse, the press.
Margaret had naturally proved to be her usual useless self by leaving Canleigh almost immediately with her paramour, stating there was nothing more she could or wanted to do. She had a plane to catch and catch it she would. She rang for a taxi and with Parfitt in tow, left the estate, leaving bemused reporters still at the gates, loving every minute of the comings and goings and taking lots of pictures. Hardy had taken charge, pronounced Anne was dead, and called Dr. Arnold, advising he enter the estate from the rear to avoid the reporters.
Constance sighed. Poor Hardy. He had a lot on his plate and knowing how worried he was abou
t Delia, she was pleased to be able to ring and inform him that the girl was safe and well. He was deeply upset about Anne. Dr. Arnold had confirmed it was a massive stroke which had killed her, probably brought on by massive stress. With so many reporters camped at the main gates and to avoid more speculation and gossip, it was decided it was best to move Anne to her bedroom for the night and arrange for removal of the body out of the house once Charles had been in touch and his instructions sought.
Delia, warmed and comforted by the hot bath and wrapped up in Constance’s dressing gown, re-entered the kitchen and Constance gestured for her to sit at the table while busying herself dishing up the promised food. She glanced at Delia and bit her lip again. Delia noticed and smiled uncertainly. Constance appeared agitated and upset and Delia couldn’t figure out why and hoped it wasn’t due to her behaviour today. Constance and Granny were the two people in Delia’s life whom she revered and who gave her the most love and understanding and it would be horrible to think she was the cause of any distress for either of them.
Guilty she remembered Granny’s look of shock as Delia vandalised Parfitt’s car and instantly felt deeply ashamed of what she had done. She was in for a real telling off from Granny, and when Father heard about it, he would be furious. Delia groaned.
“Oh dear, is it your head?” asked Constance sympathetically. “Perhaps you should have another paracetamol.”
Delia shook it gingerly. “No, it’s easing now, thank you. Constance, is anything the matter? If it’s me you are worried about, you needn’t be. I shall be all right you know. We Canleighs are a tough lot,” she attempted to joke.
Constance moved away from the table and nearer to Delia. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to do it while she had Delia to herself. She knelt down beside the teenager, took her right hand and looked her in the eye.
Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) Page 15