A Winter’s Tale

by Trisha Ashley

  ‘Conor,’ I said, cutting him off again in mid-diatribe, ‘what I understand is that you are a greedy little windbag and I wouldn’t give you the time of day, let alone something of such huge sentimental value to myself! Good bye!’

  I was trembling with anger, even though I was sure his accusations had been all hot air.

  Afterwards I wondered if I should write and tell Mrs Dukes of Conor’s threats? But then, it would only upset her and there was no way Conor could claim back either the brooch or the necklace. It was just pure greed that had led him to try.

  Since I’d recovered from my accident (apart from the black eye, which was only just starting to fade), Charlie and I had been redirecting our walks down the drive, just as far as the lodge and then back through the parterres and the yew maze. This gentle amble suited both of us at the moment, though at some point I would have to go up and look at the sad remains of the summerhouse.

  That afternoon, as we rounded the bend through the trees, I could see that the lights were on in the large windows at the back of the lodge where the building had been extended.

  Seth was back.

  It felt oddly right to have him home again, but I couldn’t stand like a stalker among the dark trees indefinitely, so after a while I nudged Charlie off my feet and we turned back for home.

  Winter’s End had been a Mel-free zone since his departure. I wondered how long it would take her to learn he was back?

  Someone must have told Seth about my accident, because he inspected the remains of the summerhouse very early next morning, and then after breakfast came to find me and insisted I go back up there with him.

  ‘I haven’t had the heart to look at it since the accident.’

  ‘You’d better come now, if only to assess the damage. Nice black eye,’ he added.

  ‘Thanks. I’m getting to quite like the yellow and blue shades myself.’

  I was panting by the time I got up there, partly because I found it hard to keep up with Seth’s long, impatient strides, and partly because Charlie went on strike and I had to carry him most of the way.

  What was left of the summerhouse looked even more desolate than I thought it would, for it was not only wrecked, but also slightly charred. ‘What happened?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘Did lightning strike it?’

  ‘No, I think someone tried to set fire to the place, only of course it’s all too damp to catch at the moment. Do you remember how it came to fall on you?’

  ‘Not really, only walking up here.’ I looked sadly at the wreckage. ‘You were quite right when you said it was getting unsafe, Seth. If I’d listened to you, it would still be standing.’

  ‘It would probably have fallen down eventually, but I think it fell on you because it was booby-trapped. Hal thought he spotted a bit of broken twine tied to one of the doorposts, but by the time they had got you back to the house and he came back to look for it, it was gone.’

  ‘He never mentioned that to me!’

  ‘He wasn’t sure about it, so he waited until I got back. And I think he was probably right. Look at this.’

  He showed me one of the wooden posts that had held up the lintel, which had a groove cut into the soft, powdery wood halfway up. ‘I’d say that had had something thin, like baler twine, tied round it and across the doorway to the other one. The two posts already moved when you walked on the boards between them, didn’t they? So it wouldn’t take much to bring them down.’

  ‘You mean—someone did it on purpose? To hurt me?’

  ‘I don’t suppose whoever did it expected the building to collapse, just that you would have a nasty fall.’

  ‘But who do you think could have done it?’

  He stopped prowling around the debris and turned his green eyes on me. He looked angry, but that was probably because the summerhouse was now ruined beyond repair. ‘Perhaps it was aimed at you personally? You’re a creature of habit; you came up here most afternoons with Charlie.’

  He turned away and contemplated the ruins again, adding gruffly, ‘That lintel is heavy—it could have killed you.’

  ‘Are you implying someone at Winter’s End rigged it up?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not necessarily, but maybe someone with connections here—and perhaps a grudge. Though probably it was meant as a malicious trick, not a serious attempt to injure you.’

  ‘Well, that’s OK then,’ I said drily. ‘I can’t imagine who would want to hurt me anyway, so you’re probably wrong.’

  ‘Can’t you?’ he said, looking searchingly at me.

  ‘You aren’t thinking it was Jack, are you?’ I asked incredulously. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t—and in any case, why should he?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t thinking of Jack. He’s only ruthless in business—and I don’t think he’s quite that stupid either, because if anything happened to you, I suppose Winter’s End would go straight to Lucy, wouldn’t it?’

  I nodded. ‘According to Mr Hobbs, but he’s drawing up a will for me anyway; says it makes things easier.’

  ‘Of course, he might have thought that with Lucy being so young, it would be much easier to persuade her into selling the place,’ he said thoughtfully

  ‘He hasn’t met Lucy yet,’ I added fairly, ‘so he wouldn’t know she’s far from a sweet, malleable young thing.’

  ‘But as I said, violence is very much not Jack’s thing.’

  ‘Of course it isn’t. He was so kind and concerned when he visited me after the accident.’

  ‘Maybe you should tell the police? You could just have a quiet word with Mike.’

  ‘No, I really don’t want to do that,’ I said quickly. ‘I’m sure it must have been local youths larking around, not personal at all. We’ll have to keep a closer eye on the grounds.’

  ‘It’s your property—and your head.’

  I surveyed the wreckage with a sigh. ‘It was very pretty…do you think we could rebuild it to the same design?’

  ‘I expect so. There are photographs of it. But it will have to wait its turn. I’ll get the boys up here later, though, and we’ll salvage what we can of the original and stack it in one of the empty stables.’

  We descended the woodland path, slippery with a mulch of slimy dead leaves, then crossed the bridge to the lower terrace. Bob and Hal suddenly started working with renewed energy, though Derek seemed capable of carrying steadily on at the same pace for ever, like an android.

  ‘It’s coming along really fast,’ I said admiringly. ‘Just as well, if it is going to be finished by Valentine’s Day. You know, it occurred to me the other day that I don’t even know where they sell the tickets from on open days! There’s so much still to find out.’

  ‘The ticket office is the lodge on the other side of the arch from mine,’ said Seth. ‘The side window has been turned into a stable door, so they open just the top of that. Do you want to see it? We could walk down and look now, if you like.’

  ‘All right,’ I agreed, though Charlie made it clear when we passed the house that he wanted to stay behind, and I had to detour and let him in. I came back out with chunks of warm ginger parkin, which we ate while cutting through the rose garden. It looked a lot less bare now, even though the new bushes were just sitting in the wintry soil not doing much.

  It was odd that I hadn’t noticed the little stable door in the side of the lodge before, but then it was usually dark and shadowy under the archway.

  ‘Believe it or not, a whole family lived in each lodge once, even though the buildings were tiny. Mine was extended out at the back when I moved in, but this side is still the basic model.’

  Seth had a key to the door and flicked on a light switch, revealing a small square room with a flagged floor and a fireplace. A wooden counter top had been fixed to the wall at one side.

  ‘There’s the cash box—they need a float at the start of the day, so they have change, like at the tearoom. The tickets will be in the estate office, but you’ll need to have new ones done anyway, if you are changing the prices. They have g
uidebooks here—and they can sell the garden leaflets too, if we get them done in time.’

  ‘We will,’ I said firmly, ‘if not on Valentine’s Day, then for the Easter opening. I think the maze and the Shakespeare Trail will rope them in in droves.’

  ‘One of the Friends in the Great Hall checks the tickets again when they go in,’ he said. ‘The visitors can’t get to the terraces any other way, because the paths at the side of the house are roped off. We can’t entirely stop people sneaking in up the back drive, or over the wall, but we can stop them coming into the house unless they’ve paid.’

  ‘What about the coach parties, do they all have tickets?’

  ‘Yes, a special colour. They have to book in advance, because we can’t fit more than one party into the house or tearoom at a time.’

  ‘What puzzles me is how on earth the coaches get up the little lane into the car park,’ I confessed.

  ‘They don’t. There’s a bottom gate on to the main road and they park down there. It’s just cars at the top. Hal and Bob take it in turns to check up on the car park, to see everything is OK.’

  ‘I haven’t noticed any facilities for disabled visitors.’

  ‘I think Sir William said that since it’s a private house, you don’t have to have them, and in any case it would be almost impossible to adapt a house of this age. He allowed pushchairs and wheelchairs through the house, but not those enormous baby buggies or electric scooters. And of course they have to get up and down the steps at either end to get in and out.’

  ‘Perhaps we can put wooden ramps at the front and back doors when we are open. And you know the golf buggy Grandfather used in his last months to get around the gardens, the one that’s still in the stables?’

  He nodded.

  ‘It’s a big one, so I thought someone could go up and down the drive on open days picking up and dropping off any visitors who have trouble walking.’

  ‘Why do I have the feeling there goes another gardener?’ he groaned.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I think one of the Friends might enjoy driving it. I’ll discuss it with them at this Christmas party I’m supposed to be organising.’

  He locked the ticket-office door behind us and then invited me into his side for a cup of coffee and, since I was desperately curious to see his home, I agreed.

  We went straight into a comfortable small sitting room and through into a large, untidy, light and airy studio at the back. There was no evidence of Mel’s presence here, not even a photograph or a lingering trace of the mingled fragrance of horse and Arpège that was particularly her own. But there were shelves and shelves of books, a workbench and a drawing board with a half-completed diagram of a knot on it. There was also a leather sofa that I arranged myself on, trying to look as if I hadn’t been nosily poking about, before Seth came back with the coffee.

  While we drank the coffee he told me all about the knot he had been designing down in Devon and I told him about all the weird things in the curio cabinets that I hadn’t yet identified. He was just promising to come and have a look at them, when we heard a vehicle pull up outside and the sound of voices, and went out to investigate.

  There, with its nose under the arch, was a large, elderly ambulance, painted a fetching sky blue with fluffy clouds drifting up the sides. Facing it, planted firmly in the centre of the drive with his hand held up, was policeman Mike.

  A woman was leaning out of the window, her long red dreadlocks swinging, and neither of them noticed us: she and Mike were too busy staring at each other.

  Then suddenly Mike’s face split into a great grin and she smiled back.

  Beside me, Seth assumed an expression of resignation. ‘Don’t tell me,’ he said, ‘it’s a friend of yours, isn’t it?’

  Anya had arrived.

  Chapter Twenty-six: First Impressions

  I have received word from my father who says that he knew I would come to a bad end and that he washes his hands of mee. No one it seems will say anything in my defence and several near Wynter’s End have now come forward to say I have cursed them ill…Mary Wynter will not let my baby come to mee, but Joan is to bring mee any necessities. My chamber is damp and dark and my cough worsens.

  From the journal of Alys Blezzard, 1582

  ‘Oh, Anya, it’s so good to see you!’ I said, as I sat beside her in the van. Looking in the wing mirror I could see the two men standing on the drive gazing after us. Mike, looking dazed, raised one hand and flapped it.

  ‘I think Mike’s waving at you.’

  ‘Is that what he’s called? He’s not your run-of-the mill fuzz, is he? And he’s cheeky, too. When I stopped he said, “Stand and deliver—your money or your life.” I’m sure that’s not in the policeman’s handbook.’

  ‘He’s from Liverpool, he can’t help it,’ I explained. ‘Scousers are all like that. Did he say anything else?’

  ‘Yes, he asked me if I had a ring on my finger as well as through my nose. Then he said he didn’t think he could arrest me for anything just yet, but he would work on it, and was I a friend of yours?’

  ‘You certainly seemed to make an impression on him and on Seth too, though since I think he was half expecting a whole convoy of New-Age travellers to turn up, he wasn’t as horrified as I expected.’

  ‘Seth being the handsome gardener?’

  ‘Oh, Seth’s not really handsome, or not the way Jack is. He’s stunning!’

  ‘Attractive, then, if you want to nit-pick. He looked pretty good to me.’

  ‘He is attractive when he’s all glowing and enthusiastic about his knot gardens,’ I conceded.

  ‘And Mike’s not bad either. In fact, you seem to be entirely surrounded by tasty men. Are there any more lurking in the undergrowth?’

  ‘Wait until you see Jonah, he’s the best of the bunch,’ I promised her. ‘Carry on left here at the front of the house. You can leave the van in the courtyard at the back and we’ll bring the rest of your things in later.’

  ‘Not if that’s the house.’ She had come almost to a stop and was staring at Winter’s End aghast. ‘I’d much, much rather stay in the van.’

  ‘Don’t be such an inverted snob! If I can live in Winter’s End, my friends can too. It isn’t that grand.’

  ‘This from someone who lived in a two up, two down, tied cottage with an outside toilet—or even in a static caravan for a short while? No, thanks, and I’ll hide the van out of the way somewhere. What’s through that arch over the other side?’

  ‘The pigsty and the rear drive. You can get back into the village that way.’

  ‘The pigsty sounds much more my scene.’

  She drove through and parked neatly behind the coach house, half-hidden by bushes, then gave me a little tissue-wrapped parcel. ‘It’s a sorry-you-got-banged-on-the-head present,’ she explained. ‘Though the black eye is a bit of a disappointment—it’s practically gone.’

  ‘It was a cracker while it lasted.’ I eagerly unwrapped the paper to reveal a pair of earrings that she had made herself, from snipped tin and appliquéd chocolate bar wrappers.

  ‘Oooh, wonderful! Let me put them on.’ I admired myself in the rear-view mirror. ‘You are clever! Come on, let’s take your bags and I’ll show you round the house. I’m sure you’ll change your mind about not wanting to stay there. I’ve got the Chinese bedroom ready for you, and you’ll love it.’

  She looked doubtful, but I took her in by way of the kitchen and introduced her to the Larks first, before springing the rest of the house on her. She immediately endeared herself to them by playing with the kitten and eating four large, sugar-sifted warm doughnuts, one after the other, which was two more than even I could manage.

  Mrs Lark admired my earrings. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like them. Are those KitKat wrappers?’

  ‘Yes—Anya made them. She makes jewellery from things people throw away, like tin cans and chocolate wrappers. Just like a Womble.’

  ‘I’ll make you a pair of earrings
too, Mrs Lark,’ promised Anya.

  ‘I’m hoping to sell Anya’s jewellery in our shop,’ I said, getting up and wiping jam and sugar off my chin. ‘Well, come on and I’ll show you round the rest of the house.’

  ‘You were right, Jonah is a dish,’ she said when we were in the Great Hall with the heavy kitchen door shut behind us. ‘It’s the mutton-chop whiskers that do it for me.’

  ‘If elderly men float your boat, I also have a vintage but very handsome estate manager—my steward, Mr Yatton. But he’s only here weekday mornings and you might have to compete with Lucy when she gets home.’

  ‘Has she said when she’s coming back?’

  ‘Not yet. I thought she was on the point of giving in her notice, but now she’s gone back to saying she must see out her contract to the end.’ I sighed. ‘Well, never mind. Do you want to do the guided tour now?’

  ‘Love it!’ she said promptly.

  Charlie had followed us out of the kitchen and now lay stretched out on the rag rug in front of the fire, instantly asleep. We left Anya’s bags at the bottom of the stairs and I took her all over Winter’s End, telling her my plans, until we ended up, ages later, in the dismal excuse for a tearoom.

  ‘I haven’t really started on this area yet, except for deciding what sort of basic stock we should have—you know, mementoes of Winter’s End. I want it to be a craft shop and gallery as well as a tearoom. I’ve already got Aunt Hebe on my side about opening the house by offering to sell her lotions and potions in the shop.’

  Anya looked around assessingly. ‘You have two very good-sized rooms here, plus that little conservatory thing—you can probably seat as many as forty people.’ She flung open a door, revealing an empty room with a channel down one side of the stone floor and some metal shelving. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I think it might have been the brewery once, and now they use it to store stuff in for the tearoom.’

  ‘I’m sure there are lots of other storage rooms doing nothing, and you could fit this out as a proper shop.’ She turned on her heel, and waved a hand at the rest of the place. ‘I mean, hang paintings around the café, and have narrow shelves out there filled with things to sell, by all means, but have the till and most of the stock in here.’