Doubting Abbey

by Tonge, Samantha

  ‘But the youngsters must have had good times as well?’

  For a moment the Earl stared vacantly into space. ‘Us children just got on with our daily lives, I suppose’ he said eventually. ‘One lad was a real joker. Now, what was he called…?’

  ‘Ooh, um, Bobby, Bert; what about Giles or Gerry…?’ I said innocently.

  ‘That was it!’ said the Earl. ‘Gerry Green. Clever guess! And I got to know a terrific little chap called Jonny Jackson. He’d save his carrot fudge for the young’uns who cried at night because they missed their mums.’ The Earl’s eyes shone. ‘Yes, well, perhaps this reunion is a good idea—unlike that damned Food Academy.’

  ‘That Academy will earn us money, Father,’ said Edward.

  ‘Only if we win the prize to get it up and running,’ I said. ‘And, in my opinion, to win that show we need to provide the viewers with something more…emotional than the Baron’s celebrities and inebriated guests. Why don’t I visit this Mrs Raynor, Uncle, and search on the Internet for any names you remember? Perhaps there’s a friend in the village who could help jolt memories,’ I said, more innocently than ever.

  ‘Bill,’ said the Earl without hesitating.

  Yay! This was going to plan. Although I couldn’t quite give a beaming, warmth-in-the-eyes smile. It was scary how easy it was to manipulate people. Now I understood, how Auntie Jan had been two-timed and deceived by her last boyfriend. If you had no conscience and lies tripped off your tongue, it was easy to dupe anyone.

  Problem was, I did have a conscience and it was pulling me apart. On the one hand, I was mega excited about my success at being Abbey – on the other, I’d have done anything to be honest about who I really was.

  ‘What about the unused bedrooms upstairs where the evacuees used to sleep?’ I said. ‘Would they hold written records?’

  ‘That’s irrelevant,’ said Edward, ‘as it would be quite impossible to organize this in just three days.’

  Talk about negative! However, he had put his newspaper down.

  ‘Half-glass full, Cousin, isn’t that what you always say?’ I stared him in the face. ‘Without a doubt, it’s an enormous challenge, but if we emphasize to everyone we ring how important their participation is for the future of Applebridge Hall… I assume close friendships were formed here, Uncle, despite it being a time of great upheaval? That’s got to be worth something.’

  ‘All these years later?’ said Edward.

  ‘And why not, son?’ said the Earl. ‘Just because we’ve lost touch doesn’t mean those years counted for nothing.’

  ‘Let’s be honest,’ I said, and smiled sheepishly. ‘Even though today went well, it’s going take more than my cooking to get the public vote.’

  ‘Yes, I suspect today’s successful plum sauce won’t be quite as entertaining as that mustard dressing.’ Edward half-smiled. ‘I suppose I might be able to persuade Gaynor to put on speedy cars to pick up guests – if she agrees that a reunion lunch will boost ratings.’

  The Earl rubbed his hands together. Aw—his face had lit up.

  ‘Mr Thompson can drive me into the village first thing tomorrow,’ said the old man. ‘Let me visit Bill. Together, we can call on Mrs Raynor. That will leave you time to go on your computer, Abigail, and use those online engines, or whatever they are, to find out information.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Well done, girl. All things considered, it’s a splendid idea.’

  I beamed. ‘Edward – perhaps you could help me sort through the bedrooms that used to be dormitories. We might find interesting memorabilia.’ I put down my plate. ‘Kathleen and I could organize a Second World War themed meal.’

  ‘Back in those days, Cook was ingenious,’ said the Earl, ‘and could rustle up pretty decent meals from practically nothing. Often, I’d slip down to the kitchens and she’d let me help. Of course, with the vegetable gardens and orchards, here, we were luckier than most. She’d make a savoury carrot pudding, I seem to remember, with breadcrumbs and minced onion.’ The Earl gazed into space for a moment. ‘Mmm, plus a vegetable roll – she made the pastry out of mashed potato and served it with a cheese sauce. Damn decent, it was. Then there was this whipped pudding made from grated apple and…condensed milk, that was it – she’d add orange juice instead of sugar, which was rationed. And, of course, she was always baking apples…’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll risk cooking those again,’ I said in a small voice.

  Both men caught my eye and we all laughed. This was mega—us three sharing a joke, for a fleeting second just like a proper family.

  ‘In fact, you sound quite knowledgeable, Uncle. Perhaps you should run Friday’s cookery lesson.’

  ‘Now that would have made my Rosemary laugh,’ muttered the Earl and picked up his pipe.

  ‘Nowadays, Father can’t even make a decent cup of tea,’ said Edward. ‘Clearly he’s forgotten his skills from the war. One day last year, Kathleen fell ill. We insisted she go to bed early and said we’d cook for ourselves.’ He grinned. ‘Only my father could burn soup.’

  The Earl’s eyes crinkled at the corners.

  ‘Richard was always good with his hands, Abigail,’ said the Earl. ‘It was no surprise when he went into catering.’

  Edward rubbed the back of his neck. ‘We ought to swap mobile phone numbers, Abbey. This project will involve a mammoth amount of organization and we might need to contact each other at a moment’s notice.’

  I nodded. Good thing Lady C had made me bring that mobile under the name of Abbey Croxley.

  At that moment a knock on the Parlour door disturbed us. Kathleen came in.

  ‘Um, Miss Croxley, you have a visitor.’

  Huh?

  ‘Thank you,’ I said and left the room as Edward picked up his laptop. ‘Who is it?’ I hissed as we hurried downstairs, past the entrance and along to the Low Drawing Room. With her fingers, outside the door, Kathleen formed the letter C. Charlie? But why so formal? With a shrug, I stepped forward and pushed open the door.

  Oh my God.

  There to greet me was a grey bob and shiny pearls. My visitor was Lady Constance Woodfold – Lady C – complete with umbrella, a small suitcase and her fierce dinner lady stare.

  LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY

  Wednesday 5th September

  6.30p.m. Just when I don’t think my cousin can surprise me again, she succeeds. As a consequence, I think you will all be very interested in tomorrow’s show. A clue? Just let me say, ‘World War Two’. In fact, why don’t I ask you another poser question? This weekend, Applebridge Hall will host which of the following three events?

  A cookery demonstration, based around foods from the Second World War?

  A reunion lunch for evacuees who stayed here almost seventy years ago?

  An historical day, revealing the life of my grandparents, where the Croxleys and staff must dress in vintage clothes from the 1940s?

  As for this morning’s cookery show, if you hope to see burnt or undercooked fare again, in the words of our Scottish cook, you’ll be ‘scunnered’, (Googling that word will reveal whether, this time, Abigail got control of her nerves).

  My day has been spent chasing up payments for the last car boot sale we hosted, and surveying the estate. After last night’s shenanigans, normal service has resumed and I am indeed feeling more myself. Despite Million Dollar Mansion, daily maintenance of the Hall and gardens must go on. Mr Thompson showed me cracked windows, a diseased tree and some mysterious red water in the pond.

  However, a brief respite from my duties came in the form of a call from the editor of an online historical magazine. As a result, I shall be writing an article on what it means to be an aristocrat nowadays. Thankfully, it’s a serious publication and won’t expect tales of trips to the Maldives or Cristal champagne parties.

  Right, apparently now Father and I have a visitor to greet…

  Chapter 15

  ‘You have five minutes to explain yourself, young lady, before I tell the Earl everything; before you re
duce my niece’s reputation to tatters,’ said Lady C, straight after Kathleen had left and shut the door.

  Not caring about my varnish, for a moment I bit my thumbnail as Lady C put down her umbrella and suitcase.

  ‘Gemma? I am waiting. Or shall I ask that charming Scottish woman to show me to the Earl?’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I said, all polite tones forgotten.

  Lady C’s brow wrinkled deeper. ‘Initially, when staying with friends in the area, I thought you might need extra clothes and packed some to drop off. However, you haven’t responded to my calls and, in light of recent footage, I deemed it necessary to hear any possible justification for your reckless behaviour. Have your forgotten everything I taught you?’

  I shrugged sheepishly. ‘Course not. But what about winning the show? As I said in my texts – everything you’ve seen is part of a game-plan. You’ve got to trust me. And if you reveal my true identity, everything will fall apart and the two Croxley brothers will never bury the hatchet.’

  ‘But you’ve portrayed Abigail as someone more suited to living with that dreadful, over-the-top Baron and his son.’ She folded her arms. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’

  I swallowed. ‘Um, isn’t this room amaaaazin’? Look at that chandelier and the tapestries. As for the carved furniture legs and mantelpiece…’

  ‘Don’t change the subject,’ said Lady C in clipped tones. ‘What happened to the three Ms?’ She sighed. ‘At least you have kept appearances up, literally, by sticking to my rules about make-up and clothes.’ Shaking her head, Lady C sat down on an embroidered chair. I collapsed into the one next to her.

  ‘Look, it’s been mega hard, keeping up this act twenty-four seven. Have I really done that badly?’ I said.

  ‘The lawnmower episode…’ Lady C shuddered.

  I had to admire her, really, for sticking to her principles. So far she hadn’t raised her voice nor sworn – not so much as a flicker of emotion.

  ‘Such a lack of decorum and, as for that young chap, Nick…’ Lady C eyed me beadily. ‘Camera footage and Internet rumours would suggest something untoward is going on.’

  ‘Online nonsense; it’s nothing and not everyone believes it was Abigail Croxley…’ I cleared my throat and pointed to a framed landscape. ‘See this? It was drawn centuries ago and shows the estate before the Hall was built, and—’ Oh, dear, fierce dinner lady stare – distraction not working. My stomach twisted. I could tell poor Lady C was upset. ‘Look – Nick is just a mate. We’re friends.’

  ‘No. With friends you have common interests. Remember, you are Abbey and, as far as I know, my niece knows little about gardening or…or maintaining ponds. Equally, I suspect this Nick has little knowledge about dinner etiquette or how to chat to a countess…’

  ‘Nor does Zak.’

  ‘And it’s because of Abigail’s relationship with him that we’re in this mess.’ Lady C’s eyes softened. ‘Gemma, dear – I’m a romantic at heart and have nothing against two people – from any background – falling in love. But you are here to promote a certain image. Please – if you have feelings for this gardener, at least conceal them until the end of the fortnight.’

  ‘I don’t fancy him.’

  ‘Then why—?’

  I walked over to another portrait and pointed. It was of the first Earl of Croxley, a whip in his hand, standing next to a horse. ‘Elizabeth the First awarded this estate to the Croxleys for this man’s bravery in fighting against the Spanish Armada. My – Abbey’s - uncle is so proud and, like every heir since, has tried to maintain this place’s standards.’ My voice wavered. ‘I’m only a pizza caff waitress. My family isn’t famous. In fact, my brother’s in the nick. But I feel…it’s kind of down to me to save the Croxleys’ future and I’ll do whatever it takes. Don’t you think Abbey would want that?’

  ‘So what exactly is it you’re doing?’ said Lady C, a puzzled look on her face.

  ‘Roxy, the production assistant, told me that Applebridge Hall was trailing behind the Baron’s place. She suggested…ahem…sexing things up.’ I coughed. ‘No doubt you’ve read Lady Chatterley’s Lover… What could intrigue the British public more than a suspected love affair between two people of a different class? Not that class seems a big issue nowadays but, I dunno – with shows like Downton Abbey on everyone’s minds…’

  Lady C’s mouth fell open.

  ‘Nick kindly agreed to help me,’ I continued, ‘although he doesn’t know who I really am.’

  ‘But…’

  I wouldn’t tell her about Kathleen knowing my true identity because right at this moment Lady C looked as if she might faint.

  ‘This is getting complicated,’ she said, ‘and, eventually, lies always out. Oh, dear. Can’t you just let this thing between you and this Nick fizzle out? I can help you think of another way to make the show more interesting.’

  ‘How? By demonstrating…I don’t know…your elocution and deportment skills?’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea,’ said Lady C.

  ‘No! The only way to boost ratings is to add intrigue. As for the dishonesty…’ My eyes widened. ‘Surely you understand? I’m just taking things a step further; it’s still all part of the same charade – that you got involved with, right at the beginning. Why did you agree to help Abbey deceive everyone in the first place if you’re finding it so hard now?’

  Lady C’s cheeks tinged pink, matching her pastel rose blouse. ‘Neither Abbey nor I relish misleading people, but I understand my niece’s plight. You see…My parents were terribly strict and…’

  My eyebrows raised.

  ‘I became fond of a young man in my twenties. He worked in a shoe shop. Papa didn’t approve and forbade us from courting. I cried for weeks.’ Her voice broke. ‘In private, of course—in public, one must never let one’s dignity slip.’

  ‘That must have been hard,’ I said, feeling bad now for asking. I leant over and squeezed her arm.

  ‘I never met anyone else quite like John and instead dedicated my life to the finishing school,’ continued Lady C. ‘That was rewarding in its own way, but if Abigail is anything like me, spinsterhood… It can get very lonely. So, if I can help resolve this situation with Zachary…’

  A lump formed in my throat. Her eyes were all shiny.

  At that moment the door opened and the Earl and Edward came in, followed by the cameraman, the soundman, Gaynor and Roxy. The director flicked her Jessie J bob. I removed my hand from Lady C’s arm.

  ‘Visitors – fab, darlings!’ said Gaynor, smelling of smoke as usual. The cameraman positioned some lights. Outside, the sky was becoming increasingly dark. ‘Kathleen has made tea for you all to enjoy. This is unexpected footage we can edit into tomorrow night’s show. Is this a relative of yours, Miss Croxley?’

  ‘Um, yes. Excuse my manners,’ I said and stood up with Lady C. ‘Allow me to introduce my dear aunt, Lady Constance Woodfold. Auntie – this is Gaynor, the director and her assistant, Roxy. And please meet Lord Croxley and his son, Lord Edward.’ Urgh. I should have probably introduced the titled before the TV crew.

  Roxy sidled up and brushed a strand of hair out of my face. ‘Make it interesting,’ she whispered. ‘Marwick Castle is hosting a murder mystery banquet tonight for the corporate guests. You’ll have to work hard to beat that.’

  While Lady C shook everyone’s hands, I winked.

  ‘How lovely to meet you, Lord Croxley,’ she said in a honeyed voice, revealing none of her previous inner turmoil. ‘Please forgive my unexpected arrival, but I was staying in the area and thought I would call in to see my niece before returning home tonight. I do hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said the Earl gruffly.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet more of the family,’ said Edward in his usual unemotional voice.

  That had been the great thing about last night, by the pond – he’d shouted, laughed, pitched his tones high and low… For the first time his voice had sounded
alive.

  We all sat down, the Earl and Lady C together on a ruby-red sofa, facing the front window. There was a polite silence. Roxy looked at me and rolled her eyes. Okay – must liven things up.

  ‘I, um, was just about to tell my aunt details of my plan to…’

  Her eyebrows shot up in horror and I suppressed a giggle. Maybe she thought I was going to come clean about my fake romance with Nick. Okay, I shouldn’t really find that funny.

  ‘… about my plan to organize a very special reunion on Saturday.’ I smiled at Lady C. ‘Applebridge Hall was home to evacuees during the war and we intend to bring them together after almost seventy years apart.’

  Blimey. That made Roxy stop chewing her gum and Gaynor looked up from her notes.

  ‘What a truly wonderful idea,’ said Lady C. ‘My family is still in touch with the girl who came to stay with us in autumn 1940, just at the beginning of the Blitz. Vera Watkins. She’s about six years older than me. I was only five when the war ended, so I don’t remember her early years with us—but she had a lovely voice. I’ll never forget how she always used to sing her mother’s favourite song, The Lambeth Walk.’

  ‘Did her parents survive?’ asked the Earl as the sound guy adjusted the boom.

  ‘Ironically, she lost her mother in the bombing and her father returned from the war without a scratch—not of the physical kind, anyway. Vera grew up to marry a plumber, had three children and now lives in Wales. Until she developed arthritis, I used to meet up with her every few years in Oxford Street, for shopping and lunch. Have you kept in touch with any of the children who stayed here, Lord Croxley?’

  The Earl shook his head. ‘Would be good to meet some of the old chaps again, though – to see how they’ve spent the intervening years. For several Christmases, some sent Mama cards. One family even visited. The mother wanted to thank us, in person, for looking after their son. Alfie, I seem to recall he was called.’

  ‘It must have felt rather odd, sharing your home with strangers,’ I said.

  ‘What, like now?’ said the Earl and gave a wry smile. He fiddled with his pocket watch. ‘It never crossed my mind to complain, as Mama drilled into us that Dickie and I were very fortunate living how and where we did. I remember sitting in lessons with the children, Mrs Raynor reading Huckleberry Finn. We’d all moan about our ‘pudding basin’ haircuts and go picking wild blackberries on the outskirts of the forest in autumn. One had to get on with life and, for us youngsters, it could be immense fun. Sorry things they were, on arrival, though, the children – labelled like parcels and carrying gas masks.’