by A. B. King
As he ate a leisurely meal out on the terrace to the rear of his home he belatedly accepted that James had spoken good common sense to him on the previous day. Going away for a few days might not make his loss any less poignant but at least it would give him chance to draw mental breath, and thus better able to cope with the new circumstances of his life. No matter how devastated he felt, he had no choice than to come to terms with his loss, if only for the sake of his daughter. At about two in the afternoon he took leave of his housekeeper, and set off in his Jaguar after having punched the necessary data into his ‘sat-nav’ system. He had not been to Wellworthy since early childhood, and retained only a hazy idea of where it was located, therefore he was happy to allow the machine to sort out the route to the front door of his late uncle’s home for him. Driving at a leisurely pace, because he was in no particular hurry, he estimated that the journey would take him about two hours.
The weather was pleasantly warm without being too hot, and traffic was comparatively light, all of which made for a pleasant journey. Inevitably his mind was pre-occupied much of the time with memories of other outings he had made with Alicia. In slow procession he recalled the places they had visited, the conversations they had enjoyed, and the pleasure that her company always gave him no matter where they were. He had to accept that memories were all that he now had left, and pining for what was now forever beyond his reach only served to add to the pain he still felt at her passing. He reluctantly acknowledged that allowing himself to dwell on these echoes of the past was only encouraging the familiar feeling of depression, so he forced himself his mind onto other things. He tried to concentrate upon the subject of his late uncle, and the reason for this particular journey. There was no strictly logical reason why he should even bother to visit his late relatives' house of course; he could just as well have allowed Charles and a local Estate Agent to deal with everything. On the other hand, there was the mildly intriguing question as to why he had been left the property at all? Was it, as he had previously surmised, simply because his uncle had no other relatives anywhere he wished to benefit with his passing?
He imagined that the house would be all shut up following the death of his uncle. Probably it would be damp and musty, with creature comforts conspicuous by their absence. With nobody actually living in the house he doubted if the ‘caretaker’ was doing any more than keeping a perfunctory watch on the place in case of break-ins. If he was right, then he was certainly in for an uncomfortable few days, and in a perverse way he didn’t mind; he hoped that coping with uncomfortable conditions would help to distract him enough to break the endless cycle of grief and depression. As he drove he tried to picture what the interior of the house must look like after several months of being left empty. In his mind he could picture dreary half lit rooms, dust sheets draped over dusty old furniture, and a musty, damp smell pervading everything. Taken all round, it was not a particularly inviting prospect, and as the miles passed away he had leisure to wonder at the wisdom of the whim that had persuaded him to make the effort.
It was getting on toward four o’clock in the afternoon when he reached the outer environs of the small market town of Wellworthy. Set well off the beaten track, and some miles from the nearest motorway, all in all it was a pretty unremarkable place. The ‘town’ such as it was, appeared to be mostly concentrated around a single high street, with various minor roads and lanes meandering off on either side. There were a number of scattered shops, and no really large retail outlets that he could see. Most of the houses were of a design more popular in the last century than the more modern structures he was accustomed to. As he drove slowly down what passed for the main street, on glancing off to one side he glimpsed an ancient church set some way back from the main thoroughfare, situated as was quite common with rural churches within a graveyard dominated by a large yew tree. This overshadowed a selection of gravestones, many of which were leaning this way and that, and he had little doubt that some of these were as old as the tree. From what he had learned from looking at the report on the Internet the previous night, this was the probably the last resting place of his uncle. As he drove past, he decided that it was only right that he should visit the burial site before returning home to pay his respects.
He drove the full length of the high street, and at the far end he followed the directions of his 'sat-nav' and turned up a long winding lane that held just a few scattered properties set well back from the roadway, before finally reaching a set of heavy iron gates with the name ‘Springwater House’ built into them, set into a high flint wall that stretched back into the surrounding greenery on either side. He slowed as he swung into the mouth of the drive, wondering if the gates were remotely operated or if he would need to exit the car and open them himself? As if in answer to his thoughts the gates swung slowly open, leading him to assume that his arrival had been noticed and the gates opened either by the gardener or the housekeeper he had heard about. He drove through the entrance, observing that as soon as he was through the gates were closing behind him. He glanced ahead to obtain the first glimpse of his destination. The gravel drive curved gently away to his right, and visible through the shrubbery that bordered this could be seen the outline of a fair sized and vaguely Gothic style building that looked as if it had been constructed somewhere in the early Victorian era. Squat and square, with a huge double-gabled frontage, an ornate portico over the imposing front entrance and largely covered in ivy, it seemed to brood over the well kept grounds that stretched round it on all sides.
In some ways it was as he dimly remembered it from his childhood visit, yet in others it looked quite different. No doubt things always appeared different when seen first through a child’s eyes, and then through an adult’s. He recalled more than one person over the years saying things to the same effect when revisiting places familiar in childhood and never since. Certainly it did not look as big or as threatening as his early impression of it had been, and he had no recollection of the ivy which had probably been growing steadily since his only visit all those long years ago. The large bay windows on either side of the glass colonnade that shielded the entrance were heavily curtained, yet the curtains were not closed as he had anticipated they would be to shroud the interior in sombre gloom following the death of the owner, but drawn back as if in readiness for a new incumbent. As he drew nearer he was mildly surprised to note that some of the windows were also open sufficient for ventilation. It certainly wasn’t what he had expected to find. The front door of the property was approached from a small flight of shallow stone steps placed between a pair of imposing stone lions that he remembered well. The wide lawns bordered by flowering shrubs on either side of the driveway at the front of the building were well tended.
Driving slowly towards the building, he noticed off to the left and partially concealed by shrubs and trees a matter of a few yards from the house and set at right angles to it, the smaller building that he vaguely recalled had been a set of stables when he had visited the house as a young child. A long forgotten memory sprang to mind of spending some time there making friends with the horse his uncle retained, along with the trap he used to make his rounds before finally acquiring a car. The horse had seen enormous to him, but he had felt no fear of it. Sadly, all of this would have vanished when the stables had been converted into a double garage and the loft space into a service flat. In thinking of that, he remembered that Charles had advised him that this was where housekeeper, Mrs Brent, lived.
He eased the car along the drive and finally drew to a standstill outside the garage, and as he did so a woman appeared from the bottom of a stairway that ran down the side of the building. At the head of these stairs was a relatively modern looking front door, which he assumed was the entrance to the service flat. He watched the woman approaching him, and surmised it was the caretaker, Mrs Brent, who he knew had been warned to expect him. He lowered the window ready to speak to her as she approached.
It was a difficult to deduce much about her
from appearance, because she was clad in a pair of baggy, paint smeared jeans, an equally baggy roll neck jersey, and with much of her head swathed in a headscarf. From her appearance she was indulging in a spot of home decorating or similar d. i. y. work, and from what he could see of her expression, not overly pleased at being interrupted in the middle of whatever she was doing. She walked around the front of the car and approached him, and he couldn’t help but notice that there was not even a trace of a smile on her face.
“Mr Isherwood?” she asked in a completely disinterested voice.
Seen closer up, he estimated her age to be somewhere in the middle-to-late thirties. There was paint on her face, and the old headscarf she was wearing to protect her hair gave her a curiously asexual appearance. Her expression was mildly antagonistic, suggesting that she undoubtedly resented his intrusion. He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected on arrival, but this lack of at least a mildly civil welcome from this stony-faced woman wasn’t it. The overall impression she presented was of a person who was either in a bad mood for some reason, or just perhaps exhibiting the fact that she was of a naturally sour disposition.
“Yes,” he answered, “that is me.”
She produced a set of keys from the pocket of her jeans and handed them in to him through the open car window.
“The hot water system is on, with fresh towels in the main bathroom. I’ve put clean linen in the bed of the room at the back on the first floor. There are drinks in the study, and the house has been ventilated. There is a direct phone-line to my flat from the study. You will find a mobile control for the gate on the hall-stand, with a fixed one in the kitchen. Will you be requiring a hot meal this evening?”
Her recital of preparations was delivered in a manner that made him feel like an unwelcome irritation. There was not a hint of a smile on her face and yet her eyes never left his, as if defying him to make some adverse comment. His initial reaction was to decline the offer of a meal, but there was something about her barely concealed hostility that aroused his curiosity. How on earth did such an unpleasant creature ever hold down a position as a housekeeper? Dinner was something he had not thought about, but if it gave him an opportunity to find out a bit more about the woman who, whether he liked it or not, was his tenant, accepting the offer might provide the opportunity.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” he said quietly, and trying not to sound slightly sarcastic.
“It will be no trouble,” she said without expression. “Will seven o’clock suit you?”
“Yes, that will be fine.”
She made no response as she turned and walked back the way she had come. There was no smile and no backward glance, it was almost as if he didn’t exist as far as she was concerned. As he watched her retreating form he thought her covertly hostile attitude was at best curious. Did she actually resent his presence, or was it just her nature to be off-hand with everyone? He tried his best to be charitably disposed towards her by wondering if maybe she had been attached to his late uncle, and feared that a new owner was going to make life difficult for her. He smiled inwardly; if she kept up that attitude towards his presence, maybe he would at that.
Dismissing her from his mind, he drove up to the front of the building and parked the car. He looked over the ivy-covered façade for a few moments, and then stepped out onto the drive. There was quite a lot of bird song emanating mainly from the fringe of trees that marked the boundaries of the property, and the pleasant aroma of a wide variety of blossom sweetened the air. He lifted his cases out of the boot and then ascended the worn steps that led up to the imposing front door. The key slid into the lock easily, and the door opened on well-oiled hinges.
He stepped through into a wide hallway, and once across the threshold he placed his cases down as he glanced round. In a way the interior of the house was as he vaguely remembered it from many years ago, although again, not quite as large and imposing as it had seemed to him as a small child. No doubt the difference in stature between that of the child and the adult would account for some of that. He recalled that the door leading off the hallway to the right led into the lounge, and the door facing it on the opposite side was the access to his late uncle’s study. Across the hallway was the dining room, and opposite this was the breakfast room. At the far end was a door that in years gone by had led to the servant’s hall. He smiled inwardly as that thought crossed his mind; apart from a few really grand establishments, the practice of keeping servants had gradually faded out after the First World War. By the time he had visited the house as a child, the area had already been converted into a large kitchen and utilities room. He recollected that both the breakfast and dining rooms had French windows leading out to the rear garden, unless these had since been removed.
None of the internal doors were locked, and on glancing into the lounge he saw that it was furnished in the elegant if somewhat old-fashioned style of a bygone era. Contrary to his expectations there was not a dust-sheet in evidence, and as he browsed round the room he noted in passing that someone, no doubt the formidable Mrs Brent, had cleaned and dusted everything to perfection. There were even fresh flowers in an antique vase. Somehow, he couldn’t quite picture the woman he had briefly met spending her time gathering flowers for a new owner, and then pointedly failing to make him feel in the least welcome.
Leaving the lounge, he crossed the hall to the study. Once again, although the room was probably just as his uncle had left it, there was not a speck of dust to be seen. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and on browsing through a couple of volumes he was interested to note that even these had no trace of dust. Whatever her appearance and manner, Mrs Brent seemed to be an extremely diligent housekeeper. The dining and breakfast rooms were in similar good order, and the French windows were still in-situ, giving a clear view of the garden beyond. Like the grounds at the front, those to the rear were well maintained, bordered by trees, and not overlooked from any side. There was a large patio outside the breakfast room, which probably caught the morning sun. It was furnished with good quality garden furniture, and no doubt in happier days his uncle had eaten there in company with his wife. He saw that a large awning had been installed that could be pulled out much like an old fashioned shop’s blind to give protection from the sun if required, or perhaps from the occasional shower on an otherwise pleasant day.
Returning eventually into the hallway he paused for a few minutes as a long forgotten memory stirred hazily at the back of his mind. He looked up at the rather ornate staircase that led away from a point a few feet past the entrance to the dining room. He was almost certain that there had been a doorway in the panelling in the side of this and obviously his memory was at fault, for there was certainly none visible now. Looking at the configuration of the oak panelling, he soon came to the conclusion that as a child he had obviously mistaken one of these panels for a door. He glanced briefly through into the kitchen area to discover unsurprisingly it had been completely modernised since his childhood visit. He vividly recalled the huge scrubbed table that had held pride of place in the centre of the room when he last visited the house, along with the large welsh dresser to one side, and of course the old fashioned range. It was all gone now, replaced by fitted units, washing machine, cooker, microwave oven and all manner of culinary aids. In place of the old scrub-top table stood a very modern kitchen one, with four chairs placed round it. Everything was in a pristine condition.
He crossed the room and opened the door that gave access to the rear of the house. The old solid wooden affair that he remembered had long since vanished, and its replacement had a large glass panel in it that gave additional light in that part of the kitchen. Beyond the door was another large patio leading into a kitchen garden, in which a good selection of healthy looking vegetables gave evidence of recent care. Judging from appearances, even following the death of his uncle, those people that had worked for him had continued to care for his home as if he was still with them.
He returned into the b
uilding, locking the door behind him, and retraced his steps to the hallway. He collected his cases from where he had placed them close to the front door, and carried them up the thickly carpeted stairs. The room at the back had been prepared for him, Mrs Brent had said. As he subsequently discovered following a leisurely browse round on the first floor, this was the smallest of the four bedrooms, although still of a respectable size and bright and airy. It looked out over the restful vista of the rear garden, and no doubt caught the morning sun. The room was nicely decorated, and furnished with a comfortable double bed. Just looking at the bed brought a sudden pang of sorrow. If only it had been a single bed it might have helped. He tried to turn his mind away from Alicia as he unpacked his clothing and personal effects, stowing them in the drawers of the dressing table or into the large oak wardrobe.
There was no en-suite, and that was only to be expected in the circumstances. There was a large bathroom complete with a shower adjacent to the room he was using, and here he placed his toiletries. He finished his preliminary examination of the building by looking briefly into the other bedrooms, which were all clean and tidy, but with dust-sheets over the beds and other furniture, the first he had seen in the building. There was a further flight of stairs leading to what used to be servants quarters, and it was evident from a cursory glance that these were now used solely as box rooms. He half expected to find accumulated dust in a part of the house that was manifestly unused, yet once again, although the rooms were well cluttered with junk, everything was as clean as if it had been attended to that very day.