‘Begging your pardon, my lady, but I didn’t recognise you.’
‘I guess I do look a state, don’t I?’ Carys laughed.
‘Not at all,’ the man said, looking mortified that he might have offended her. ‘It was the coat,’ he explained.
‘Oh, yes. It’s a terrible coat, isn’t it?’ Carys smiled down at the coat which Mrs Travis had picked out for her.
‘It was mine,’ he said.
Carys instantly blushed. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-’
The man grinned. ‘It’s okay, my lady. I’ve owned many terrible coats in my time. It’s an occupational hazard.’
Carys’s eyebrows raised.
‘I’m the head gardener.’
‘Oh.’
‘It’s hard to keep things tidy when wrestling with rhododendrons or shifting compost.’
Carys smiled. There were some people in life that you knew you were going to like immediately and this head gardener was one of them.
‘I’m Charles Brodie, my lady. But most people call me Ash.’
‘Ash,’ she repeated. ‘Is that because you’re always tending bonfires?’
‘I reckon it could be. That or the fact that my hair’s been grey since my early twenties.’
Carys blinked. He looked to be in his late forties now. ‘Really?’
He nodded. ‘Bad genes and a wife who left me after two weeks might’ve done it.’
‘Oh, dear.’
‘Still, mustn’t grumble,’ he said. ‘I have this place and I’m happy here. No place in the world like Amberley. Expect you’ll be feeling that way before long, my lady?’
She smiled. ‘It’s funny,’ she said, ‘but I already feel like I’ve been here forever.’
‘Amberley worked its magic on you already? It gets under your skin and stays there.’
‘That’s what Richard says. Er - Lord Amberley.’
‘Ay. He’s an Amberley advocate through and through. Couldn’t have a better boss than he. And his grace, of course. ‘Though I reckon he could manage without the place sometimes.’
‘You do?’
Ash nodded. ‘Don’t mean to speak out of term, like, but he’s never seemed quite happy here.’
Carys thought about the bad-tempered old man who was now her father-in-law.
‘I think you’re right,’ she said. ‘I think his grace could easily be happier somewhere else but Rich- Lord Amberley - well, I don’t think he’d know how to exist anywhere else. He was bad enough on our honeymoon,’ she said, and then wondered if she should be confessing such things to a member of staff.
Ash nodded again as if he understood.
A sudden crack from the bonfire made Carys realise that time was passing. ‘I suppose I’d better gather up the dogs and get back. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.’
‘You too, my lady.’
‘Carys,’ she laughed. ‘Nobody will call me Carys any more.’
Ash gave a little grin and then said, ‘I think you should have something.’
‘What?’ Carys watched as he nipped into the cottage and came out carrying an old tweed cap.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit dusty, like, but it might help if it rains again, and I think it will before the hour’s out.’
‘Thank you,’ Carys said, genuinely touched by his gesture. ‘I’ll bring it back.’
Ash shook his head. ‘I’ve got dozens of them. It’s all anyone ever buys me for Christmas.’
Carys tried not to laugh.
‘Be nice to see you again, my lady.’
She looked at his kindly face and saw, at once, a man who was sweet and sincere, and desperately lonely.
Leaving Ash’s cottage, the sun burst forth from the sky and Carys saw the lake in the distance, twinking with diamonds of light. It looked so beautiful that she couldn’t resist taking a closer look. The dogs, delighted with an extension of their extension, ran ahead, tails wagging wildly.
What a wonderful place Amberley was, Carys thought as she walked round the edge of the lake, watching the swallows skim over the water. In one morning, she’d walked up hills, through woods, crossed a river, seen statues and was now walking around a lake that was too beautiful for words. Time had evaporated and she was completely at ease with the world but all that was about to change.
Thinking it best she made her way back before she was reported a missing person, Carys headed back just as the skies decided to repeat their earlier shower. Cursing the fickleness of English summers, and placing Ash’s cap on her head, Carys made a dash for it, the five dogs quickly catching on and sprinting like maniacs across the emerald lawn towards the house.
Once there, she fumbled for her key to the door at the back of the house. It was far away from the prying eyes of tourists but there would always be some cheeky visitor who thought the private signs didn’t apply to them and would try their luck if a door was left ajar so it was always locked.
Taking off the cap and shaking her head, dog-like, as she entered the hallway, she closed the door behind her and carefully counted the dogs to make sure she hadn’t lost any.
‘Blimey,’ she laughed. ‘We’d better find some towels.’
Foxy’s pale gold coat had turned to the colour of burnt butterscotch. Badger, Dolly and Dizzy’s long fur was plastered to their bodies, their feathered legs and ears hanging long and limply, whilst Mungo’s dark coat shone as if polished.
Carys dreaded to think what she looked like. There was no mirror in the hallway but she didn’t have to wait long to find out because Richard strode towards her, his angry feet echoing around the enormous walls.
‘Richard!’ she called across to him. ‘We’ve had the most amazing walk. You wouldn’t believe-’
‘Look at you!’ he blurted.
‘I know,’ Carys said, beaming. ‘We got caught in the rain - twice!’
‘I didn’t mean that,’ he said.
Carys frowned.
‘Your hair! It’s all scraped back. You’ve got no make-up on. And look at your clothes.’
‘What do you mean?’
He shook his head, his face a picture of utter bewilderment. ‘There’s been a change in you, Carys. You used to dress like a woman but now you look like a man.’
Carys felt herself blushing to the very roots of her being.
‘And what the hell is this?’ he asked, snatching the cap from her hand.
‘Ash gave it to me.’
‘Who?’
‘Ash - the head gardener.’
‘Brodie? Charles Brodie?’
Carys nodded. ‘I got caught in the rain and didn’t have a hood on so he gave it to me.’
Richard looked at it in distaste. ‘It’s disgusting. It should be incinerated.’
Carys dared to snatch it back from her husband. ‘It’s soft as new fleece and twice as warm,’ she said quietly.
‘It makes you look like a refuse collector.’
Carys’s eyes shot an angry glance at Richard. ‘I suppose you expect me to float around Amberley in designer clothes all day, do you?’
‘It would make a pleasant change.’
She turned away from him. She’d never seen him so angry and wasn’t sure how to respond.
‘I’ve been worried sick about you, Carys. Where have you been?’
‘What do you mean, where have I been? I’ve been out walking your dogs as per your instructions.’
‘For four hours?’
‘I kind of lost track of time. Anyway, they obviously needed the walk or else they’d have complained.’
‘Those dogs are gundogs - they’d walk day and night for a week if you tried them. Which walk did you do?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The lake? The woods? The ridge?’
‘All of them. We did all of those.’
‘Good grief! No wonder you’ve been out all day.’
‘But you said I should try to get to know the estate.’
‘Well, you must know every inch o
f every acre by now,’ he said. ‘And where was your mobile?’
‘I don’t have a mobile,’ Carys said.
‘Of course you do! I bought you one, don’t you remember?’
Suddenly, she did. She’d been steadfastly refusing to have one for years but Richard had insisted.
‘In a place this size, you’ve got to be contactable.’
She nodded. She felt like a naughty school girl who was on the verge of being expelled for very bad behaviour.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, not because she felt particularly sorry but because she wanted an end to this conversation and thought, in his present mood, that apologising was the only way she was going to be able to do it.
It seemed to work because Richard nodded. ‘You haven’t forgotten dinner at seven thirty? It’s the representative from Cuthland Heritage.’
Great, Carys thought. Just what she was looking forward to: an evening with a stuffy suit talking about renovations.
‘You might want to rethink your outfit,’ Richard said, somewhat cruelly, Carys thought, but she didn’t say anything as he left her standing in the hallway, her hair dripping down her back.
‘Don’t worry, dear,’ Mrs Travis said to her as they shared a pot of tea later that day. ‘He’s just being territorial. I’ve seen it before with the Bretton men. They like to make their presence felt, you know? They like to show their new wives who’s boss. It’s all just noise and nonsense. Don’t you let him worry you.’
But Carys couldn’t help feeling worried. She felt as if she’d failed already.
Chapter 10
The honeymoon was well and truly over, wasn’t it? Richard spent most of his time on some far flung corner of the estate, her new in-laws never spoke to her, Louise had been too busy to come up to Amberley over the last few weeks, and Cecily had been a complete nightmare. At first, Carys had been able to cope with the silent treatment she received at the breakfast table each morning. Richard hadn’t even noticed it but, to Carys, Cecily’s silence was thunderously loud.
‘So,’ Carys would begin at the breakfast table, her voice filled with an animation she didn’t particularly feel. ‘What are you girls up to today?’
‘We have reading first,’ Evie said. ‘Then spelling - yuck! Then Geography then Maths.’
‘And what are you reading?’ Carys asked, directing the question at Cecily. Cecily looked up and, for a moment, Carys thought she was going to answer but her glance returned to her cornflakes which she stirred with melancholy precision.
‘Little Women,’ Evie chimed.
And that was the end of that conversation.
Carys hadn’t expected it to be so heartbreakingly difficult to reach a child but she was determined not to give up. She’d vowed to spend the rest of her life with Richard, and Cecily was his daughter so there was no getting away from her.
As if that wasn’t enough to be worrying about, there’d been the voice she’d heard in the night. It had been the first time she’d ventured further than the ensuite bathroom. Richard had told her to take a torch if she ever left the bedroom as a minimal number of lights were left on in an attempt to keep the hefty annual electricity bill down. Carys had cursed her raging thirst as her body became chilled to the bone in next to no time, goosebumps sprouting like a relief map of the Himalayas all over her body even though it was summer.
Life had been so simple in her Victorian terrace. It took only seconds to get from room to room but, in Amberley Court, it could take hours to find the right room or days if you were unlucky enough to take a wrong turning and found yourself in one of the wings you hadn’t explored before; and there were plenty of them.
‘Left, right, straight down the corridor with the china cabinets and it’s the door with the dodgy handle,’ Carys whispered to herself as her torch beam shone ahead of her. If only she could stop her torch from casually swinging upwards and picking out mounted deer heads or anxious ancestors hanging on the walls.
Never again, Carys thought as she recalled her expedition to the kitchen. After that, she’d make sure she never forgot to take a glass of water to bed with her.
It had been a night ripe for ghostly experiences, she thought: there’d been a rotund moon which had shone through the kitchen window and, in the distance, she’d heard a rumble of thunder.
She could just imagine telling her grandchildren. She’d be sat in the great winged chair she’d taken a fancy to in the Red Drawing Room. There’d be a full blazing fire and the room would be warm and cosy because they’d have sorted out all the draughty old windows by the time she was in her dotage. Her grandchildren would be angelic of face and crossed of leg, their wide eyes fixed on her creamy complexion - miraculously uncreased by time, and her hair retaining its golden sheen despite her advancing years.
But it wasn’t her resilient beauty which would captivate them; it was her skills as a storyteller.
‘There was a full moon that night,’ she’d begin. ‘It was hidden by clouds when I first ventured out of bed but, once in the kitchen, it fair blinded me!’
‘Tell us about the storm, nana.’
‘Oh yes,’ she’d say. ‘When I looked out of the window, a fork of lightning cracked the sky in two and the thunder - well, when it rumbled, I could feel it in my very belly.’
‘And then you heard the voice, didn’t you?’ their eager voices pressed.
‘Indeed. That’s when the lady first spoke to me.’
But it wasn’t, was it, Carys thought now? She was positive she’d heard the voice before. The lady, for it was certainly a lady’s voice, had spoken to her in broad daylight. There hadn’t been a clouded moon or a ghostly night-time shadow in sight, and the only rumble she’d heard was her tummy as it made a protest for a lunch break.
Thinking about it now made her arms break out in goose bumps. She’d been in the Montella Room, attending one of the Amberley Enterprises’ meetings which were held every week. The room, named after the eighteenth century Italian artist, Leo Montella, was full of gorgeous portraits of the Bretton family. Carys’s eyes drifted across them. She hadn’t quite learned all the names yet but she loved looking at them: all those haughty dukes and their beautiful duchesses, wearing their very finest robes and dresses and posing with graceful ease.
She wondered if she and Richard would ever pose for their portraits. It seemed rare, these days, to have one’s portrait done but she found the idea rather romantic. What would she wear? Her ethnic dresses from her favourite boutique seemed wildly inappropriate unless she wanted to be known down the centuries as “the hippie marchioness”.
‘I don’t see how you can possibly think the fountain is more important than the folly,’ the duke said.
Carys blinked and tried to pay attention. It was so easy to get distracted by their beautiful surroundings and she pulled her mind back to the meeting. All the important people from the estate attended including dear Ash Brodie, the head gardener. Carys still felt that her role was a very passive one but she was eager to learn and tried her hardest to pay attention.
And that’s when she’d heard the voice. They’d been talking about repairing the old stone fountain.
‘It has to be made a priority,’ the duchess insisted. ‘It can’t wait any longer.’
‘It’s waited a hundred years already. I think it can wait a couple more,’ the duke retaliated.
‘Silly old fool!’
Carys turned round. Who’d said that? Who’d dared to call the duke a silly old fool, even if he was one? It had definitely been a female voice and she and the duchess were the only women there. Well, there was Pearl Janson who was in charge of the shop but she wasn’t the sort of woman to shout such things at dukes.
The voice, she thought, had come from behind her but there was nothing there but a large sash window which looked out over the lawn.
Hadn’t anybody else heard it?
‘I’ve received several letters about the fountain’s state of disrepair,’ the duchess complained.
‘And I’ve received several letters of threats to sue if the folly collapses on top of unsuspecting visitors,’ the duke replied.
Obviously not. Maybe Carys had imagined it.
‘He’s such a pompous old windbag!’
Carys almost leapt out of her seat.
‘Are you all right,’ Richard asked, looking at her with eyes full of annoyance rather than concern.
‘Of course I’m all right,’ Carys said.
Richard shook his head before returning his attention to his parents once again.
Carys looked around the room. It wasn’t her imagination, was it? Perhaps it was Cecily or Evie playing games but, even if they had managed to escape the clutches of their tutor and had found a way into the Montella Room without being observed, surely everybody else would have heard them too?
‘These meetings are nothing but a waste of time.’
Carys’s eyes widened. The voice was definitely getting louder now.
‘Look,’ Richard said, ‘we should take a vote on how this money is to be spent. It’s obvious that you two aren’t going to be able to agree,’ he said, looking at his parents who sat, stony faced, at either end of the table.
‘Those in favour of restoring the folly?’
Four hands shot into the air.
‘Those in favour of restoring the fountain?’
Eight hands shot into the air.
‘Right. The fountain is to be this year’s project. I’ll get the wheels turning.’
‘About time too. That fountain is an eyesore.’
Carys felt the breath leave her body. Where was the voice coming from?
‘Any other business?’ Richard asked, the meeting obviously drawing to a close.
‘Yes,’ she said, suddenly finding her voice.
Eleven pairs of eyes focussed in her direction.
‘I think it’s time to increase the entrance fee.’
For a moment, the room filled with a stunned silence, as if nobody had dared to mention the ugly business of money before.
‘Anyone have any thoughts?’ Richard asked.
Again, silence filled the room from its beautifully carpeted floors to its ornate plaster ceiling.
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