“Wow!” I said. “Not what I had expected from the servant’s quarters.”
“This used to be Mr. Johnson’s room. He was a man of great taste and a very loyal servant.”
I strolled over to the windows to admire the view of the lake, and only then, as I studied the gently curving walls, did I realize where exactly the room was positioned within the castle. I was in one of the turrets I had seen from the road.
“I believe Gloria hung your uniform in the wardrobe,” Vera said, breaking my train of thought. “So I should leave you to get settled in.” She headed for the door, but as she passed she stopped and gently patted my cheek.
“We are all terribly glad to have you here, Anthony.” And with that she left the room, closing the door behind her. I flopped down onto the bed and stared at the ornately draped ceiling.
I needed to get ready for work, so I headed for the bathroom, looking forward to an invigorating shower. I opened the only other door in the room to be confronted by my butler’s uniform alone in a shallow wardrobe set into the wall. I scanned the room and realized with a slight sense of dread that there was no en-suite. With a heavy heart I padded out of the turret in search of a bathroom. Somewhat optimistically I tried the first door I came to, but when I turned on the light it turned out to be nothing more than a dusty storeroom full of old trunks and tea chests. Thankfully, the next one was the bathroom. However, in place of the hotel-style wet room I had been hoping for, I was greeted with something that seemed like it had been preserved in aspic sometime back in the 1930s. It was meticulously clean, and the chrome fittings on the roll top bath in the center of the room positively gleamed, but it was obvious that this room, as well as the others on this floor, had escaped the Szabo millions lavished on the rest of the castle.
I ran a bath and splashed in a liberal dose of Jo Malone’s Wild Fig and Cassis Bath Oil stolen from the hotel. I might have pulled the short straw on accommodations, but I could see no reason not to indulge in a little bit of luxury.
I undressed in the bedroom and padded naked down the corridor back to the bathroom to discover it was thick with sweetly scented steam. Slipping into the hot water I found the bath was much bigger than most modern versions, and I could easily stretch out, allowing my head to slip under the water without my toes touching the opposite end. The scent from the bath oil was heady and rich, and in just a few minutes I was in a deep state of relaxation.
I began to run through the events of the week, and instantly my mind settled on the night I spent with Frank. With eyes tightly closed I dunked my head under the water, but when I surfaced I was snapped out of my dream by the sound of creaking floorboards. Wiping the thick foam from my eyes and ears I swung round to see where the noise was coming from. There was nobody there, and sinking back into the water I reminded myself that old houses often create quite a racket without any help from humans. Plus, Vera had assured me that I would have the whole of the top floor to myself. Then I heard a very human cough.
Heart pounding, I spun round, sending a tidal wave of scented water over the rim of the bath. There, standing in the doorway, was George.
“What the . . .” I said, not sure whether or not to stand up or sink back down below the water out of sight.
“Sorry to startle you,” he said, not bothering to look away. “Vera asked me to pop up and let you know that His Lordship will be back within the hour.”
Even though I had been shocked to see him, I was delighted to see George was still wearing his riding jodhpurs, but now his flannel shirt was untucked, and as he spoke he stroked his midriff absentmindedly, revealing a glimpse of a washboard stomach with a light covering of dark blond hair.
“Very kind of you, George, but you could have called me or something.” I fumbled down the side of the bath for a towel only to realize that it was still hanging on a stand on the other side of the room. George followed my gaze and strode over to where the towel was and grabbed it. When he finally held it out to me, he did so just out of my reach. I stood up and I took it, trying to conceal myself as best I could, but the towel was half the size of the ones I had been used to at the hotel, so it wasn’t easy.
Rather than knot it around my waist I chose to use the towel to dry my hair. I couldn’t see his face as I rubbed my hair vigorously, but hoped he was feeling a little more embarrassed by now and that he would pick up on the fact that, if he chose to creep up on someone in the bath, he might get more than he bargained for.
“So George, how long have you worked at Castle Beadale?” I asked from behind the towel, but I got no reply. When I peered out from behind it he was gone. Smiling, I headed back to the bedroom to change into my uniform.
CHAPTER 6
It was years since I’d worn such formal dress, but it felt reassuringly familiar. Despite the fact that I had forwarded only my waist, inside leg, and chest size to an e-mail address given to me by Maria, the uniform fitted so well it could have been tailored for me on Savile Row. The gray pinstripe trousers broke at just the right point on my patent Oxford shoes, and the black worsted tailcoat nipped in flatteringly at the waist, revealing just the right amount of gray silk waistcoat. I admired my reflection in the full-length mirror as I tied the gray silk tie into a half Windsor knot. Brushing away an imaginary speck of lint, I puffed out my chest and marveled at the effect good tailoring has on one’s posture. The results were nothing short of miraculous, and, feeling an inch taller than before, I was forced to admit that I looked bloody good in a morning suit. Finally, picking up the white cotton gloves, I headed for the servant’s stairs, bounding down them two at a time until I was once again on the ground floor of the castle.
Approaching the kitchen I could hear voices, so I knocked before entering.
“Ah! Here he is.” Vera beamed as I entered the room.
Gone now were her dirty gardening clothes, and instead she was wearing an old-fashioned floral apron over a crisp white blouse. Her hair was pulled into a neat chignon, and she was wearing a generous coat of lipstick. Had she not spoken first, I would have barely recognized her.
“Hello, everyone,” I said to the various people who turned in unison to face me, “I’m . . .”
“We all know who you are,” said the woman who had opened the door when I first arrived at the castle. She was smiling this time, but it looked like it took a bit of an effort. “I’m Gloria, the head housekeeper,” she said, extending a thin, veiny hand.
Compared to how frosty she had been just a couple of hours earlier, it seemed like Gloria was, for some reason, putting on a show of friendliness in front of the others. When I shook her cold and clammy hand I was filled with a sudden sense of dread, and I prayed my face wouldn’t betray what I was thinking. Her handshake was weak and limp, but I did my best not to recoil. Weak handshakes give me the creeps, and Gloria’s more than most.
“Anthony, this is Wendy,” Vera said, waving over at a dowdy-looking woman peeling potatoes into the sink. “She comes to help me with the cooking here.”
“Hello,” Wendy said, looking up from her potatoes with a thin smile.
“And this is my son, Tom,” Vera said, resting a hand on the shoulder of a young man who sat at the table nursing a mug of tea. “He is Lord Shanderson’s driver.”
The young man smiled, but said nothing.
“Speak up!” Vera barked. And then, so quickly he didn’t see it coming, she swiped him around the side of the head with the back of her hand. I gasped, but realized no one else had so much as batted an eyelid.
“Sorry, mum,” Tom said. “Nice to meet you, Anthony.” This time he stood up and shook my hand firmly, looking me straight in the eye.
“That’s better,” Vera said, softening her tone considerably.
“And last but not least, this is Kylie. She comes in to help Gloria around the house turning down beds and lighting fires. Don’t you, dear?” Vera smiled at the young girl, dressed rather awkwardly all in black apart from a crisp white apron and sitting opposite Tom at
the kitchen table. From what I could see Kylie was much more interested in Tom than in Vera’s introductions; she only just managed to tear her gaze away from him long enough to say hello. For a few tense seconds I wondered if she too might feel the back of Vera’s hand, but was relieved to find that was reserved for Vera’s own flesh and blood.
Introductions over, Vera doled out various tasks to each person before steering me toward the door.
“Gloria, will you show Anthony around the castle or shall I?” Vera asked.
“You’ll have to do it; I’m far too busy!” Gloria replied, not bothering to look up from her newspaper.
Vera just smiled and led the way out of the kitchen and into the depths of the castle.
“We’ll start at the bottom and work our way up I think, don’t you?”
Beyond the servants’ staircase was a heavy green baize door studded with brass tacks that opened out onto a huge marble entrance hall.
Going from the relative gloom behind the scenes into this light and airy cavern of a room made me squint.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” I said.
“Yes, well, this house is full of surprises.”
Briskly marching ahead, Vera progressed through all the ground-floor rooms at a cracking pace. Each room opened onto the next, starting with the breakfast room, then the Long Library, the Yellow Drawing Room, the billiards room, and finally the dining room.
“And this room,” Vera said with a sweeping arm gesture, “speaks for itself.”
After a succession of grand rooms Vera had saved the best for last. The dining table, which was one of the largest I had ever seen, was groaning under the weight of huge gold centerpieces and multi-branched candelabras. The walls, rather than being painted or papered, were upholstered with glossy red silk, but only minute areas were visible amidst the sea of gilt-framed portraits sandwiched between the dado and the picture rail. Those pictures were no doubt all of ancestors of Lord Shanderson.
As my eyes struggled to take it all in, Vera picked her moment perfectly to flick a switch by the door that sent refracted light from the crystal chandelier bouncing wildly from every surface. The effect was incredible.
“Are we expecting company?” I asked.
“No, His Lordship will dine alone this evening.”
“Alone? Amongst all this?” I asked, looking around at a room set out more for a state banquet than dinner for one.
“Yes, all alone—he loves this room, and he’s perfectly happy to enjoy it in his own company.” She smiled as she looked around with what could only be described as absolute pride.
“Better show you upstairs before His Lordship gets back. There’ll only be enough time to show you the master suite, and then you should lay the table so you’ve got enough time to help him dress. Follow me.”
Vera led the way out of the dining room through a concealed door on the far side that led into a small butler’s pantry. Traditionally this is where the plates were cleared to, washed, and then put away. The fine china would never be allowed to find its way into the kitchen, where it would surely perish at the hands of some clumsy kitchen maid. The pantry even had one of the original wooden sinks designed to protect the fine bone china from chips and scratches. Glass-fronted cupboards housed vast quantities of plates and glassware. The plates were in all shapes and sizes, but each was decorated with a heavy banding of gold leaf and what I took to be the Shanderson crest in the center. The crest was comprised of a baronial shield flanked by two intricately detailed golden griffins, and I recognized it instantly as being the same as the one positioned high above the main gates of the estate.
Vera didn’t linger long in the pantry, marching me through into yet another corridor. By now I had totally lost my bearings.
“And that brings us back to where we started,” she proclaimed.
“Does it?” I asked, genuinely confused.
“It certainly does, and through there is the kitchen.” She pointed to a door opposite the pantry. “The castle is basically built in the round. If you carry on going in one direction long enough you’ll always arrive back where you started.” She laughed, leaning against a panel in the wall that swung open to reveal a narrow staircase.
“Another surprise?” I asked, following Vera as she bounded up the uncarpeted stairs with a speed befitting someone half her age.
“Years ago, when I started here as a girl, Mr. Johnson used to say ‘Vera, if you find yourself stood on carpet, you are in the wrong place!’ ” She laughed.
On a landing another green baize door brought us out into a richly decorated hallway, at the end of which was a set of heavy mahogany doors.
“His Lordship’s room,” Vera said, leading the way.
Lord Shanderson’s bedroom was very much in keeping with the rest of the house and was liberally stuffed with antiques and works of art. Looking around the room my eyes were immediately drawn to a large Baroque portrait of a lady hanging in pride of place above the fireplace. Its ornate gilt frame and the way it was positioned in the room suggested that it was perhaps a jewel in His Lordship’s collection. Once I moved closer I could just make out the words on the tiny brass plaque on the bottom of the frame:
LADY ALICE SHANDERSON BY JOHANN ZOFFANY 1733–1810
I let out a whistle of admiration that Vera was polite enough to ignore.
“Do you know anything about art?” she asked.
“I’m not sure how much I actually know,” I said, not wanting to brag. “But it’s been something of an obsession of mine all my life.”
“Then I can see you and Lord Shanderson getting on like a house on fire.”
Tearing myself away from Lady Alice, I followed Vera around the room as she pointed out various things, such as which drawer of the tallboy his collar studs and cufflinks were kept in and where to position his slippers during turndown.
“When we have guests Gloria and Kylie do all the turndowns apart from His Lordship’s, and of course when Lady Shanderson is in residence her butler will take care of her room.”
“Isn’t this Lady Shanderson’s room too?” I asked.
“Hers is on the other side of the house,” Vera said, before turning her attention to the extravagantly upholstered four-poster bed.
“His Lordship is very particular about his bed,” she said, getting down on all fours and retrieving an electric iron from beneath it.
“He likes to have the sheets ironed on the bed. It gives a better finish.” She plugged in the iron behind the nightstand and started furiously smoothing out creases from the linen sheets. I just stood and watched as she worked at lightning speed.
“It looks like a bit of a faff, but once you get the hang of it, it shouldn’t take you more than a few minutes.” She stood back to admire her work, and sure enough it was perfect. “Not bad for a cook, eh?” She laughed. “And then turn the right hand side down to an angle of forty-five degrees, turn the lights down to thirty percent, and whatever you do make sure the blinds are fully lowered.”
She moved to the window to demonstrate her point, but before she did I caught a glimpse of the view that Lord Shanderson woke up to every morning. Although it was now dark, the strategically placed outdoor lighting and a bright winter moon meant that I could see the edge of the lake beyond the gravel turning circle at the front of the castle. The water shimmered, and the outline of the naked trees at the lake’s edge gave it an eerie look that was somewhere between beautiful and sinister. Before Vera snapped shut the blinds it also occurred to me that the room had exactly the same view as my own; my accommodation was positioned directly above His Lordship’s.
“Right then, young man, it’s 6:30 p.m., and His Lordship always eats at 8 p.m. if he’s alone, so you need to set the table and then wait in the kitchen. He’ll ring down for you if he needs a hand dressing—he usually doesn’t, but he probably will want to get the measure of you.”
I followed Vera out, trying desperately to remember the way back to the dining room.
&
nbsp; “Oh! I almost forgot—you’ll be needing this,” she said, retrieving a small cordless telephone from the pocket of her apron. “I’m extension 218; call me if you need anything.” And with that she disappeared down the hallway, humming quietly to herself.
After a couple of attempts I found the hidden panel that concealed the servant’s stairs, and in no time at all I was in the dining room.
I then realized that in the rush to take everything in I hadn’t bothered to ask Vera what she was cooking for His Lordship’s dinner; without this information I couldn’t correctly lay the table. But just as I was about to head off to the kitchen I spotted a small printed menu card bearing Castle Beadale’s crest, placed at the head of the table:
MENU
CONSOMMÉ
ROAST GROUSE, GAME CHIPS, FRIED CRUMBS,
AND BREAD SAUCE
VEGETABLES FROM THE GARDEN
TREACLE TART AND CUSTARD
Although this seemed a surprisingly formal setup for someone dining alone, it happily provided me with all the information I needed to work my magic. Years ago at the Palace I had been known for my speed and accuracy when it came to laying the table, and I still had the wood and brass folding ruler I was taught to use there. It was a well-known fact that the Queen could spot an unevenly laid table at twenty paces, so to avoid this we used the standard issue ruler to measure the spaces between the settings. Conveniently, at Castle Beadale all the silverware was kept in the drawer of an imposing mahogany sideboard, as was the dinner service and linen, so in ten minutes flat I had laid the table with mathematical precision and stood back to admire my work. Having decided that restraint was probably not the order of the day at Castle Beadale, I went for a “Prince of Wales’s Feathers” napkin fold that I hadn’t done for years. I was delighted that I could still remember how to do it.
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