by Mike Shevdon
“Hello? Is anyone home?” I called. The words sounded flat and dull in the space. There was a furnished sitting room around another stone fireplace, but again there was no sign of occupation. The cushions were plumped and showed no indication that anyone ever sat in the chairs or on the sofa. The tables were empty, the bookcases complete, with no empty spaces where books had been borrowed to browse and read.
I went through another door, finding a short corridor, and then doors to a kitchen and a storeroom. Everything looked ordered. Even the brooms looked as if they’d never swept the floors. The range cooker was cold, no food in the cupboards, no water in the pots. It looked like a home, but it was only a facsimile. No one actually lived here.
I banged open doors, calling for someone to answer, finding a boot room, complete with clean and completely unworn boots, a washroom with a dry jug and washbowl with a locked rear door.
Retracing my steps, I went quickly up the staircase and around the gallery. There were bedrooms large and small, the biggest with a great bed, curtains drawn back around a mound of covers. The pillows were all neatly placed, the beds carefully made. I found a bathroom, relatively modern compared to the washroom downstairs, and an ancient but serviceable toilet. I couldn’t imagine that the house had been built with indoor plumbing, so I assumed that this, like the additions downstairs, had been added later.
I met Blackbird and Lesley coming upstairs.
“Is there sign of anyone?” Blackbird asked me.
“Nothing,” I said. “No one lives here. There are no personal effects, no shampoo or soap in the bathrooms, no clothes in the wardrobes. It’s empty.”
“That could be to our advantage,” said Lesley, “though it’s a bit spooky. It makes you wonder what happened to everyone.”
I left them exploring the upstairs and went back down, thinking there must be somewhere that people actually spent time, and wondering whether there was a potting shed somewhere with people hiding in it.
I went back past the kitchen, through a maze of passages, into the store and found another door to the back. The door opened onto a different scene. I stood in the doorway, held back by instinct, and surveyed the room. Then I carefully closed the door and went back for the others.
I stood in the hallway and called. “Blackbird? Lesley? You better come and see this.”
Angela appeared from the great hall, Dave behind her. Blackbird and Lesley came downstairs, and I led them though to the room at the back of the house. I opened the door and went inside, standing away from the desks, careful not to disturb anything.
There were two offices, modern in style, built into what must have been an outbuilding. It was warmer than the rest of the house, probably due to better insulation. There were modern desks and office chairs, a couple of desktop computers, a small kitchen area, a notice board with leaflets and notices pinned to it — but no people.
More than that, the area showed signs of recent human presence. There were two coffee mugs on a desk, both part-full with coffee. I touched them and they were stone cold. Under a desk I pointed out a pair of men’s brown shoes that had been placed carefully and left with no sign of the owner. I jogged the mouse on a computer and the screen flashed into life, showing a spreadsheet program that had been left open. On the counter in the kitchen area there was a mug with a dry teabag in it, as if someone had been making tea, and then been called away. There was even milk in the fridge — I sniffed it, finding it on the edge of going sour.
“I thought it was spooky before,” said Lesley.
“Where are they?” I asked Blackbird. “It’s like they just vanished.”
“Maybe there was an emergency,” said Blackbird.
“Or an accident,” said Angela.
“Wouldn’t they come back to use the phone,” I suggested, pointing out the land-line on the desk. “Or just to get their shoes?”
“They might have been called away,” said Dave. “Maybe they all went outside and left the key inside — locked themselves out, maybe.”
“I don’t like it,” said Lesley, shuffling closer to Dave who placed his arm protectively around Lesley’s shoulders.
“What’s that?” asked Blackbird, pointing to the desk in the corner.
I turned to where she motioned and saw a white envelope on the desk. The words, To the New Occupier, were written on the envelope in looping script.
I picked up the envelope and passed it to Blackbird. “I guess that means you?” I said.
She smelled the envelope, then weighed it in her hand and shook it gently next to her ear, listening for what was inside. When she was satisfied, she tore one end off the envelope and extracted a piece of white paper, which she read loud.
Dear Occupier,
We are given to understand that you are the new occupier of Grey's Court and that the lease for the Trust has been revoked. This is unprecedented in our experience, but we have been assured that this is the case and that the effect is immediate. You will appreciate that these are highly unusual circumstances, and as a result we have been unable to make any preparations, especially with it being so close to Christmas. We never anticipated that the conditions in the lease would be invoked so suddenly.
We have been told that the house and everything in it is yours, and although we feel this may be open to legal challenge we are obliged to abide by the conditions of the lease, at least for the meantime. As a result, the staff have been asked to leave everything. We would also be grateful if you would look after the property the Trust has left in your care until the legal ownership of the items can be confirmed.
The house is a national treasure and I am sure you are aware that any deterioration in the condition of the property would be a loss, not only to the Trust, but to the nation as a whole. We would ask therefore that you treat it carefully and considerately.
Yours,
Cynthia Burgess
Legal Advisor, National Trust
“Does that mean the house is ours?” asked Angela.
“Perhaps,” said Blackbird. “At least they believe it. They can challenge it, and we’d need a copy of the lease to know whether there is any basis for a challenge, but it sounds like they’ve accepted the situation, at least for the meantime. We can appoint lawyers to look at it if necessary, but for now, it’s ours.”
“It explains why it’s so creepy,” said Lesley. “I was beginning to think they’d all disappeared — like a house version of the Marie Celeste.”
I wandered around the office, finding a newspaper left open, the crossword half-completed, a half-written note, an uncapped pen lying next to it. It was time to mention what was bothering me. “There is something,” I said. They all focused on me. “Do you feel it?”
They all looked at each other. Blackbird nodded slowly, “I feel it too.”
“I can’t place it,” I told her. “To begin with I thought there was a Way-node here, and maybe there is, but I can’t find it. I’ve been all around the ground floor, and I can’t see any signs of a cellar or a door leading down. Is it just me?”
“No, she said. Whatever is here is very faint. It’s like a residue, or an echo of something.”
“Do you think it is actually haunted?” asked Lesley.
Blackbird shook her head. “No. There are no ghosts, but Niall’s right. Something was here, long ago. It might explain the strange business with the lease.”
“You think that’s part of it?” I asked her.
“You have to admit, it’s an odd arrangement. I know the National Trust doesn’t own all the properties they operate, that’s not so unusual, but the business with the rose — that must be unique.”
“So what was here?” I asked.
She looked around the deserted office. “Originally? A shrine, perhaps, or maybe there was a weak Way-node here that we haven’t found. If the house is mentioned in the Domesday Book, then it’s over ten centuries old — predating the Norman conquest.” She gestured around her. “The house you see now would hav
e been built later — it’s mainly Tudor with some late additions, but there would have been a structure prior to that, probably a smaller house. It could have been destroyed in a fire, or fell into ruin, and later rebuilt in a Tudor style. Who knows?”
“And if there’s a legal challenge?” asked Angela. “We don’t have any money for lawyers and court fees.”
“Perhaps we can get legal aid?” I suggested.
Blackbird frowned at me. “Once the Eighth Court is established, we have an income,” she said. “That’s part of the reason for our search for a home. The income of the courts is divided equally between the courts, and once we are established within the courts we qualify for a share of that. Teoth and Krane tried to challenge that, but their own share of the income is based on the same principle. If they cut us off then they leave their own sources of income open to challenge.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Where do the courts get money from? They don’t make anything — none of them do any work that I’m aware of.”
“You forget,” said Blackbird. “The courts are very old. They’ve had land since ownership became possible: farms, houses, property, tied up in trusts and held by proxies. There are investment funds, charitable trusts — they own houses like this one, all over the place. This may have been leased by the National Trust, but you have to ask, who did they lease it from? If you work hard enough and pursue it long enough, you could probably trace the lease back to something that links to the courts. That would explain the arrangement with the rose rent. I know for a fact that they are the ultimate owners of some very exclusive property in London. The income exceeds the outgoings, so year on year, it just accumulates.
“So why don’t we simply use the money we get from that to buy a place?” asked Angela.
“We have income, but no capital,” explained Blackbird. “In order to receive an income, we need to establish the court. Without capital we can’t buy a place, and without a place we can’t establish a court. What do you suggest, we take out a mortgage?”
“It’s a thought,” Angela said.
“You’re not thinking this through. We’d have to prove our identity, and enter into financial debt with a bank based on income for which we are not able to disclose the source. That’s not going to work, is it? We’d be better off declaring your semi in Tamworth as a court, though I doubt you’re quite ready to donate your house to the cause.”
Angela’s silence confirmed Blackbird’s assessment.
“If we had this place for a while, though,” said Dave, “we could build up a reserve, and once we have a reserve we can find somewhere else if we need to.”
“We, Dave?” said Blackbird.
Dave suddenly looked embarrassed at his verbal slip. “I thought… you know… if Lesley is going to be Steward…?”
“She hasn’t decided yet,” said Blackbird. “It’s a big commitment,” she said, “for both of you.”
Dave and Lesley shared a hesitant smile. “So are we moving in?” asked Lesley. “Is this the home of the Eighth Court?”
Blackbird looked around her slowly. “I think it will do for now. We’ll have to resolve any dispute about legal ownership. We could start by returning the possessions of the people that worked here, as a gesture of good faith.”
“So we inherit the contents?” I asked.
“They will certainly challenge that,” said Blackbird, “but yes, in part. We might have to purchase our own furniture, but that’s only to be expected. Once we have an income it all becomes easier.”
“That’s not going to happen until the New Year, though,” I pointed out. “None of this will be sorted out before Christmas. What do we do in the meantime?”
“I will return to the High Court and inform them that we have an establishment and that the Eighth Court will leave the High Court by the solstice, as agreed. They will want to see the new court for themselves, no doubt, but that can happen in due course. Before we can accept visitors we need to start acting like a court. We need to take down the National Trust signs, and make it look like someone lives here. We need to secure the bounds of the estate and set wardings in place. For that we need the court to have members.”
“I can bring people in,” said Angela, “provided we can accommodate them.”
“Actually that’s something I meant to speak with you about,” said Lesley to Blackbird. “Niall was suggesting a celebration.”
“I was?” I said.
“It was your idea,” said Lesley, “and once Mullbrook heard about it he was very supportive. With your permission, Lady, we’d like to throw a party.”
“What kind of party?” asked Blackbird, looking between me and Lesley.
“A naming celebration,” said Lesley. “At the same time it will give us an opportunity to bring everyone together for the first time under one roof. We certainly have room — the great hall would be ideal, and I think we could accommodate everyone as long as they’re willing to share.”
Blackbird looked at me, and I shrugged, “I was thinking of a few friends and family. It’s rather gone out of my hands,” I said.
“Very well, she said. “How long will it take to bring everyone together?”
“For a party?” said Angela. “If you’re inviting them, they’ll come.”
“We’re inviting them,” said Blackbird, “by ancient custom, we are summoning the court. Anyone who has pledged allegiance and wishes to take blood oath and become part of the Eighth Court must attend. It’s less of an invitation and more of a summons,” she said. “Do you still think they’ll come?”
“They have nowhere else to go,” said Angela. “They’ll come.”
“Tomorrow is the winter solstice,” said Blackbird. “It’s the shortest day followed by the longest night of the year, the best possible night for a celebration. Lesley, can it be done?”
She nodded. “I think so, provided people are prepared to muck in. Mullbrook will help.”
“That could be problematic,” said Blackbird. “We cannot be seen to use the resources of the High Court for our own purposes. Teoth and Krane will undoubtedly object.”
“Lady, you don’t understand. I don’t think I could stop Mullbrook helping, even if I wanted to,” said Lesley.
Blackbird smiled. “You’re probably right,” she said, “but you might make him aware of the sensitivities and ask him to be discreet.”
“Discretion is his default position, Lady,” said Lesley.
“And if you are going to start calling me Lady,” said Blackbird, “then I am going to start referring to you as my steward.”
At that Lesley smiled, and Dave hugged Lesley.
“Very well,” Blackbird said, “Angela, summon the court.” She turned to me. “Niall, you have until tomorrow to decide what name our son shall have.”
“I was thinking,” I said. “We don’t have a Tarquin in the family.”
“Don’t you dare,” she said.
While Lesley and Dave made their way back from Grey's Court to begin making arrangements for the following evening, I travelled back with Blackbird and Angela.
“You should arrange for people to arrive an hour before dusk,” said Blackbird to Angela. “We will walk the bounds of the Eighth Court together, so you’d better tell them that we’ll be outside — bring boots and outdoor clothes if that’s appropriate. They’ll have opportunity to explore the house a little and find a bed for the night after that. Lesley will be setting up in the great hall, and we’ll begin receiving people at eight.”
“Have you done this before?” I asked her.
“It’s not hard to see that this could turn into chaos if it’s not organised properly. It’s no worse than directing students at college, and frankly easier than organising an academic conference. The trouble with academics,” she said, “is that they can never agree on anything, least of all arrangements. Niall, I will need you in the great hall before eight. Bring your sword.”
“My sword? Are we expecting trouble?”
“We will be swearing blood oaths,” she reminded me. “And that requires blood. Bring your sword and something to wipe the blade that won’t show the stains. You don’t want people fainting when you pick up a blood-soaked rag.”
“We could ask Garvin to do it,” I suggested. “He’s done it before.”
“No, I want you to do it. It’s a symbolic moment and it needs to be done well. I trust you.” She rested her hand on my arm. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t lop anyone’s hand off.”
“No pressure then,” I said.
“We’ll let people meet each other, and then when everyone’s had chance to socialise, I’ll say something to the assembly. I don’t know what, yet, but I’ll think of something.”
“A welcome address, perhaps,” suggested Angela.
“Something of that nature. After that, we’ll name the baby, which means it’s your turn to stand up and say something, Niall. It’ll be the first naming ceremony in a fey court for hundreds of years, so you’d better come up with something good.”
“This gets better and better,” I said.
“Apparently this was all your idea,” said Blackbird, smiling, “so you can’t complain about it now. You keep telling me that’s it’s time our son had a name, and now’s your chance. It’s your choice, so choose well.”
She didn’t say, or else, after that, but I felt that it was implied.
“Speaking of our son, you could relieve Alex from looking after him. Lesley will have her hands full with the arrangements for tomorrow, but you could bring him back here. I need to find him something to wear when he’s presented to the court. What are you going to wear?” She asked me.
“Just Warder grey,” I suggested. “I don’t really have anything else.
“As good as anything, and it emphasises your neutrality. Angela, can you ask Mullbrook if he can have one of the new dresses ready for tomorrow? I’ll need to be presentable, and I’ll need something to wear when we beat the bounds — I can’t do that in a court dress…”