by James Anson
"Thank you," said Michael modestly. "His poetry isn't bad either. Rob, you remember the lady who cleaned up Sir Michael for you? Do you think she would take a crack at Emily? She's rather on the grubby side - can't meet her public with a grimy frock."
"Who will be paying her?" asked Robert. "She isn't cheap, you know."
"Bessie will be happy to," said Michael. "She is really enjoying herself doing the fair copies on the right paper for us."
"Right paper!" said Robert. "I know I'm going to regret this but let me see what you have written. Why the Civil War? Thought the Regency more your period."
"No," said Michael. "Not romantic enough - too shallow. We wanted something with real feeling - not gilded popinjays at Brighton. Besides, you had me doing all that research when you were considering the book on the Sealed Knot, remember? You see, it wasn't wasted."
"When we had that mild disagreement on Cromwell," said Robert reminiscently, "you stormed out and I didn't hear anything for a month. I suppose you were in Tipp?"
"Probably," said Michael cautiously. "I'll just get you my copies."
Robert read a while. "Very good," he said finally. "A touch of the Sir William Temples here and there, and you've resisted the urge to have anyone say, 'Look, there's old Nol and isn't that John Hampden with him?'"
"I liked his style," said Michael. "And we have some genuine Fanshaw letters - none of them met anyone important either, just moaned on about the weather and worrying if they were getting the crops in at home, and whether Betsy ought to marry that young man or should they hang out for a better offer. They are all as boring as Jack's letters would be if he ever wrote any."
"What really happened to poor Emily?" asked Robert finally, after blowing his nose hard.
"Nothing much," said Michael. "She settled down in her convent, became Mother Superior and outlived all her family, dying in France at eighty-six. But we felt an early death more appropriate - you know, pining away?"
"I do admire this flippant disregard you show for inconvenient facts, Mike. Why the hell doesn't Jack sell any old letters he has?"
"Who would want them?" said Michael. "They are not interesting. Anyway, would you sell your great etc. grandfather's letters?"
"I doubt the old bastard could write," said Robert. "I'm just trying to work out if you are actually committing a felony!"
Next morning he rang Mr Halliwell and recounted the appalling activities of his companion to a very appreciative pair of ears.
"And it's no good laughing," said Robert indignantly. "He could go to jail!"
"Rubbish," said Mr Halliwell. "He's just gone in for a little historical licence. You could call it romancing, at the most."
"I'd prefer to call it lying," said Robert. "Lulled into a false sense of security thinking Good, he's off a horse at last, can't get into trouble ..."
"It's always a danger when someone with Mr Faulkner's energy finds time on their hands," said Mr Halliwell sagely. "You'll just have to insist he keeps his imagination within bounds. He is an Irishman, remember."
"Don't I know it," said Robert gloomily. "And now I'm getting pestered for information on how to build a knot garden in a month. It's bloody impossible!"
"I'm sure you're really enjoying every moment of it," said Mr Halliwell with scant sympathy. "How is your horse-pond coming on?"
Happily diverted, Robert gave him a blow-by-blow account then, feeling cheered, rang off. To hell with 'em, he thought. Casket Letters, my eye. Hang on ...
He sat down and pondered a while then put a call through to Captain Higgins, now of Trinity College, Dublin.
"Phil, that you? Robert March here. Listen, could you come over a few days early, before you go to that seminar at - what is it? - Oxford/Cambridge - one of those places. Oh, it is, is it. Well, had something in your line turn up down here. Letters - could be of interest to you. Your period, sort of 'rescue mission'. Yes, they are in danger - from infidels. No, you don't have to go out on a horse with Mike. Yeah, he's coming on. I'll tell you all when I see you - devil finding work and all that stuff ..."
He mentioned the early arrival of their visitor to Michael as they prepared dinner together.
"Why?" asked Michael. "I like Phil, but he doesn't ride these days and he never was a country boy."
"Point in his favour," said Robert. "I'm thinking of having a passionate affair with him. Would you mind?"
"Not really," said Michael. "Take some of the strain off me, that would." He went on chopping onions, unconcerned.
"I see," said Robert. "You could at least act jealous - it's hurtful. Wonder if I've missed anything never having had a passionate affair. Just never had the time."
Michael, now slicing kidneys into the pan, shook his head. "What about ours?" he said reasonably. "We might not have been Romeo and Juliet, thank God, but we have had our moments. Usually when I'm covered in Deep Heat or embrocation. Often think it's a turn- on for you."
"Don't be disgusting," said Robert. "Here, let me have a stir at that - you set the table. Can't get romantic about a fella who wears three jerseys, two pairs of socks, and in the evening just grunts at me over the pages of Horse & Hound."
"You never did tell me," said Robert as they ate later, "how Gladys comes to do desktop publishing. She's that big, cheery girl who'll knock hell out of a steak for you in the butcher's, isn't she?"
"That's the one," said Michael. "Seems she runs a fan club and does her newsletters on it and stuff for the shops - leaflets, that sort of thing. Explained it all to me. She was surprised you didn't go in for it, too."
"Fan club?" questioned Robert. "Like the Angela Thirkell Circle or Star Trek?"
"Didn't ask," said Michael. "Could be Friends of H.P.Lovecraft - he's got quite a following."
Robert stared at him in amazement. "He does? Where? And you've never read him!"
"In America," said Michael. "I have, too. When I'd read everything in the hospital library, such as it was, and was going mad, Dec brought me in this load of Weird Tales. A friend of Christopher's is mad on them - likes to keep a spare set at the castle for when he visits so he can get his usual fix. He wears a sweater with Miskatonic University on the front and goes into bookshops asking for a volume by some mad Arab."
"Takes all sorts," said Robert. "Mad, is he?"
"Very," said Michael. "Dead set on being a stockbroker like his father and he has a really good seat on a horse. I quite enjoyed them - a good laugh if you transpose the action here and imagine a great one-footed thing going squelch down Potters Lane."
"It certainly would," said Robert sourly. "I had my wellie sucked off there last week - felt a real berk standing there heaving away in one wellie and a muddy sock too filthy to put back in the boot so I left it there to compost. I forgot to tell you - Marion rang. She and Agnes toured the picture gallery and she's arranged to have two taken back to London for cleaning. Emily and one she thought was better than the others. The rest, she said, were better left with the grime on - gave them an intriguing air of mystery. She will be here for tea tomorrow so I want you shaved and in your right mind."
"Bridge tomorrow," said Michael. "I'll be back in time for tea."
"Oh, goodie!" said Robert. "Just when I was hoping to make a good impression. Well, I can't leave here, Colonel Heaton will have to bring you home."
Next afternoon, Robert had just started his tour of the garden - Captain Higgins and Marion having trotted off for a walk down to the village - when he heard the colonel's extremely rattly car arrive. He got up the garden in time to see Michael disappearing stable-wards and paused to bid the colonel good day.
"Heard you are having problems with the knot garden," he remarked. "No time to grow anything - any idea what's needed?"
"Well," said Robert, "the Jacobeans did use stones, odds and ends and anything that was coloured - terrible colour sense. We could fudge something up that way. It's the scale that's bothering me and what to have - can't be pretty-pretty."
"What about a coat of
arms?" said Colonel Heaton briskly. "Suit the place. Big showy one. That nephew of Faulkner's at Sandhurst - he draws, doesn't he?"
"Denis?" said Robert. "Yes, he does. But he isn't due for any leave at the moment. I could ask him to sketch one out for us, I suppose."
"Good," said the colonel. "Don't worry about his leave, I'll get on to old Buffy right away and arrange that. John will be home next weekend, he can help scale it up, and Faulkner too, of course. Needs some employment - not himself yet. Led wrongly twice this afternoon, not like him at all. Now, can I use your phone - catch Buffy before he's got too many drinks under his belt."
"Feel free," said Robert weakly. "I'll go and see what Mike is doing, then we will all have a couple of drinks."
He found Michael casually skimming small pebbles across the now-filled pond.
"And you can stop that!" said Robert. "You just might brain a newt!"
Michael peered into the still murky depths. "Arrived sharpish, haven't they?" he remarked.
"Via several zinc buckets," said Robert. "I heard they were draining this pond in Lower Gretton, so alerted Ashley and some of his mates and we all went down there with our shrimping nets to rescue anything interesting. Some really weird things came up. You might find your van a little smelly, I wasn't going to transport buckets of pond water in the Merc."
"Of course not," said Michael. "I don't suppose I'll notice. I think Phil's been instantly smitten with Marion. It's that gorgeous red hair. You're not playing Cupid, are you?"
"Of course not," said Robert. "He's not married or strange, is he?"
"No to both," said Michael. "Just never seems to get his head out of the seventeenth century. They could suit each other. I've told Jack on no account to burn anything till Phil's had a look at it. He's already getting cold feet at the thought of Agnes's reaction when she sees the birds have gone."
* * * * *
Next day, after a cursory glance at the letters, Captain Higgins set to, grim-faced, remarking to Robert in the evening that it had been a mercy he had been called in.
"I find the earl's attitude very irresponsible. I tried to explain their importance, but his attention tends to wander."
"Doesn't it just," said Robert. "Look, if you're going to make an offer wait till Agnes is home. It will save a lot of wear and tear on your nerves."
That weekend they were invaded by six officer cadets, young Denis clutching a magnificent coat of arms, including the royal unicorn, presently joined by Colonel Heaton, his very taciturn son John, of the Royal Engineers, and Michael. Then they all started to converse in a sort of verbal military shorthand, and Robert thankfully left them to it.
* * * * *
"I came home," said Agnes, two days later, "expecting to be able to relax in peace and quiet and find ten officer cadets, Michael, Major Heaton, young Denis, my mother-in-law in dungarees and sundry riff-raff tearing up the remains of the tennis court and informing me casually they are constructing a knot garden there. Also that I can expect Miss Medlycott from the village school with classes three and four round on Friday with their coloured pebbles. No doubt also expecting tea and buns. I hardly liked to mention this was the first I'd heard of it. We are also opening to the public shortly, and the five cases of stuffed birds I left in the hall have all disappeared. What do you know about this, Robert? Jack is being very evasive."
"Perhaps they flew away," said Robert madly. "You could try asking Jack or Mike again. I'm terribly busy."
"They have all disappeared to the Brewers," said Agnes. "I know when you are lying, Robert..."
* * * * *
High summer brought the garden open days.
"Must remember to shut Amos up this time," said Robert worriedly. "I'm not having him loose in the garden. If you hadn't been so quick spotting that woman stuffing him under her coat yesterday, the poor love would have been a pair of gloves by now."
"She would have been sorry," said Michael, carefully picking white fluff off his jacket. "Anyway, he was yelling so loud everyone could hear he was being catnapped. She said she was just taking him to see her Rolls."
"He wouldn't have been impressed," said Robert. "He sees my Merc every day and sits on it in the sun - wish he wouldn't. You are planning to shave today, I hope?"
"Why?" asked Michael. "You won't need me for anything. I was planning to ..."
"Forget it!" said Robert. "I need you on the plant stall. It's no good me standing there - I terrify people. Besides, I need to patrol, keep an eye on things. They just take one look into your big blue eyes and go all weak at the knees - I hope. Think of all those poor arthritic old gardeners. You'll be doing it for them - bringing sunshine into their lonely lives ..."
"All right!" said Michael. "Put the violin away. Most of the old gardeners I meet are spryer than I am at the moment. Where do you want the horses this time?"
"Paddock," said Robert. "I nearly thumped Flash when he ate that bouquet, and Sarah's too fond of cadging sugar. They are better there anyway. We don't have to keep dashing to the stables to make sure they haven't been rustled!"
* * * * *
"Ah, there you are, Robert," said Colonel Heaton. "Come right through to the conservatory. We are having drinks there until dinner is ready."
“Mike will be along in a moment," said Robert. "Just settling the horses back with Jos. Went well, didn't it?"
"Very," said Colonel Heaton, passing round glasses of sherry. "I have just heard from the vicar that our visitors have been far in excess of those for Lower Gretton last weekend."
"Naturally," said Robert. "How they won the best kept village last year, only God knows."
"Friends in High Places," said Michael, who had arrived a couple of minutes before with Jos. He accepted his glass. "Who just happen to live nearby."
"Really?" said Robert. "All safely locked up?" He nodded to Mrs Bleavins, who joined them.
"It's to be hoped Lord Bourton does as well when he opens next month," said Jess.
"That knot garden looks really ... well ... splendid, isn't it? I went to see it with Ashley and the schoolchildren. They are really thrilled with it now - especially that unicorn. Little Alice Perkins was showing everyone just where her stones are."
"Your John did a good job there," said Robert to Colonel Heaton. "It's splendidly garish -just like they were, I should think."
"He thoroughly enjoyed himself," said the colonel. "My grandchildren are dying to see it, too, when they come over. As I understand there is still room for more stones, they will be bringing a collection of their own. I forgot, March, you haven't seen our conservatory before, have you? The children gave it to Alice and me on our anniversary."
"I think it's splendid," said Robert looking about. "Could do with something like this myself."
Michael helped himself to another glass of sherry, and poked Oscar, the extremely fat cat sitting on the table.
"Wonder if it's true he runs on castors," said Robert. "I've never seen him up on his paws yet. You know, I'd love one of these conservatories, Mike. Get my computer set up in there, some heating in. Now I've got that big cheque from Halliwell ..."
"We could do with a tack room attached to the stables, too," said Michael hopefully.
"You're always saying you're fed up with falling over my boots and saddle etc. Phil rang up just before I left - sounded mildly excited for him. He's engaged to Marion."
"Oh God," said Robert, "another pressie to buy. No, Mike, those horses absorb enough money as it is. What was that letter from Tipp you had? I like to know the worst."
"Just an invite to spend Horse Show week at the Gresham all expenses paid," said Michael happily. "Malva is taking a floor over and wants me to keep an eye on her bratlings. You are invited."
"No!" said Robert. "You know what it's like there Horse Show week - debauchery run rampant."
Michael nodded happily.
"Listen," said Robert, "I'll need planning permission. Who do you know on the County Council or whoever? 'Bout time you put
a good word in for me."
"You said it was deplorable to ask for favours from the over-privileged," said Michael smugly. "When we got the stables extended at Jack's ... Now, about my tack room and Dublin?"
"Mike!"
"That's Alice, ringing the bell," said Colonel Heaton. "Shall we all go in for dinner?"
Of course," said Michael as they went in to dinner, "with the right persuasion I could have a quiet word with the duke ..."
"Lousy, conniving swine," said Robert. "You wait till later ..."
END