Harstairs House

by Amanda Grange

  At the top she came out on to a long landing with windows overlooking the sea. There were two doors along the corridor's length, and one at each end. She decided to start with the nearest door, and found herself in a spacious chamber, with heavy beams supporting a sloping roof. The window on the opposite wall looked north over the countryside. It was covered in cobwebs, but it was a good size, and when cleaned it would make the most of the wonderful view. There were no other houses in sight, and she could see for miles.

  She turned her attention inwards. There was an accumulation of broken furniture on the floor, with some mouldy bedding and an old-fashioned chest. Dust covered everything, and swirled in the draught from the open door. Some of the furniture was fit only for throwing away, but there was a fine Louis Seize chair that would be beautiful if it was re-covered, and a long-case clock which was very handsome. Its hands were stuck at half-past eleven, but perhaps it could be repaired. She dismissed the bedding as irreclaimable and then opened the chest. A cloud of dust rose around her, making her sneeze. Inside, there were some old clothes of a kind fashionable thirty years before. She sifted through them, taking out a hooped petticoat, a set of panniers, a long apron and a powdered wig. The clothes made her smile, but there was nothing worth using, so she put everything away and closed the chest again.

  She gave one last look around, noting the room's fine dimensions. If Constance wanted, she could have the top floor of one wing entirely to herself. It would provide her with an attractive set of rooms, and plenty of space. She must mention the idea when she went downstairs.

  Leaving the room behind, Susannah examined the other rooms one by one, finding most of them empty, until she reached the last room, which was at the end of the corridor. It was smaller than the others, and overlooked the sea. It contained more broken furniture, some old curtains and a pile of old books. The curtains appeared to be in good condition, and were made of a heavy blue silk. Susannah picked them up, sneezing again as the dust stirred, and examined them for holes, but they were sound. Perhaps they would fit the windows in the larger room once they had been cleaned, she reflected. She would see if there was a wash house in the basement, for if there was, she could take everything that needed cleaning and mending and leave it there until she had time to attend to it.

  She folded the curtains and set them down on a chipped table. As she did so, she saw a number of items which had been hidden beneath them. There was a storm lantern, which appeared to be in good condition, a walking cane with its top missing, and a globe. She picked up the lantern. Beneath the curtains it had been protected from the dust, and its glass was complete. She decided to take it downstairs with her, thinking it might come in useful. Picking up the curtains and throwing them over her arm, she was about to go downstairs when she caught the sound of a creaking stair. She thought Constance must have come to join her, but it was not Constance who walked into the room a moment later, it was Oliver Bristow.

  "Mr. Bristow!" she exclaimed in surprise.

  "Miss Thorpe." He smiled charmingly. "I saw you coming up to the attic, and I thought you might need some help. There are some rotting floorboards that are best avoided. They were pointed out to me when I took the house, and I thought I would tell you where they are."

  "I see. Thank you. I would rather not fall through the floor! I am just familiarizing myself with the house," she explained.

  "So I guessed." He crossed the room and looked out of the window, then looked round the attic. "It's a fine room. Are you thinking of using it when you inherit?"

  "Yes. I thought Constance might like one wing of the attic rooms for her own."

  He raised his eyebrows. "An entire wing? You must think highly of your companion."

  "She won't be my companion for much longer. She is going to be my housekeeper."

  "I see."

  "It's very difficult to get staff here in the summer, I understand. How have you managed?"

  "We brought our own servant, Kelsey, with us," he said, leaning back against the window ledge and putting his hands behind him to protect his leather breeches from the dirt. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. His pose was careless, but even so, she had the feeling that a whipcord strength lay just beneath the surface, ready to be used if necessary. She felt apprehensive, as though she was in the room with a wild animal that was behaving in a tame and friendly fashion, but which could reveal its predatory nature at any moment. But it would not do to let him see that she was afraid.

  "Servant? Only one?" she asked.

  "Yes, only one, and he is mainly here for the comfort of our horses. My friends and I prefer to fend for ourselves when we are out of town. Being waited on makes a man soft."

  Soft was not a word she would use to describe Oliver Bristow, she thought, as she glanced at the hard ridges of his muscles beneath his tailcoat.

  "I have finished my work in the attic," she said. "I was just about to go downstairs."

  "Then you must let me carry your things."

  "Thank you. I've been sorting through everything that has been abandoned here. Most of it is unusable, but one or two items can be salvaged. The lantern will be useful when I go out into the yard in the mornings, and the curtains will be beautiful once they've been washed."

  He looked at the lantern and a strange expression crossed his face, but he said nothing, and they started to go downstairs.

  "Have you been at Harstairs House long?" she asked him.

  "Almost six months," he replied. "We took the house in June. The lease has nearly run its course."

  "It seems a very remote spot to choose. What made you come here?"

  "I am thinking of buying an estate here. It made sense to rent one as a base whilst I accustomed myself to the area and saw what was on offer. Besides, it makes a change from the clamour of London."

  "You don't like London?" she asked, her eyes lighting up.

  "I like it well enough in small doses, but it seems you prefer it to the country?" he said, smiling at her enthusiasm.

  "I don't know. I've never been, so I really can't say."

  "Never?" he asked, lifting one eyebrow.

  "No."

  "But you intend to go?" he asked.

  "Yes, I do. There is so much I want to do and see. I want to visit the galleries and go to the theatres and the shops. I want to walk in Green Park and ride in Rotten Row, although why it should be called rotten when it is by all accounts very pleasant, I don't know!"

  "It's a corruption of route de roi, the king's road," he said.

  "Ah! Then I will enjoy it all the more."

  He smiled, but then his face took on an unreadable expression. "You seem to know a lot about London for someone who's never been," he remarked.

  For one unsettling moment she thought he didn't believe her. But why should he not?

  "My great aunt told me about it," she explained. "She visited London when she was a girl, and never forgot it. Some of her friends still live there. They used to send her up-to-date fashion journals and tell her all the news, and now that she's dead, some of them still write to me."

  Lost in happy memories of her great aunt she forgot to be uncomfortable and, as they descended to the hall, talking of London, she found herself enjoying his company.

  Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, a young gentleman emerged into the hall from the direction of the library, followed by an older man.

  "You must be Miss Thorpe," said the young man.

  "Yes?" said Susannah enquiringly.

  "Mr. James Owen," he introduced himself, bowing over her hand.

  "I am pleased to meet you," said Susannah.

  "And I am Mr. Edward Catling," said the older man, bowing over her hand in his turn.

  "My friends are bearing me company in Cornwall," said Oliver. "It would be very dull by myself. Shall we?"

  They took their leave of the other gentlemen, and Oliver guided her to the kitchen. It was a homely room with a fire blazing in t
he hearth. A spitjack was set in front of it and a kettle was hanging over it. A large table, which had been scrubbed until it was almost white, dominated the centre of the room, and a dresser, stocked with plates, goblets, pans and dishes, was pushed back against the far wall. He deposited the curtains on a wooden chair and put the lantern on the mantelpiece.

  "I will leave you now," he said, as Constance entered the room carrying an empty coal scuttle. "I'm sure you have plenty to do."

  "I must say, I think we have been fortunate to have such a charming tenant," said Constance, as the door closed behind him. "And so attentive. He seems very taken with you, Susannah."

  "He was kind enough to warn me of some rotting floorboards in the attic, and offered to carry some things downstairs for me, that's all," said Susannah, feeling uncomfortable.

  "I'm sure you don't need to explain his presence to me," said Constance gaily, filling the scuttle from a large bucket of coal next to the fire.

  I wasn't explaining, Susannah was about to say, when she decided it was better to leave the subject alone, for she had just realized that although Mr. Bristow had said he joined her to warn her about rotting floorboards, he had not actually pointed any out to her.

  "I thought it would be a good idea to put all the linen that needs mending or cleaning in the wash house, if there is such a thing," said Susannah, changing the subject. "Then it is all in one place when we have time to attend to it."

  "Oh, yes, there's a very good wash house, although it's not very well situated. It's through the door over there," said Constance.

  Susannah's eyes followed her gaze. They came to rest on one of the doors leading from the far side of the kitchen, next to the dresser. Susannah went through it and found herself in a large room with a huge fireplace. A copper was placed over it, and an airing rack hung from the ceiling. A large table was pushed back against one wall.

  "There's no door to the yard, so we will have to bring the water through the kitchen from the well," said Constance, following her. "But there is plenty of room for drying things, as well as washing them, and the airing rack will be very useful."

  "Good. Then we will store things here until I can see about hiring some more servants."

  "Yes, we will need them. There is a lot to be done," said Constance, "but I have no doubt there'll be girls in the village who will be glad of the work."

  Susannah piled the curtains on the long table, then hesitated.

  "I'm not being precipitate, am I? I haven't inherited the house yet, but I have already started to organize it. Perhaps I should wait?"

  "No, I don't think so," said Constance. "You are not doing anything that can't be undone if, by any chance, you don't inherit. But why shouldn't you? The house doesn't seem to be haunted, and even if we wake to find a spectre rattling its chains, I am sure we are its equal!"

  Susannah smiled. "I never knew you were so brave," she said.

  Constance smiled back. "Neither did I. But it is surprising what a difference a little happiness makes! Besides, the sooner we sort out the house, the better."

  "How are you faring with the dining-room?" asked Susannah, as Constance picked up the filled coal scuttle and they went upstairs again.

  "I have dusted it and lit the fire. It should soon flare up and make a nice, bright blaze."

  They parted in the hall, Constance returning to the dining-room to replace the coal scuttle and polish the table, and Susannah going into the sitting-room to write a letter to Mrs. Wise. Mrs. Wise was one of her great aunt's friends, and she had always taken a kindly interest in Susannah. It was through Mrs. Wise's kind offices that Susannah had found her first position, which had been as a companion to a cheerful old lady by the name of Mrs. Ormond. Susannah had enjoyed herself, until Mrs. Ormond had emigrated to be with her son and she had had to take a post as a governess, but now she wanted to let Mrs. Wise know of her good fortune. She took up a quill and paper, and she began to write.

  My dear Mrs. Wise.

  The time passed swiftly, as she had a great deal of news to impart. Once she had finished her letter, she folded it and sealed it with wax, then put it in her pocket, ready to give to the boy who brought the milk the following morning.

  As she thought of going out to meet him at daybreak, she remembered the lantern she had found, and wondered for a moment why it had been left in the attic. Everything else had been dirty, or in a poor state of repair, but the lamp had been almost new. She was just pondering the puzzle when Constance came back into the room.

  "Well, that is done. We should be able to have lunch in there today. I have just met the other two gentlemen who are sharing the house with us — Mr. Bristow's friends," she continued. "They were about to go out riding. Such pleasant gentlemen. They told me we must not hesitate to ask for assistance if we need any help chopping wood or carrying coal. So thoughtful."

  "Yes, I met them earlier," remarked Susannah.

  "It makes such a difference to have gentlemen about the house. I feel so much safer with them here."

  Susannah did not reply to this remark. The one thing she never felt with Mr. Bristow was safe. But since she could hardly tell Constance that his air of power unsettled her, she turned the subject by asking what they should have for lunch.

  The three gentlemen crossed the hall and went out of the front door, heading towards the coast.

  "I think this was a mistake," said Edward darkly. "The ladies have only been in the house a few hours, and already we've run across them twice. It's going to be impossible keeping them away from us."

  "What harm can it do if they see us in the hall occasionally?" asked James nonchalantly. "We make a little conversation, offer them our help, and they go on their way—as we go on ours."

  "And what were you doing with the lantern?" said Edward, turning to look at Oliver, who was striding along beside him. "Why were you carrying it down from the attic?"

  "Miss Thorpe found it there. Don't worry," he said, seeing Edward's expression. "She didn't know what it was for. She thought it was part of the ordinary rubbish that had been deposited there. Deeming it useful, she decided to take it down to the kitchen."

  "Can women never leave anything alone?" asked Edward, in exasperation. "What was she doing in the attic anyway?"

  "Seeing how much work it would take to make it habitable. She is thinking of using it as servants' quarters."

  "Or so she says. But whatever her reasons for being there, she has taken the lantern, and now we will have to find another one to signal with."

  "A small problem," said Oliver.

  "She's a menace. I wish she had never come to the house."

  "Oliver doesn't think so," said James with a wicked smile, as they walked across the cliffs.

  Edward looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

  James glanced at Oliver. "Oliver's on the hunt."

  "On the hunt?" enquired Edward with a frown.

  "He's stalking Miss Thorpe!"

  "What's this?" demanded Edward. "I hope you haven't been doing anything foolish, Oliver?"

  "Of course not," said Oliver, as he strode across the cliffs with his black hair rippling in the breeze. "It's nothing."

  "So," continued James, "how do you think you are getting on? Is she in love with you yet? Has she fallen under your spell? Has she been conquered by your charm?"

  Oliver looked at him with mild amusement. "You seem sure I've set out to conquer her, but perhaps I've no fancy for her."

  "That doesn't usually stop you, and in this case I'm certain it won't."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning that as soon as she said she wouldn't marry you if her life depended on it, her fate was sealed!"

  "What folly is this?" asked Edward sharply. "You haven't asked her to marry you?"

  "Of course not. What do you take me for?"

  "Then why… ?"

  "The companion thought they'd make a handsome couple," said James with a grin. "Oliver overheard them talking when he went to tell them we'd
decided to share the house. But little Miss Hard-to-please said she wouldn't many him to save her life — which, to Oliver, is tantamount to slapping his face with a glove. It's a challenge he can't resist."

  Oliver gave a wolfish smile.

  "No, you can't do it," said Edward, stopping to look at him angrily. "I forbid it."

  Oliver returned his gaze. He spoke softly, but there was a glitter in his eyes. "I will allow no man to forbid me anything. Not even you."

  "Think about what you're doing, for God's sake!" ex-claimed Edward. "It's not only stupid to get involved with her, it's cruel. The girl's had no experience of life. She's spent most of it in the schoolroom. She's no match for a man like you."

  "You make too much of things," said Oliver, with a shrug of his massive shoulders. "It's nothing important, just a little harmless flirtation, that's all."

  "For you maybe, but for her?"

  "Don't worry, I know when to stop. The fair sex may look delicate on the outside, but on the inside they are quite the reverse. It won't do her any lasting harm," he said. "It will simply give her an autumn to remember."

  "If she finds out what we're doing here, it could give us an autumn to remember," growled Edward.

  "She won't," replied Oliver curtly.

  "She had better not. You really mean to go through with this"-he gestured with his hands—"this foolery?"

  Oliver nodded. "I rather think I do."

  "I don't know what happened to you in France, Oliver," said Edward in disgust, "but it can't have been anything good."

  "Nothing that happens in France is good any more," said James, sobering suddenly. "It is all terrible."