A Winter’s Tale (37 page)

From the journal of Alys Blezzard, 1582

As soon as I was allowed up and about, Mr Hobbs reminded me that I hadn’t yet made a will—a suggestion that cheered me up no end, as you can imagine.

But actually, once the headache vanished I felt totally rejuvenated, so perhaps a couple of days’ enforced rest did me good. I threw myself back into the cleaning, sorting, polishing and rearranging with renewed vigour.

Since Seth wasn’t there to complain, I had Bob and Hal move the two glass-topped curio tables from the Long Room into the gallery, either side of a column sprouting yet another of those strange light fittings in the form of a naked arm holding an ice-cream cone.

I thought the odd collection of curios would interest the visitors, though I would have to identify and label some of the stranger ones. I was still up there writing a list, with descriptions and little drawings, when my mobile phone rang. For once I hadn’t left it in my bedroom.

‘Sophy?’ a familiar, high-pitched voice said. ‘This is Conor Darfield.’

‘Hello, Conor!’ I said, surprised that he had actually had the grace to phone me about his aunt, rather late in the day though it was. ‘I had the solicitor’s letter a few days ago and I can’t tell you how sorry I was to hear of Lady Betty’s death. It must—’

‘Never mind that,’ he interrupted rudely. ‘That isn’t why I called. It might interest you to know that I have been going through the will and checking the insurance inventory.’

‘I bet you have.’ That sounded much more like the Conor I knew and loathed.

He ignored my comment. ‘I have been checking items off, and there are two pieces of my aunt’s jewellery missing, one of them a brooch. In the form of a
bee
,’ he added meaningfully, and my fingers unconsciously curled protectively around it.

‘
Then
my attention was called to a picture of you in the tabloids—and what do I see?’ He paused dramatically.

‘Well, you didn’t see a bee—and you’re starting to sound like a Dr Seuss book,’ I said shortly.

‘Your coat is open in the photograph and I am positive that you are wearing—’

‘Look, Conor,’ I broke in, ‘if I was wearing the crown jewels, you couldn’t tell from that photograph. But if you
really
want to know, there’s no secret about it: Lady Betty
gave
me her little crystal and enamel bee brooch, and I treasure it.’

‘I knew it! But when?
When
did she give it to you?’ he
demanded. ‘There is no record of it, and I’m told she was wearing it the day she had her fall and went into hospital—and the necklace.’

‘Of course she was, she always wore them—they were her favourites. But when I went to visit her in hospital, with Mrs Dukes, she suddenly decided to give them away and wouldn’t be swayed.’

‘Mrs Dukes? Who is Mrs Dukes?’

‘The cook who worked for your aunt for thirty years, remember? You know, the one you fired recently?’ I didn’t mention that Lady Betty had given
her
the string of lapis lazuli beads. Neither item was of any great value, except to us for sentiment’s sake; and in any case it was none of Conor’s business.

‘The cook was impertinent,’ he said stiffly. ‘So, are you alleging that my aunt gave you the jewellery while she was in hospital? In that case, it may interest you to learn that the receptionist at the nursing home is certain she saw Lady Betty wearing both items when she arrived there! She also noticed that
you
were wearing that very distinctive brooch on a later occasion, so perhaps you took them when you managed, despite my instructions, to get in to see her?’

‘I’m not alleging anything,’ I snapped. ‘The receptionist is either vindictive or a fantasist, and it happened as I said. Lady Betty said she felt that it was time to hand the pieces on, and I was deeply touched.’

‘So you say, but I intend to investigate the matter further so, if you wish to escape prosecution, I suggest you immediately return the missing items to me. My aunt was clearly in no fit state to give away her property and, in any case, could not do so because
I
had the power of attorney. Do you und—’

‘Conor,’ I said, cutting him off again in mid-diatribe, ‘what I understand is that you are a greedy little windbag
and I wouldn’t give you the time of day, let alone something of such huge sentimental value to myself! Good
bye
!’

I was trembling with anger, even though I was sure his accusations had been all hot air.

Afterwards I wondered if I should write and tell Mrs Dukes of Conor’s threats? But then, it would only upset her and there was no way Conor could claim back either the brooch or the necklace. It was just pure greed that had led him to try.

Since I’d recovered from my accident (apart from the black eye, which was only just starting to fade), Charlie and I had been redirecting our walks down the drive, just as far as the lodge and then back through the parterres and the yew maze. This gentle amble suited both of us at the moment, though at some point I would have to go up and look at the sad remains of the summerhouse.

That afternoon, as we rounded the bend through the trees, I could see that the lights were on in the large windows at the back of the lodge where the building had been extended.

Seth was back.

It felt oddly right to have him home again, but I couldn’t stand like a stalker among the dark trees indefinitely, so after a while I nudged Charlie off my feet and we turned back for home.

Winter’s End had been a Mel-free zone since his departure. I wondered how long it would take her to learn he was back?

Someone must have told Seth about my accident, because he inspected the remains of the summerhouse very early next morning, and then after breakfast came to find me and insisted I go back up there with him.

‘I haven’t had the heart to look at it since the accident.’

‘You’d better come now, if only to assess the damage. Nice black eye,’ he added.

‘Thanks. I’m getting to quite like the yellow and blue shades myself.’

I was panting by the time I got up there, partly because I found it hard to keep up with Seth’s long, impatient strides, and partly because Charlie went on strike and I had to carry him most of the way.

What was left of the summerhouse looked even more desolate than I thought it would, for it was not only wrecked, but also slightly charred. ‘What happened?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘Did lightning strike it?’

‘No, I think someone tried to set fire to the place, only of course it’s all too damp to catch at the moment. Do you remember how it came to fall on you?’

‘Not really, only walking up here.’ I looked sadly at the wreckage. ‘You were quite right when you said it was getting unsafe, Seth. If I’d listened to you, it would still be standing.’

‘It would probably have fallen down eventually, but I think it fell on you because it was booby-trapped. Hal thought he spotted a bit of broken twine tied to one of the doorposts, but by the time they had got you back to the house and he came back to look for it, it was gone.’

‘He never mentioned that to me!’

‘He wasn’t sure about it, so he waited until I got back. And I think he was probably right. Look at this.’

He showed me one of the wooden posts that had held up the lintel, which had a groove cut into the soft, powdery wood halfway up. ‘I’d say that had had something thin, like baler twine, tied round it and across the doorway to the other one. The two posts already moved when you walked on the boards between them, didn’t they? So it wouldn’t take much to bring them down.’

‘You mean—someone did it on purpose? To hurt me?’

‘I don’t suppose whoever did it expected the building to collapse, just that you would have a nasty fall.’

‘But who do you think could have done it?’

He stopped prowling around the debris and turned his green eyes on me. He looked angry, but that was probably because the summerhouse was now ruined beyond repair. ‘Perhaps it was aimed at you personally? You’re a creature of habit; you came up here most afternoons with Charlie.’

He turned away and contemplated the ruins again, adding gruffly, ‘That lintel is heavy—it could have killed you.’

‘Are you implying someone at
Winter’s End
rigged it up?’

He shrugged. ‘Not necessarily, but maybe someone with connections here—and perhaps a grudge. Though probably it was meant as a malicious trick, not a serious attempt to injure you.’

‘Well, that’s OK then,’ I said drily. ‘I can’t imagine who would want to hurt me anyway, so you’re probably wrong.’

‘Can’t you?’ he said, looking searchingly at me.

‘You aren’t thinking it was
Jack
, are you?’ I asked incredulously. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t—and in any case, why should he?’

‘No, I wasn’t thinking of Jack. He’s only ruthless in business—and I don’t think he’s quite that stupid either, because if anything happened to you, I suppose Winter’s End would go straight to Lucy, wouldn’t it?’

I nodded. ‘According to Mr Hobbs, but he’s drawing up a will for me anyway; says it makes things easier.’

‘Of course, he might have thought that with Lucy being so young, it would be much easier to persuade her into selling the place,’ he said thoughtfully

‘He hasn’t met Lucy yet,’ I added fairly, ‘so he wouldn’t know she’s far from a sweet, malleable young thing.’

‘But as I said, violence is very much
not
Jack’s thing.’

‘Of course it isn’t. He was so kind and concerned when he visited me after the accident.’

‘Maybe you should tell the police? You could just have a quiet word with Mike.’

‘No, I really don’t want to do that,’ I said quickly. ‘I’m sure it must have been local youths larking around, not personal at all. We’ll have to keep a closer eye on the grounds.’

‘It’s your property—and your head.’

I surveyed the wreckage with a sigh. ‘It was very pretty…do you think we could rebuild it to the same design?’

‘I expect so. There are photographs of it. But it will have to wait its turn. I’ll get the boys up here later, though, and we’ll salvage what we can of the original and stack it in one of the empty stables.’

We descended the woodland path, slippery with a mulch of slimy dead leaves, then crossed the bridge to the lower terrace. Bob and Hal suddenly started working with renewed energy, though Derek seemed capable of carrying steadily on at the same pace for ever, like an android.

‘It’s coming along really fast,’ I said admiringly. ‘Just as well, if it is going to be finished by Valentine’s Day. You know, it occurred to me the other day that I don’t even know where they sell the tickets from on open days! There’s so much still to find out.’

‘The ticket office is the lodge on the other side of the arch from mine,’ said Seth. ‘The side window has been turned into a stable door, so they open just the top of that. Do you want to see it? We could walk down and look now, if you like.’

‘All right,’ I agreed, though Charlie made it clear when we passed the house that he wanted to stay behind, and I had to detour and let him in. I came back out with chunks of warm ginger parkin, which we ate while cutting through the rose
garden. It looked a lot less bare now, even though the new bushes were just sitting in the wintry soil not doing much.

It was odd that I hadn’t noticed the little stable door in the side of the lodge before, but then it was usually dark and shadowy under the archway.

‘Believe it or not, a whole family lived in each lodge once, even though the buildings were tiny. Mine was extended out at the back when I moved in, but this side is still the basic model.’

Seth had a key to the door and flicked on a light switch, revealing a small square room with a flagged floor and a fireplace. A wooden counter top had been fixed to the wall at one side.

‘There’s the cash box—they need a float at the start of the day, so they have change, like at the tearoom. The tickets will be in the estate office, but you’ll need to have new ones done anyway, if you are changing the prices. They have guidebooks here—and they can sell the garden leaflets too, if we get them done in time.’

‘We will,’ I said firmly, ‘if not on Valentine’s Day, then for the Easter opening. I think the maze and the Shakespeare Trail will rope them in in droves.’

‘One of the Friends in the Great Hall checks the tickets again when they go in,’ he said. ‘The visitors can’t get to the terraces any other way, because the paths at the side of the house are roped off. We can’t entirely stop people sneaking in up the back drive, or over the wall, but we can stop them coming into the house unless they’ve paid.’

‘What about the coach parties, do they all have tickets?’

‘Yes, a special colour. They have to book in advance, because we can’t fit more than one party into the house or tearoom at a time.’

‘What puzzles me is how on earth the coaches get up the little lane into the car park,’ I confessed.