Doubting Abbey (11 page)
‘Maybe a bit more orange,’ said Jean and caught my gaze. We grinned at each other.
‘Super biscuits, Kathleen,’ I said in a muffled voice, crumbs of lemon loveliness tumbling from my lips. Crap – should’ve helped myself to a napkin.
‘Och, thank you, Miss, they were nae bother,’ she said. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing the dishes you make in your cooking classes tomorrow. Applebridge Hall has only seen honest home cooking before, not haute cuisine.’
I gave a nervous giggle, hoping it would be mistaken for ladylike modesty and not ginormous stress. Tonight I would creep down to the cellars and go online to pick up more tips from Nigella and Delia on YouTube. For a few moments I ran through the recipes in my mind. They sounded simple enough. Perhaps I wouldn’t let anyone down.
I turned my attention back to the screen. Everyone was watching last night’s footage at Marwick Castle – a raucous hen party. Charlie Chingo explained how the Baron had spent his twenty-five thousand on kitting out the dungeons with water, lighting and heat. At first he stood by the entrance, just past the drawbridge, where there was a humongous stuffed grizzly bear. Charlie Chingo then made his way down to the dungeons. Women dressed up in tutus and Playboy ears shrieked with laughter as topless hunks brought food to the banquet table and topped up their wine glasses.
‘Classy,’ muttered Mr Thompson and wrinkled his nose.
Weapons better suited to any bondage den hung on the walls. A figure stood dressed in full armour. One of the women went to flash her boobs and, just in time, the camera panned away.
The old Earl puffed furiously on his pipe, while Nick had a grin on his face. Jean watched with her mouth open and Kathleen shook her fading red curls. The Baron sure had sexed up his place. As an expert on reality shows, I knew younger viewers would love this footage. Edward’s face was deadpan as Charlie Chingo went on to interview the Baron and his son, The Honourable Harry Gainsworth. I sipped my tea, trying to decide whose fake tan was loudest—Charlie’s or the Baron’s.
‘The Castle was built in the eleventh century, old boy,’ said the Baron, a grin on his face, his fingers and wrists showing off his clunky gold jewellery. ‘It was part of that William the Conqueror’s castle building plan. Steeped in history, this place is,’ he said and clapped Charlie on the back.
Okay, that all sounded sexy and romantic and from a distance the Castle was awesome, with its mahoosive grey stone walls, turrets and waving flags. A drawbridge crossed the moat and forest surrounded the whole place. Wow. It brought out all those basic instincts—women could fantasize about warriors with six-packs, while men imagined chucking spears and rescuing fair maidens.
‘My grandfather was a very successful industrialist,’ said the Baron and puffed out his chest. ‘And I think our plans for Marwick Castle prove that good business sense runs in the family.’
‘Too right, Dad,’ said Harry Gainsworth with a smirk, showing off his celebrity whitened teeth. ‘Your granddad bought this gaff in the Twenties, didn’t he?’
The Baron nodded. ‘Just after he was awarded the title of Baron of Marwick in 1920. Then he renamed this place and renovated the Castle. It was a right dump back then.’
The Earl snorted. ‘The government outlawed the awarding of titles in 1925. It’s an outrage. People should be born to their names, not buy them like a loaf of bread. And if the Baron was so jolly successful, he wouldn’t have needed to enter this competition.’ He muttered ‘pompous arse’ under his breath.
The words ‘Baron Numpty’ escaped Kathleen’s lips.
Still Edward said nothing and sat as stiff as one of the headstones in his family cemetery, only leaning forward when the programme moved onto Applebridge Hall. Oh my God! That was me, getting out of the car when I arrived. Or was it? I hardly recognized myself. Without my chicken fillets and tarantula lashes I looked kind of older. And yes, even I could see the resemblance to my flatmate. Plus, hallelujah! My bum wasn’t half as big as I expected – my brothers must have lied about that all these years.
The footage moved to the orchard. Oh, no. I hadn’t warned Edward that… My cousin smacked his hand down on his knee.
‘I instructed Gaynor to edit that out,’ he said as the camera zoomed in on me, supposedly convulsing on the soil.
‘That’s my fault,’ I said and cleared my throat. ‘Gaynor and I decided it would be best to leave this shot in, after all.’
His lip curled. ‘What about self-respect and dignity? I told you that scene wouldn’t work.’
‘And I told you that, during my stay, I should have a part in the decision-making,’ I said quietly.
‘Splendid decision,’ he sneered. ‘You sprawled amongst tree roots, legs akimbo, is a real credit to the family.’
A lump rose in my throat. He was right. But high viewing figures were everything. At least I recognized that.
‘The pace of the show has sped up, though,’ said Nick and jerked his head towards the screen. It showed Edward sweep me up into his muscular arms. How easily he carried me into the house. I smiled at Nick, appreciative of the support.
‘If I may be so bold, My Lord,’ Nick went on, ‘like it or not, refined cookery lessons won’t compete with girls in skimpy outfits dancing on tables among joints of meat.’
‘I’d keep your opinions to yourself then, if they are that negative,’ said Edward in a measured voice. ‘The Croxleys will not throw away their principles. Not for anything.’
‘Our ancestors must be turning in their graves,’ said the Earl’s gruff voice.
Crap. If they were that put out by my collapse, then how would they react to my hug with Nick in the kitchen? My mouth went dry as the show moved onto yesterday’s dinner with the Hamilton-Browns. I busied myself by handing around the last of the biscuits.
‘Och, will you look at my hair,’ said Kathleen, gazing at the telly.
Um, I don’t think so – I was too wrapped up in studying my terrible table manners. I’d started my bread before everyone else and – oh my God – I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. Good thing my mobile was off. Any horrified texts from Lady C could wait for a couple of days. Suddenly Nick and Jean guffawed at the flying onion. My hands felt sweaty as the next shot was in the kitchen.
There sat Kathleen, at the pine table, talking with Mr Thompson – I gazed at the background of the shot. You could just make out Nick, sliding his arms around my waist. Or could you? His dark hair kind of merged in with the shadows and the short-sighted viewers might possibly mistake his arms for a really thick belt. As for me, the background light was so bad, you couldn’t make out my face. Heart racing, I watched the gardener nuzzle my neck. I hardly dared glance at Edward.
Which was bonkers. I was only here for two weeks. Why did I care about his opinion of me? My throat hurt because I knew the answer—like it or not, Gemma Goodwin, you’re starting to care about the Croxleys and their house.
Urgh. Edward had clearly spotted me, his noble cousin, on screen, getting intimate with a servant, because his cheeks flushed maroon and he jumped up, practically tossing his cup onto the tray as the credits rolled. While the rest of us stared at him, jaws open, he picked up the laptop and stormed out of the Parlour, slamming the door shut on his way.
LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY
Sunday 2
nd
September
‘Comments’
9.10p.m.
I’ve just flipped open my laptop, here in the library. My first thought was to check the blog instead of the news or weather forecast. Gradually I’m understanding why social media is popular – it offers a break from the responsibilities and obligations of the real world. Even though this e-diary is about my life, it lacks the stresses and strains of the genuine thing.
No doubt you are all still digesting tonight’s show. Several people, however, have already responded to my earlier question of what viewers really want.
I see that
BustyfanDownton
and
Lovehotnoble –
like Gaynor
-
are absolutely in favour of men standing in ponds. Erm, please, both of you stop fighting over who would – hypothetically – help me unbutton my shirt to dry off. I’m quite old enough to do that myself. And Mr Darcy I am not.
Knityourownmansion
, many thanks, but I won’t need woollen Speedos. No,
EtonMess
, I don’t think cousin Abigail will take a dip in the pond wearing a tight T-shirt.
‘Awwwwesome,’ I said in a loud voice, having finally found Edward downstairs in the library, knocked and gone in. But urgh! What was I thinking, speaking like that? ‘I mean,
awwww, some
of my favourite books,’ I quickly added.
My mouth fell open at the number of shelves going up, ooh, over six feet high. If you wanted a book from the top, you’d have to use the nearby set of ladders. Unlike the other rooms, the panelling in here was made from a warmer, caramel-coloured wood. Ignoring me, Edward closed his laptop. Lit-up lamps across the room gave it a mega cosy glow. He leant back into the sage-green upholstered chair behind the large wooden desk. Catching my breath after searching for him, I slid a leather-bound book off the shelf. It was by Dickens, Abbey’s all time favourite author. Her parents had bought her the complete works, in red leather, all embossed in gold. I lifted the book to my face and sniffed.
‘My mother always used to do that,’ muttered Edward and stared. ‘She believed you could smell a good story.’ He gazed into the distance for a second.
My eyes tingled. Stubborn old sausage or not (as Abbey would probably say) it hurt to see him in such a state.
‘Look…’ I said. ‘About what you saw on that programme tonight…the gardener… It appears worse on screen than it was.’
‘Really?’ he said and looked up.
My mouth went dry. Seems like this
Upstairs Downstairs
love stuff really was a serious business.
‘Nick and m…’ oops, that should be
Nick and I
‘…we wanted to create some entertainment and…’
Edward shook his head. ‘That’s the least of my worries, you and a member of staff bursting into laughter over an onion. In any event, we all eventually joined in. Just try to remember next time, Abbey, that at Applebridge Hall,
guests
are our friends—not the staff. Of course, Jean, Mr Thompson and Kathleen are very important to Applebridge Hall,’ he said gruffly, ‘but Gaynor thinks we should present this clichéd image of being distant, upper-crust toffs. She thinks viewers like stereotypes. As a compromise, I’ve agreed not to appear over-familiar with people on the pay-roll, whilst the cameras are on.’
Huh? He thought I meant me and Nick laughing together when the onion went flying? Looked like he hadn’t seen the sexy smooch after all.
I slid the book back. Right. So if he hadn’t noticed me getting down and dirty with the help, why did he storm off?
‘I know Nick is your own age,’ he continued, ‘which may be appealing, but please… Try to keep up appearances.’
I bit the inside of my cheeks. Jeez, he made me sound about twelve.
‘The ironic thing is,’ he said,’ that one of the staff – Kathleen—is the most uppercrust thing about us.’
I raised my eyebrows.
‘Her grandmother worked for the Queen Mother when the latter’s father, Claude George Bowes-Lyon, inherited the Earldom of Strathmore and Kinghorne.’
Aha, that must be why Kathleen was always mentioning the Queen Mum.
‘Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon she was back then, a young girl in the early nineteen-hundreds,’ he continued. ‘Kathleen’s grandmother helped out in the kitchens and passed down the recipes she learnt to her own family.’
Ooh, I wondered what the Queen Mum liked to scoff.
‘Mother was very excited when Kathleen mentioned this in her job interview.’ Edward gave a wry smile. ‘She loved the royal family and was hugely pleased at the thought of us having connections through anyone in the house, even if the link was super tenuous.’
‘How long has Kathleen worked here?’
‘Over thirty years. She took up the position the year before I was born. Mother and Father weren’t long married.’
‘She never wanted a family of her own?’
He shrugged. ‘There was one gentleman, I believe, but it ended badly – she told Mother all about it.’ He stared vacantly at the wall opposite. It was hard to imagine how much someone must miss their mum if they’d actually known them. I missed mine and she was just a distant figure made up from the memories of a toddler.
‘Dear Edward, do tell me what upset you tonight,’ I said gently, and sat in a wooden chair opposite him.
‘Here, take my seat,’ he muttered. ‘It’s more comfortable.’
We swapped. Blimey. Not that I was into being seen as the weaker sex, but no man had ever been quite so concerned for my comfort. Lee, my ex, used to hog the duvet and bagsied the window seat when we flew to Benidorm.
Edward jerked his head towards a portrait, high up on the wall. I recognized the serious man in specs from the picture in the Long Gallery. It was the Earl’s ‘Papa’ as he called him – Edward and Abbey’s granddad.
‘There are eyes everywhere in this house,’ he muttered, ‘reminding me of my duty; the responsibility to maintain standards.’ He shook his head. ‘
Million Dollar Mansion
– the whole concept is just so disrespectful to our heritage. Grandfather did his best with his business dealings but, I regret to say, it wasn’t enough; we’ve never really recovered since the war. Father has struggled and finally we’ve had to do the one thing the old Croxleys would never have considered. The Earl detests me renting out the land for car boot sales and fairs…’ His shoulders sagged. ‘We’re taking money off people to come into our home. “Entering trade” as Father would say. How has it come to this? That’s what’s upset me. Plus realizing how much the public are going to love the Baron.’
‘This family is doing what it has to, Edward.’
‘But I know Father feels that he’s let our ancestors and the village down. This estate used to provide jobs for life for many families in Applebridge, back in the days when neither the grounds, nor the house ran on a shoestring staff.’ Edward bit his lip. ‘I’m not stupid. Father might sneer at the Baron of Marwick, but I go on the Internet and see the magazine headlines in the shops. Hen nights, drunkenness, vulgar behaviour in general, with no sight of a moral compass… Rightly or wrongly, that’s what the viewers of these shows want. But we Croxleys will never go as far as providing that sort of entertainment.’
