Freya's Quest (19 page)

‘’Ey, don’t worry. ’E knows me well. I’m ’is ex-brother-in-law.’

‘Oh.’

He held out his hand for me to shake. ‘I’m Norton, Paul Norton. Go’n’ find Dyl’n if you ain’t believin’ me.’

‘No, let’s not disturb him,’ I answered. ‘So you’re Janis’s old man?’ It was a slip of the tongue in response to my realization that he must have been about twenty years older than her.

He nodded. ‘But we ain’t b’n together for years.’

I eyed him curiously, but let him go into the hallway and pick a huge brass key off the hook on the wall.

He returned to the cab of his van, then wound down the window. ‘Yea c’n join me if yea wan’, if yea still ain’t certain. Could do wi’ an extra pair of ’ands, any’ow.’

I paused for a moment. With nothing much better to do, I was soon in the cab alongside him and we were driving down to the front gates. He parked up and opened the back doors and climbed inside.

As I alighted, I heard the rooks’ cries echoing across the grounds, where morning mist still clung to the dewy lawns.

Paul hauled a large sack to the edge and let it fall onto the driveway.

‘This all for him?’

‘That’s jus’ one. There’s more back there,’ he said, pointing over his shoulder. Sure enough, he retrieved four more sacks. Then he jumped out and pulled down the rear shutter, making sure it was securely fastened.

He walked over to the arched oak door and twisted the key in the lock. I tried to pull one of the sacks towards him.

‘Whoa! Yea’ll break yea’ back, lady.’

He went inside and returned with a trolley. Then we loaded the first and made separate trips until all the sacks were inside.

The ground-floor chamber was full of gardening implements and machinery. I stared around the cobwebbed walls, whilst he climbed the spiral staircase and opened up a trapdoor overhead. A rope with a large hook on the end was lowered by pulleys. I placed each sack on the end of the hook and watched them rise into the roof one at a time.

Then I joined him upstairs. The upper chamber had bare floorboards, fake arrow slits and the portcullis mechanism. Over half the room, from floor to ceiling, was filled with postal sacks.

He looked at my incredulity. ‘It’s all the fan mail ’e gets. Comes through a PO Box Number, so they can’t discover ’is address. ’S’ad a number of stalkers and fanatics, yea see. We store it up at depot and deliver’t once a month. ‘

‘He gets all this?’

‘Yeah. Can’t be bother’d to ’ire secret’ries no more. Jus’ got too much, innit? Stores ’em ’ere, then builds big bonfire on Guy Fawkes ’n’ invites local children up t’watch.’

‘He burns them unread?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ He started towards the stairs. ‘Look, I mus’ be off. Yea c’n leave place unlocked. I’ll be back after end of me rounds to do garden. Somethin’ ’bout motorbike damage to sort ou’.’ He gave me a wry look, as if he knew I’d been partly to blame for this, then he was gone.

I heard the van move off and caught a glimpse of it through an arrow slit, which had been glazed to keep out the elements. Then I jumped as the portcullis descended automatically in response to the vehicle passing through.

The urge to take a peek at some of the mail was too tempting to ignore. I undid one of the sacks and let a stack of letters pour out onto the floor. According to Paul, Dylan wasn’t even going to open them. So, even though I was breaking a trust, I justified it to myself quite easily.

Once I’d opened one, I was drawn into another, then another, and so on, until well over three hundred letters lay discarded around my feet. And several hours had gone by without me really noticing.

The mail could be placed into four main categories. A small proportion of them were from academics, distilling the literary qualities of Dylan’s novels, sometimes with requests for a meeting or a lecture. The second lot were conventional fan letters from readers who’d taken pleasure from his books. A lesser amount were from would-be writers, inspired by his work, questioning where he got his ideas from and seeking other advice. Sometimes they even enclosed unsolicited manuscripts for him to read and make suggestions.

But by far the greater majority of letters were from female fans wanting to meet him, the prose ranging from the rather restrained to the gushingly amorous. Most had sent in accompanying photographs of themselves, from the conventional to the downright pornographic. The fans ranged in age from early teens to past retirement. Dangerously, almost without fail they’d left their contact details; one or two of these were from ladies famous in their own right, who should’ve known better.

The great majority of this sample were lost deep within their own fantasy worlds, sometimes detailing these graphically. However, I counted at least ten who’d had some kind of sexual relation with the author. Some appeared contented with a one-night stand, knowing to expect nothing more. Others were enraged by Dylan’s lack of contact after the deed, one or two of these sounding deeply disturbed.

I stuffed the letters back into the sack, which was harder than imagined now the seal was broken. Then I followed the staircase upwards, drawing the bolt on the heavy door and finding myself out on the battlements. I could see part of the main Lodge, but most of the view was lost by the ever-encroaching trees.

As I descended to the ground floor, a white Bedford minivan appeared in the entrance. Paul Norton got out and I had to run back to the main house in order to activate the portcullis again. I returned to find him putting on overalls and selecting a few tools and placing them in a wheelbarrow.

‘B’n ’ere all this time, ’ave yea?’

‘Yes.’

‘B’n nosing, ’ave yea?’

‘No!’

‘’Course yea ’ave, but don’t worry. Discreet’s name o’ game wi’ me.’

I thanked him, but was still wracked by guilt.

‘Well, don’t jus’ stand there. Either ’elp or bugger off, there’s work to do!’

Somewhat taken aback, I decided on the former, and I was soon carting tools over to the back of his van. Then he locked up the gatehouse and drove us back to the inner courtyard.

He took off his cap and scratched his bald head as he surveyed the churned-up lawn and the two damaged flowerbeds. He had a gaunt and craggy face, as if he’d spent all his life halfway up a fellside. I still couldn’t envisage him and Janis together; even supposing she’d been seeking a stabilizing father figure, and allowing for the passing years since the break-up of their marriage.

He sank to his knees and began to dig about in the flowerbed with a trowel, endeavouring to rescue what he could.

‘’Ow long yea b’n ’ere, then?’

I did a mental calculation, using my fingers to count which amused him. I came up with a figure of eighteen days. ‘Nearly three weeks.’

‘Mus’ be ’is latest, I take it.’

‘Yes, hasn’t Janis told you?’

‘Oh, no. Ain’t spoke to ’er in years.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Well, ’twos acrimonious split. For me, at least. Never lasted beyon’ six months. Frigid cow only let me shaft ’er few times. Old Questy cuckolded me pretty damn quick, if yea mus’ know.’

‘Why be his gardener, then?’

‘Well, jobs’re ’ard to come by round ’ere. Post Office don’t pay enough. Really down on me luck, I wos, when ’e ’ired me as workman when ’e restor’d this place. Despite diff’culties, I’s a loyal man. Dyl’n don’t trus’ many, no’ wi’ reporters sniffin’ ’round, so I’s done odd jobs for ’im ’bout place ever since.’

‘Is that how you and Janis met?’

‘Aw no, watch’d ’ole fam’ly grow up, I did. Me Dad wos ’ead gardener at Faversham ’Ouse for many a year; follow’d in ’is footsteps, I did.’

‘Faversham House? The Edwardian mansion that burnt down?’

‘Yeah.’ He looked surprised that I knew. ‘That’s it. Mysterious episode, it wos. Me Dad wos badly burnt rescuing Lady Faversham. Both lost our liveli’oods after tha’.’

‘I’m sorry. So you watched the children grow up?’

‘Yeah, from distance, at least. Ser’phina was a beauty. ’Ad plenty of fantasies ’bout ’er, I c’n tell yea.’ He gave me a leer, before returning his attention to the plants. ‘Janis was a tomboy. Used to come into green’ouse an’ ’elp ou’ sometimes.’

‘So that’s how you two got to know each other, then?’

‘Yeah, but she wos jus’ a littl’ girl then. Wasn’t till she lost all ’er money an’ property, tha’ she wos brough’ down to my level. All tha’ death didn’t ’elp, neither. Well, Sir Fred’rick was an ol’ man, ’is time’d come. But Ser’phina, well tha’ wos jus’ tragic.’

‘Yes….What happened to all their wealth?’

‘When ’ouse burnt down, insurance didn’t cover’t. Lost a lot there. Then there wos lots o’ legal wranglin’ when Eric in’erited title ’n’ estate as male heir.’

‘Title?’

‘Yeah, Sir Fred’rick wos a baronet. That’s why ’e wos called “Sir”; yea stupid or somethin’?’

His patronizing tone rankled, but I let it pass.

‘Lady V’ronica challenged ’im in court, once ’e came of age. There wos two diff’rent wills. ’Is paternity wos also questioned….’

‘Eh?’

‘V’ronica couldn’t be sure Eric wos Sir Fred’rick’s child. ’Ad an affair, or so she said. Made some sense, too.’E wos blond-’aired. All rest of ’em ’ad black ’air. ’Is face wos diff’rent, too. ’E might’ve suspect’d ’isself, cos ’e wos a righ’ tearaway.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. ’E wos in nick when will case came t’court. Righ’ delinquent, ’e wos – vandalism, thieving, arson. Ev’ryone ’round ’ere knew ’e’d burnt down mansion ’ouse.’

‘Really. Now that is interesting.’

‘Wos talk o’ ev’n more serious stuff.’

‘Like what?’

‘I’s only knows wha’ I knows. Wouldn’t wanna commen’ further. None of them do. ’E’s serving time over in Oz now ’n’ all.’

‘I see.’ A missing segment was coming together in my mind.

‘Decid’d in Eric’s favour, them judges did. But most o’ money wos lost to them lawyers. Only thing Sir Fred’rick’d bequeath’d ’er wos this godforsak’n Lodge, ’n’ she’d ’ad t’sell it jus’ t’cover ’er own costs. Janis wos left wi’ nothin’. ’N’ Em’ly ’ad t’grow up like one of us, not all ’oity-toity like Ser’phina.’

‘Well, Janis seems very down to earth.’

‘Yeah, Janis wos always treat’d like dirt. Never quite treat’d us as equals, but us servants gave ’er ’lot more attention than ’er own folks, ’n’ she ’preciated tha’. As for m’Lady, she wos common as mud ’erself.’

‘She told me she came from a wealthy family?’

‘Aw, don’t believe tha’. No, she wos part o’ scheme Faversham fam’ly ’ad f’r givin’ schol’ships t’bright young girls wi’out own means. Ended up marrying one o’ them, Sir Fred’rick did. ’Twos weird if yea ask me. Cradle-snatching, local’s called it. Couldn’t’ve b’n more’n eighteen when they ’itched up.’

‘Was Dylan’s mother one of those girls given a scholarship as well?’

He thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, now yea come t’mention’t, believe she wos. There wos twelve in all. Think the ol’ Baron instigated scheme back in them Victor’n days. ’Bout ev’ry twen’y years a new lot wos given’t.’

‘What did these scholarships entail?’

‘Believe they wos tak’n ’way from families ’n’ giv’n places at posh schools. Came ’n’ stay’d at big ’ouse in ’olidays. Pretty girls they wos, too.’ He gave me another leer.

‘I see.’

‘I basic’lly grew up wi’ their comin’s ’n’ goin’s.’

He had completed work on the first flowerbed and we meandered over to the second, carrying the tools. He began rearranging the flowers, showing a lot of patient nurture. Every now and then, he tutted at the damage.

‘Lots o’ weird goin’s-on, there wos.’

‘How d’you mean?’

He looked about furtively, as if making sure no one was about to overhear. ‘Well, I tried t’come up ’ere as a kid wi’ me mates once. ’Twas a ruin then. Got scared off by dogs.’

‘Dogs?’

‘Yeah. Only thing Sir Fred’rick ever kept upkeep of wos outer walls ’n’ gates, jus’ t’keep them dogs in. Dobermans they wos. Fierce buggers ’n’ all!’

I nodded, gripped.

‘Me mate manag’d to get ’isself over wall, then got ’is arse all bitt’n off. Badly mauled, ’e wos. Story wen’ ’round village ’n’ none o’ me gen’ration ever came up ’ere no more after tha’, I c’n tell yea.’

‘Emily said Janis, Dylan and Eric played up here as children.’

‘Maybe so, but tha’ wos twen’y year after my time.’

‘OK, I see. So you never came back here till Dylan bought it?’

‘No, I didn’t quite say tha’, now did I?’

I didn’t reply, puzzled.

‘As a kid, never. Too terr’fied, I wos. But as a young man, yeah.’

‘Go on.’

He was getting pleasure from my rapt attention. ‘Me girlie, as a dare, got me to take ’er up ’ere after dark. Must’ve b’n ’bout twen’y-two, twen’y three, somethin’ like tha’. No sign of any dogs then, but we wos both scar’d jus’ gettin’ up drive! We crept into upper storey of inner gate’ouse. I wos jus’ gettin’ me ’and down ’er knickers, I wos’ – another leer – ‘when we ’eard cars approachin’. Posh cars they wos, too. Blew ou’ candle, we did, ’n’ sat ’n’ watch’d. Weird, it wos. Wearin’ black cloaks, they wos. Dis’pear’d ’t’middl’ o’ ruin. Set up lanterns all o’er place.’

‘You must’ve been terrified!’

‘Ay, we wos. Spent hours up there, we did. Didn’t dare move till mornin’. Once we wos sure they’d all gone off.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Never talked t’no one ’bout it, ’part from two friends. Even then, tha’ wos years later. Thought I’d made it all up, they did.’

That thought had crossed my mind, too.

‘’Twos only when one o’ ’em wos wi’ me when we dismantl’d old church over yonder for Dyl’n. Stripp’d off all roofin’ slates ’n’ winder lead t’use on main buildin’. Tha’ wos righ’ weird, tha’ place. All them carvings ’n’ stuff inside. Pristine condition, it wos, too.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Made ’im believe me then, I c’n tell yea.’ He chuckled as he relived the event. ‘Scarper’d off job nex’ day, ’e did, too!’

‘And you?’

‘No. Need’d money too much, didn’t I.’

He looked at his watch and began to pack up the tools. ‘’Ave t’come back ’n’ finish this some other time. B’n nice talkin’ t’yea.’

He stood in front of me a while longer and I began to wilt under the heat of his gaze. I followed the line of his vision and it dawned on me that he was probably becoming excited by the way my nipples were poking through the fabric of my T-shirt.