Chapter 2
Thanks to Mr Dempster’s in-depth knowledge of the local lanes I didn’t approach the hall via what he called the ‘treacherous river road’, but instead drove down a meandering track which, although it took longer than the route suggested by my satnav, was apparently far safer given the increasingly icy conditions.
It was barely two o’clock when I pulled through the ornate black iron gates and onto the narrow strip of drive, but because of the thick cloud cover it was already getting dark. I slowed down to negotiate a tight right-hand bend and the drive narrowed again, the towering shrubs crowding in to hide the wider landscape and making the approach feel more like an overgrown woodland trail than a journey to somewhere spectacular.
In the interests of preserving my little Fiat 500’s suspension I slowed to a snail’s pace to negotiate the final bumps and dips and gazed open-mouthed as the darkness thinned and the shrubs were replaced by pillars of towering trees which seemed to take a step back before revealing the secret at their heart.
‘Wow.’
My Internet search had presented me with a plethora of photographs and descriptions, all announcing the hall as an historically important Grade One listed Elizabethan manor house, complete with majestic vistas, landscaped grounds and the obligatory lake, but in reality Wynthorpe Hall instantly appeared to be so much more than what its high-spec online credentials had suggested.
I let out a long breath and shuddered as something deep within me seemed to stir and shift, and I couldn’t help thinking that for somewhere so grand the hall looked disarmingly comforting and homely. I gazed up at the ornate hexagonal chimney stacks, stone mullion windows and decorative terracotta-coloured brickwork and realised that what had appeared imposing online was comfortably informal close-to, and reassuringly worn around the edges. This hall was clearly a ‘real home’ as opposed to a ‘show home’, and I congratulated myself on making what I already knew would turn out to be the right choice.
I followed the drive around the side and through a small gate which led to a high-walled stable block. The place didn’t look as if it had seen anything even remotely equine in years, but there were a variety of haphazardly parked vehicles along with various piles of machinery, an ancient cherry picker, some garden furniture and, unnervingly, a set of wooden stocks. The motley collection suggested the area was still in use, but as what I wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps it was some kind of upper-class junkyard, or possibly it was the place where the things that had formed the basis of Mr Connelly’s toad-like schemes went to die.
A sharp tap on the passenger window brought me quickly back to my senses.
‘You can park where you like,’ shouted a man’s voice, ‘as long as it’s not behind the Land Rover.’
I tucked my little car as far out of the way as I could, swapped my driving pumps for my Manolos and smoothed down my dark hair, ready to meet my new employer.
‘Hello,’ I said, smiling up at the man who, judging by his threadbare boiler suit and wellies, clearly wasn’t Angus Connelly after all. Or was he? Given what the ladies at The Cherry Tree Café had said, I wasn’t so sure now. My assumptions about who to expect had taken a bit of a knock. ‘I’m Anna.’
‘I know,’ said the man, whipping the bobble hat from his head, ‘and I’m Mick. I’m the handyman here.’
Not the boss then, but a friendly-looking face nonetheless. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mick.’
‘I’m also the gardener,’ he added.
‘Right,’
‘And the builder.’
‘OK,’
‘And I have been known to unblock the occasional drain and build the odd wall.’
‘I see.’
‘The job descriptions here are a bit sketchy,’ he laughed, rubbing his stubbly chin before shoving his hat back on his head. ‘You have to be prepared to take on whatever the place throws at you really.’
‘Well, that’s fine by me,’ I smiled. I was always happy to adapt to whatever the job required. ‘But thanks for the heads-up.’
I guessed Mick was in his mid-sixties, but judging from the list of roles he had just reeled off he wasn’t quite ready to retire just yet.
‘You’ll no doubt find the set-up here all a bit strange to begin with,’ he carried on, stepping forward and fiddling with the boot catch on my car, ‘but give it six months and you’ll think nothing of it.’
‘I’m only going to be here a few weeks,’ I told him, as he began to quickly unload the fruit and veg that had been packed back in town. ‘How did you know I was bringing this lot with me?’
‘A few weeks, eh?’ he cut in with a wink.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Chris phoned ahead,’ he explained, returning his attention to the boxes and bags. ‘He told Dorothy, the cook here, that you were on your way. He said he’d sent you the long way round. What were the roads like?’
‘Not too bad,’ I said, thinking that what with the grocery delivery and the town-to-country network announcing my arrival, this really was the strangest introduction to a place I’d ever had. ‘A bit icy in places.’
‘Would have been far worse if you’d come by the river,’ he said darkly. ‘Come on, let’s get you inside.’
The entrance to the sprawling kitchen was via a little courtyard and a welcoming porch that housed a muddle of wellington boots, abandoned coats and umbrellas.
‘Hello, hello!’ called another voice, the second Mick and I had crossed the threshold. ‘Come on in and get warm.’
Struggling a little with my bags and tripping over an excited black and grey bundle, which turned out to be a fluffy little cocker spaniel called Floss, I weaved my way through a part of the kitchen that housed sinks, cupboards and various antiquarian gadgets and into another.
‘Here you are at last, my dear,’ laughed a man who could only be Angus.
As wide as he was tall, with an unruly head of wispy grey hair and a pair of broad red braces, he rushed to set aside my bags and steered me towards the seat closest to the Aga.
‘I can’t tell you how lovely it is to finally meet you,’ he beamed, his eyes sparkling and his cheeks aglow. ‘We’re all so delighted you agreed to come.’
Had I not known better I would have thought he was Father Christmas rather than Mr Toad, and the arrival of a petite white-haired, elderly Mrs Claus, wearing a flour-marked apron, only compounded the illusion.
‘You look frozen solid,’ she tutted, rushing to fill the kettle. ‘Let me make you some tea – or would you prefer coffee, my dear?’
‘I’m Angus,’ confirmed the man, before I had time to answer her, ‘and this is Dorothy, she’s our trusty—’
‘Cook,’ I interjected with a knowing smile towards Mick.
Angus, Mick and Dorothy all began to laugh and I couldn’t help but join in.
‘She’s got the measure of us already,’ Dorothy giggled, setting down a cup and saucer and a plate of chocolate digestive biscuits. ‘I daresay you wouldn’t normally,’ she added, with a nod towards the plate after she had looked me up and down, ‘but just this once won’t hurt.’
Obviously she had got the measure of me as well. Always careful about my calorie intake I knew the lunch and biscuits combined would put me well over my daily allowance, but I forbore to comment. Dorothy didn’t look like the kind who worried about keeping count when it came to food and nor did either of the men for that matter.
‘I hope you’ve saved me at least one of the custard creams, Mick Weaver,’ pouted a young woman who noisily marched in through a door at the other end of the kitchen. She was carrying a vacuum cleaner, which she managed to bump on either side of the frame, and was poured into the tightest pair of jeans I had ever seen.
‘I haven’t had a chance to eat anything yet,’ tutted Mick, as he put his hands above his head in a gesture of surrender. ‘Let alone the custard creams you covet so ruthlessly. Come and say hello to Anna.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Anna,’ she said, her over-made-up eyes swivelling in my direction as she smiled broadly and clattered the vacuum cleaner on the stone-flagged floor. ‘I’m Hayley. The Wynthorpe Hall dogsbody and—’
‘A bloody nuisance,’ teased Mick.
‘I throw the Hoover around most days,’ she explained, pointedly ignoring Mick. ‘And sometimes I flick a duster about, but only if I feel like it. I don’t live here though.’
‘Although we do keep a room ready for her, should she want it,’ said another voice.
‘Catherine,’ said Angus, rushing to his wife’s side. ‘This is Anna, my dear.’
Taller than both Dorothy and Hayley, and slender, with an abundance of silvery grey hair escaping a loose bun, Catherine had slipped unseen into the kitchen through the door that had announced her youngest employee’s considerably noisier entrance.
I noticed she didn’t carry a stick and that she moved elegantly, without so much as a hint of discomfort or unease. She didn’t look to me as if she needed any assistance at all, but she did look surprisingly pleased to see me. After all, Angus had suggested on the telephone that she was somewhat reticent about the idea of having some help and I had expected a far chillier welcome, from her at least.
Self-consciously I stood up, walked around the table and held out my hand.
‘I’m so pleased to meet you, Mrs Connelly,’ I smiled. ‘As I’m sure you are aware, Angus has asked me to come and stay for a few weeks, until you are completely recovered from your surgery.’
She took my hand and shook it warmly, her grey eyes never leaving my face. I couldn’t make out what she was thinking, but tried my best not to look away as she scrutinised my appearance.
‘Of course,’ she nodded, eventually looking over at Angus and smiling.
I couldn’t fathom the look that passed between the pair, but something very definite was communicated between the two in that moment.
‘My husband is very naughty to assume that I needed some help but, having spoken to him about the details of your application, I can understand why he picked you, and of course you are most welcome, my dear, even if you are going to be here for such a short time.’
There was a hint of amusement in her tone, as if the suggestion that I would be leaving so soon was laughable, but I didn’t have time to reiterate that I would be leaving for another job in January because Hayley was off and running again.
‘Staying for just a few weeks,’ she snorted, rolling her eyes as Dorothy ushered her mistress into a comfortable chair. ‘Now where have I heard that one before?’
‘And please call me Catherine,’ Mrs Connelly insisted. ‘We don’t stand on ceremony here.’
‘That’s true enough,’ agreed Mick, passing Hayley two custard creams and pouring everyone tea.
I looked around the vast high-ceilinged kitchen, where every surface seemed to be stuffed to the gunnels with paperwork, postcards, magazines, plants and curios, and then at the smiling staff who were clearly as welcome as family around the massive table, and wondered whatever kind of non-Christmas I had let myself in for.
‘Come on then,’ said Hayley as soon as we had finished our tea. ‘I’ll take you up to your room if you like.’
I followed her through what seemed to be a never-ending maze of rooms and corridors. More than once I stopped to admire an interesting portrait or particular piece of furniture and almost got left behind.
‘Don’t stress about getting lost,’ she grinned over her shoulder as I caught her up and we negotiated a flight of spiral stairs and yet another winding corridor. ‘Everyone takes a while to get their bearings, but you’ll manage it in the end,’ she added, before stopping to appraise me, ‘though I daresay you’re used to finding your way around fancy places like this, aren’t you?’
‘Sort of,’ I admitted, ‘but I don’t think I’ve ever been employed by anyone like Catherine and Angus before.’
Hayley grinned and hoisted up her jeans.
‘You won’t have been,’ she said. ‘They’re the best. I wouldn’t work anywhere else, not even for double the money.’
‘So how come you don’t live here?’ I asked. ‘From what Catherine said earlier, I’m guessing you’d be more than welcome.’
I couldn’t help thinking that the hall staff were the most eclectic mix of characters and ages I had ever come across. First there was Mick, then Dorothy, who wouldn’t see seventy again and, if her apron was anything to go by, was a Baking Queen, then Hayley, only just out of her teens and a bundle of energy, responsible for keeping the hall spotless – apart from the muddle in the kitchen that is. And now here I was, wondering where I would slot into this strange but fascinating household.
‘It’s a long story,’ she said, coming to an abrupt stop outside a massive oak door. ‘This is you,’ she announced, throwing it open.
‘Bloody hell!’
The words were out before I could check them and Hayley grinned. I was annoyed to have let my circumspect demeanour slip, but given the room I had been allotted, the faux pas was hardly a surprise. However, I was still relieved that it was Hayley rather than Catherine or Angus who had shown me upstairs. Swearing in front of the boss was not something I would ever want to do and especially not on my first day.
‘I know,’ she beamed.
My bags were already on the bed, the massive four-poster bed, that is. The one hung with old-fashioned tea-rose-patterned drapes that matched the curtains and the cushions on the little sofa positioned in front of a roaring log fire.
‘Angus said to put you in here,’ said Hayley. ‘It’s called the Rose Room. Obviously. He seemed to think you might like it.’
Sudden tears sprang into my eyes and I furiously blinked them back. The pattern had instantly dragged me back to another bedroom, nowhere near as grand, but achingly familiar nonetheless. I gave myself a little shake, thinking that if I had been prone to superstition I would have said there was some sort of magic playing out within the walls of Wynthorpe Hall.
‘No need to get all teary,’ nudged Hayley.
I shook my head, telling myself it was just a coincidence, nothing more.
‘Well, not until you’ve seen through here anyway,’ she added.
She pulled me into the en suite, which was almost as big as the bedroom and as warm as toast. The tub was huge and there were stacks of soft towels and beautifully packaged, exquisitely rose-scented Jo Malone soaps.
‘Are you sure this is the right room?’
This was all far more boutique hotel chic than employee accommodation. Most of the historic homes that I’d worked in were draughty and dilapidated, not cosy and cosseting, and you were more likely to wake with frost inside the windows than a glowing fire in the grate.
‘Yeah,’ said Hayley, plonking herself on the bed and curling her feet under her as Floss nestled close. ‘In case you haven’t worked it out, everyone gets treated the same here. Family, pets, friends and staff, we all get looked after. Some parts of the building might be getting a bit rough around the edges, but when it comes to hospitality, there’s always a warm welcome at Wynthorpe Hall.’
I ran my hands over the rose-patterned drapes and nodded, struggling to push down the rush of emotion I thought I had become so adept at keeping a lid on.
‘So what are the plans for tomorrow night?’ asked Angus at dinner that evening.
I sat agog as he piled plates high with hearty stew and dumplings before handing them to Dorothy, who then added as many vegetables as the plate could hold. Chris Dempster had been right about her keeping the troops well fed, and it was more than obvious that these friendly folk had no comprehension of portion control.
‘Are we going to take the car and the Land Rover, or just the car and make two trips?’
I’d eaten such a massive lunch in town, and then two biscuits with my afternoon tea, that I didn’t think I could manage Dorothy’s stew as well, but I took the plate she offered so as not to appear ungrateful.
‘Help yourself to more gravy,’ she said, pointing at the boat, which was steaming and full to the brim.
‘Thank you.’
‘I think it would make more sense to take both,’ said Mick. ‘That way we can take Hayley along with us and travel back separately if we don’t all want to come back at the same time.’
Mick had already driven Hayley back to Wynbridge for the night. Ordinarily, she had explained as she keenly helped me unpack my bags and surreptitiously tried on my precious shoes, she would cycle to and from the hall, but with the roads currently so treacherous, Mick and Angus were taking it in turns to ferry her about. It was my intention, in line with what Mick had said about the blurred job descriptions, to make myself available to take her as well, should I be needed.
‘Well, that sounds like an excellent idea,’ Angus agreed. ‘I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to it, especially now Ruby and Steve are back in town.’
‘What are they talking about?’ I whispered to Dorothy as I tentatively tasted the first mouthful of succulent steak, which melted on my tongue and tempted me to take another bite.
‘The Christmas switch-on,’ said Angus, his eyes alight with childlike excitement. ‘It’s happening in Wynbridge tomorrow night and the young couple kicking the festivities off were responsible for regenerating the market a couple of years back.’
‘Well, turning around the fortune of the market was mostly down to Ruby really,’ Dorothy put in.
‘Well, yes, I suppose it was,’ mused Angus. ‘Anyway, Ruby and her other half Steve—’
‘Who happens to be Chris Dempster’s son,’ said Dorothy, filling in another blank.
‘Have been off travelling the world.’
‘Not unlike our Jamie,’ came Dorothy again.
‘But they’ve made it back just in time to kick off Christmas in Wynbridge.’
‘Unlike our Jamie,’ Catherine sighed.
‘And everyone’s so excited to see them again.’
‘Who’s Jamie?’ I asked, trying to process the names and information I had just been bombarded with.
‘Our youngest,’ elaborated Angus. ‘He’s been away from home for a few months now.’
‘It’s actually been nearer a year,’ corrected Catherine.
I got the impression that she was missing her son and although keen to hear more about him, I felt it wasn’t my place to ask, especially as I’d literally only just arrived.
‘So,’ said Mick, thankfully pulling everyone’s focus back to the matter in hand, ‘we’ll all head off together then.’
I suddenly realised that I was being included in this festive outing to town.
‘It’s all anyone’s been able to talk about for weeks,’ said Catherine, her enthusiasm for the event gaining momentum as talk moved on from her currently empty nest.
‘And it’s going to be an even bigger celebration than usual,’ agreed Mick, looking over at Angus and winking. ‘Because rumour has it that Santa’s going to put in an early appearance.’
I swallowed hard and stared at my plate as my plans to see out a quiet Christmas in the sticks slipped further from my grasp. From what I’d already seen for myself back in town, if I didn’t put the brakes on now, by this time tomorrow I was going to be up to my neck in festive frosting. I shuddered at the thought.
‘Would you all mind if I didn’t come with you?’ I blurted out, thinking it was best to nip the assumption that I would be tagging along in the bud.
The four of them fell silent and looked at me in amazement.
‘Not come?’ gasped Mick incredulously.
‘Only I’m not all that keen on crowds,’ I added creatively. ‘And if I didn’t come then you could all squeeze in the car and not have to take the Land Rover at all.’
‘But we might not all want to come back together,’ Mick reminded me.
‘And if you don’t go,’ said Dorothy, looking crestfallen, ‘then Catherine can’t go.’
I looked from her to Catherine.
‘It’s fine,’ said Catherine, shaking her head.
Her expression suggested that she was somehow aware of my reluctance, even though she had no inkling as to the reason behind it, and I was grateful for her kindness and consideration. For about thirty seconds.
‘It would probably be too much for me anyway,’ she added, trying to justify her reason for missing out. ‘After all, I’ve only pottered around here since coming home from hospital and Anna’s right, it will be crowded.’
‘I could chaperone you,’ said Mick.
‘But you’re going to be serving the hog roast,’ Catherine reminded him, ‘and Dorothy,’ she continued before the lady had a chance to speak up, ‘you’ll be rushed off your feet with the WI.’
This was terrible. I felt awful knowing I was setting myself up to be the reason she was going to miss out on all the fun, and it was hardly the way to make the good first impression I was always so keen to secure.
‘But what about you, Angus?’ I suggested, hoping he could step into the breach.
‘Ho ho ho,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders and pointing at his belly.
Clearly he had important duties of his own to see to.
‘Oh well, all right then,’ I swallowed, painting on a smile and knowing I really didn’t have any choice. ‘In that case . . .’