Chapter 2

Heading downstairs, Lottie was, as I expected, in the kitchen presiding over the frying pan. So I sat at the table, where a place had been set. Lottie placed a warm plate in front of me, piled up with bacon, sausage, scrambled egg, fried bread, baked beans, and fried potato cake. She then produced a cup containing a black liquid resembling coffee.

“No, it’s not coffee,” she anticipated my response. “It’s chicory. Try it.”

So I did. No, it wasn’t coffee, and it didn’t taste exactly like it, but it was okay. “Not bad,” I told her. “I can live with that.”

“There’s no caffeine in it,” she admitted, “but it’s easily available and a lot cheaper than coffee.”

I shrugged. “Fair enough. Drinking coffee is just a habit. If we can get some, that’s okay, but this’ll do otherwise.”

I’d about finished my breakfast when we heard the door. I swallowed my last mouthful. “I’ll go,” I said, pushing my chair back.

When I opened the door, yes, there was Rosie, with her friend Lisa. The friend was taller and slimmer, angular, rather than curvy. She had bright copper hair, a curly helmet surrounding her face, and her face was a constellation of freckles. Now, as it happens, I find freckles very attractive, especially accompanied by red hair. She was wearing dungarees over a t-shirt, and work-boots on her feet. She held a floppy hat in her left hand.

“Master Ralph, this is my friend Lisa,” Rosie said, her hand in the small of Lisa’s back. The other girl held out her free hand tentatively and I took it. Her palm was calloused, her grip firm.

“Welcome to Abbey Hall, both of you. Come in. Have you had breakfast?”

Rosie smiled. “We’re farmers, Master Ralph. We’ve been up since dawn.”

“Well, come in anyway. Have a drink and a biscuit.” I led them through to the kitchen. “Rosie and Lisa are here, Miss Denham. I’ve suggested they have a snack first. When they’re settled, I’ll take Lisa for a look round and a chat, but I’m going to my office now.”

The better part of an hour later, there was a knock on the door, and I put my book down.

“Come!” The door opened and the slim figure of Lisa stepped in. She was still in the dungarees she arrived in, sensibly enough. I pointed to a chair. “Sit,” I said. “Be comfortable.”

She perched on the edge of the chair. Looked at me nervously.

“Tell me about yourself,” I suggested.

She hesitated, but began, “I’m Lisa Brown. I’m sixteen years old and my parents...” she stopped for a moment, “my mother is a market gardener, helped by Grandad and Granma.”

“Your father?” I thought perhaps I should not have asked, as she blinked rapidly for several seconds before answering.

“He was in Birmingham on the day of the attack.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Lisa.”

She shrugged. “So many others died. So many who are living have lost people. It’s bad. But ... it will be good to have a new purpose.”

I nodded. “Let’s go and look at the grounds. It’s a mess. It’s not going to get fixed this week, or even this year, I think. You will probably need help.”

She nodded, and stood when I did. I opened the door for her and she smiled as she walked through. Behind the house, she gazed at what used to be lawn. “We need some sheep,” she told me. “I can use a scythe okay, and I’d get there eventually, but sheep’ll do it a lot easier.”

“What about the flower bed?” She gave me a look; do you know what I mean? ‘Ignorant man’ sort of look, though without saying a word. But she did say, “The flower bed will have to be dug out and replanted anyway. The roses might survive, but don’t count on it. What about vegetables?”

We had to pick our way past the dilapidated shed, through a gate in a tall wall. There was actually a kitchen garden, but it was just as bad a jungle as the ‘lawn’. “Oh, dear.” She sighed. “A lot of work, but it can be done. Could I have some help? Casual labour?”

“I think so. Certainly for the clear up. If you know anyone, I’ll pay labouring wages for day workers.” I thought for a moment. “How about £12 per hour. Paid at the end of each working day?”

Her eyes widened. “That sounds generous,” she said. “But you haven’t told me what you’re offering me.”

“Okay,” I said. “As a member of staff, you get accommodation, three meals a day, clothing appropriate to your position, and a wage of about £5 an hour, same as Rosie. But you will be the grounds manager, like Lottie – Miss Denham – is the housekeeper. Status and authority, but not a lot of money initially.”