Chapter 2

Suitably fortified by our substantial breakfast, I drove us very carefully – the roads were not in a great shape – the roughly fifteen miles to the old house I remembered from childhood visits. I got out to open the big wrought-iron gates, drove through, and shut them behind us, then round the gravel drive to stop in front of the entrance. Looking around, the grounds appeared tidy, if drab, and there’d obviously been some changes to the old place. UPVC windows. The front door, however, was as I remembered. Heavy, oiled hardwood.

Chris and Ariana got out of the car and stood, looking awed at the edifice in front of them.

“Come along,” I held out a hand to the littler one. Chris stepped up and took the other one as Ariana clasped my left hand. We walked together to the door which opened as we drew near.

Standing there, slightly to one side, of course, was Miss Carter. Even as a kid I’d thought her good-looking. Handsome, though, rather than beautiful. Five foot ten, medium build, figure to match, auburn hair sprinkled with grey. “Miss Carter,” I smiled. “It’s been a long time.”

“Six years, Master George. Won’t you all come in?”

I ushered Chris and Ariana in front of me. “Miss Carter, this is Christine Fletcher, my fiancée, and Ariana, my daughter.”

Her expression flickered at the introduction, but she said, “You’re very welcome, Ms Fletcher.” Then, squatting to be eye to eye with Ariana, “young lady, you are beautiful! You’re welcome here at Gotham Hall.”

Chris just smiled and nodded, but Ariana held out a hand, “Thank you, Ma’am. I’m sure we’ll be happy here.” Ariana’s English had come on by leaps and bounds since we found her, but there was – probably always would be – a slight, attractive accent in her voice.

The housekeeper pointed to a door. “There’s a cloakroom and toilet there if you need it. If you leave your bags, we’ll get them to your rooms later. I expect you’ll all welcome some refreshment. I have managed to procure some coffee, Master George. I’m sure you understand that is becoming a difficult product to obtain.”

“I do understand. Don’t worry in the future, but I’d appreciate some now ... Chris?” Chris nodded with obvious enthusiasm, “and for Chris, too. Just black, please. I expect Ariana would enjoy any fruit juice in the house.” I glanced at Ariana, who was smiling and nodding.

Miss Carter turned to leave, but hesitated. “Master George, I’d be happy to be Ellen to you...”

I smiled and nodded. “In which case, I’m George, this is Chris and Ariana.”

She hesitated again, but opened another door into a reception room, ushered us in, and left. It was a comfortable room, if a little chilly. The furniture was practical, rather than stylish. An open fireplace suggested the use of an open fire, rather than the central heating which was clearly available. Certainly the heating was not on.

Chris looked round briefly before leaving to make use of the facilities. I sat, and Ariana promptly climbed into my lap for a cuddle.

Miss Carter – henceforth Ellen – returned. “Refreshments shortly,” she said. “It’s good to have a Timmins back in the house.”

“It looks as though there have been changes, Ellen.”

“There have. Master Gerald ordered improvements in the insulation, so there are triple-glazed windows all round. He foresaw problems with energy supply, and insisted on keeping the coal-fired range in the kitchen, as well as a gas-fired one, and there are open grates in most of the rooms. We have several tons of house-coal in a bunker at the back. The electricity supply is ... unreliable, but there are battery-powered emergency lights throughout, and a stand-by battery to maintain the freezer and fridge. In emergency that can also power the central-heating pump, but only for a limited time, so it’s better to light fires in rooms where heat is needed.”

She was interrupted by the arrival of two girls bearing trays. The first, with a tray of drinks, was small and plump. I immediately put her in the ‘cuddly’ category, not the ‘overweight’ category.

“Rosie, the drinks on the coffee table, please.” Ellen glanced round. “This is Rosie ... and...” looking at the other girl, “Jenny. Jenny, put the pastries on the sideboard.” The other girl was taller, perhaps five foot five, maybe slightly more padded than has been fashionable, but definitely attractive. Both girls had short, dark brown, hair in a ‘pixie’ cut.

Rosie, having placed the drinks tray in front of us, knelt opposite me, and picked up a large cafetiere. “Black coffee for the lady?” Given a nod, and a shake of the head when she asked about sugar, poured a cup of coffee and handed the cup and saucer to Chris.

“Black coffee, sir?” I nodded, and she poured another cup. “Sugar, sir?” I shook my head and she handed me the cup and saucer. She looked at Ariana. “Apple juice ... Miss?”

“Yes, please ... Rosie.”

Once Ariana had a glass of juice, Rosie turned to Ellen, who asked for white coffee, no sugar. She duly poured that and, quite gracefully, rose to her feet to carry it to Ellen before returning to her kneeling position by the coffee table. At that point, Jenny picked up two large plates and carried them to us. She knelt and offered the plates, first to Chris. One plate was clearly piled with cheese straws, the other with small triangular pastries.

“Cheese straws, Ma’am? Or apple turnovers?”

Chris smiled and took two of the cheese straws and an apple turnover, and Jenny offered the plates to Ariana. Ariana glanced at me and, when I nodded, took the same as Chris. I took the same, and Jenny rose and offered the plate to Ellen, then returned to kneel next to Rosie.

Both Chris and I accepted refills of our cups. Accustomed to mugs of the beverage, two cups just about satisfied our cravings. I was sure, though, that the coffee was going to become an issue, if it hadn’t already. “Ellen, Chris and I both appreciate the coffee, but I think we might be well getting used to chicory.”

She nodded. “Very well, Master ... um ... George. I will obtain coffee when I can, but there will be chicory in the house when needed. I apologise ... I am used to addressing the master of the house as ‘Master’ or ‘Sir’.”

“I’m not offended, Ellen. Whatever you ... and these young ladies ... are comfortable with.”

She, rather obviously, relaxed. “Thank you, sir.”

We finished our refills and our snacks, which were delicious. Seeing this, Ellen said, “If you’d like to come with me, sir ... ma’am ... miss, I’ll give you a quick tour and show you your rooms. Miss Fletcher, do I understand you will be sharing the Master’s suite, or shall I put you in your own room?”

Chris beamed at me. “Oh, I’ll share with the boss, absolutely. Is there somewhere close for Ariana?”

“There is. I was going to suggest that she use the maid’s room, adjacent and connecting to the master suite.”

“Excellent!”

We all stood and moved out into the hallway. The two girls – I’m calling them girls, though they were probably mid twenties – immediately picked up our bags. Chris caught my eye and shook her head slightly. I had been just about to protest and insist on carrying my own bag, at least.

The master suite – can’t call it the master bedroom – was ‘generously proportioned’. Read huge. I expected an ensuite bathroom, but not one with bath, separate shower, toilet and bidet, as well as a double wash-basin. The main room included casual seating as well as an enormous closet and a separate dressing room. Next door, with a connecting door, was the maid’s room; decently sized, with its own furniture and ensuite bathroom. Ariana was wide eyed.

“This is to be mine? Really?”

“Yes, Sweetie. And Chris and I will be right next door if you need us. Okay?”

She nodded vigorously.

Leaving our luggage, we were treated to the tour. That included the ‘staff’ rooms on the floor above, and the guest rooms, which were almost luxurious in themselves. On the ground floor, there was a large dining room, with a table which could be expanded. Even without, it would seat about ten. Nearby a – what? Ballroom? – that implies to my mind a very large space. But this one was maybe twenty by thirty feet, with a beautiful parquet floor. A smaller, but still large, lounge was next door, and a library of similar size. Connected to the library, a smaller study which looked out on the grounds to the rear of the house. Finally, the kitchen, scullery and laundry. The kitchen was equipped with a gas range as well as a coal-fired one, and just about every device known to man to help the cook!

“I’m suitably impressed,” I announced.

Ellen smiled. “I haven’t shown you the servants’ passages,” she said, “but I will another time. They enable us to move around the house discreetly. In the past, I suspect others may have used them for discretion too.”

“I suspect you’re right.”

“Outside are the coachhouse, garden storage, greenhouses, and the coal bunker, which is currently full.”

“Some other time for all that.”

“Yes, I need to deal with your lunch. Do you like your main meal in the middle of the day, or the evening? I have a salad and soup for lunch today.”

“I’ll discuss that with Chris,” I said. “But I suspect an evening dinner will be best.”

“Very good, sir. Lunch about one?”

“Perfect.”

The soup – oxtail – was savoury and delicious, and the salad fresh and crisp. Chris and I complimented Ellen, who pointed at Jenny, who blushed. “Jenny has the makings of a good cook,” Ellen commented with a smile.

“It certainly seems so.”

Ellen would not let us participate in clearing up, something I supposed I would have to get used to, so Chris, Ariana and I went to explore the grounds. Behind the house, a large well trimmed lawn gave on to flower beds. Those I thought uninspiring, but didn’t comment. Chris, however, told me, “We’re going to need a gardener. It’s a pity not to have a bit more colour around.”