It was an odd house. Not unique, by any means, but certainly unusual. From the concrete raft up to the single-storey eaves it was conventional, but the pitched roof was interrupted in the centre with a glassed-in addition, a ‘lantern’ in architectural terms. You might think of it as similar to a lighthouse, or the top of an airfield control-tower. It overlooked an east-coast river from a vantage above a low cliff, and was built on a raft as the geology of the area lacked accessible bedrock. Not strictly ‘off-grid’, it did have the means to be mostly independent of the mains utilities, with a deep well, septic sewage system, solar panels, wind turbine and even an emergency generator. The setting, to be kind, was rural, the nearest neighbour over half a mile away. No-one knew much about it, other than that it was built by a wealthy, elderly man who had since died. There was still someone living there as a caretaker, but that person was never seen; anything they required was delivered. Rumours abounded, of course.

Jimmy Bright:

My great-grandfather was what might be described as ‘eccentric’. In other words, he was wealthy enough to render his peculiarities acceptable. I never actually met him, so never understood why he passed over my grandparents and parents to make me his heir. At fifteen, I went with Mum and Dad to the funeral and afterwards to the reading of the will. To find that the house had been left to me with the residue of his estate in trust to maintain the place, well, I had no particular interest in living in the back of beyond and put off doing anything about my inheritance. Instead I embarked on a joinery apprenticeship, and upon completing it, joined a small bespoke construction company. I lived with my parents until I moved in with my girlfriend. My life was ... stable. The first stone in the avalanche which upended my existence was the death of my grandmother, her husband having entered a nursing home with dementia a year earlier.

Next, the company I worked for went into receivership, and I was laid off. My girlfriend was clearly more interested in my paycheque than in my person, and I found myself back home with my parents. At that point, I wasn’t even much disturbed. Quite honestly, the girlfriend, while quite attractive, had some personality attributes which I had put up with in the interest of continued nookie. In fact, the nookie was not exciting anyway. It did mean I embarked upon a leisurely search for a replacement as I looked for another job. Unfortunately, my search coincided with the first lockdown, which rendered both searches pointless.

Mum was first, closely followed by Dad. I have no idea why I was spared and had no symptoms. It was hard knowing that my parents were isolated in the Intensive Care wards of the city hospital, and being unable to see them. Indeed, they were even separated from each other. While efforts were made to allow relatives to speak by Skype and FaceTime, I managed to do that only once with each of them before they deteriorated.

Mum and Dad had, a couple of years before and with my approval, made use of equity release to pay for a world cruise. Happily, they had enjoyed that experience. However, that left me in the uncomfortable position of being unable to take over the mortgage on the family residence. I had a month in which to make other arrangements. So I packed up my tools and placed them in storage along with a few items of family memorabilia, contacted my great-grandfather’s lawyer, and set off south east on Oscar, my 1963 Norton motorcycle.

A ‘Junior’ was waiting at my inheritance with keys and a sheaf of documents. All the formalities were completed with the help of the bonnet of his car and maintaining the prescribed separation. He drove off, and I parked Oscar under a substantial carport at the back of the house, then, helmet in hand, knocked on the door.

It opened after only a few moments delay to reveal a young woman. Young, that is, about my age, twenty-five. Slim, a little over medium height, cute rather than beautiful, with short dark hair in a pixie cut. She was dressed in what I would describe as an Edwardian maid’s outfit; I know nothing about women’s fashions. Black skirt to the knees, black stockings and shoes, white blouse, white frilly cap.

“Mister Bright? Please come in, sir.” I entered and she shut the door behind me. I placed my helmet on the hall table and turned to her. She dipped in a curtsey. “I am Stephanie Woodhead, the caretaker and housekeeper, sir.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss ... it is miss?”

“It is, sir. I would be happy to be called Miss Woodhead, or Stephanie, as you prefer.”

“Well, Stephanie ... would you call me James?”

“Certainly, Mister James. I have a casserole in the oven, and vegetables steaming. They should be ready by the time you’ve got out of your outside clothing.”

Mister James? Oh, well. I began to strip out of over-suit, boots and so on, while the lady went through a door to the right. Suitably unencumbered, I investigated a door to the left, and found a bathroom, well equipped with separate bath and shower, wash-basin, toilet and bidet, something I’d never encountered before. There were fluffy towels on a rail, and I washed my hands and face after using the toilet, the last having become a necessity after a two-hundred mile ride. I noticed a second door, but left it to return to the hallway. The door used by Stephanie led to a large kitchen, where she was obviously busy.

“Oh, Mister James! Nearly ready. Would you prefer to eat in here, or in the dining-room?”

“The kitchen is much more convenient, surely?”

“The kitchen is certainly convenient, sir, but that is not a consideration.”

“Well, Stephanie, I would much prefer informality. Let us eat in here.”

“Very well, sir. You have a few minutes, if you’d like to look round? I will happily give you a tour later?”

I assumed that she’d be happier with me out of the way until the meal was ready – I was wrong in that – so I smiled. “I’ll have a nosy, then.”

It was interesting. On the left of the hall, I found a large bedroom, the Master, with the other side of the door into the bathroom which I had noticed before. A door on the other side led to a small bedroom, presumably the maid’s room, or in this case, the housekeeper’s room, as it was clearly lived in. A second door on the other side of the small room looked as though it would open into the kitchen. At the other side of the entrance lobby, I found a small but cosy study, the walls lined with books: an eclectic selection of mixed paperbacks and hard cover. Many of the hardcover books appeared old.

I left off investigating that room in favour of the next door, which led to a spiral staircase, which was intriguing. Again, I left that for further study. The final door led into a dining room, which made sense. It was beautifully appointed, and there was a pleasant scent of wax polish.

However, a different smell assailed my nostrils – a savoury scent of supper, so I returned to the kitchen.

There was only one place set at the kitchen table.

“Are you not eating, Stephanie?”

“Oh, sir, that would not do at all! I will eat when you’ve finished.”

That came as a shock. It was not at all the social attitude I grew up with; I’d thought that sort of thing disappeared about the time of the Great War. Except, perhaps, in a very few places like Buckingham Palace.

“Why would it not do, Stephanie? I am alone here. There is no-one to offend, and I think I am feeling a little lonely. Please, join me at table.”

“Sir, you are the Master...”

“Stephanie, I am a carpenter, not a lord or whatever.”

She stood there, apparently flustered. “You wish this, sir?”

“I do. And my name is James.”

“Very well, s ... Master James.”

It was a very good meal. The casserole of lamb was savoury and the vegetables perfectly cooked. Stephanie, however, while eating delicately and carefully, appeared uncomfortable. She put a portion of cheesecake in front of me, and then a cup of coffee, a jug of cream and a bowl of Demerara sugar. I drink my coffee black, and, in fact, rarely after mid-day, but I drank it anyway.

“This is excellent coffee, Stephanie.”

“Thank you, s ... Master James.”

I was about to say that I didn’t drink coffee in the afternoon or evening, but in view of her discomfort decided to set that issue aside. “How long have you been here, Stephanie?”

I’d obviously hit a hot button, because her face fell, then tears trickled down her cheek.

I shook my head. “Never mind. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But I do need to know something about this place if I’m going to live here.”

“Thank you, Master James.” She sniffed. “I’ve been here since I was a child. I took over the duties of housekeeper from my mother.” Then, “Shall I show you round? Explain some things?”

“Yes, please. That would be good.”

She went with me around the places I’d already seen. “There is no lounge,” she explained. “The Master sat in his study when he was here. There used to be a big house where the Master lived with his family. Master Josiah, your great-grandfather, only came here a few days each month. But when his wife died, he sold off the big house and came here to live. He had no visitors.”

Well, that explained why I’d never met him, I suppose. She had made no move to show me the staircase.

“What about that door?”

“Oh...” hesitation, “that leads to the Lantern.”

I just raised an eyebrow, and she opened the door. “I will lead the way, if you don’t mind.”

I didn’t mind at all. The tight spiral placed my face just about at the level of her pert bottom, shapely in the black skirt. That feature of a woman I’ve always enjoyed, so I followed her.

She indicated a door on the way up. “The roof space is very dusty and cobwebby,” she explained. “It would be better to leave that for another time.” Then we reached the Lantern. The spiral stair occupied the centre, with a landing about a metre wide around it. The whole structure was glass above a low wall. As it was night outside, there was little to see, just the odd light in the far distance. Above the stair was a lamp, which was alight, further preventing much in the way of vision outside.

“Why is the light on? Is it on all the time?”

“Yes, master James. It is a...” she groped for a suitable word. “The light must be maintained throughout the hours of darkness. I ... I don’t know why, but Master Josiah was very firm about it. There are batteries in the roof space below.”

“I’ve seen just about everything, now?”

“Yes, master James. Other than the vegetable garden and pier. There is about an acre of ground which belongs to the property.” She waved me to the stairs, and I didn’t mind going ahead of her on the way down. The stairwell was rather dark, as the door had swung shut, but it was easy to navigate with a hand on the central pillar. At the bottom, she turned to me. “Will you be retiring, master James?”

“I think so.”

“I will be available at any time should you need something. I sleep very lightly. All you need to do is call.”

I resisted the thought that she might be available to me in some capacity beyond simply housekeeping. I was finding her distractingly attractive. Even her manner: solemn, perhaps sad. I undressed, decided a shower could wait until the morning, fell into bed and extinguished the light.

You know how sometimes you wake up out of a deep sleep, disoriented? I have no idea what time it was, and decided I needed a clock with an LED display. I had the oddest impression of having been woken by a loud noise. As I lay there, though, it came again: an animal howl. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said it was a wolf. Of course, there are no loose wolves in England nowadays. Even so, I shivered, and huddled into the blankets enfolding me. I needed a duvet. Blankets are heavy. But I fell asleep again.

I was woken either by light percolating through the curtains or by the smell of coffee – probably the latter, heaved myself out of bed and into the bathroom for a shower. Perhaps it’s relevant to say at this point that I sleep naked, and have done ever since leaving home. Once the girlfriend had left, part of the point of nakedness had left with her, of course, but I was used to it by that point. So I showered, dried myself, and walked back into the bedroom only to see Stephanie placing a tray – coffee, cream and sugar – by the bed.

She looked across at me and her eyes widened. “I have brought you coffee, Master James. Breakfast when you’re ready. Cereal, toast, full English?”

She didn’t seem much disturbed by my nakedness, but I’m sure I was bright red. “Um, full English, please, Stephanie. And a couple of slices of toast. Thank you for the coffee.”

“It’s nothing, sir. Part of the service. Is there anything else?”

Anything else? She’s ... perfect. But... “Nothing right now, thank you.”

Is there anything more enjoyable than a well-cooked breakfast, excellent coffee, fresh orange juice – yes, orange juice squeezed from real oranges, not out of a box – toasted homemade wholemeal bread and butter? Unless you’re vegan or whatever, of course.

“Have you had your breakfast, Stephanie?”

“Yes, master James. Some time ago.”

“Please, sit with me. Have a cup of coffee.”

“Perhaps tea.”

“Certainly. Whatever your choice.”

She went to the counter and boiled a kettle, tipped a spoonful of leaf-tea in a pot, poured boiling water over it. Placed the pot, cup and saucer, and a tea strainer on the table, and sat with me as I ate.

“This is ... not what I am used to,” she informed me, quietly.

“I would prefer that you join me for meals and refreshments. Unless there are duties more important.”

“Other than the light, I have no other duties more important than serving the Master of the house.”

It was quiet there as I ate. I finished the coffee – I’m used to drinking my coffee out of mugs, not little cups – and Stephanie immediately stood, fetched the carafe and refilled the cup, before reseating herself.

“Thank you,” I murmured. “I really don’t mind fetching my own coffee.”

“It is my duty,” she stated, shaking her head. “Perhaps I might suggest...”

“Go on.”

“There will be much in your documents which will explain things I cannot. May not.”

So I finished my breakfast and the second cup, but covered the cup with my hand to prevent Stephanie refilling it. “I will go to the study,” I told her, “to see what the documents I have will tell me.”

The study had a pleasant if unexciting outlook, and a very comfortable office chair. I thought that it might be cool later in the year, but at that time, late August, it was fine. I laid the pile of paper in front of me and began to look through it all. I hadn’t owned a property before, and it was interesting to see the extent of what I owned.

There was a map, showing a couple of hectares of mostly pretty rough ground; originally, I suppose it was five acres, perhaps. There was a fence and, apparently, a contract to maintain it. Some of the land was grazed by local farmers for a small rent. There was some woodland, too. Honestly, rather a dull estate. I was interested to see that my great-grandfather had been responsible for building the house in the nineteen-twenties, and for regular updates and maintenance, hence a small wind-turbine, solar panels, a septic tank system to replace a cess-pit, triple glazing, water from a deep well. There were fireplaces, and central heating fuelled by bottled gas. A large order of logs for the fires was delivered each year. There was more of a practical nature, but I think this conveys the comprehensive arrangements my ancestor had made.

There was also a letter.

You might imagine that I had a lot to think about...

A knock on the door announced the arrival of Stephanie with my mid-morning coffee – accompanied by a slice of rich fruitcake.

“Thank you, Stephanie. Can you spare fifteen minutes to keep me company while I enjoy this?”

“Certainly, Master James. I will fetch my tea.”

The cake was sticky, rich with fruit and, I suspect, brandy. It went perfectly with the coffee, though I might have chosen something else, a biscuit, perhaps. Definitely no complaint.