A Winter’s Tale (44 page)

‘No, you don’t seem to have told me anything!’

‘Oh, didn’t I? I thought I had. Well, anyway, they’re staying, and then there’s the meeting and the party, and clearing up afterwards—so tomorrow is going to be busy. I’ll be really glad of your help, Jack.’

‘I don’t know why you decided to carry on with these feudal traditions, Sophy. I told William often enough that it was a waste of time and money.’

‘I think it’s a lovely thing to do, to thank everyone for all their help over the year,’ I said. ‘Good night!’ and I dodged when he would have kissed me again.

Some instinct—or maybe it was Alys’s chilly presence making herself felt in the passageway—made me go and lock the door to the parlour before I went upstairs, which is not a thing I normally do.

‘You reek of horrible aftershave,’ Lucy said disapprovingly when I walked into my room to find her sitting on the bed.

‘Actually, it’s lovely, but you probably associate it with Lady Betty’s repulsive nephew Conor. It’s the same one he always wore and it was
entirely
wasted on him. In fact, it seemed to wear Conor, rather than the other way round, while Jack’s made it entirely his own—a part of the whole handsome and expensive package.’

‘Yeah, right,’ she said, sounding unconvinced.

I sniffed the air. ‘Have you been at my Elisabethan Rose?’

‘No, it’s something Aunt Hebe brewed up, but it does smell similar, I admit. She just gave it to me on the way to bed, as an early Christmas present.’

‘You’re honoured. Now come on,’ I said, climbing onto the bed next to her and giving her a hug, ‘you tell me your secrets and I’ll tell you mine!’

Chapter Thirty: Rival Attractions

Now it is clear that my relatives will not intercede for mee, they have subjected mee to the indignities of searching my person for such places as might suckle an imp or devil and threaten sterner measures should I not confess my wrongdoing and name my accomplices.

From the journal of Alys Blezzard, 1582

Jack was conspicuously
not
his usual bright-eyed and bushy-tailed self at breakfast. In fact, he looked a little wan, which I expect was entirely due to his having spent a large part of the night up and about—as evidenced by his fingerprints all over every carved, engraved, embossed or stuccoed rose in the house.

He can hardly have had time for much sleep after that either, because when Hebe went out this morning she discovered that he must have been in the walled garden at first light with his metal detector, digging holes among the apothecary roses.

She was furious, though when she tore him off a strip, he tried to laugh it off. ‘But all I found was a silver threepenny bit and a few bent nails, Hebe. I hardly touched the garden.’

‘There are holes all over the place,’ she said crossly.

‘I’ll come and help you fill them in right after breakfast, Aunt Hebe,’ Lucy offered, and Jack gave her a dirty look.
Clearly he was out of favour at the moment, though I was sure it wouldn’t last very long.

‘Don’t forget the Friends are coming at ten thirty for the meeting before the party,’ I reminded them. ‘Anya should be arriving any minute too. I asked her to try and get here in time for it, since she’ll be running the tearoom and gift shop end of things.’

‘You aren’t
still
determined to turn the place into a Shakespeare theme park, are you?’ Jack said. ‘We agreed you would wait and discuss it with me at Christmas before finalising anything.’

‘
Not
a theme park, Jack,’ Aunt Hebe said disapprovingly. ‘Just opening as we have done for many years now, only with a very tasteful little shop too.’

‘Of course Mum is going to open the house to the public next year. It’s the best way of generating income to keep the place going,’ Lucy said combatively. ‘And I’m sure your products will be our best-sellers, Aunt Hebe.’

‘Thank you, dear.’

‘But it all needs organising
now
; she can’t hang about waiting for your input, Jack,’ Lucy went on. ‘Anyway, I’m sure she’s got a lot more experience at running this kind of thing than you have. She did everything at Blackwalls!’

Battle
had
commenced, and I knew who my money was on to win. ‘Everything
is
pretty well finalised already,’ I agreed. ‘It has to be, though the February open day is a sort of dry run, to see how it all goes. Then we can fine-tune it ready for the start of the season at Easter.’

‘Mum’s got some brilliant ideas to increase visitor numbers.’

‘Why don’t you come to the Friends meeting, Jack?’ I suggested, but he said tersely that he had other things to do and sloped off to his bedroom, probably to catch up on his sleep and sulk.

Hebe and Lucy headed for the walled garden and I helped
Jonah clear away the breakfast things before dashing upstairs to change into a festive red tunic and jingle-bell earrings, because I didn’t think I’d have time between the Friends meeting and the party.

I hadn’t seen Seth that morning, but when I looked out of my bedroom window he was standing on the middle terrace, looking down at his new knot. I only hoped he wouldn’t forget about the party and start messing about with the design, because he wasn’t wearing his gardening clothes and also—well, it wouldn’t be the same without him looming about the place.

Anya arrived with just enough time to dump her bags in her room and then have a cup of coffee and a slice of pudding cake in the kitchen with the Larks and me. Then Lucy and Aunt Hebe came in, slightly earthy, and joined us.

‘We’ll have a good catch-up later, Lucy,’ Anya said, having given her a rib-crushing hug. ‘And Guy is coming shortly too, if he can get that terrible old car of his to start.’

I looked at my watch. ‘Come on, it’s almost time for the meeting and everyone will be arriving shortly. We’ll go into the breakfast parlour, out of Mrs Lark’s way.’

‘Jonah had better take Gingernut up to our rooms. He keeps getting under my feet and he’ll be safer up there,’ Mrs Lark said as the kitten made a dive for the hem of her apron. ‘And I’ll keep Charlie in here when the party starts, so he doesn’t get trodden on.’

I was worried about how the Friends would react to my plans, because asking them to voluntarily staff and steward Winter’s End for more than twice the number of days next year, and over a longer opening season, was a big ask.

They all came in together and took their seats around the table, which Jonah had extended again by inserting a couple of the leaves. None of the group was young, and
some of them already looked familiar, like Mr Yatton’s sister, Effie, a spare, wiry woman wearing a tweed skirt and a lilac jumper sewn with pearls, and a pair of elderly men who were so alike they had to be twins. They all cast curious looks at Anya, with her red dreadlocks and nose ring, but Lucy’s presence seemed to be not unexpected.

‘Welcome to the meeting,’ I said nervously. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know all your names yet, though I hope I soon will. First of all, I’m going to outline my plans for Winter’s End and see what you think of them—I’m sure there will be a lot to discuss. But before we start, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Lucy.’

‘Hi,’ Lucy said, from her seat beside me.

‘And my friend, Anya. I’ve asked Anya to be here because she is going to create a gift shop in part of the tearoom area and will be in overall charge of both operations.’

‘You mean, she would run the tearoom too, and be in charge of the money and everything?’ Effie asked, and I braced myself for resentment.

‘Well, yes, that’s the idea. You would be doing the actual catering, of course, but Anya would cash up for you and get change, order stock…all that kind of thing.’

‘How
wonderful
! That will take a great deal of pressure off you serving wenches, won’t it, Pam?’ Effie exclaimed, and the others murmured agreement.

Pam, who was a buxom woman with a high colour in her apple cheeks, beamed. ‘Oh yes, Effie! I mean, we can take the money and serve the food all right, but when it comes to even adding up the float for next day, we get stuck, let alone totting up the takings!’

This was a good start and they listened to the rest of my plans with interest, seeming fairly enthusiastic about it all—and not terribly surprised. But since they all seemed to be friends of Aunt Hebe, I am sure she had kept them updated on things.

‘I intend opening four afternoons a week, so we would be closed from Sunday to Tuesday. I know Sunday would be a good day for visitors, but since so many of the people involved with Winter’s End attend church that day, it wouldn’t be practical or right. But we
will
open on Bank Holiday Mondays.’

Effie seemed to be the one in charge of the group, arranging the rotas for who did what on which day. It appeared that the Friends liked to do everything in twos, from manning the gatehouse to stewarding the minstrels’ gallery. They all like to stick to their particular areas too, though when I said that I proposed having a sort of taxi service from the car park to the front door by golf buggy, for those who had difficulty walking so far, four elderly gentlemen fought a battle over who got to drive it.

‘If Winter’s End is going to be open four days a week you can take it in turns,’ Effie pointed out firmly. ‘We always have a few Friends free too,’ she said to me, ‘so someone can fill in as and when necessary if it is busy, or during tea breaks.’

‘Yes—tea breaks,’ I said, looking down at my notes. ‘From now on, you will all be entitled to a free pastry or sandwich during your break. If the teashop is busy, Mrs Lark doesn’t object to your taking it through into the kitchen, though I hope before the end of our first season of working together to make a little Friends staffroom out of one of the disused rooms in the East Wing.’

That idea seemed to go down well.

‘Lucy and I will be sort of floating personnel, filling in where needed, so if any of you can’t get to the house for a break you can radio for what you want, and one of us will bring it.’

‘Meals on wheels,’ Pam said.

‘Meals by golf buggy, anyway,’ I agreed. ‘Now, two other changes that I hope will also make your jobs easier are that you will all have radios, so you can contact each other if necessary; and all Friends will be paid travelling expenses.’

‘By radios, do you mean walkie-talkies?’ asked one elderly man, whose head had been going up and down like a nodding dog throughout the whole meeting.

‘Yes—little ones. We had them where I worked before, and they are very useful.’

An excited buzz of conversation broke out. Effie held her hand up. ‘I think I can speak for all of us when I say that that is all very acceptable and shows you value our input into preserving Winter’s future.’

‘I certainly do. I don’t think Winter’s End would
have
a future, without you,’ I said sincerely. ‘None of my plans would work without your help.’

Pam, the buxom lady, nudged Effie and said something in a low voice. ‘Ah yes,’ Effie said. ‘There is just one thing that I wished to ask, on behalf of us all.’

‘Ask away,’ I said lightly, though my heart sank, wondering whether it would be something that would scupper my whole plan.

‘It is this: the Friends originally started as a re-enactment society, which we still are, really.’

‘Effie and I started it up,’ Aunt Hebe put in, ‘though these days I have so many other commitments that I can’t always attend the meetings.’

‘Oh?’ I said, interested. ‘What historical period do you re-enact?’

‘Elizabethan England,’ Effie said.

‘Well, that’s very interesting,’ I began, not quite seeing where the question lay.

‘The thing is,’ Effie added in a rush, ‘that what we would all really like is to be in costume when we are working at Winter’s End.’

‘You
would
? All of you?’ I looked around the ring of faces, astonished.

‘Oh yes,’ they all chorused.

‘Cool,’ Lucy said. I could see she was wondering how she would look in a farthingale and ruff.

‘Each of us has our own preferences. We take on parts from all walks of life,’ Pam said, ‘but we serving wenches prefer working in the teashop, appropriately enough!’

‘And we’re yeomen,’ said one of the twin brothers. ‘We collect the entrance money at the gatehouse.’

‘Well, I think that would be a lovely idea,’ I said, ‘if that’s what you really want to do. And it would certainly fit in with the increased emphasis on the Shakespearean connections of Winter’s End and the late sixteenth-century knot gardens. But won’t the costumes be uncomfortable, especially in summer?’

‘Oh, no, we’re used to them,’ Effie said, ‘and we would welcome the opportunity to wear them more often.’

‘I did ask William once,’ Aunt Hebe put in, ‘but he didn’t like the idea.’

‘What part do you play?’ I asked her.

‘Queen Elizabeth, of course,’ she replied, as if I should have known. And I suppose I should have guessed, since apart from her hair being no longer red, she bore a striking resemblance to portraits of the Virgin Queen.