A Place Called Home (36 page)

They followed him, the children dragging their feet and Lucy trying to put a brave face on things, although she was close to exhaustion herself. Each time the train pulled into a station she had peered out of the window, half expecting to see policemen waiting to board and make an arrest. Even now she was still anxious. Their safety depended upon Lugg, and if he took against the idea of sheltering them they would have nowhere to go.

She came to a halt behind Bedwin and was surprised to see tall wrought-iron gates with the family crest worked into the ornate design. Through the metal scrolls she could just make out the house itself, although it seemed far distant at the end of a tree-lined avenue. The copper beeches were at their most magnificent and if she had been a visitor to Marriott Park she would have been impressed, but as it was all she could think about was Lugg and his reaction when Bedwin explained why they had come. He rang the bell and they waited. Eventually a man emerged from the gatehouse, shrugging on his jacket. He peered at Bedwin, squinting in the sunlight, his bushy grey eyebrows meeting over the bridge of his bulbous nose. Lucy was forcibly reminded of the stone gargoyles at Westminster Abbey, but she managed to keep a straight face.

‘Don't you recognise me, Ron? Frank Bedwin.'

Bertie sniggered and Vicky giggled, receiving a warning look from Lucy. ‘Hush. Remember your manners.'

‘Frank,' Maggie murmured. ‘I didn't know Bedwin had another name.'

‘Shh.' Lucy laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Be polite.'

‘Frank, is it really you?' Lugg opened the gates and they trooped into the grounds. He stared at Lucy and the children. ‘Is this your wife and nippers, Frank?'

Bedwin took him by the arm and marched him into the gatehouse, leaving the others standing outside.

‘I call that rude,' Vicky said crossly. ‘I'm thirsty and I want a drink of water.'

‘A glass of ale would go down better,' Bertie said loudly.

‘When have you had beer to drink?' Lucy demanded.

‘We have a pint at the end of the day. It's hot work.'

Lucy was saved from replying by the re-emergence of Bedwin and his friend, who seemed to be on the best of terms. Bedwin was smiling, which happened so infrequently that it made Lucy look again to make sure it was not a grimace of pain or indigestion. ‘Well?' she said urgently. ‘What's happening?'

‘Ron says you're welcome to stay as long as you like, provided you don't bother him.'

‘Aye,' Lugg said, nodding. ‘I don't hold with kids and I ain't no housekeeper, but as long as you look after yourselves it don't matter to me. The house needs airing and you can earn your keep by doing a bit of spring cleaning. It'll save me getting a woman in to do the work.'

‘You might lose your job if Mr Daubenay finds out you gave us shelter.' Lucy felt compelled to warn him, although he seemed oblivious of the risk he was taking.

He shrugged. ‘I ain't gonna tell him, and he never shows his face here. Just keep to yourselves and don't go wandering down to the village, because they're a pack of busybodies.'

Bedwin retrieved the cases he had left on the path. ‘Come along then, everyone. Lugg has given me the key. Let's see what state the old place is in.'

It must, Lucy thought, be a good half a mile from the gates to the main entrance, but the trees created welcome shade and they walked on with renewed energy. The parkland surrounding the house was overgrown and ablaze with buttercups and dandelions. The long grass was studded with the cool white faces of moon daisies and brightly painted butterflies floated above them like scraps of coloured tissue paper. Wild deer grazed beneath splendid old oak trees and the air was filled with birdsong. Lucy fell in love with the house at first sight. The starkly elegant lines of Palladian architecture pleased her eye, and the tall windows reflected the sunlight, making the house seem warm and welcoming.

Bedwin unlocked the door and let them into the vast entrance hall. It was cool inside but a musty smell lingered and dust motes danced in the sunbeams that filtered through the grimy windowpanes. Their footsteps echoed off the high ceilings and their subdued voices came back to them in eerie whispers, as though the spirits of past occupants were hovering above them. Seemingly oblivious to anything supernatural, Bedwin marched on, opening doors which led into large rooms with furniture shrouded in dustsheets. ‘Where are we going?' Maggie asked plaintively. ‘My feet hurt and I'm thirsty.'

‘Me too,' Vicky added.

‘The kitchen and butler's pantry are at the back of the house,' Bedwin announced like a tour guide. ‘We need to get a fire going in the range and hope the chimney isn't blocked by birds' nests and the like.'

‘It's too hot for a fire,' Vicky said in a low voice.

‘We need hot water and I'm dying for a cup of tea,' Lucy said, trying to make light of their situation. She felt at home in the house but she could quite understand why the children found the old building a little daunting. The long corridors were dark and cold after the heat outside and the house felt sad and unloved. She longed to bring it back to life and allow the ghosts of the past to rest in peace. She had never known Grandmother Marriott, but she could feel her presence in every room. She quickened her pace in order to catch up with Bedwin.

The kitchen was huge, with one wall taken up by the ingle nook beneath which was an ancient but serviceable cast-iron range. Bedwin shook his head. ‘We'll get a fire going and hope for the best.' He beckoned to Bertie. ‘Come outside and I'll show you where they used to keep the coal and kindling; there might be some left.' He opened a door which led into a scullery. Bertie followed him, grumbling.

‘There's a bread oven,' Vicky said excitedly. ‘Bertie's a baker now. He can make fresh bread every day.'

Maggie ran round opening cupboard doors. ‘There's nothing to eat.'

‘If there was I think it would be very mouldy by now,' Lucy said, chuckling. She placed the wicker basket containing the remains of their food on the scrubbed pine table. ‘Let's see what we've got.'

Bertie rushed into the room with an armful of kindling and Bedwin followed more slowly with a bucket of coal. Between them they managed to get the fire going in the range and the tired old kitchen came to life. Vicky and Maggie found the china cupboard and drawers filled with cutlery, exclaiming with delight at each new find. Lucy smiled to herself as she filled the kettle and placed it on the range. She had become adept at managing with one hand, although it was frustrating to be hampered by having her arm in a sling. She sighed. At least they were safe for the time being, and what possible harm could come to them in the country?

After a simple supper of bread and cheese, Lucy and Bedwin sat drinking tea while the children went outside to explore the grounds.

‘Listen to them,' Lucy said, cocking her head on one side. ‘They sound as though they're having a wonderful time. I'd almost forgotten that they were brought up in the country; this must seem like coming home to them.'

Bedwin sipped his tea. ‘Lugg said he'd get supplies for you and I gave him what was left of the money, but it won't last more than a few days.'

‘I know,' Lucy said, frowning. ‘I was trying not to think about that. I was hoping that Bram would join us soon.'

‘I'll have to return to London in the morning. That'll be one mouth less to feed.'

‘You're leaving us here?'

Bedwin's expression remained stony. ‘You don't need me, Miss Lucy. But you can't expect Mrs Gant to manage the housekeeping and look after the gentlemen lodgers on her own. You can't count Pearl because she's either asleep or at the vicarage or in the pub with that Carlos.'

‘I'm sorry you're going, but you mustn't worry about us,' Lucy said, trying hard to sound convincing. ‘You're right. Hester needs you.'

‘When Mr Daubenay finds out that you've taken the children away he'll try to make her tell him where you've gone, and I don't think she'd be able to stand up to him alone.'

‘Poor Hester. I hadn't thought of that.'

‘I'm not afraid of Mr Daubenay. He won't get anything out of me.'

‘Of course you must return to London. We'll be fine here,' Lucy said, with more conviction than she was feeling.

EVERY DAY LUCY
awakened in the elegantly furnished but now faded glory of the bedchamber that had once belonged to her grandmother. Everything, from the damask curtains on the four-poster bed to the silver-backed hairbrush and hand mirror on the burr-walnut dressing table, had been left untouched since Lady Marriott's passing. The perfume in the cut-glass bottles had long since evaporated but the scents lingered, as if the lady herself had just left the room. Her gowns remained in the clothes press, with sachets of dried lavender laid between the folds. Lucy had been tempted to try them on, but to do so had felt wrong, as if she were disrespecting her grandmother's memory. She fell asleep at night, trying to picture the face of the woman who had held her in her arms when she was a baby, and in her dreams she conjured up an image of the woman whose gentle smile told her that she had indeed come home. In the days and weeks that followed the first night when Bedwin had shown her to the room, telling her that she was mistress of Marriott Park no matter what Mr Daubenay thought or said, Lucy felt she had come to know her grandmother. Now, a month later, they existed from day to day by foraging in the countryside for anything that was remotely edible. Lugg had taken Bertie under his wing and had taught him how to snare rabbits and prepare them for the pot. He showed him what wild plants and fungi could be eaten and how to distinguish those that would do them harm. Lugg was not a particularly sociable man, but he was generous with the produce he grew in the kitchen garden, and always willing to lend a hand with tasks that were too heavy for Bertie to manage on his own.

The money had run out after a few days and Bram had not put in an appearance. Lucy had not worried at first, but after a couple of weeks she had begun to feel anxious and now she was frantic for news. It was growing harder to conceal her fears from the young ones, and Bertie was hardly a child now. With Lugg as his mentor he seemed to have grown from a boy to a man in a surprisingly short space of time. He loved nothing better than to go out hunting and was becoming adept at fishing in the river that ran through the estate. Their diet of rabbit stew was supplemented by freshly caught trout and salmon, and utilising Bertie's newly acquired baking skills Lugg supplied the flour for bread making on condition that he was kept supplied with loaves.

The children were tanned and healthy, roaming the grounds and surrounding countryside while taking care to avoid being seen in the village. It might be an idyllic existence for them, but Lucy was going out of her mind with worry. Something might have happened to Bram, she thought one night when she woke in the early hours and sleep evaded her. She lay in the four-poster bed, staring up at the faded tester with unseeing eyes. Anything could have happened in her absence, but there must be some good reason why he had seemingly abandoned them. Perhaps he had fallen for Dora's charms, or maybe his fellow officer had reneged on his promise to purchase Bram's commission. She was growing more and more frustrated by her inability to contact those at home, especially Mr Goldspink. She could, of course, send a telegram, but that would mean going into the village, which was out of the question. It was a nail-biting situation and one that she could not discuss with the children. The only good thing to come out of this enforced rustication was that her arm was virtually healed.

Wide awake now, she knew that she would not sleep another wink and she rose from her comfortable feather bed. She had not bothered to draw the curtains and a shaft of moonlight created a silver path on the worn Persian carpet, leading her to the open window. The sweet scent of the climbing roses and honeysuckle wafted in on a gentle breeze and towards the east a faint glow in the sky showed the promise of dawn. It would be another fine summer day, hot and sunny and filled with hope at the start, but how would it end? She leaned her arms on the windowsill, cupping her chin in her hands. The avenue of copper beeches was just emerging from the darkness and the trees seemed to float on a cloud of morning mist. The view was romantic and yet hauntingly sad. Her father would have roamed the grounds as a boy, just as Bertie did now. This was the closest she would ever be to the parent she had never known, and she had given up hope of being reunited with her mother. She sighed, and was about to turn away when she heard the sound of a horse's hooves on the gravel drive.

She was suddenly alert. Dreams banished and imagination put in its place, she clutched the windowsill for support. Her heart was racing, and she was about to run and warn the children that their hiding place had been discovered, when the rider came closer. He drew the animal to a halt on the carriage sweep and looked up. ‘Bram.' She uttered his name on a sigh of relief and raced from the room, pausing to snatch up her wrap, shrugging it on as she went. She reached the front entrance and wrenched the door open before he had a chance to knock. ‘Bram, thank God it's you.'

‘Lucy, are you all right?' He stepped over the threshold and enveloped her in a warm embrace. ‘I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner.'

She wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him. His clothes were damp and imbued with the smell of horse, leather and his own personal scent that was both familiar and comforting. In a confusion of emotions she pushed him away, anger momentarily overcoming relief and the joy of seeing him again. ‘Where have you been all this time? I was expecting you weeks ago.'

‘Your arm must have healed,' he said, grinning. ‘I see you've got your strength back.'

It was impossible to be angry with him for long and a gurgle of laughter escaped her lips. ‘You say the nicest things, but I forgive you for being boorish because I'm so pleased to see you. Come through to the kitchen and I'll get the fire going. We'll have a cup of tea and you can tell me your news. I've been going mad stuck here with no idea of what's going on.'