The Trouble With Emma (15 page)

“The improvement’s amazing,” Emma said, more to herself than to Martine. “I’ve an idea. Why don’t you go with me this afternoon when I take Elton out for his walk? I could use the company.”

“You want
me
to go with you, miss? Why?”

She shrugged. “It’s good exercise. We can take a nice brisk walk up the hill to Crossley Hall. Do you know it?”

“The Hall? Of course I do. That’s the place Mr Churchill just bought. The place he’s fixin’ up. He told me a little bit about it when he took me home.”

Emma nodded. “I’m curious to see what progress the workmen have made. Can you go after lunch?”

She nodded. “Sure. That’ll give me time to mop the kitchen floor and put the laundry in before I fix your dad his tea. I can finish up the rest when we get back.”

“Perfect. I’ll meet you on the doorstep at…” Emma glanced down at her wristwatch. “One o’clock.”

“OK. I’d best crack on, then.”

And as Martine turned away with her caddy to begin cleaning the downstairs bath, Emma’s lips curved into a smile.

The first phase of her plan was about to begin.

***

Martine met Emma at the door promptly at one, trainers on and an expectant smile on her face.

“Ready, Miss Em?”

“Ready.” Emma clipped on Elton’s lead, careful to snap it tightly so he wouldn’t get loose. “Shall we go?”

As they made their way down the front steps and across the grass to the drive, Tom paused beside one of the vans with a stack of lighting stands resting on his shoulder and called out after them. “Enjoy your walk, ladies.”

“We will,” Martine called back tartly. “Because
you
won’t be on it.”

“Too right. But I’ll be waiting here to welcome you back.”

The sound of his laughter followed them down the drive.

Chapter 27

By the time they’d walked to the end of March Street and begun the climb up the hill to Crossley Hall, Emma and Martine were perspiring.

“I hope someone’s home up at the Hall,” Martine puffed. “I could do with a rest and a nice plate of biccies right about now.”

“No biscuits,” Emma told her firmly. “You’re on a diet, remember?”

She groaned. “Sometimes I think I’d rather be fat.”

“Look, here we are. And the gates are open.”

Unlike the last time she’d been to Crossley Hall, today the gates were pushed wide and the drive was lined with workmen’s vans. The tangle of shrubbery and vines leading to the house was gone; in its place the grass stretched away, lush and green under the shade of newly pruned trees and trimmed hedges.

“They’ve accomplished quite a lot since my last visit,” Emma observed, and turned to Martine. “Let’s see if Mr Churchill is home.” She patted the bottle of water in her pocket. “Elton could do with a drink.”

“So could I,” the girl grumbled, but followed after her.

They went up the front steps and Martine pressed the bell. Although it echoed inside the house, after a couple of minutes no one appeared at the door.

“Guess no one’s home,” the girl said, and turned away with a shrug.

“I doubt that. Let’s try around back. With all of the hammering and sawing going on, they probably can’t hear us,” Emma said. She went down the steps and made her way along the exterior of the house, with Elton trotting on his short legs next to her and Martine trailing behind.

As they rounded the corner and proceeded past the hyacinth bushes and through the back gate, the sound of voices drifted out to their ears.

They drew closer, and the voices grew more distinct. Emma came to an abrupt stop at the sight that greeted her.

Mr Churchill stood in the shade of a rowan tree, facing away from them. He was deep in conversation with a woman.

Isabella Fairfax, she realised.

Martine glanced over at her. “Isn’t that Mrs Cusack’s niece?” she whispered. “What’s she doing here?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.” Emma frowned.

“– can’t go on like this much longer, James,” Isabella was saying, her words low and angry. “I can’t risk it.”

“You?” He let out a short, incredulous laugh. “What about
my
risk?”

“We both have a lot to lose.”

“You can’t back out now. It’s far too late for that.”

Emma touched Martine’s arm. “We should go,” she murmured.

“I’m right behind you.”

They turned and nearly managed to leave without giving their presence away, but Elton suddenly growled and lunged forward, straining against his lead as he began to bark furiously at a squirrel on the path.

James looked up. His face, normally so genial, was set in a grim expression. “What the devil –?”

“I’m so sorry,” Emma called out, and handed the lead over to Martine. She gave a sheepish waggle of her fingers. “It’s only me. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Isabella turned around. “Miss Bennet! What are you doing here?”

“Martine and I were taking my sister’s dog for a walk and thought we’d stop by to say hello. I knocked on the front door,” Emma added, feeling like nine kinds of fool, “but no one answered.”

“I apologise for that,” Mr Churchill said, and strode forward. “Between the radio, the constant hammering, and the nail guns it’s a wonder I have any hearing left.” He nodded at Martine. “Hello.”

Her smile was polite. “Hello.”

“Miss Fairfax and I were just about to have drinks on the terrace.” He glanced at Isabella as she approached, then returned his attention to Emma and Martine. “Please join us.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t stay,” Isabella told him. “My aunt’s expecting me home. It was nice to see you again, Miss Bennet. Please give my best to your father.”

“I will. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” She left then, her heels sinking into the grass, and vanished around the corner of the house as quickly as her legs would carry her.

“Well, ladies,” Mr Churchill said after an awkward pause, “to what do I owe this unexpected honour?”

“I was hopin’ to get a peek inside the house,” Martine said, and ignored the sharp glance of reproval Emma sent her. “What? I’m just bein’ honest.”

He led them up the flagstone steps to a wrought-iron table and gestured for them to sit down. “I wish I could oblige,” he said, “but unfortunately, the workmen are everywhere. There’s scarcely room to turn around in there at the moment.”

“Sounds like Litchfield Manor,” Emma said dryly. “We’ve a production crew in residence, setting up cables and lights and God knows what, even as we speak. To be honest it was a relief to get away for a few minutes.”

At his expression of interest, she explained that
Mind Your Manors
planned to feature their home on the programme soon. “The house is in dire shape,” she admitted, and sipped the glass of chilled white wine he poured her. “But I’m hoping, between the prize money and the recommendations Simon and Jacquetta come up with, that we can carry on living there without having to sell.”

“I’d no idea Litchfield Manor was in such bad shape. Or that your father’s financial situation was so precarious.”

“It isn’t precarious, exactly.” Emma shrugged. “But with Charlotte’s school fees, and the constant repairs to the house, not to mention the taxes…it’s a struggle every month to make ends meet.”

“It’s a common enough problem these days, I regret to say,” James said, and shook his head. “Take your neighbour, Sir Cavaliere, for instance. His property’s grade-I listed, but it needs extensive work. If the work isn’t done, or isn’t done to standard, he’ll lose the listing. And with no heir to inherit, and the family coffers all but depleted, he can’t afford to make the repairs…or to keep his home.”

“Such a shame,” Emma said. “He’s a lovely man, if a bit scatty. I’d hate to see him lose Malvern Hall.”

“He never had kids, then?” Martine asked, curious.

“None on the right side of the blanket, at any rate.” James’s smile was rueful. “There were rumours of an illegitimate son, but no one’s turned up to claim the inheritance – such as it is.”

Emma frowned. “What do you mean? Isn’t the property worth a great deal of money? The house stands on 6,000 acres.”

“Sadly, no. He’s already sold several thousand acres off. By the time the debts and death taxes are paid, Sir Cavaliere will be lucky to have – pardon my plain speaking – a pot to piss in.”

“Really? How very disheartening.” Emma regarded him in dismay. “Poor Sir C… I’d no idea things were so bad.”

“Selling is his best – really, his
only
option.”

Emma set her glass down and rose. “Thank you for the drink, James. But we’d best be going. Martine has work to do, and I’m sure my father’s feathers are thoroughly ruffled by now with the production crew tramping in and out.”

“You’re always welcome.” He followed them down the steps to the grass. “I’m having a little gathering next month, when the house is finished. I’d love for you and your father and sisters to come.” He glanced at Martine. “And you too, of course,” he added politely.

“Thank you, Mr Churchill.”

Emma smiled. “We’d hardly turn down an invitation to see the new, improved Crossley Hall. Would we, Martine?”

“No!” the girl enthused.

“Good.” He smiled. “I’ll have my PA send out the invitations soon, so you – and Miss Davies – can mark your calendars.” He took her hand and his eyes met hers. “It was a real pleasure to see you again, Emma.”

“And you.”

Elton, who’d had his fill from a dish of water Mrs Fenning had set out, trotted at Emma’s heels as she and Martine waved goodbye and went through the garden gate, and made their way back home.

As they walked, Emma’s thoughts returned to Isabella Fairfax. Why had Mrs Cusack’s niece been at Crossley Hall? What were she and Mr Churchill arguing about?

“Penny for ’em,” Martine said, and gave her a quizzical glance. “I can almost see the wheels turning in your head.”

“Is that right? Well, I’ll have to work on being a little less obvious and a bit more mysterious, then, won’t I?”

They made their way back to Litchfield Manor, and she and Martine talked of other things, and Mr Churchill and his unlikely guest were soon forgotten.

Chapter 28

True to his word, Tom Carter stood outside as Emma and Martine returned, talking into a mobile phone.

“Gotta go,” he said into the phone, and returned it to his back pocket. “Welcome back, ladies. And how was your walk?”

“Lovely,” Emma said, and let Elton off his lead.

“Yeah, lovely,” Martine added, “since
you
weren’t there.” She paused. “Where are you lot staying while you’re filming?”

“Litchfield Inn.” He grinned. “Since you ask.”

“I don’t care where you stay,” she retorted, blushing, and turned away to go up the steps. “As long as it’s not here.”

And she marched off into the house.

“That’s me put in my place, I reckon.” Unperturbed, he turned back to Emma. “We’ve been setting up the directions of coverage for tomorrow’s filming. That’s why I’m so much underfoot today.”

“Directions of coverage?” she echoed. “I don’t understand. I’m afraid it’s all Greek to me.”

“That means we’ll walk through the interior shots, me and the tech scout,” he explained at her blank look, “so that everyone – you and your father, the director, the gaffer, the crew – knows which direction the cameras will face when we film.”

She nodded uncertainly. “I see. And what will I and my father be doing tomorrow, exactly?”

He shrugged. “No idea. That’s up to the director…and the writer.”

The writer
, Emma thought.
Mark Knightley
.

“He’ll give you each a few pages of dialogue. Mainly you’ll walk around with Simon and Jacqui and point out features of the house, and talk about the problems you’ve had with the roof and whatnot.”

“Well, that sounds straightforward enough.”

“It is. The hard part’s getting the lighting right, and making sure the dolly tracks properly, and all the other nine million and one things you don’t have to trouble yourself with.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Tom. You’ve been very informative. At least now I feel a tiny bit prepared for tomorrow.”

But as he returned to work and she went up the steps to take Elton back inside, Emma’s smile faded.

Although she’d told Tom she felt ready to take on the filming, she didn’t know if she was quite prepared to take on Mark Knightley again.

***

Emma had given the library over to Simon and Jacquetta to use as their base of operations during filming. Mr Bennet, although unhappy with this solution, agreed to retreat upstairs to his study and make the best of it.

“But I don’t like it one bit,” he grumbled now as she brought him his tea while Martine finished up her cleaning. “Litchfield Manor is overrun with cables and lights and far too many
people
.”

“Just think about the prize money,” Emma reminded him. “Think how nice it’ll be to have a roof that doesn’t leak, and new dining room wallpaper that doesn’t look like the surface of the moon.”

“I suppose. Do you have any idea what Simon and Jacquetta’s recommendations for improvement are, by the way?” he asked as he stirred sugar into his tea. “I questioned Ms Winspear about it earlier, but she was very cagey and said I’d just have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Then that’s what you must do. I’m counting on you to do Litchfield Manor proud.”

He paused, a Tim Tam halfway to his lips. “What do you mean, you’re counting on
me
? You’ll be in front of those cameras too, Emma.”

“Not tomorrow, I won’t. I’m working,” she reminded him as she took up the tray. “Had you forgotten? Tuesdays and Thursdays I’m in the bakery, and you’ll be on your own with the crew. But I’m sure you’ll manage very well.”

“Oh, blast. I
had
forgotten. It’s very unsporting of you to abandon me like that.”

Mrs Cusack thrust her head around the door. “Who’s abandoning who?” she called out, and pushed the door wide.

“Hello, Maureen.” Mr Bennet leaned forward to bestow a smile on his visitor. “Come in. I was just having my tea. Would you like to join me?”

“Oh, indeed I would, William,” she simpered, and brushed past Emma as she went to the wing chair opposite his and settled herself.