Dragonne's Eg

Chapter Five

Hightop Hall

It looked as though three different houses had been welded into one.

In the centre was what must have been a perfectly pleasant Queen Anne three-storey home. Red brick, with a grey slate roof, it was approached by a shallow set of steps leading to double doors. Two large windows on either side of the door indicated perhaps a withdrawing room and dining room, and behind these would be morning room, study, music room and, attached at the back, the kitchens and dairies. Above, on the first floor, were slightly smaller windows, bedrooms, I guessed, and dressing rooms. Above these were eight dormer windows, like surprised eyebrows, which would be for the servants. So far, so good.

But look to the right and the whole aspect changed. Sir Walter Scott would probably have approved of the grey stone castle, complete with towers, turrets and battlements, that was attached to the main building. Not on the grand scale maybe, but nonetheless utterly incongruous in this so-English countryside. There was even a round tower. . . .

If that was not bad enough, then glance to the left. On the other side of the main building was what looked like a white stone Regency town-house, whose front door was approached by a pillared portico like a temple. Again, on its own it would not have been out of place, but the two-storey building, pleasant enough of itself, only served to accentuate the horrendous amalgam of the whole.

I stopped first at the lodge, of course, but the shutters were down and there was no answer.

My heart sank, nevertheless I trudged up the long drive, hoping against hope that it would be better inside. But the windows gazed back at me blankly, and on either side what must have once been attractive parkland was full of tall grass, rank weeds and neglected trees. The only sign of life anywhere was a thin plume of smoke rising from one of the chimneys on what I had already mentally christened "The Temple."

At last, cold, out of breath, I stood in front of the doors of the main house. There were door-knockers of greeny-tinged brass lion’s heads, and a bell-pull to the right. I hesitated, then knocked first. No answer. I knocked again and used the bell-pull for good measure. Still no reply. Then I noticed, stuffed into the left-hand lion’s mouth a scrap of paper. Pulling it free, I studied it by the failing light.

"Miss Lee," it read. "Please go to the other door on the left." That must be the front door to the Temple. Well at least someone was expecting me!

Picking up my valise I scurried across the front of the main house, my bonnet flapping in a sudden quixotic wind. It felt like rain, too.

Arriving at the other door I was grateful of the shelter of the portico as I searched for a knocker, but there was none, so I thumped on the door with my gloved hand. I waited a moment and thumped again, and less than a minute later I heard bolts being withdrawn and the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged couple carrying candles.

"Miss Lee? Come in, come in, you must be perished!" The woman drew me in, relieved me of my valise, which she handed to her husband, then preceded me down an unlit corridor towards an open door at the end. "You are late: we were expecting you much earlier."

I explained as best I could, and the woman tut-tutted. "You were picked up by that lazy, good-for-nothing Josiah? I’m surprised the lad from London chose him . . . But of course he has been finding the cider at the inn a trifle heady, so I hear. Sooner he gets back to where he came from the better!

"Now, miss, if you don’t mind the kitchen I can have you warm and fed in a trice. If you wish to wash up, here’s a candle, and it’s the second door on the left out the back."

I recognised the euphemism, and was glad to relieve myself and wash the grime from hands and face. Returning to a roaring fire, I found my bonnet, cloak and gloves put away neatly.

"Thank you, Mrs . . . Er?"

"Early. They calls us Early and Late, Bill and me, ’cos I was Lattey before we was wed." She obviously expected me to laugh, so I did. "Now, miss, here’s a mug of mulled ale. Do set yourself down by the fire and I’ll have something for you to eat in a minute."

Mrs. Early bustled about, laying a place at the scrubbed pine table, lighting a couple of oil lamps and stirring the contents of various pots and pans, while her husband brought in more wood to replenish the fire, till I had to draw back my chair to avoid getting scorched. He filled a copper with water—which I guessed would be for washing—smiling and nodding all the while, but speaking only in monosyllables.

As people they were physically alike; medium height, round and rosy-cheeked with smooth dark hair. Their only real difference, apart from being opposite sexes of course, was the volubility of the one and the taciturnity of the other.

I liked them both immediately, and never had cause to change my mind.

I sat down to a simple but tasty repast: julienne soup, cottage pie and peas and blackberry tart and cream. As I ate the housekeeper bombarded me with questions about London: was it as big as they said, the largest city in the world? How many people lived there? Was the weather any different? (She had heard about the fogs). Did lots of titled people live there? Did they eat different food? What did the river Thames look like?

I answered as best I could, but once I had finished my meal I was caught out by a half-stifled yawn. She noticed at once.

"Well now, my poor dear, here’s me rattling on and you must be fair wore out! I thought as how you might like a warm bath before you goes to bed, so Mr. Early will carry up some hot water while I shows you where everything is." She lit two candles and handed me one. "There’s more in the bedroom and a fire lit too. Now, if you’ll just follow me?"

Leading me up a flight of stairs that curved onto a landing above, she opened the second door on the left. "This whole part of the Hall was once the nursery wing, but when your uncle bought the place he decided to use it as the guest wing, being small and easy kept up and warm." She moved into the room and lit candles on the mantelshelf, above a cheerful little fire, and on the bedside table. "Had some peculiar ideas your uncle did; liked nothing better than to sleep in a blanket outside on the hill: said it reminded him of abroad. No wonder he was always getting the shivers!"

I wanted to ask her more about him, but she was still rattling on.

"Your bed has been warmed, but I’ll put in another stone. I’ll draw the curtains: there’ll be rain before morning, Mr. Early says." She suited the actions to the words, then opened a commodious wardrobe. "This is for your clothes. Hangers on one side, shelves on the other." As if by magic her husband arrived with my valise, although I thought my poor possessions would be lost in that piece of furniture. "There’s your dressing table. Bath, commode, wash-bowl and hot-water jug are next door, first on the left." She bustled about, turning down the bed, putting more wood on the fire. "Will a call at eight in the morning suit? I’ll see there’s hot water for you next door.

"Now, don’t you worry about a thing. Sounds as though Mr. Early has filled up the bath. If you want us, we’re downstairs, left off the kitchen. Tomorrow I’ll show you the rest of the premises."

"My uncle left a letter—"

"Everything’s in the study across the landing, which used to be the day-nursery. Best leave it till morning when you’re refreshed. I’ll show you then. Now, anything else you need?"

After they had gone I unpacked my valise, put away my belongings and ventured into the bathroom next door, where I found a large, enamelled bath half-full of hot water, plus two jugs of cold, towels and soap.

Shedding my clothes I climbed in gratefully to soap and soak, until I felt my eyes closing.

Back in the bedroom I set my mantel-clock above the fireplace where I could see it; this was one of the things I couldn’t have left behind, even for a couple of days. It had been a gift from Papa for my fifth birthday and was set with miniatures of my parents in the stand.

I drew back the curtains and pulled up the sash window; outside it was raining softly and the air was full of the sweet smell of wet earth and decaying leaves. The fire had sunk to a red glow. I blew out the candles and groped my way back to the high double bed and climbed into the starched linen sheets smelling of lavender. My toes found the renewed and wrapped stone hot-water bottle; I remembered, just in time, to say my prayers, and fell asleep before I could form another thought. . . .

I was awoken by the curtains being drawn back on a sunny morning.

"I left you for an extra half-hour as you were sleeping so sweetly," said Mrs. Early. "I see you’re like your uncle in preferring an open window. . . . Hot water’s ready next door. I took the liberty of laying up in the kitchen as it’s warmer, but if you prefer to eat alone I can bring you something to the study next door?"

I assured her that the kitchen was fine. Had I really slept for twelve hours? It must have been the first time in memory.

"Afterwards I thought you might like to take a walk around the grounds with Mr. Early, and I could take you round the rest of the Hall before lunch, then you could have the afternoon to yourself, to see what your uncle left you . . ."

It all sounded fine to me, and as any dissent would probably have prompted Mrs. Early to further vociferous efforts, I agreed readily enough.

Breakfast was oatmeal with cream and sugar—how long it was since I had had porridge!—bacon and mushrooms, toast and marmalade and a pot of strong tea.

Afterwards I donned boots, cloak, bonnet and gloves and prepared to follow Mr. Early around my uncle’s demesne. He started at the back door to the Temple, which led out to a cobbled yard. To the left were greenhouses and a well-cultivated kitchen-garden, and beyond that a stand of firs and pines, sloping down towards the road, to what must be the western end of the property. Good for both firewood and carpentry.

Turning towards the back of the main part of the house, I noted that there were still onions, broccoli, cabbages, sprouts—these waiting for the first frosts—carrots, turnips and swedes waiting to be harvested in the kitchen garden. Beyond was an orchard, blessed with apple, plum and cherry trees.

At the back of the main house were the stables, empty except for a pony for the all-purpose trap, but a score of chickens pecked among the cobbles, and a half-dozen ducks doused their beaks in the pond at the rear. Farther on was a herb-garden, still cultivated, and the remains of what had been an ornamental garden surrounded by a neglected box-hedge, where tangles of late-blooming roses rioted amongst dead-headed phlox, delphiniums, oriental poppies and michaelmas daisies.

Behind the Castle part of the property was what once had been a shrubbery, and sprawling bushes of rosemary, sage and lavender. It should have been sad amongst all that neglect, but it wasn’t. Nothing was actually dying away, all was still living and lusty. The soil was obviously fertile, and I longed to be amongst the most neglected: pull up the weeds, prune the roses, trim the shrubs. . . .

With goats and sheep to crop the grass,which would mean milk and cheese, this place could be almost self-supporting. A couple of bee-hives, perhaps, some pigsties and a stretch of potatoes—

Mrs. Early came out to call us into luncheon, mutton and caper sauce, with a milk pudding to follow. It had taken longer than I had expected, that exploration of the grounds, and I hadn’t yet seen the interior of the rest of the house. Time seemed to whiz by, far faster than it had in the metropolis.

After luncheon Mrs. Early suggested that she show me over the rest of the Hall while it was still light enough to dispense with candles. The full tour took two hours.

We started in the Temple: across from my bedroom was the study, and farther down the corridor two more guest rooms. Downstairs, apart from the kitchen and Mr. and Mrs. Early’s rooms, there was a sitting-room, dining-room and morning-room. A nice, comfortable home for a couple with two children . . .

The rest was very different.

The main house was very much as I had imagined: withdrawing-room, dining-room, morning-room, library, music-room and a small ball-room on the ground floor, plus the outhouse kitchen and dairies. There was also a cellar with empty wine-racks. On the first floor six bedrooms, two dressing-rooms, two bathrooms, and in the attics accommodation for a staff of at least twelve. A large house for a large family fond of entertaining.

As for the "Castle"—small, odd-shaped rooms, unexpected steps and stairs, low ceilings, slit windows, a superb view from the battlements and a baronial hall that could have seated a hundred, complete with a minstrel’s gallery! Children would love it; their imaginations would run riot, and scrambling up and down inconvenient turret stairs would be an added bonus. A perfect place for a school, I thought. Or an orphanage . . .

The houses, apart from the Temple, were sparsely furnished. A few tables and chairs, including a vast table in the "baronial hall" to seat at least sixty, and a couple of dozen decrepit beds, wardrobes and dressers.

"Nothing left of any value," said Mrs. Early. "All the good linen, pots and pans, carpets and rugs, china and cutlery went to where you is staying now. The curtains in the rest of the place fell to shreds, and he sold the silver and gilt. Said he didn’t need it no more."

I think the most incongruous items in the whole of the main house and the Castle were the artifacts, labelled and wrapped, that were still waiting to be collected. In the hall of the main house were row upon row of Greek statues, Roman mosaics, Egyptian mummies, Sumerian stone friezes, European arms and armour, Mayan idols, French tapestries, German carvings, Italian glass, Celtic crosses, Russian icons, coins from around the world, and the housekeeper assured me that this was only the remnants of my uncle’s collection, still waiting to be collected. In the bookless (sad!) library were scrolls, manuscripts and stacks of papers. Everything was neatly labelled.

"He wanted everything to be catalogued," said the housekeeper. "Right down to the smallest item. Although he collected all his life, and took great pleasure in his collections, spending hours just looking at a statue or a piece of writing, after he became ill for the first time he had a change of heart. He said things like what he had collected weren’t just for one man, they should be shared by everyone. That’s why he sent a lot of the stuff back to where it came from, if they had museums and things to put them in. Rest goes to museums and libraries here. This lot is the last waiting to be collected.

"You seen enough, miss?"

I had, indeed! My feet ached, my head buzzed and I felt as though I had spent three days in one of the London museums without a way out. How could anyone have spent most of his life collecting avenues of stones, miles of statuary, piles of papers and heaps of coins? I would be glad when they were all gone and the house was empty again. At least my uncle had had the sense to realise that history belonged to everyone—but then I realised that thinking like this I was treating the place as my own, not as something that would probably be sold under my nose.

Back again at the Temple, Mrs. Early ushered me upstairs to the room my uncle had used as his study in his last few years. A large, square room facing southwest, with blue Chinese-patterned wallpaper and a Chinese carpet to match. To the right a bright fire burned in the grate and opposite the door a long, now-darkening window looked out on pastureland and the pine wood. Immediately to the left was a long, low map-chest; on the left wall was a curio cabinet, the one I presumed my uncle had left me. The centre of the room was filled with a pine table about six feet square with two chairs, and over by the fireplace was what looked like a comfortable Windsor rocker, with cushions whose colour matched the curtains, a burgundy that contrasted pleasantly with the blue and white of the wallpaper and carpet. An empty bookshelf occupied the left-hand side of the fireplace.

On the mantelpiece was a large manila envelope . . .

"Why don’t you slip out of that skirt and blouse and put on your dressing-gown?" suggested the housekeeper. "I’ll wash the blouse and iron it in the morning, and sponge the skirt at the same time. It’s heavy with the dirt from outside and the dust in, I can see that. I’ll bring you a tray of tea, and you can have your supper up here later. That way you can have the evening in peace to read your uncle’s letter."

A half-hour later, two cups of tea, muffins, egg-and-cress sandwiches and fruitcake eaten and drunk, I took down the envelope from the mantelpiece, snuggled up in the rocker, opened the seal and started to read my uncle’s letter.