What Would Jane Austen Do?, page 4
Two sides of the room were lined with tall bookcases jammed full of fiction books, reference books and leatherbound volumes, and Maddy could have happily spent hours looking over them all. Her eyes alighted on a couple of familiar titles: The Dangerous Woman and The Cornish Key Cutter. How ironic that even in the middle of nowhere-ville she could still stumble across a reminder of that highly unromantic Valentine’s Day chat with Cameron Massey. It had to be some sort of cosmic joke that his name was actually an anagram of the word romance.
A mahogany leather-topped desk stood against one wall—it was a perfect ready-made writing room, with plenty of light flooding the room from the wide French doors that looked out towards the rear of the property. In front of the windows stood a cosy-looking sofa covered by a yellow-gold throw, that would make an ideal space to curl up with a book, Maddy noted to herself.
Upstairs, there were six bedrooms, some of which had clearly not been used for many years judging by the level of dust everywhere. Some of the large items of furniture were covered in large white dust sheets and Maddy wondered what lay beneath. Nigel’s bedroom was easily identifiable and still held a number of personal objects and a wardrobe of clothes. How had cousin Nigel lived alone here all those years? Perhaps some of those family rumours about him being a bit eccentric were actually true.
‘There are also a couple of attic rooms,’ said Mr Chapman, opening yet another door revealing a hidden staircase. ‘Nothing worth looking at though.’ He led the way back down to the entrance hall. ‘So, do you need more time to think it over, Miss Shaw?’
‘It’s certainly impressive,’ her dad acknowledged as he looked around. ‘But an awful lot of work. Keeping up a house this size will be a challenge, Maddy. You need to think carefully about this.’
Maddy didn’t want to admit that her dad was right. It was a ridiculous-sized house for one person and she’d be stuck here for a year—365 whole days—not just a long weekend. It could be cold over the winter; she knew nothing about whether the electrics or the plumbing were in good order, and the housework alone would take hours. But surely that was only looking at one side of things; after all, Elizabeth Bennet didn’t get her first glance of Pemberley and think, ooh, I bet that will involve a lot of dusting.
Even allowing for inflated London property prices, by selling this house Maddy could probably afford to buy a small place somewhere in London and be mortgage free. Maybe even with some savings left over, so she could pick and choose where and when she wanted to work. How many people her age could do that? Chucking all that away for being separated from her friends and family for 365 days, plus a bit of domestic inconvenience was foolhardy. The sooner she started the sooner she’d be finished.
‘I don’t need any more time, thank you, Mr Collins—sorry, I mean Mr Chapman. How soon can I move in?’
Chapter Four
14TH MARCH
If adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad.
Narrator, Northanger Abbey
* * *
‘Well, that’s the last of your boxes,’ said her dad as he deposited another sturdy packing box in the hall. ‘Do you want some help unpacking these?’
Maddy shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I need to do a bit of cleaning first.’
‘Your mother seems to have taken that task in hand already,’ he replied with a smile. ‘She’s already scrubbing the kitchen worktops and I suspect the floor will be next. You know how she likes to keep busy.’
Maddy exchanged amused looks with her father. ‘In that case I’ll just sort out the clothes for now.’
Between them, they carried upstairs the black bags containing the contents of Maddy’s wardrobe. Job number one was to choose which bedroom she wanted. Definitely not the one Nigel had used. There was something creepy about the idea of sleeping in the bed of a deceased relative, and it wasn’t as if she was short of choice. As she walked along the landing, peering into each of the rooms, she could see how this could have been a wonderful family home. It should be full of laughter, and parties, not just her rattling around. Hopefully her successor would be able to make better use of it. The décor in most of the rooms seemed to predate the 1990s, when Nigel had moved in, so either he had no money for decoration or it didn’t offend him.
She finally settled on the room next to Nigel’s, which had a slightly more feminine style and was painted in a pale duck-egg blue, with ivory and gold damask curtains at the window. A large mahogany wardrobe stood in one corner and her dad moved in a bedside table from another room. Once she’d run the hoover around and unpacked a few of her things, it would look quite cosy, she decided.
In truth, it hadn’t taken long for Maddy to pack up everything from the flat. Mainly her clothes, books and a few boxes of personal items. Alice had agreed to hold on to the rest as it didn’t take up much room, and the now empty bookcase would come in useful, she said.
It had been predictably emotional saying goodbye to her best friend. Even with the benefits of modern technology and promises to keep in touch, it was still a wrench, and the only saving grace was that the countdown had now officially started. As she made her way back downstairs, she forced a smile on her face while reminding herself that in 365 days she’d be back home again, and several hundred thousand pounds better off.
She managed to keep up appearances right up to the moment her parents’ car disappeared down the gravel driveway. Although her hand was still waving, a fog of uncertainty settled over her. Was she really doing the right thing living out here all on her own? Despite her best efforts to remain cheerful, a solitary tear trickled down her cheek, and she brushed it away swiftly, even though there was no one to see it.
Her mum had left the fridge and freezer stocked with enough food for an army to withstand a lengthy siege, and Maddy made herself a supper from some cold meat and cheese. Later that evening she remembered Alice’s present and as she sat up in bed wrapped up in her pastel-pink love heart blanket, she looked over it again in detail.
On their last evening together, Alice had presented her with the homemade calendar that instead of recording the days and months of the year, counted down the 365 days until Maddy was back in London. On specific days she had added a few extra details such as Maddy’s birthday or Christmas Day. In other sections she had attached photos, cartoons or just funny pictures of the two of them. Maddy couldn’t help but be cheered by pictures from her past. Countdown Day 28 was a big red heart for Valentine’s day. Maddy hoped next year’s would be significantly better than this year’s. One month ago exactly she’d been stuck in a studio with Cameron Massey listening to him rubbishing her favourite books.
She fell asleep trying to work out which Jane Austen character he was most similar to.
It was the noise that woke her up first. Maddy sat up, momentarily disorientated by her surroundings. Was it morning? How many hours had she actually been asleep? She had stupidly left her rechargeable torch charging downstairs and her phone was switched off, but she peered around in the darkness. There it was again—some sort of knocking sound, not like knuckles on wood but more metallic. What felt like a soft draught of cold air brushed against her face and she shivered as the hairs on her arms stood up.
‘Hello?’ The sound of her own voice gave her a boost of confidence and a jolt of common sense. Old houses always creaked, didn’t they? And she already knew the house was chilly. She was getting as bad as that silly girl in Northanger Abbey who was obsessed with haunted houses and gothic novels. She turned over and pulled the duvet over her head and willed herself back to sleep.
Chapter Five
I will be calm. I will be mistress of myself.
Elinor Dashwood, Sense and Sensibility
* * *
Despite a thorough examination of the upper rooms in the morning, Maddy failed to discovered the potential source of any knocking noise. However, she did discover that the carpet in the end bedroom was damp, with a corresponding circular patch on the ceiling. Brilliant. Day two and the house was already creating problems.
Over breakfast she added Find Builder to her list of things to do; hopefully he could sort out the heating at the same time as she was currently wearing several layers under her warmest jumper. She cheered herself up by tearing off the first page on her countdown calendar. Only 364 days to go.
Her next task this morning was to go through the file of papers Mr Chapman had left for her. With not a lot else to keep her mind occupied, she diligently read through the letters relating to the transfer of house ownership, noted the details of where the emergency water stopcock was – hopefully not required within the next 364 days – and looked over a copy of the small housekeeping budget that had been provided for in the will.
Her experience of women inhabiting country houses was limited to reading – and watching televised adaptations of – Jane Austen books, along with reruns of Downton Abbey. So what would Jane Austen do with her day? Her ladies of leisure went for lunches, worked at their embroidery, entertained friends on the pianoforte or went for bracing walks around the countryside. The first three options were ruled out either due to lack of finances or sheer lack of ability, but she could give option four a spin.
After lunch, Maddy pulled on a warm padded jacket, rummaged in one of her bags of unpacked stuff for her green knitted hat with the pompom on it, then unlocked the kitchen door which opened onto the side of the house. Yesterday she’d been too busy inside to investigate the grounds, but now she felt the urge to explore. Along the side of the house was a neatly laid out series of garden beds which she guessed had been a kitchen garden in former years, now looking unused and tired. She followed the path round to the back of the house, where it opened onto a wide paved area bordered by stone balustrading. A couple of wide stone steps led down to a large expanse of lawn and wide borders filled with shrubs, and small ornamental trees.
Winter hadn’t quite loosened its grip but there were signs of green shoots poking out of the ground and early spring bulbs were already providing a splash of colour across the garden. Maddy wondered what the grounds would look like in the summer. There was no way she’d be able to manage this on her own – it would be a mass of weeds by midsummer – and she was pretty sure that the meagre housekeeping budget would not cover the cost of a gardener.
Looking down at her feet she decided she also needed to invest in a sturdy pair of wellington boots. Living in a London flat did not make those essential items, but the grass had already dampened the tops of her trainers. The air was fresh and invigorating though, and she breathed in several deep lungfuls. None of that daily dose of London pollution and car fumes. At the far side of the lawn she followed a paved path that led her into a smaller garden bordered by trellis and planted with roses and plants she couldn’t identify, and on through a less cultivated area towards a waist-height wooden gate, set into a gap in the hedge. This presumably marked the edge of the property.
She wondered how many people in years gone by had walked round these grounds; her imagination conjured up women in beautiful dresses carefully shading their faces from the sun with white parasols and chatting as they walked along.
The bolt on the gate was stiff and clearly hadn’t been used for a while, but Maddy persisted and eventually wriggled it loose. She was now standing in a large expanse of open undulating land. It was mostly grass, with the occasional shrubby-looking thing and, in the distance to the right, a line of trees. In the opposite direction she could see the rooftops of the village. Meadowside was aptly named.
As she headed towards the trees, she wondered how she was going to manage the house and grounds. It was all very well Nigel leaving her the house, but there was barely any money for its upkeep. The villagers seemed to have beatified him already but unfortunately Saint Nigel had departed this life without making adequate financial provision for whoever would live there. The idea of owning a beautiful house in the country scored ten out of ten for theoretical appeal, but a resounding nil points for practicality. Surely the simplest thing to do would be to go back to London, inform Mr Chapman that she wasn’t going to stay and let him hand the house over to Myra Hardcastle.
Maddy stopped suddenly. Was this actually Nigel’s intention? To dress up his will to look like he was doing his duty by the family? He probably realised that without allowing her to immediately sell the property he had bequeathed to her, it would be hard for Maddy to live here. Why would he do that? Was he really some sort of selfish, free-wheeling, free-living individual who lived by his own rules and off the adoration of the village?
Maddy wondered if she was allowing her imagination a bit too much licence. After all, it wasn’t as if she even knew cousin Nigel. None of her family did. All she knew about him was from the rumours and embellished tales passed from one member of the family to the next. Even her dad had to admit he couldn’t exactly remember the last time he’d seen Nigel, and yet here he was, large as life, enjoying himself playing lord of the manor. Well, good for him, but despite yesterday’s show of bravado she wasn’t sure she wanted to do this for another 364 days. She stamped her damp feet to keep them warm as she marched across the open ground. The sky today was uniformly grey, with a few darker swirls of cloud dotted here and there. She hoped that wasn’t a portent of rain.
A distant bark attracted her attention. She’d always been slightly wary of big dogs after getting a nip from an over enthusiastic Alsatian as a child, and she quickly scanned the area to see if she could see anything. However, the hound that galloped into view could not have looked less threatening if it had been wearing a pantomime horse outfit.
It was white, black and tan, and around the height of a low coffee table. As it got closer, Maddy could see a tail wagging enthusiastically and big brown ears flapped up and down comically as it lolloped towards her. She instinctively put her hands out but the dog came to a stop a metre in front of her and looked up expectantly. If it were anatomically possible, she would swear the dog was smiling at her. He had a long, pointed muzzle, mostly white, but with tan patches around large soulful eyes.
Maddy approached slowly, holding out her hand for him to sniff. ‘Hello, boy! Are you friendly?’
As if in response, the dog trotted up to her and licked her hand, which answered that question. But to whom did he belong? Presumably someone in the village, but even after turning in a complete circle, she couldn’t see another person. The dog didn’t seem in any hurry to rush off and she knelt down on the damp grass to give him a fuss. He had a lovely soft coat, and his ears were like warm velvet. He seemed to enjoy all the attention and his tail wagged nonstop.
Several minutes elapsed and there was still no sign of anyone. Maddy noticed he was wearing a collar with a name tag.
‘Let’s see who you are then, shall we?’
She turned over the silver disk to see the name BUSTER and a mobile telephone number.
‘Have you run off, Buster?’
At the sound of his name, the dog gave a polite woof. That appeared to answer that question at any rate. The other more urgent question of where his owner was remained unknown. Was he in the next field? Maddy felt uncomfortable just walking away and leaving the – possibly lost – dog, but if she took him home with her, someone might think she was stealing him.
‘Let’s see who you belong to then, shall we?’
She pulled out her phone and rang the number. After several rings a male voice answered.
‘Good morning. I found this number on Buster’s collar—I didn’t know if you were out walking or whether he’d escaped. I can’t see anyone, but I thought I ought to ring, just in case.’
‘Oh not again! I thought he was in the garden—he must have found a way to escape. That dog should have been called Houdini.’
Buster had found a stick and was gambolling around in circles with it making Maddy laugh.
‘Aw, he’s gorgeous! I think I’m in love with him already.’
‘I’ll come straight over if you don’t mind waiting? Whereabouts are you?’
‘I’m just on the edge of Cotlington.’ Maddy looked around for a suitable landmark. ‘I don’t know the name of the field, but—’
‘Don’t worry, I know the village. Throw me a road name.’
‘Springfield Lane—as you drive away from the village it’s on the left-hand side. I’ve only just moved to the village so I’m not sure of the exact distance but—’
‘That’s okay. I know that road.’
‘There’s a house at the end of the lane called Meadowside. I’m in the fields behind the house.’
‘Right. I’m on my way. Thanks for the call.’
‘No problem, I’m—’
The phone had already cut off, but then he was obviously in a hurry. He sounded like a caring, albeit slightly harassed, pet owner. In fact his telephone voice was altogether sexy, even though they were only talking about a lost dog. Admittedly he sounded a little agitated but then Mr Darcy wasn’t exactly Mr Genial at the outset. Maybe her mother was right about meeting a nice country gent, even though most of her ideas were half a century out of date.
Maddy pointed her finger. ‘You, Buster, are causing everyone a lot of trouble this afternoon. Come here.’
Buster seemed remarkably unconcerned by his apparent disgrace and looking hopeful, dropped the stick at Maddy’s feet.
‘Oh no, I’m not throwing that stick so you can run off again.’ Maddy curled her fingers around his collar and sat down on the grass. ‘You know I’m going to get a wet bum because of you, don’t you?’
