The Borrowdale Body, page 2
‘Ta-da!’ sang Christopher suddenly, bringing the car to a halt. On the back seat, the child and the dog both jerked into alert interest. ‘How about that, then?’
The house was constructed of the dark local slate, the deep grey sometimes glowing blue in certain lights. Well proportioned, it had a timeless dignity and confidence that inspired a kind of awe. ‘Gosh!’ said Simmy.
‘Isn’t it superb! When I first saw it from the bridge, that’s the word that came to me.’
‘It looks as if it’s always been here. It’s better than the other one we passed, lower down.’
‘Borrowdale Gates – yes. Mind you, that’s a handsome building as well. The Heathcote woman had it built. I was reading about her the other day.’
‘She must be the one my dad was talking about. He says she’s crucial to the history of the place.’
‘I think he’s right. She must have come here quite often. She and Hugh Walpole and Arthur Ransome and Beatrix Potter. Except I have a feeling they weren’t all alive at the same time. Your dad would know, I suppose.’
‘Indubitably. It’s lucky we’ve got at least one historian in the family. I get a headache as soon as I try to imagine how it must have been two centuries ago. It all goes blurry in my mind when he tries to explain it.’
‘You need a sense of history when you work with antiques,’ said Christopher pompously. ‘But I have to admit I’m a slow learner.’
They drove through the gateway, where one gate was so askew that any attempt at closing it had long been abandoned. The other was upright, but its black paint was peeling badly. Simmy looked up at the great house in front of her. It seemed to have been built right into the rock face, looking east as far as she could tell. ‘Derwentwater’s that way, is it?’ she asked, pointing vaguely.
‘More or less. There’s a good view of it from the top floor.’
‘Poor house. It looks so neglected.’
‘I know. It’s a miracle it wasn’t burgled while it still had all its contents. I suppose nobody really knew about it. Everything was handled very quietly until we’d shifted most of the stuff. It’s been bedlam since then.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Simmy with heartfelt resentment. ‘I’ve hardly seen you this last fortnight.’
‘Soon be over,’ he assured her. Then he sighed. ‘It’s been a real roller-coaster ride. I’m going to be sorry when it stops.’
‘Which is why we’re making this sentimental journey for one last look,’ she summarised. ‘What’ll happen to it now?’
‘Almost certain to be turned into a hotel. New bathrooms everywhere, windows replaced, probably new floors as well. There’s plenty of scope.’
‘Not much space for cars, though. Where’s everybody going to park?’
‘They’ll work something out. There’s more space than you think.’ He looked at the two youngsters on the back seat and said, ‘We can leave Cornelia for a bit. It won’t be too hot for her.’
They all – except for the dog – got out of the car and approached the front door. Simmy felt as if she was intruding where she had no right to be. Christopher took an old-fashioned key from his pocket and operated the single lock halfway down the door.
‘Haven’t seen a door like this for a while,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’d almost forgotten they could be so simple.’
Their own front door in Hartsop had been installed in place of the wide opening it had possessed when a barn. It had a fancy system designed for maximum security that both Simmy and Christopher faintly disliked. For a start, it needed two hands to get the door open, which was never convenient.
‘The past was a better country,’ said Simmy, quoting her father. ‘They did things more easily there.’
‘Which is a lesson I’ve been learning ever since I took this job,’ her husband agreed. ‘It applies to almost everything. I often wish I’d been born a century earlier.’
She looked at him with interest. ‘Do you?’
‘Well, I have been lately. I think it might have something to do with Sir John and this place, actually. I’ve got foolishly fond of it.’
‘Oh.’ She stepped into the substantial hallway, with patterned stone floor tiles and a broad staircase at the far end, and left Christopher to bring the baby buggy in. Despite having heard little but stories about the place for weeks, nothing had prepared her for the reality. There was a strong sense of decay and despair. The thought of one man living here alone, into old age, with nothing but memories, was painful. ‘Didn’t he have some sort of servant? A cook or something?’
‘A woman came in twice a week. He wasn’t incapable. I suppose she washed his sheets and things, and ran a vacuum round. The carpets were phenomenal. All pure wool. The moths had found some of them, though. He cooked for himself, apparently. And made marmalade.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Marmalade. There were forty-one jars of it in the kitchen, all carefully labelled. The oldest went back to 1994. I think he was using the newest ones first, which was naughty of him.’
‘Were there any old diaries or letters?’
Christopher shook his head. ‘Nothing like that. He doesn’t seem to have been very introspective. Plenty of books, though. Walter Scott, first editions. Lord Lytton. Lots of authors I’d never heard of. They won’t fetch very much. The old newspapers and magazines are more interesting. Lovely bound copies of Punch. We’ve had to get an expert to look at them for us. Come and see the study.’ He took his wife and son into a room at the back of the house, where there were two walls of empty shelves and pale patches on the other two where pictures had been. ‘It didn’t look as if he used it much. The dust went back much further than when he died. Except in a few places where there were gaps. We think he might have started selling some of the oldest stuff.’ Christopher looked round at the emptiness. ‘There was a fantastic old globe in that corner, and a nice hand-illustrated map hanging there.’
‘You really got to know your way around, didn’t you,’ Simmy said.
‘I came six times altogether. So did Hughie, Ben, Jack – and sometimes Kitty. And the really big stuff was moved by professionals. We all got to know it inside out.’
Robin was kicking his heels vigorously against the bar of his buggy, demanding attention. A few weeks earlier he had taken his first steps, and now wanted to walk everywhere – slowly and crookedly, clinging to a parental hand.
‘No, you can’t get out here,’ Simmy told him. ‘You’ll get filthy.’
‘I ought to go and have a look in the cellar,’ said Christopher, without enthusiasm. ‘I’ve avoided it up to now. They told me they’d cleared out some lamps and things that were down there, but it was dark and smelly, and they didn’t like it. I suppose it’s down to me to make sure one last time that we didn’t leave anything.’
‘Not me,’ shuddered Simmy. ‘Can I go into the living room?’
He smiled. ‘Help yourself. But it’s called a “drawing room”, to be precise. Pity you missed seeing the kitchen in all its original glory. The copper pans alone will fetch hundreds. Pewter, silver, cast iron – all the stuff collectors go mad for. Honestly, Sim, the place was a gold mine. Lucky Jennifer is going to get a very nice sum at the end of all this.’
‘The heiress, you mean?’
‘Keep up, Sim. I must have told you at least three times.’
‘Sorry. It still seems like a fairy tale. Surely she must have known it would all come to her?’
‘She says not. Sir John’s grandfather was her great-grandfather’s cousin. That’s pretty remote. She barely knew he existed, and obviously never met him, and thought there had to be people with better claims than her. Apparently, she argued about it with the lawyers when they told her she was the only one.’
‘Are they absolutely sure she is?’
‘Looks like it. Enough to satisfy me that she gets all the proceeds of the sale, anyway.’
‘Seems a bit odd. All those generations and nobody to show for it.’
Christopher nodded. ‘I know. As breeders, the Hickorys must have been abject failures. Most of them barely managed one child.’
‘Like us,’ murmured Simmy, wheeling her little son back and forth in the hope of keeping him entertained.
‘At least ours has got some cousins,’ said Christopher bracingly. ‘And no great mansion to fight with them over.’
Simmy forced a laugh. ‘I’m sure that’s bad grammar,’ she said.
‘I’m going down to the cellar,’ he repeated. ‘Back in five minutes.’
Chapter Three
It was barely one minute before Christopher came up from the cellar, looking pale. ‘Nothing down there, after all,’ he said. ‘I’d better go upstairs next.’
‘Wait for me. I want to see the view.’
‘What about Robin?’
‘You can carry him. We can’t leave him down here.’
Without another word, Christopher lifted the child out of his straps and went ahead, taking the stairs quickly. Simmy followed, trying to absorb every detail of the staircase, and the landing at the top.
‘This must be five times the size of Beck View, and I thought that was big,’ she remarked, thinking of her parents’ former home in Windermere, which they ran as a B&B. ‘Look at all these doors!’ There was a broad passageway down the centre of the house, with bedrooms leading off it on both sides.
‘A mere eight bedrooms,’ said Christopher. ‘So nowhere near five times the size. That’s on this floor. There’s three more above this, for the staff. Only one bathroom, though. Can you believe it? Plus a separate lavatory, and a privy downstairs.’
‘So primitive,’ laughed Simmy. ‘However did they manage?’
‘I don’t think they bathed very much. It’s a very modern obsession.’
Simmy had gone into one of the bedrooms and stood in the middle of the huge space. ‘You could get six beds in here, easily. And a fireplace! But no view.’ The window looked onto the stone face of the fell, only eight or ten feet away. ‘Must get very cold and dark in the winter.’
‘Hence the fireplace,’ said Christopher. ‘These back rooms weren’t much used, I suspect.’
‘But it’s so big.’
‘This one had two double beds, a cheval mirror, two wardrobes, a couch, plus writing desk, trouser press, bookcase and three very nice floor lamps. More than enough to amuse anyone without needing a view as well.’
‘How’s the wiring?’ she asked, mindful of the endless regulations they’d been subjected to when they converted their barn to a house. ‘Is it legal?’
‘Very much not if it’s to become a hotel. But it’s only thirty years old, so it works perfectly well. Whoever did it then was extremely generous with sockets. Every room has at least four.’
‘Electric was cheap then, I suppose,’ said Simmy wistfully.
‘Mm.’
Simmy was opening her mouth to ask him if he was all right when Robin interrupted with his habitual squawking, indicating that he was not being given his due attention, and was certainly displeased with the current situation. ‘He’s bored,’ she said.
‘He’s a pest,’ said Christopher affectionately. ‘We should have left him behind.’
‘Huh! And the dog’s going to be feeling much the same, by now.’
‘Well, we’ll have to go, then. We’ll leave the car here and walk down to the cafe. Maybe the brat’ll be asleep when we get back here again, and we can have another look round.’
‘Don’t call him a brat,’ Simmy protested. ‘He might hear you. But it’s a good plan. And can we drive home a different way? Isn’t Honister Pass around here somewhere? I’ve never seen it. Is it like Kirkstone?’
‘Worse. Steeper and goes on for longer. I’ve only done it once. There’s a famous photo of it from the 1890s, with a poor horse pulling a buggy or something down it. It must have been terrifying. And we sold a painting not long ago, based on that photo.’
‘Presumably it wouldn’t have to pull to go down, if it’s so steep. What stopped the coach running away and dragging the horse after it?’
‘They had brakes, I guess,’ he said vaguely.
Simmy had a vivid mental image of the scene, arousing strong sympathy for Victorian horses in general and a faint understanding of the harshness of life in this isolated spot not so long ago. ‘It rains such a lot,’ she remembered. ‘The road must have been muddy most of the time.’
‘Snowy. Icy. And then bumpy and hard in summer. I don’t imagine the people of Borrowdale went out and about very much if they could help it.’
‘So – are we going to risk it?’
‘Not much of a risk these days. The car’s just been serviced, so the brakes should be okay. It’ll be good to see it again.’
Again she found herself wondering if he was all right. His voice was flat and the tone oddly distracted. ‘Did you—?’ Again her child interrupted, even more insistently, drowning her words.
‘Come on, then. This is hopeless,’ said Christopher. ‘But at least you get the general idea. I’m glad you’ve seen it, and we can have another go after lunch, if you like.’
They went back down the handsome staircase and out through the front door. Christopher carefully locked it, and they set off down the hill to Grange, having collected Cornelia from the car.
Simmy was still holding onto her question, and tried again as they reached the first bend in the winding little road. ‘What did you see in the cellar? You came back as white as a sheet.’
‘Did I?’ He made a poor show of trying to laugh. ‘Well, if you must know, it was rats. Two of them. Big ones. I didn’t want to scare you and have you screaming in front of Robin.’
‘Oh, God! Now I won’t dare go back in there for another look. They might be all over the house.’
‘At night they probably are.’ He shuddered. ‘It’s irrational, I know. But they completely freak me out. Did I tell you about that time in David?’
‘Guatemala, right? Yes, you did.’
‘It’s lucky you’re the same about them. You don’t just dismiss it as silly.’
‘It would be better if one of us could cope with them. If we get one in our house, we’ll both scream and run away, leaving Cornelia and Robin to deal with it.’
‘Which they probably would.’ This time his laugh was more successful.
The stroll down the gentle decline into the village and the river Derwent was easy and interesting. They passed the Borrowdale Gates Hotel, which felt like a kind of rival to High Gates. Christopher stopped suddenly for no apparent reason, and stared at something that Simmy assumed was a gatepost.
‘Look at that!’ he said.
She looked. ‘What is it?’
‘I don’t know, but it was never designed to be part of a fence. It’s from some kind of industrial machinery.’
The object was black, apparently made of iron, and about three feet high. It comprised cogs and bars that confirmed Christopher’s observation that it was thoroughly out of place. ‘I see what you mean,’ she said.
‘How on earth did it get here?’ he wondered. ‘Something dismantled, bits sold off, or left for anyone to just help themselves to. There’s got to be a story.’
‘Recycling,’ she suggested. ‘It’s a nice sturdy thing, and someone’s been clever enough to find a new use for it.’
‘Right,’ he agreed with a nod, clearly not quite satisfied. ‘I suppose we’ll never know.’
Ahead of them was a group of hikers, looking as if they were heading for the same cafe as the Hendersons. It was almost half past twelve and people would be feeling hungry.
‘I hope it’s not too crowded,’ said Simmy.
‘They probably sell food to take away. We can buy something and eat it near the bridge, if necessary.’
But it proved not to be necessary, and they all sat outside on a modest-sized area with six or seven other people and two other dogs. Simmy was facing the river, although it was invisible behind buildings. The view was of an almost entirely tree-covered fell rising steeply not far beyond the river. Her eye was caught by a massive boulder sitting high up amongst the trees, appearing to hover ominously over the settlement that was Grange. One day it would work loose and crash down without warning. Gravity alone must make that inevitable. She drew Christopher’s attention to it, and he turned to look.
‘The tree roots are bound to dislodge it one day,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think?’
He showed no concern. ‘In about a million years, perhaps.’
‘Or maybe next week.’
‘It’s attached to the mountainside. That’s just one small part of it that you can see there. I don’t think the trees will make much impression on it.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said. ‘But I won’t worry about it now.’
‘No, don’t.’ It was not Christopher who spoke, but a man at the next table. ‘Your husband’s right. We’re safe for at least a thousand years, if not quite a million.’
The speaker was obviously a hiker, with sturdy boots and a rucksack. In his fifties, perhaps, which put him at the younger end of the general run of fellside walkers. Next to him was a woman of roughly the same age. Simmy became aware how different she and her little family were from everyone else in the place. The only similarity was in the possession of a dog.
‘That’s all right, then,’ said Christopher with a laugh.
Their food arrived and both parents devoted some moments to ensuring their young son got some nutrition. Cornelia was under the table, whining to express her boredom. Their neighbour maintained his interest in them.
‘Not here for the hiking, then?’ he said.
‘Hardly, with this young man,’ said Christopher, sounding less friendly than he might have.
‘Not really dressed for it, either,’ said Simmy, who was wearing sandals and a fairly respectable pair of trousers. Christopher was even less suitably attired.
The man was clearly not satisfied. He kinked an eyebrow, and said, ‘So …?’
Christopher gave his wife a quick look, and said, ‘We came to see the church, actually. It’s a very unusual design.’
