-13-
The next morning at work, Ron Fischer caught up with me. “We missed you at chapel yesterday,” he said. “Is there anything the matter?”
“No, no, quite the contrary,” I replied, “Everything’s really going well.”
“Would you care to enlighten me?” Ron asked. “Or is it a secret?”
“Yes to both questions,” I said, “but I’d rather have a chat about it in private. Can it wait until lunchtime?”
Ron agreed to that, but I knew that he’d want me to be completely honest about things. Ron has a way of bringing out thoughts I didn’t even know I had.
Anyway, when it came time for our chat, I found it quite easy telling Ron most of what had been happening. The only place I felt really uncomfortable was when I recounted how Kay and I had broken up, and then, only a few days later, Martine and I had decided that we were in love and wanted to get married.
“Why do you feel uncomfortable about that? “ Ron asked.
“Well, to be truthful, I’d been feeling guilty for a while, in that it was like I was keeping two girlfriends on the go, with Kay knowing nothing about Martine. Now, I’m not sure how Kay will react when she hears the news.”
“Mm,” said Ron, “That’s quite tough, but I see things a little differently from you. I think that all along, once you met Martine, really deep down inside you felt that she was the one for you, but you wouldn’t admit it to yourself, and that you held back for the sake of Kay, who you didn’t want to hurt. Once Kay had set you free, then your heart was able to acknowledge the truth. That still doesn’t help you much about telling Kay the news of your engagement, but I hope it stops you feeling guilty about being happy with Martine. Now, thanks for telling me all that. I sensed something was different, and I’m really happy for you and Martine. I believe this is the Lord’s choice. However, I promise that I won’t tell anyone until you’re ready - and you know I keep my promises.”
I thanked Ron and gave him a warm handshake and promised to be in chapel the next Sunday.
That evening, I told my daughter Kylie about the weekend and my engagement.
“Congratulations, Dad” she said, and gave me a big hug and a kiss. “Actually, Gran already told me on the phone today when I got home from school. She said she wanted to be the first to tell me, so that if I was upset I could shout at her, not you, Dad. But I wasn’t upset, not at all, and I’m very happy for you and us as a family. I know she can’t take Mum’s place, but she’s fun to be with.”
“Does that mean we’re definitely going to move to Sussex?” she added.
I told her that that was the plan, but that there was a lot to sort out. “I’ve got to write a letter to Mr. Martin Jones, that’s the solicitor who came, to tell him that we want to go ahead with the inheritance. I plan to do that this evening. Then we’ll see how things unfold.”
“Great!” said Kylie, and she gave me another big hug.
I warned her not to tell her mates for a few days about the engagement, because there were some things I wanted to do before the news got round, and she told me that Gran had already warned her about that, as well. Then she went upstairs to get on with her homework. I said a quick prayer of thanks for my wonderful understanding daughter.
Once Kylie was upstairs, I decided I may as well get on with the job of writing to the solicitor, so I sat down at the computer and wrote to Mr. Jones with the news of my forthcoming engagement along with the decision to comply with the terms of the will and accept the inheritance. Once I’d finished the letter, I read it over, added a paragraph about wanting to go there for a visit, made a couple of corrections, saved it, then printed it off. I decided not to print the address on the envelope as well, preferring to write that by hand. I signed the letter, then decided that a walk to the pillar box would be refreshing, so I put on my coat, shouted upstairs to Kylie that I was going out for a few minutes, and went out to post the letter. Once it had left my hand and I’d heard the letter hit the bottom of the box, I felt a sense of relief. I remembered a phrase I had learned from reading the ‘Asterix’ books - ‘alea jacta est’ - the die is cast, and thought, “There’s no going back now.”
Within a few days, the reply to my letter came through the letter-box . Everything, it appeared, was in order. Mr. Jones had even gone so far as to propose a suitable date for my visit. He suggested the last week in October. Knowing I had a daughter who was at school, he felt that it would be more convenient for us to visit during the half-term holiday, and that he would arrange accommodation at the Hall once we confirmed the dates. He opined that a three-day visit would give us more time to speak to people and to ‘develop a feel for the place’ as he expressed it.
I thought that very considerate of him, but I didn’t write back immediately, as I had to consult with both Martine and Kylie before confirming the dates.. However, I did telephone Martine straight away. She was enthusiastic, and immediately said that there wouldn’t be a problem, and what about taking my mother as well.
I wasn’t so sure about that, but I promised to ask her.
I had to wait to tell my daughter until she came home from school, but I was delighted by her reaction. “Yeah! We’re going to Sussex at half-term. Great! I can’t wait to see the place,” she said, jumping around.
-14-
The next few weeks were busy for us all. Mum and Martine did most of the planning for the engagement party, and they ran up quite a sizeable telephone bill in the process. I had quite a correspondence with the solicitor, as he gave me information about the size of the Estate, as he insisted on calling it, left to me. There was also correspondence about all the taxes and duties to be paid on the Estate, but Mr. Jones assured me that there was enough capital available to pay them all. “This property has been well-managed for many generations,” he informed me.
There were also some legal forms which I had to sign, couched in language which I had some difficulty in understanding. Of course, the final handing over of the inheritance would not be able to take place until after Martine and I were married, but now that the decision had been made to marry, the solicitor felt safe in sending me the documents.
Martine took a lot of interest in these documents. She had some experience in legal matters, I discovered, and she managed to decipher the most obscure passages. “There are a few clauses we need to be careful about,” she told me, “but we can look at those later - they don’t affect us at the moment.”
As the time for our official engagement to begin came closer, I knew that I would have to bite the bullet and tell Kay about Martine, before she heard anything from others. So far, just a few of us were in on the secret, but we wouldn’t be making a secret of the party.
So, I invited Kay over one Friday after work, to give her the news. I felt really nervous , and unsure as to what her reaction might be, but I needn’t have been. Kay is far from stupid, and she had already divined the reason for my invitation.
“I take it this is a little more than a social occasion,” she said. “I’ll hazard a guess for the reason - you’ve found someone to marry.”
I nodded my affirmation.
“I’m not surprised,“ she continued. “You had to find someone quite soon, and I had broken things off with you. But I’m glad that you decided to tell me, before the news got out round here. I assume that she’s not from round here, or the secret would have been out before now.”
“You’re right. She lives in Newcastle, and I met her on one of my walks. She’s called Martine, and she’s half North-African French. She’s a bit older than you, and I hope that we’ll be able to remain good friends. Anyway, I wanted you to be the first to know, apart, that is, from Kylie and my mother. We’re having an engagement party on October 16th, which is also Martine’s birthday, and you’re invited, although I’ll perfectly understand if you don’t want to come.”
I offered her the invitation which bore her name.
“Thanks,” she said, “and congratulations.” Then she came over and gave me a hug and a kiss. “Just for the record, I’m not jealous, and I don’t have any regrets about turning down the chance to be the Lady of the Manor. However, I’m not sure yet whether I could cope with an engagement party and congratulating someone else at preparing to become your bride. So I’ll let you know about the party later.”
We then had a drink together, and Kay also gave Kylie a hug, saying, “I’ll miss you, kid. I’m right fond of you.”
“Well, come and have a weekend with us in Sussex some time, then,” said Kylie. “I’m going to miss you too.”
There were tears in her eyes as Kay told Kylie that she’d think about it, then she left.
-15-
When the day for the party arrived, I was feeling quite nervous. I’d taken the day off, as had Martine, but she would be arriving with friends and family from Newcastle, in a hired mini-bus. Thus, the burden of getting everything ready for the engagement party fell on me - well, not only on me, because Mum and Kylie helped a lot. Kylie could only assist after school, but she joined in enthusiastically. We cleared the furniture from the lounge and arranged cushions on the floor for people to sit on when they wanted. There is a hatch between the lounge and the kitchen, so the drinks were to be served from there, and the snacks went on the dining table, which we placed in the sun lounge. We left a couple of chairs there as well, in case anybody didn’t want to bend down so much to sit on a cushion. Kylie was enthusiastic about hanging the decorations, but she needed a little help from me sometimes to reach the right place.
The house isn’t very big, so we couldn’t invite too many guests. Anyway, we wanted this engagement party to be for family and close friends only. I would have forgotten to eat anything in my excitement, if Mum hadn’t thrust a well-stacked plate of sandwiches under my nose at lunch time.
The mini-bus from Newcastle managed to arrive before any local guests, and Martine even had time to ‘freshen-up’ as the ladies say.
Mum had excelled herself in preparing the snacks, although it must be said that a few of them came out of packets. Some of the guests brought engagement presents with them, which we hadn’t expected. Martine and I had a swift consultation about this and decided to open them in front of everyone at around ten o’clock, shortly before the party was due to end.
I was a little disappointed that Kay didn’t make it, although I could easily understand her reasons. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, and the tee-totallers managed to mix well with those who were freely drinking wine and beer.
Most of the presents were ordinary, but a few are worth mentioning. One of Martine’s friends. Rachael, is a talented artist, and she had drawn a cartoon of me as the slave-driving Lord, cracking my whip over the labouring peasants, and Martine as an idle Lady, with her servants (or slaves) manicuring her nails, doing her hair and fitting her for a new ball gown. We both really loved that cartoon, and realised that a lot of thought and effort had gone into creating it. “This will take pride of place in our bedroom,” said Martine. “It will remind us of just what we don’t want to resemble. Thank you Rachael.”
Another witty friend had bought us a warming-pan. “I’ve heard those large bedrooms can be very draughty and cold,” he said.
The other gift of note for me was from Ron. It was a book all about Northumberland, with full-page photographs. “That’s to remind you of what you’re missing,” he said.
All in all, everyone had a good time. There was just one incident which marred the proceedings, however. As Martine and the group going back to Newcastle were just about to set off, Martine gave me a goodbye hug and kiss. Just then, there was the flash of a camera from the opposite side of the road. A reporter must have been waiting for the opportunity for a photograph - and we had thought that all the fuss about the inheritance had died down. Sure enough, the next Sunday, there was an item about the engagement, along with the photograph of the kiss. The headline was: FOREMAN FINDS FIANCÉE TO SHARE FORTUNE. Underneath was a re-hash of the salient points from the previous article. We hoped that we wouldn’t have any more reporters hanging around.
-16-
The next big event for us was the trip down south to see what we were coming into. Kylie was really looking forward to it, but as the day grew nearer, I became more and more nervous, so much so that on the night before we were due to make the journey south, I didn’t sleep a wink. We had decided to travel by train and we were being met at the other end at Hayward’s Heath, and taken on to the Hall.
We made an early start. I drove as far as Alnmouth, then Kylie and I boarded the train for Newcastle, where we met up with Martine. The next part of the journey was fast and comfortable. Kylie hadn’t been on many long railway journeys before, and she enjoyed the ever-changing landscape, as well as the novel experience of having a meal on board. After breakfast, I fell asleep, leaving Kylie and Martine happy in each others’ company.
The most awkward part of the journey was the transit through London, where we had to take the Underground. I have never liked the Tube, but it is the fastest way from King’s Cross to Victoria. The only benefit for me was that we didn’t get wet from the steady, grey rain that was falling in the capital.
It was well into the afternoon when we decamped at Hayward’s Heath. Here the sun was peeking out from behind clouds that looked distinctly friendlier than those we had left behind in London. So, our first sight of the Hall was a benign one. The sun was out, and the birds were singing. Everything was freshly washed and the sun glinted from drops of water on the leaves.
The butler greeted us at the door. His manner was so much like those you see in films, that I barely repressed a laugh. As it was, Kylie let out a giggle, which she turned into a cough.
Our rooms were large and well-heated, but they weren’t over-furnished. The butler explained that we couldn’t use the master bedroom, because the lady and myself had “not yet been joined in holy matrimony” as he put it, so three guest bedrooms had been allocated to us. Kylie said that she was a little disappointed that her bed wasn’t a four-poster.
After having been shown our rooms, and depositing our bags, the butler turned to me and asked, “Is everything to your satisfaction, sir?”
I told him that it was, and he then conducted us to a very comfortable lounge, which he called the Reading Room, and informed us that he would come and take us to dinner at 7 p.m.
Until then, the only large houses I’d been inside were those ‘open to the public’ and I think I had been expecting everything to be either old or valuable or both. But, apart from the ceilings being quite high and the rooms being larger than average, I found the atmosphere welcoming. Of course, everything was neat and tidy, but that was probably because the place hadn’t been properly lived in for a while. The lounge had a top-of the range sound system, and there was a large collection of CD’s, mostly classical, but with some jazz and some compilations of pop music. You know the kind of thing - “Greatest hits of the 60’s,” “The best of Abba” and the like.
I put on a Beatles’ album and settled down to listen.
Dinner was good, but not the four or five course meal that you see in big houses on television serials. Afterwards, we were shown round the Hall, and learned something of its history.
We all slept well, and in the morning Martine and I had a long session with the housekeeper, Mrs. Bunyan “No relation to the famous John Bunyan, I’m afraid,” she quipped.
She told us all about how the house was organised, who worked there and what their roles were. “Everybody knows their job,” she said, “and I’m there to see that they all work efficiently, so there’s no need for you to worry yourselves about that. I have been housekeeper here for the past twenty-three years without a word of complaint, so I can honestly say that I know something about running a large house like this”
One of the domestic staff brought her daughter, Stephanie, to spend the day with Kylie. They seemed to click with each other right away, so we hardly saw them the rest of the day.
In the afternoon, Martin Jones came round and he showed us the village. “All these houses form part of the estate. You will be the landlord responsible for their upkeep, and you will receive the revenues from the leases. At the moment, there is an estate agent who is looking after this, but you will be free to change the arrangements. However, I would advise you not to be too precipitate about changes. I should wait until you are more familiar with the workings of the Estate, say at least six months, before contemplating anything like that,” he told us.
“The church is also part of the Estate. The current incumbent is the Reverend Widdowson, who had been here these past three years,” he said, as we went past the building.
“Neither my fiancée nor myself are Church of England,” I said. “My own background is non-conformist. How does that affect things?”
“Well, there is no formal obligation for you to attend the church, but it is expected that you show leadership and set a good example. The bare minimum would likely be attendance at Easter, Christmas and Harvest, but I, personally, would recommend rather more frequent attendance, maybe even becoming an Anglican.”
I told Mr. Jones that I would think about it, and make my own decision after praying. As I said that, I felt hypocritical, as my prayer-life was usually quite sporadic.
We weren’t formally introduced to any of the villagers, because Mr. Jones was of the opinion that such introductions should only happen after I had fulfilled all the conditions of the inheritance and taken up my new position. However, a few did greet us in passing, and they seemed friendly, except for one elderly woman, who spat at our feet as she went past. We didn’t know why, and nor did Martin shed any light on the incident.
I asked about the local schools, and Martin told me that the custom was for the children of the Hall should go to one of several good Independent schools in the area. “There’s no need to have to make do with under-funded state education,” he said.
Neither Martine nor I made any comment about this, but I suspect that we had the same thought; namely that we would rather give the local school a chance.
When we were finally alone in the evening, Martine told me that she felt Mrs.Bunyan was antagonistic towards her. “She was friendly enough to you, but curt with me. I wonder if it’s because of my dark skin?”
I tried to reassure her, but of course, I didn’t know whether or not she was right in her feelings. Only time would tell.
-17-
The following day, I was kept busy, as Martin Jones introduced me to the Estate Manager, a Col. Rowlinson, first thing after breakfast. The colonel told me that it would take all day just to show me around the Estate, and that a lot of walking would be involved.
I told him that walking a lot wouldn’t be a problem; I was used to that, but I did express surprise that Martine wasn’t to accompany us.
“Oh, no, no,” was his reply. We don’t want women to worry their heads about such matters. They have enough with their social matters and running the domestics.”
I felt that his reply was rather old-fashioned, apart from being sexist, but I refrained form making any comment, as Martine and Kylie were already on their way to Brighton for the day.
The colonel was right about there being a lot of walking. The estate included farmland, woodland, two small lakes and a hunting-lodge, as well as the village we had already seen. He informed me that, in times past, people used to hunt deer in the woodland, foxes and pheasants on the open land, with duck-hunting on the lake. The deer-hunting was long gone, and the duck-hunting was now reduced to clay-pigeon shooting. With fox-hunting now banned, that left just the pheasants, he said, in a tone tinged with deep regret. When I asked him if the lodge was still in use, he replied, “Oh, yes. Under the last Lord of the Manor, the gentlemen of the district often gathered there, just as in the old days, for a spot of shooting, and, of course, the camaraderie and drinking afterwards. I expect they will all wish to gather together again once the new incumbent is established.”
“We’ll see about that,” I thought, but out loud I just said, “Thanks for the information.”
When I got back to the Hall, Kylie and Martine had already returned. They had enjoyed the trip to Brighton, although it hadn’t been warm enough to spend a lot of time on the famous beach. Martine was impressed with the Pavilion, which she thought rather exotic.
The following day, there was less business to be done, so we were able to escape for a walk on the South Downs. We enjoyed having the time to ourselves, and for the first time, it began to feel, at least to me, as though we were a family. The weather was fairly typical for late October, with sunny intervals and periods of cloud, but it wasn’t too cold, and thankfully it was dry. The views from the top were beautiful, but as Martine sighed, “It’s not as spectacular as where I come from.”
The morning after, we said our farewells and made our way back up north. There was a lot to think about, and we didn’t talk a great deal. I was still overwhelmed by the thought of the responsibilities I would be taking on in a few short months, and wondering if I would be adequate for the task. I did say a little bit of this on the train, but Martine only replied, “Of course you will cope, darling. You’re every bit as capable as those who are running things at the moment, and I dare say, you’ll do it without feeling yourself some kind of superior being, put there with a divine right to tell people what to do.”
Martine didn’t talk about what was in her mind, but I guessed that she was still brooding about the housekeeper and one or two strange looks she had received in our time in Sussex.
By contrast, Kylie was full of excitement and enthusiasm. “I had a great time there,” she said. “The house was awesome. I could invite a whole class of friends over and you’d never know they were there. And I loved the stables. I’d love to learn to ride. There was a young man there - I think he was called a groom - who told me he’d been riding since he was four years old., and that riding was as natural to him as walking. I’ve got lots of photos to show friends at school - I bet they’ll be dead jealous. “
It was dark before we reached Newcastle, where Martine separated from us. “I’ll call you in the morning,” she told me.
I felt almost too tired to drive the last few miles back home, but I managed it without incident. I was really glad to be back in my own bed.
-18-
Over the next few days, I think both Martine and I were mulling over our impressions and feelings following our visit to Sussex. We were both somewhat subdued, and we felt a bit awkward around each other for the first time in our relationship. I talked about this with my mother, and she told me not to worry. “Martine is going to have a lot of responsibility, running the household. She’s also got uncertainties about how she’ll fit in down there. Let her come to terms with things in her own way and time. Don’t try and push her or get her to talk about it, if she doesn’t want to,” she said, wisely.
I took her advice. Anyway, I had matters of my own to think about. One of them was just what would I do every day on that great big Estate? I wasn’t going to fill my time with hunting and fishing, and it seemed that the running of affairs would mostly go on smoothly without me. However, I managed to put those questions on the shelf, so to speak, telling myself that the solutions would come in time. Meantime, I began to dream at night about things I would do once I was Lord of the Manor.
There was one thing I just had to talk about, and so one Sunday after chapel I asked Ron Fischer if I could talk to him. “It should only take a few minutes,” I said. He agreed to h