Mum was kneeling in the soft dirt of the garden patting soil around the roots of the dozen rose bushes we’d unloaded from the Range Rover. My dad was driving the tractor over in the North hay field and we caught occasional glimpses of him as he meandered by the fence line.
The garden was a small square off to the side of the Solarium, bordered by boxwood hedges and yews carved into griffins, lollipop shapes and geometric designs rather than the common everyday animals. An ornate wrought iron fence with spears separated the flowerbeds from the old herb garden.
“Are you hungry, Aidan?” Mum smiled. “You’ve been helping me for ages.”
I was covered with mud from head to toe, filthy and enjoying the sensation of dirt between my toes. My shoes were buried somewhere.
I looked up at the East wing of the house, the part that jutted out over the gardens and had a small veranda off one of the upper rooms; saw Ned up there waving down at me. That part of the roof was copper clad and had sundry chimneys and vents spoiling the outline of the pitch.
I ran inside and Mrs. C was just coming down the marble tiled hallway with a platter of goodies and tea. She was a short, rosy-cheeked lady that made delicious scones and bread and always had an extra goody for me.
“Go into the kitchen and sit down,” she said, looked and then ordered me to wash up at the sink. I splashed water on my hands, face half-halfheartedly, and plunked down at the table in front of the platter of tarts, biscuits, eggs, rashers of bacon.
“Where is everybody?” I asked, swallowing my cup of tea in one long gulp.
“Ate earlier, your lordship. Go on up, Sally’s waiting to help you change. His Lordship and Lady Mo are taking you out to dinner for being such a big help this week and not getting into any mischief.”
I pushed the chair back so hard; it fell over and scrambled up the Grand Stair, scooting around Harold, the butler who’d been with my Da and his Da forever.
“Slow down, young Aidan,” he scolded. “Annie just waxed the floor and you’ll come a right cropper.”
“Gotta go, Harry,” I yelled and hit the top of the step on my palms, swung round and down the great hallway lined with ancient family portraits. Ned stood near the double doors to the Grand Salon on the third floor and distracted me as I ran by the bathroom door. It was never open, off limits to me, and represented an irresistible challenge.
I sneaked inside and climbed the short set of steps to the third floor. I heard the door latch behind me but paid it no mind as I delighted in exploring forbidden realms.
Here was where the old suits of armor lay in neat piles next to saddles cracked and medieval, old swords and halberds piled with lances and bows. Piles of furniture so hideously Victorian and bizarre that no one wanted them---hassocks made from elephant legs, chairs of ivory tusks, trunks filled with musty old clothes.
A sarcophagus rested against the wall near the French doors with velvet drapes so moth eaten they looked like lace. I hoped it still had its resident mummy and my hearty shove dislodged the case to fall against the doors and sent them crashing open.
I was able to pull the lid off but the only thing inside were blackened scraps of cloth that smelled dry and dusty, and dead spiders curled into tiny pill bugs. I squeezed past the open doors and saw the roof below me over the wing of the house that jutted out above the gardens. An easy drop and easier climb to one who fancied himself Sir Edmund Hilary so I climbed over the railing with perfect confidence and strode along the ridge and down to the edge of the slates to see my mother on her knees in the dirt, scraping soil around the roots of small seedlings. I heard someone approaching, his footsteps loud on the newly raked gravel.
Mum stood up. “Roger,” she greeted the farm manager. “I was expecting Griff.”
“He’s stuck in the brook. I came to tell you he’ll be late, not to wait.”
“Alright,” she said agreeably. “I was just going in. I’ll put in a few more plants, then.”
“Where’s the imp?”
“I sent him in for tea and to wash up. Sally’s after him.”
“Sally went to town for Mrs. C,” he said.
‘I’d better go after him, then,” she sighed.
“Oh, you stay. I’ll go find him.”
I saw him walk off and leaned closer, trying to keep him in sight, and realized if I didn’t want to be caught, I’d better sneak back inside. I turned, stood up and Mum looked up at that moment. Her gasp of terror made me jump.
“Aidan!”
I swallowed. “Hi, Mum.”
“Aidan, what are you doing? Get down this instant!”
My feet slipped just as Mr. P stuck his head over the railing and shouted at me. I slid towards the edge of the roof unable to stop my knees and palms skating on the mossy slates, hit the eaves, and somersaulted over. I heard the horrified shouts of Mr. P and my mum and something huge and crushing hit my back. The sky whirled, darkened; I opened my eyes wide on the blue sky above me. A crushing sensation filled my chest and I couldn’t breathe. Strange metal spikes grew out of my chest and belly. I held onto them.
Mum’s face was pale, stark white next to mine. “Aidan, oh my God! Baby! Griffin!” she screamed and hovered.
Blood filled my mouth. “Mum,” I managed to say. “Can’t breathe. Feel like…crushed.”
Her hands wept like startled birds. “Oh baby, Griffin! Roger! Help! Somebody help!”
Something heavy dropped to the ground near me and I saw Mr. P’s agonized face. “Moira, go inside and call the ambulance. Go get Griffin,” he ordered. “Aidan, don’t move. Look at me.” He supported my head.
“Mummy,” I breathed, tears coming now. “It hurts. What is it?”
“Moira, go. Now,” he said urgently and she ran, screaming my dad’s name.
“You fell on the fence spikes, Aidan. Don’t move. We have to get the ambulance people to get you off safely.”
“Can’t breathe, Mr. P.” My mouth filled with blood again and I couldn’t swallow it. I felt strange. As if I was moving through mud, darkness filled the corners of my eyes; I was cold, sweaty, felt like everything was oozing out of me.
Mum came back with Dad and all the household staff. Together, he and dad lifted me carefully off the posts. I screamed in pain but they ignored me as they set me down on the ground midst the newly turned soil. Blood bubbled out of the holes and mum held me tightly as Dad wadded up his shirt and tucked it against the holes in my front. “Ambulance is coming, baby,” he said, his voice thick. “It’ll be here as soon as it can.”
“Mum, I can’t breathe,” I whispered and opened my eyes wide, strained to see them. Their faces were growing blurry, their voices receding. ‘Feels like the bull sat on my tummy,” I mumbled. “Crushing me. Mummy, where are you? Can’t see you, Mummy. Mum---”
“Aidan. Baby, please don’t die. Oh God, Griffin! Do something, please. Oh God, don’t take my baby!” My mother’s wails faded as the blackness over took everything.
I flew down a narrow tunnel and Ned was at my side, his face wore a look of intense sorrow. He told me I had died like him and that both of us could now move on. We held each others hands as the light beckoned us. Warm, glowing full of welcoming voices, we embraced it. I had a moment’s sadness that my parents would suffer and then I was falling into the brilliance