Chapter 4
Archer
Landing back in the foyer, he met Bailey carrying a stack of letters.
“Maggie has made you a meal. She’s named the damn dog, and all your clothes are being laundered.”
“I love and have missed Maggie. She saved my backside more times than I can remember when I was a kid.”
“I remember,” Bailey answered with a knowing smirk. “I better get these to Miss Turner,” he said, nodding to the silver tray and the pile of letters.
Archer turned, slipped through the servant’s door, and hurried down the stone steps to the kitchen. It struck him that the old-fashioned ways his aunt still maintained comforted him. It was so outdated, but took him straight back to his upbringing, which was a happy one until it wasn’t.
“Maggie,” Archer called out as soon as the expansive open kitchen came into view. The round-faced cook bustled towards him even though she wore a white shirt, black trousers, and an apron.
“Come here, my boy, and give an old lady a cuddle,” she said with a broad grin.
Maggie Jones was a foot shorter than him, but packed a mean hug when she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him.
“You’re not old. It’s good to see you, Maggie. How have you been?”
“Keeping well,” she said, pulling away and patting his cheek. “I’m feeling my sixty years, I can tell you.”
“Is my aunt treating you okay?” Archer looked at her, concerned that the old battle-axe was making her life hard.
“No more than usual. Have a seat at the table. I’ve made your favourite. As soon as I heard you were coming today, I knew exactly what to make for you.”
“Beef and ale pie with so much mash I can’t eat it all?”
“You got it. Apple pie too,” she said and winked. “You’ve got plenty of time to eat. Your clothes won’t be ready for a few hours.”
“Is there a bed I can sleep in tonight?” Archer asked when a steaming plate of food that made his eyes water was placed in front of him.
“None of the cottages are rented out this week. If you don’t want to sleep under Turner Hall’s roof, you can take one of those. They’re made up, ready for guests.”
“No bookings this week?” Archer asked.
“It’s full next week,” Maggie said and busied herself at the stove, swapping pans over on the rings.
“Should I get a key from Bailey?”
“Yes. He can take you across when Miss Turner takes her afternoon nap. That’s when we all have a rest. ”
“I’m sure I can find the cottages I used to play in as a kid. Just tell me the name and give me the key.”
“Bailey won’t hear of it. Let him take you. It’ll give him something else to do than wait for people to visit.”
“Does she get many visitors?”
“None. Miss Turner scares them all away. You kids are the only family she has left. Where are Jason, Luke, and Daisy anyway?”
“The far corners of the globe. I’ve come begging on my own.”
Maggie let out a long sigh and nodded her understanding, even though he hadn’t shared his plans with anyone.
“Hopefully, they’ll rock up soon.”
“It would be so lovely to hear voices in this house again. It’s so quiet with me, Bailey and Jennifer.”
“Jennifer is still here?”
“She sure is. Same age as the Mistress herself, but Miss Turner won’t let her leave.”
“Poor woman,” Archer muttered.
“No pity needed for Jennifer. She treats her job like a lady-in-waiting for the Queen. She’ll be by Miss Turner’s side until her dying breath.”
“Where is Jennifer now?”
“Getting Miss Turner changed for her nap, no doubt.”
“Is she in good health?”
“Perfect health. She’ll outlive us all. She prefers to cat nap as she can’t sleep for more than four hours at night.”
Archer laughed at the sentiment because she wasn’t wrong. His aunt was strict, formidable, and stubborn as hell. He realised his aunt always knew he had sneaked back after being out until the early hours. She would’ve seen him sneak back in if she was up early .
“Is that how we got busted for being out all night? She saw us?”
“Yeah. I know you’ve never been into her rooms, but a leaded glass door is in the far corner. It leads to a small flat area where only one table and chair will fit. When you were teenagers, she would make herself a pot of tea and sit at the table. The seat had a full view of the lawns, and she would see when any of you used to sneak across the grass as the sun was coming up.”
“How do you know?”
“Jennifer used to tell us,” Maggie said, then laughed. “There are no secrets in this house. Someone always knows something. But they rarely tell.”
Archer shook his head, grinning at the memories of his teenage years. He finished eating his early lunch. Having a full dinner at ten-thirty in the morning didn’t faze him. Working on the oil rigs sometimes meant you ate your food when you could, especially if there was a storm.
He said farewell to Maggie and walked back up to the foyer to find Bailey.
“I’ll give you the cottage nearest the house, less walking for me,” Bailey said.
“You are fitter than me, Bailey. How are your family?”
“They’re all very well. Thank you for asking.”
They walked in amiable silence along the pathway to the cottages, past Edward Hall and the walled-in garden. His aunt could always be found in the walled garden when they were kids, reading a book and spying on what they were getting up to. All generations living under one roof, the whole family, meant there was zero privacy to get up to no good. He and his siblings had to be stealthy in their adventures, but somehow his aunt always knew what they’d done and who. And now he knew how .
As they approached the first cottage, memories of sneaking into the empty houses came flooding back. Smoking, making out, and for him, losing his virginity to Susie Cooper when he was fifteen.
The smaller path leading up to the front door had grass and small shrubs on either side. It was a typical Georgian cottage.
“Here is the key. You should find everything you need inside. Maggie will bring over your laundry later,” Bailey said, giving him a key with an enormous metal disc as a keyring.
“No danger of losing this heavy thing,” Archer commented.
“No, sir, or putting it in your pocket either. Ridiculous things. The guests hate them.”
Without waiting for a reply, Bailey turned and left Archer in front of the closed door and strode down the path towards Turner Hall.
A shiver ran down Archer’s spine. It was like time had stood still on Copper Island. Could he handle living back at Turner Hall? He had to, for the sake of his siblings.
Archer looked at the windows on either side of the front door and noticed the curtains were closed. Stepping further back, the three upstairs windows also had closed curtains. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, getting used to the darkness in the ground-floor rooms. Each of the cottages was named after his female ancestors. The house he stood in was Emma Lodge, after his great-grandmother. The entranceway still had the same flagstone flooring and whitewashed walls. In the room to the left was the living room, vastly updated since he was last home with modern furnishings. He pulled open the curtains where dust particles flooded the room, highlighted by the sunlight. It made him sneeze multiple times. He mused that there had been no residents for some time if the dust levels were anything to go by. As he checked the sitting room across the hall, every room was immaculately appointed. The country-style kitchen and dining room were the same. He opened the curtains in all the ground-floor rooms before jogging up the stairs and into the four bedrooms upstairs. There were five when he was a teenager. Empty back then, but now they had colour-coordinated furnishing with an ensuite for the primary bedroom at the end of the hallway. Opening the windows to let fresh air in, he glanced at the small back garden with wooden furniture under coverings. There wasn’t much room before the vast lawns reached the pathway down the cliff to the private beach.
“Something is definitely not right here,” he said aloud.
Archer needed a shower and a change of clothes. He could smell salt water from his adventures in the sea rescuing the poor dog.
Pressing the switch for the shower, there was a loud bang, and the lights went out.
“Great, just what I need,” he said.