3 Exploring
It was long after midnight before Cal finally fell asleep but even so, he woke again the instant the door latch clicked.
It was a soft sound, almost inaudible, but it was so unusual he was immediately alert.
His bed curtains were open, so the wavering light of a candle passed over him before moving on.
For a moment, the softness of the bed confused him until he remembered…
Staineybank, a proper bed in a proper bedroom in a ducal household, so the intruder with the candle was only the chambermaid to tend the fire.
The slight tink as the ash bucket was set down confirmed it, followed by sweeping noises, rustlings and bumps, a pause and then the unmistakable sounds of the fire catching alight.
Another long pause, then the candle light shone over the bed again, the door opened and closed and he was alone once more.
He sprang out of bed and crossed at once to the window, kneeling on the window seat to peer out.
He had left the curtains and shutters wide open, and the grey half-light of dawn showed him the pale shimmer of the lake against a dark background — the woods!
He slid the sash window upwards, breathing deeply to fill his lungs with fresh, clean air, and his heart with joy.
He dressed speedily in his working clothes and then curled up on the window seat as a cool morning breeze caressed his face.
It was more than an hour, he estimated, before Robert arrived, carefully bearing a cup of chocolate. Chocolate! When had he last had chocolate? Twenty years, at least. He accepted it gratefully, and drank it in a few long draughts, relishing the taste.
“I’ll be bringing your washing water in an hour or so, sir,” Robert said, emptying the cold water on the washstand back into the ewer and taking it away to the door. “Breakfast in the Parlour at ten. Any partic’lar clothes I should lay out?”
“Robert, you unpacked for me yesterday, so you know perfectly well I only have three sets of clothes.”
The footman grinned. “Aye, sir — evening, Sunday and everyday. You got the everyday on, I see.”
“Better lay out the Sunday for later, but just now I need to get outside. How do I get to those woods over there?”
“Garden door, then along to the fancy bridge. That’s the quickest way. I’ll show you.”
Robert led Cal through a labyrinthine route of tight stairs, narrow corridors and a kitchen already echoing to the clatter of pans, the air full of steam and the smell of fresh bread. Cal smiled at the harassed kitchen maid carrying a tray of rolls hot from the oven.
“May I? Long time till breakfast.”
She glanced at the cook uncertainly, but the cook nodded quickly before turning back to her mixing bowl.
Cal took one for each pocket. “Any cheese for a hungry man?”
The cook laughed. “You’ve the cheek of Old Nick, you ’ave. Rob, take ’im past the larder.”
Thus provisioned, Cal stepped out of the kitchen door and took a deep breath.
The air was slightly damp, and a nearby bush sparkling with droplets testified that there had been rain in the night.
The world was washed clean, filled with spring greenery and the promise of summer to come.
He smiled, and set off in the direction Robert had told him.
A good gravel path wound through a shrubbery and then burst out into the open by a stream which bounced its way down a short hill, accompanied by a path with several sets of steps.
Ahead of him, however, a narrow Palladian bridge arched elegantly above the water.
Below him was a more imposing bridge, but he crossed this more delicate edifice, which led him into woodland beyond.
He could see the usual mixture of ash and hazel, with some oak visible, sturdy but not ancient, and none so mighty as his favourite tree from the Priory, now gone to the sawmill.
He crossed the bridge with eager steps and stood on the threshold of the woods, hands on hips, taking three long, deep breaths.
He didn’t know these trees, they were strangers to him, but the familiar scents and sounds of the forest rose up to greet him and welcome him home.
Laughing aloud, he stepped under the trees.
Almost at once he came to a branch in the path.
One way led straight on from the bridge, but a few steps in that direction showed him a thinning of the trees and beyond them, a cottage with a gently smoking chimney.
He turned instead onto the other path which seemed to parallel the river, winding gently downwards.
There was a serenity about English woodlands that was balm to Cal’s soul.
After the turbulence of the last few days and the horror of being trapped inside the solid stone walls of Staineybank, he was free again, free to feel the magic of the trees.
Somewhere a chiff-chaff was making its odd little noise and naturally there was a cuckoo calling, for it was springtime, so how could there be anywhere in England not echoing to that familiar sound?
The earthy smell of last year’s leaf litter filled his nostrils, and nearby something unseen was trundling noisily about in the undergrowth.
He walked on, the path gently winding downwards.
Now and then smaller side paths branched off to one side or the other, but he stayed on the main path.
It was well tended… all the paths were, with encroaching vegetation cut back on both sides.
It was a pleasure to walk there, and he hoped there’d be time enough to explore every corner of this new territory before he left Staineybank.
That brought a pang of regret for his own, now lost, woods.
At the Priory, the nearest cuckoo would be on the Colonel’s land.
The chiff-chaffs would be gone, the dormice vanished or struggling to survive in the detritus of a once vibrant forest. But here, all was safe.
If he stayed here… but that depended on the duke, and powerful men tended to be whimsical.
He had walked for some time — he guessed he had covered perhaps two miles — when he heard someone ahead of him, and another turn in the path brought him face to face with a man of about his own age. The gun over one arm and the game bags at his waist suggested his profession.
The man stopped, pushed his hat back a little and smiled. “Good morning, stranger. I’m guessing you’re the gardener staying up at the house.”
“Aye, but I’d rather be in the woods,” Cal said.
“’Tis a fine day to be out, that’s true enough.”
“It’s never a fine day to be in that great cave of a house.”
The gamekeeper laughed. “I expect they feed you well enough, though, and the best wine to drink.”
“Sooner have a pot of ale,” Cal said wistfully.
“Well, if you can escape of an evening, you’ll find a welcome down at the Dog and Duck in the village. From the stables, there’s a good, clear path to the top end of Woodbridge. Can’t miss it.”
“A well-trodden path, I’ll be bound.”
“’Tis that. I’ll tell everyone to look out for you.” He held out his hand. “Ben Lovell, gamekeeper here.”
“Cal Garford. Much obliged. Maybe I’ll see you there one evening.”
The gamekeeper nodded genially, and moved on towards the house, while Cal continued away from it, every step lightening his mood.
Before long, the woods descended rapidly and then came to an abrupt end at a narrow lane.
Beyond it was a line of fields fringing a wide river flowing to the south.
The Brin, he guessed, heading for Brinchester before adding its copious waters to some greater river.
He chose a well-grown oak, and settled himself comfortably between the roots, his back to the sun-warmed trunk, to eat his bread and cheese, and pondered the mystery of why God had brought him to this glorious place, dangled perfect woodland under his nose only to snatch it all away again.
It must be snatched away, he supposed. He had no place here, whatever Mr Goodenough might say, so back to the Priory he would go, back to his celery and his peas and whatever else he was asked to do.
At least he could keep busy, and that would stop him lamenting his own lovely trees.
After a brief prayer of thanks for the beauties of the day, he walked back the way he had come, and, steeling himself, re-entered the house.
***
Cora was early to breakfast, eager to meet Cal Garford again, and perhaps have some conversation with him.
It was fortunate that she was patient and had nothing in particular to do, for he was the very last to arrive, long after the other men had been and gone, and only Maria, her head in a book, and Hester Merrington, lingering over her coffee, remained to bear Cora company.
The butler and footmen had vanished, and for the first time the gardener showed some uncertainty. After greeting the ladies politely, he gave a little laugh, and said, “I’m not sure what the procedure is here. Do I—?”
Maria jumped up at once. “There is hot food in the chafing dishes over here, Mr Garford. You just help yourself to whatever you want, and if there is something else you prefer, you ring for Froggett. There is toast and bread on the table, and coffee over here. It is probably cold. Ah, Froggett, there you are. More coffee and fresh toast for Mr Garford, if you please.”
“Forget the coffee. I’d rather have some ale,” Mr Garford said.
“Certainly, sir,” Froggett said imperturbably. “Should you care for some more cheese, sir?”
Mr Garford laughed. “You’re well informed, but no, thank you. There are some tasty looking chops here which will do me very well.”
Froggett bowed and withdrew.
“Cheese? At breakfast?” Cora could not resist asking.
“I went out for an early walk and took bread and cheese from the kitchen. With the cook’s permission, of course.”
“Of course,” she said, wondering how it was that a man who would never dream of stealing a bit of cheese had no qualms about taking books from his employer’s library. “Did you enjoy your walk?”