Chapter 4
I put my case down and took a seat in a wicker, Lloyd Loom chair to undo my shoelaces before toeing off my trainers.
Having done so, I set about exploring the rest of the cottage.
To the right was a small snug with a comfortable-looking Chesterfield in Bordeaux red leather, an assortment of cushions piled along the back together with an artfully draped and cosy-looking blanket on the arm.
Logs were stacked in a woven basket next to an original-looking tiled fireplace, a smaller basket next to it with kindling and paper.
The sun had been out today but we were still in that middling time of year when the temperature dropped once it dipped below the horizon.
And the best bit of the room was the wall-to-wall bookcases, stuffed with novels and non-fiction, cookbooks, gardening tomes and essays, and a good array of classics.
I closed the door on the snug and made my way across the hall to the back of the house.
Here, judging by the beam above me, had once sat two rooms but was now one airy, open space with an up-to-date kitchen, in a style that blended well with its surroundings.
A round, lime-washed pine table with matching chairs, each topped with a rose-print cushion, held another vase of fresh flowers.
A sparkling clean window above the sink looked out onto a small but neat garden with a wooden greenhouse at the far end.
The back wall of the room was given over to a set of French doors, with panels at the bottom and glass in the top half.
Light spilled in through them and bathed the squashy sofa that lounged against the far wall.
A small coffee table, standing on a Persian rug, was placed in front of it and on top of that was a wicker shopping basket, transformed into a hamper. I took the note from the top.
Dear Emmeline,
Welcome to Rose Cottage! I do hope you find everything to your liking. Enclosed are just a few things to start you off. I’m sure Isaac has already given you lots of useful information with regards to local shops, etc.
I gave a humourless laugh. Oh, yes. Isaac had been quite the welcoming party.
I continued reading.
However, don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything else you require or need to know!
I do look forward to meeting you soon but in the meantime, a very warm welcome to Ashington Manor.
Best,
Penelope x
I had no idea who Penelope even was. At a guess, I’d plump for a housekeeper perhaps, but either way, I liked her already.
A quick rummage through the basket revealed a fresh, crusty sourdough loaf, half a dozen eggs, a box of teabags, a tin of coffee, a pack of cheddar crackers as well as tin of shortbread biscuits.
Savoury and sweet, this woman had thought of it all!
And the pièce de résistance: a mouth-watering chocolate cake.
As I put the note down, I noticed the small PTO in the corner. I PTO’d.
Meant to say milk, butter, cheese, etc all in the fridge.
I filled the kettle, put it on to boil and took my case upstairs.
Here I found two bedrooms. One larger than the other with a small but beautiful en suite added, the shower wall tiled in shell pink.
A faded pink velvet armchair was placed by the window which overlooked the back garden and beyond that, a scene of fields and woodland which I assumed constituted part of the estate.
The dark wood framed bed was made up with layers of white: a squashy duvet, an embroidered bedspread, big, downy pillows and a handful of scatter cushions in an assortment of shapes and sizes.
It looked divine and it was all I could do not to pull back that duvet, crawl in and snuggle down right now.
I left my case in the bedroom and walked across the small landing to the main bathroom.
Here stood a claw-footed bath with old gold taps and feet and piles of soft pink and white fluffy towels.
A small collection of toiletries waited on the marble top of the sink vanity and I nosed through them.
Seriously, this was better than any hotel I’d ever stayed in!
The last room was a smaller guest room but just as beautifully decorated. Hopefully, assuming I didn’t give Isaac an excuse to fire me too soon, I’d have the chance to invite Freddy down here.
Right on cue, my phone rang with a video call.
I swiped to answer as I started back down the stairs.
‘Hi. You’re there all right then?’
‘I am. Honestly, Freds, it’s like going back in time. I told you about the steam train, right?’
‘You did, but I thought you might have been joking. It really was?’
‘Yep. Comfy, though. Give me that over a commuter train any day.’
‘Have you met anyone yet?’
‘Only my immediate boss.’
‘Oh?’
I pulled a face. ‘He knows.’
‘Knows what?’
‘About the Kew thing.’
‘Ah. Is that going to be a problem?’
I opened a few cupboards until I located the mugs, flicked the kettle on again and opened the new box of teabags Penelope had left me.
‘Apparently not to him,’ I said as I poured over the boiling water. ‘He’s decided I’m either going to mess it up pretty quickly or, because I’m a “city girl”, I won’t hack it and that’ll save him the job of asking the boss to fire me.’
‘City girl?’
‘Yeah. He’s one of those thinks they know you from looking at you.’
‘What an eejit.’ Her soft Dublin accent always made this insult sound perfect.
‘Quite.’
‘Anyone else apart from the eejit?’
‘Not really. A woman who looked and acted a bit like Miss Marple was on the train down. Turned out to be the eejit’s gran. God knows what she was scribbling in her little notebook. But there’s Penelope.’
‘Who’s Penelope?’ Freddy asked.
‘I don’t actually know, but she left me this.’ I turned the camera around on the phone and showed her the hamper. ‘Plus, there’s stuff in the fridge. She, at least, sounds lovely.’
‘Ooh, show me around then. Is it nice? Or is there a reason it’s free accommodation?’
‘Honest to God, Freds. I’m determined not to mess it up purely based on how divine this cottage is. I can’t wait for you to come down. You’ll die!’
* * *
The only thing that wasn’t perfect about the cottage was the plumbing.
Obviously, everything had been renovated but something was most definitely not right as I currently had a head full of shampoo and a body covered in shower gel and no water.
OK. Maybe the stopcock had only been cracked a little bit if the place wasn’t being used. I’d take a look at that first.
I wrapped one of the soft, pillowy towels around my body and another around my soapy hair and headed for the stairs. Which was when the lights went out. This was something I’d forgotten about the country and which always surprised me every time I stayed at my dad’s. It’s really, really dark.
Candles. There must be candles. Phone. Find my phone to find the candles.
I felt around the unfamiliar surroundings, my hands out in front of me.
My left shin connected with something, meaning I’d at least have a bruise to match the one already blooming on my other shin from my transportation adventure earlier today.
I found my phone and switched on the torch.
A power warning flashed up. Five per cent.
Excellent. Freddy and I had been yakking for ages, as we always did when we got the chance, which usually wasn’t a problem as I’d had a reliable electricity supply in London. Apparently, that wasn’t the case here.
I made my way down the stairs in one piece and, using the last remaining power in my phone, checked the fuse box.
Isaac obviously hadn’t bothered to tell me where it was but luckily I’d noticed it when I’d hung my coat up under the stairs earlier.
Everything looked as it should be. Moving to Plan B, I opened and closed all the drawers I could find, looking for candles.
‘Come on, come on,’ I grumbled to myself as I pulled open the last two. And there they were. A brand new, unopened box of taper candles, lying alongside two holders.
‘So the matches must be here too.’ I moved some bits around. No sign of any matches or a lighter.
‘Who leaves candles and no matches?’ I asked the empty kitchen. Then my phone died. ‘Brilliant. Just brilliant.’
I felt around the darkness for the table, pulled out a chair and plopped down into it. ‘Now what?’
After ten minutes of shivering as my soapy hair began to drip down my back, it was apparent that this wasn’t the sort of flick-off, flick-on power cut I’d experienced occasionally in the city so I made a decision.
Wellies, a dressing gown, a Barbour coat and a towel turban was not the look I’d have chosen for my first trip to The Big House but needs must. As Isaac had omitted to leave me any contact details in case of emergency, I couldn’t think of any other option but to hike to the nearest residence, which as I was now living on a sprawling country estate, was the equally sprawling Ashington Manor.
I didn’t relish the thought but I also didn’t relish sitting in a strange, dark house with a head full of suds on my first night, getting colder by the minute.
I approached the imposing front door of the property, having crunched across the drive in my wellies. Hesitating, I thought about turning back. The power would come back on eventually. But what about the water? I stepped back from the door. Maybe there was a back way in…
Suddenly, the door opened and an older, smart-looking gentleman held a hurricane lamp up to light both our faces. ‘May I help you?’ There was no flicker of surprise at my unusual attire. Now that’s class.