Holly, you know I said there was nothing else on the books over Christmas? she said in her slightly harsh voice, without any preamble. Ellen doesnt do polite, except to the customers. Well, now somethings come up and Im going to ask you to do it for me as a big, big favour!
A favour? My spirits lifted. You mean a house-sitting big favour?
Laura caught my eye and grimaced, shaking her head and mouthing, Dont you dare!
Yes, a major crisis has just blown up, Ellen explained. You remember Mo and Jim Chirk?
Youve mentioned them several times, but I havent met them. Theyre one of your longest-serving and most dependable house-sitting couples, arent they?
They were, she said darkly. And they were supposed to be house-sitting up on the East Lancashire moors over Christmas theyd been two or three times and the owner asked for them again but no sooner had they got there than their daughter had her baby prematurely and theyre flying out to Dubai to be with her.
You mean, theyve already gone?
Theyre on their way home to repack and get their passports, then theyre booked onto the first flight out. They phoned me just before they left and so they should, too, because theyve dropped me right in it!
It doesnt sound as if they could help it, Ellen its just one of those things. I hope the baby is all right.
Which baby?
Their daughters baby.
I have no idea, she said dismissively, which wasnt any surprise, since where business is concerned shes totally single-minded.
Look, could you help me out by taking the job on? It should be two people really, because its a large manor house in its own grounds, and a bit remote and there are a couple of pets to look after, too. Only theres no-one else free on the books apart from you. Could you possibly go? Tomorrow? Ill make sure you get double pay, she wheedled.
If there are pets, whos looking after them at the moment?
The owners elderly aunt and uncle live in the lodge and say they will keep an eye on things until you get there, but I dont think they can really be up to it, or presumably Mr Martland wouldnt have needed Homebodies in the first place.
Martland? I interrupted.
Yes, Jude Martland. Have you heard of him? Hes quite a well-known sculptor he did the Iron Horse next to the motorway near Manchester, all welded strips of metal very modern.
Oh yes, I think I have. But actually, I heard that surname recently in another context and its unusual, thats why I was surprised.
Just a coincidence, then truth is stranger than fiction, she said, disinterestedly rustling some papers.
Thats true, I agreed, and of course these Martlands could have no relationship to the Ned Martland Gran had mentioned (assuming Id even heard the name right): she was a working-class girl and wouldnt have mixed in the same circles as minor gentry from moorland manor houses.
Anyway, he inherited the pile, which is called Old Place, about a year ago and hes abroad somewhere, but so far we havent managed to get hold of him to tell him whats happening. He isnt coming back until Twelfth Night.
Id turned away from Lauras disappointed face, though I could feel her eyes boring accusingly into my back. I was starting to suspect shed hastily invited her cousin Sam for Christmas as soon as Id told her my Christmas job had fallen through the idea had probably never crossed her mind until then.
It doesnt sound too arduous, I said to Ellen. Ive looked after quite big houses before single-handedly. What are the pets you mentioned?
One dog and a horse.
A horse? You call a horse a pet? Ellen, I dont do horses!
Its very elderly and you do know a bit about horses, because you went to that riding school with Laura, remember.
I only watched her, that hardly qualifies me to look after someones horse, does it?
I expect you picked up more information than you think you did. Mo said she was very easy to look after and all the instructions were written down.
Yes, but
I expect the elderly couple in the lodge can advise you if theres any difficulty. And theres a cleaner and a small village nearby with a shop, so it isnt totally isolated. What do you say?
Well I suppose I could. But Im a bit worried about the horse. I
Oh, thats wonderful! she broke in quickly. Im sure the horse wont be a problem, its probably in a field and you only have to look at it once a day, or something. And the good news is, Mo and Jim felt so awful at landing the job on someone else at such short notice that they left all their supplies for Christmas behind for whoever took it on. Though actually, I suppose they could hardly take a turkey and all the trimmings out to Dubai with them!
No, but it was a kind thought. Where exactly is this place, did you say?
I didnt, but Ill email you directions and all the details now. Its a bit off the beaten track, but you usually like that.
Yes, especially over Christmas. That aspect of it is perfect.
I dont know what youll do up there, because apparently the TV reception is lousy and theres no broadband.
Ill be fine Ill take my radio and lots of books.
Clicking off the connection, I turned to find Laura looking at me reproachfully. Oh, Holly, it would have been such fun to have you here for Christmas!
Believe me, it wouldnt: it would have been like having the Grinch. And Ill enjoy myself in my own way. There are only two animals to look after, so Ill have lots of time to experiment with recipes and write that last section of the book. If Im going to go ahead with the baby idea, I need to get it finished and find a publisher!
Laura sighed and cast her eyes up in mock resignation, but she knew me too well to try and persuade me out of it.
Now, what can you remember about horse management? I asked hopefully.
I printed out Ellens instructions as soon as I got home and she was right it was in a remote, upland spot, near a small village Id never even heard of.
Getting ready that night was all a bit of a scramble, though I couldnt resist continuing my nightly reading of a page or two of Grans journal, which was getting more interesting again now she wasnt talking about the past, but engrossed by the present. By November of 1944, she was evidently well enough to go back to work:
Now I have recovered I have been sent to Ormskirk hospital, which pleases me because it is nearer home and also Toms widowed father, a sweet, kindly man, is the minister at the Strange Baptist chapel here. But my lodgings are very poor, in a nearby house run by a dour, disagreeable woman. The food is scanty and bad and we sleep dormitory-style, so there is little privacy. The treat of a fresh egg, which was a parting gift from my mother, I gave to my landlady to boil for my breakfast but it never appeared and my enquiries about it met only with surly grunts.
I read on a little further as she made new friends and settled in, but really I was way too tired to keep my eyes open and there would be lots of time to read the journals over Christmas in fact, I would take the whole trunk of papers with me to sort out.
Early next morning I loaded the tin trunk into my car along with everything else I usually take with me on assignments boxes of herbs, spices and other basic ingredients, general food supplies, a cool box of perishable stuff, vital utensils, cookery books, laptop, house-party recipe book notes and my portable radio It was pretty full even before I added a suitcase, holdall and my wellies.
Laura, resigned now to my decision, had driven over to give me my Christmas present (shes the only person who ever gives me one). In return I gave her a bag of little gifts for the family, some of them home-made and edible.
She also gave me strict instructions to call her daily, too. Tell me all about it. Old Place sounds terribly posh, somehow, and Ive never even heard of the village what did you call it again?
Little Mumming. Its near Great Mumming, apparently. Id never heard of it either, but Ive found it on the map.
Its all been such a rush are you sure youve got everything you need?
Yes, I think so most of it was still packed up ready to go. And Ive put in my wellies, jeans, dog-walking anorak
A smart dress, in case the local squires lady leaves calling cards and you have to return the visit?
You need to stop reading Jane Austen, I said severely. And I think this Mr Martland might be the Little Mumming equivalent of the local squire, in which case, if there is a lady, he will have taken her away with him, wont he?
Unless shes upstairs in Bluebeards chamber?
Thank you for sharing that unnerving thought.
Youre welcome. But the house cant be that big, can it? Otherwise there would be some live-in help.
Not necessarily, these days, I said, drawing on my long experience of house-party cooking, where sometimes the only live-in staff had been myself and the family nanny. Ellen mentioned a daily cleaner. Its big enough to have a lodge though, because the owners elderly uncle and his wife live there and Im to call in for the keys on my way up to the house.
I can see youre dying to go, but I still dont like to think of you marooned in a remote house all on your own over Christmas, Laura said. Have you got your phone and charger, and enough food and drink in case youre miles from the nearest shop? I mean, the weather report said we were in for a cold snap next week and the odds on a white Christmas are shortening.
Oh, come on, Laura, when do they ever get the long-term forecasts right? And come to that, how often does it snow here, especially at Christmas?
But its probably different in East Lancashire, up on the moors.
It might be a bit bleaker, but Ill believe in this snow when I see it. And Ellen said Jim and Mo have left me all their food, since they wont need it they were only stopping at home long enough to fling some clothes in a suitcase and get their passports before they flew out to Dubai. Im hardly likely to eat my way through a whole turkey and all the trimmings over Christmas, even if I do get snowed in.
I gave her a hug but cautiously, because of the very prominent bump. Ill be fine, you know me. Give my love to your parents and have a great time and Ill see you on Twelfth Night!
I climbed into the heavily-laden car and drove off, Lauras small figure waving at me in the rear-view mirror until I turned the corner, realising just how fond of my best friend I was.
Now Gran had gone, was there anyone else in the whole world who really cared about me? Or who I really cared about? I couldnt think of anyone and it suddenly seemed so terribly sad. Id had other friends, but mostly theyd been Alans too, and Id pushed them out of my life after the accident.
But soon, if my plans for a baby came to fruition, I would have someone else to love, who would love me in return
My spirits lifted as I drove further away from home, just as they always did, for the joy of each assignment was that no-one knew me or my past, or was interested enough to find out: I was just brisk, capable Holly Brown from Homebodies, there to do a job: the Mary Poppins of Merchester.
Chapter 3
Weasel Pot
I have made friends with Hilda and Pearl, who have the beds either side of me at the lodging house, and they are showing me the ropes at the new hospital. Like many of the other nurses their chief desire seems to be to marry, preferably to one of the young doctors, and they teased me until I explained that I had lost my sweetheart in the first months of war, so that I now saw nursing as my lifes work.
November, 1944
Little Mumming lay in a small valley below one of the beacon hills that run down East Lancashire, where a long chain of fires was once lit as a sort of ancient early warning system.
On the map it hadnt looked far from the motorway, but the poor excuse for a B road endlessly wound up and down, offering me the occasional distant, tantalising glimpse of Snowehill, topped with a squat tower, but never seeming to get any closer.
Finally I arrived at a T-junction that pointed me to Little Mumming and Great Mumming up a precipitous, single-track lane though rather confusingly, it also pointed to Great Mumming straight ahead, too. All roads must lead to Great Mumming.
I took the sharp left uphill turn, sincerely hoping that I wouldnt meet anything coming in the opposite direction, because although there were occasional passing places, there were also high dry-stone walls on either side, so I wouldnt be able to see them coming round the series of hairpin bends.
I passed a boulder painted with the words Weasel Pot Farm next to a rutted track and shifted down a gear. Was there ever going to be any sign of a village?
Then I crossed an old stone humpbacked bridge, turned a last bend past a pair of wrought-iron gates and came to a stop for ahead of me the road levelled and opened out, revealing Little Mumming in all its wintry glory.
It was a huddled hamlet of grey stone cottages, a pub, and a small church set around an open green on which sheep were wrenching at the grass as if their lives depended on it. Perhaps they did. Winters were presumably a lot bleaker up here.
High above on the hillside a Celtic-looking figure of a horse had been carved out from the dull red earth or sandstone, using just a few flowing lines. It could be an ancient hill marking, or maybe some more recent addition to the landscape.
After a minute I carried on and pulled in by the green, turning off the engine. I needed a moment to unclench my hands from the steering wheel after that ascent.
The village looked as if it had grown organically from the earth, the walls and roofs all lichen-spotted and mossy. There was a raw wind blowing and it was midmorning, so I suppose it wasnt surprising that it was deserted, though I did have the sensation that I was being watched from behind the Nottingham lace curtains
But the only movement was the sign swinging in the wind outside the pub, the Auld Christmas, which depicted a bearded old man in a blue robe, holding a small fir tree and wearing a wreath of greenery round his head. Very odd. The pub advertised morning coffee and ploughmans lunches, which would have been tempting had the journey not taken so much longer than I expected.