Read Online A Rather Remarkable Homecoming by C. A. Belmond - Free Book Online
Authors: C. A. Belmond
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All through the rest of the tour, I peered through every window I passed, watching the men carrying their surveyor’s tools as they tromped around, setting up their tripods and squinting into their instruments, shouting out measurements to each other.
When we ascended the staircase, it creaked but held firm. On the second floor there was more evidence of spiders spinning their own complicated tapestries in various corners of the two bathrooms and six empty bedrooms. The big green-and-white bedroom was where Grandmother Beryl and Grandfather Nigel had slept in a huge four-poster bed that was no longer there; the two yellow guest rooms were where my parents and Jeremy’s had stayed; and the very feminine violet-colored bedroom with the poufy gauze curtains was where Great-Aunt Penelope had often smoked into the night.
That left two remaining bedrooms, one pink and one blue, which were little wood-panelled affairs, tucked into opposite sides of the house, each with sloping ceilings since they were both under an eave.
“I slept in this one,” Jeremy said, smiling as we paused at the blue room where there was a very big, charming, old-fashioned rocking-horse and a complete wooden croquet set. “Penny, you were way down the hall in the pink room on the east end of the house. I used to lie here at night thinking that you would get to see the sun rise before I did.”
Finally, we went up to the small attic, which contained only some wicker furniture that was too far gone to keep. As we went back downstairs, Harriet said brightly, “Let’s go outside so I can show you the property we added on to this parcel.”
We walked out the front door and back down the driveway where the surveyor’s car was now parked near ours. Directly across from Grandmother’s original property were green, gently undulating meadows dotted with old, disused stone outbuildings, barns and silos. In the distance was a long line of tall dark evergreen trees, to which Harriet was now gesturing.
“We helped the town acquire this parcel all the way to those evergreens,” she explained as we tromped forward to get a better view.
It was an impressive amount of land, and Harriet gazed at it with some pride. “We wanted to build our new-home clusters ’way over there, where you see the barns and silos,” she said, pointing east.
Jeremy had been sizing the whole thing up, and now asked, “Who owns the property to the west, on the other side of the stone wall?” He indicated an area just beyond Grandfather Nigel’s free-standing garage that was half hidden in the trees, near a low, crumbling farmer’s wall that seemed to mark a boundary between the end of Grandmother Beryl’s property and someone else’s fields.
“Ah!” said Harriet. “The earl! Actually, for centuries, ALL of this property—including your grandmother’s house, Penny—and most of the other houses up and down this part of the coast were part of one great estate belonging to the earl’s ancestors. Goodness, they were a long line of earls. But over the years, bit by bit, each earl sold off parts of the estate.”
Jeremy said slowly, “I remember now. Isn’t there a manor house out on the headland?”
“Exactly,” Harriet said. “And it still, to this day, has an earl in it.”
Something about the way she said that struck me as funny, as if the earl was an owl stuck in the rafters of some drafty old stately home. “He shows up at county fairs,” Harriet mused. “Likes to see the animals. He’s about thirty-four years old.”
“But I remember a much older man living there,” Jeremy said, puzzled. “He rode his horse across the meadows. He carried a whip, and if we crossed his path he was pretty terrifying.”
“Ah, that would be the tenth earl,” Harriet explained. “He was the grandfather of our current earl, but the old man died years ago. The current earl—he’s the twelfth—has his hands full just keeping the manor going, because the upkeep is
When we ascended the staircase, it creaked but held firm. On the second floor there was more evidence of spiders spinning their own complicated tapestries in various corners of the two bathrooms and six empty bedrooms. The big green-and-white bedroom was where Grandmother Beryl and Grandfather Nigel had slept in a huge four-poster bed that was no longer there; the two yellow guest rooms were where my parents and Jeremy’s had stayed; and the very feminine violet-colored bedroom with the poufy gauze curtains was where Great-Aunt Penelope had often smoked into the night.
That left two remaining bedrooms, one pink and one blue, which were little wood-panelled affairs, tucked into opposite sides of the house, each with sloping ceilings since they were both under an eave.
“I slept in this one,” Jeremy said, smiling as we paused at the blue room where there was a very big, charming, old-fashioned rocking-horse and a complete wooden croquet set. “Penny, you were way down the hall in the pink room on the east end of the house. I used to lie here at night thinking that you would get to see the sun rise before I did.”
Finally, we went up to the small attic, which contained only some wicker furniture that was too far gone to keep. As we went back downstairs, Harriet said brightly, “Let’s go outside so I can show you the property we added on to this parcel.”
We walked out the front door and back down the driveway where the surveyor’s car was now parked near ours. Directly across from Grandmother’s original property were green, gently undulating meadows dotted with old, disused stone outbuildings, barns and silos. In the distance was a long line of tall dark evergreen trees, to which Harriet was now gesturing.
“We helped the town acquire this parcel all the way to those evergreens,” she explained as we tromped forward to get a better view.
It was an impressive amount of land, and Harriet gazed at it with some pride. “We wanted to build our new-home clusters ’way over there, where you see the barns and silos,” she said, pointing east.
Jeremy had been sizing the whole thing up, and now asked, “Who owns the property to the west, on the other side of the stone wall?” He indicated an area just beyond Grandfather Nigel’s free-standing garage that was half hidden in the trees, near a low, crumbling farmer’s wall that seemed to mark a boundary between the end of Grandmother Beryl’s property and someone else’s fields.
“Ah!” said Harriet. “The earl! Actually, for centuries, ALL of this property—including your grandmother’s house, Penny—and most of the other houses up and down this part of the coast were part of one great estate belonging to the earl’s ancestors. Goodness, they were a long line of earls. But over the years, bit by bit, each earl sold off parts of the estate.”
Jeremy said slowly, “I remember now. Isn’t there a manor house out on the headland?”
“Exactly,” Harriet said. “And it still, to this day, has an earl in it.”
Something about the way she said that struck me as funny, as if the earl was an owl stuck in the rafters of some drafty old stately home. “He shows up at county fairs,” Harriet mused. “Likes to see the animals. He’s about thirty-four years old.”
“But I remember a much older man living there,” Jeremy said, puzzled. “He rode his horse across the meadows. He carried a whip, and if we crossed his path he was pretty terrifying.”
“Ah, that would be the tenth earl,” Harriet explained. “He was the grandfather of our current earl, but the old man died years ago. The current earl—he’s the twelfth—has his hands full just keeping the manor going, because the upkeep is
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