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Authors: David Wake
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had been brought up properly and she would wait.
However, it was cold and getting darker all the time.
Negotiating raising her skirts, hiding her ankle, getting her foot in the metal step and jumping up required three attempts, but she pulled herself into her seat eventually.
“Now, Fellowes, you–”
They were off!
The pony dithering left until yanked around, and Georgina nearly fell out. Five hundred yards from the station the lane narrowed, so that branches from the stunted trees swiped at them dangerously as they hurtled along. The low moon cast a pale light interrupted by the stone walls and by distant rocky outcrops.
“I know it like the back of my hand,” said Fellowes, anticipating a question that hadn’t crossed Georgina’s mind. She was too busy holding on to the metal rail to think clearly.
They passed through a village complete with a church with a clock tower and a pub with a hanging sign, a painting of a man fighting a monster.
When she thought it would never end, they turned into a wider, more level road and the dry stone walls and bushes no longer hemmed them in on either side. The sudden space gave Georgina a desperate, isolating, agoraphobic panic. It was like the pony and trap were transporting them over a black and calm River Styx.
“Magdalene Chase,” said Fellowes.
Georgina looked – nothing.
And then she saw a black slab of a building against the dark sky and, to the right and high up, a weak flickering light.
Fellowes pulled the pony to a stop outside the main entrance, a dark door framed by white stone pillars that loomed over them.
Georgina climbed down.
“I’ll put the pony away,” said Fellowes.
“My trunk!”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Mrs… Ma’am!”
“When you’ve got it down then.”
Georgina stormed round to the back and grasped the handle of her trunk. It wasn’t so much a case of her pulling it down as of the trap being pulled out from under it when Fellowes whipped the pony forward. The trunk swung down and crunched into the gravel. She dragged it to the front and then hefted it up the three steps.
She yanked the bell pull.
There was a delay and then a distant chime.
“Arthur,” she said aloud, mist condensing in front of her, “I can understand why you joined the army.”
Once she had some light, she thought, she’d consult the Great Western timetable for the first return journey.
The door opened: a smartly dressed hag blocked the way in.
“I am expected,” Georgina announced.
The housekeeper opened the door wide: “This way, Miss.”
Georgina held her ground: “Mrs! Ma’am!”
The housekeeper merely looked at her uncomprehendingly.
“This way, Ma’am,” Georgina said. “You say, this–”
“This way… Miss.”
“Ma’am.”
“Mam.”
“My trunk.”
“There’s no–one to bring it in.”
Georgina remembered a suggestion Fellowes had made at the station: “Get the boy.”
“He’s asleep.”
“Then wake him.”
“Very well, Miss.”
Georgina tightened her lips, shocked to realise that she was turning into her elder sister: perhaps she should imitate her voice: “Very well, Ma’am… you say…”
“Very well… Ma’am.”
Georgina crossed the threshold.
It was a wide entrance way with rooms off both sides and a stone staircase leading up to a landing and the upper storey.
“Please wait here,” said the woman. “Fellowes will be along shortly to show you to the temporary guest room.”
Georgina was alone again.
A clock ticked, loud in the reverberating silence of the stone hall.
Eventually, Fellowes returned, visibly taken aback that Georgina was still there.
“You are to show me to my room,” Georgina said.
“Am I?”
“The woman said.”
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
Fellowes crossed the flags and ascended the staircase. Georgina followed, pausing every two steps to allow the man some sort of lead. By the time they reached the top, the boy arrived with Georgina’s trunk.
“The guest room is
However, it was cold and getting darker all the time.
Negotiating raising her skirts, hiding her ankle, getting her foot in the metal step and jumping up required three attempts, but she pulled herself into her seat eventually.
“Now, Fellowes, you–”
They were off!
The pony dithering left until yanked around, and Georgina nearly fell out. Five hundred yards from the station the lane narrowed, so that branches from the stunted trees swiped at them dangerously as they hurtled along. The low moon cast a pale light interrupted by the stone walls and by distant rocky outcrops.
“I know it like the back of my hand,” said Fellowes, anticipating a question that hadn’t crossed Georgina’s mind. She was too busy holding on to the metal rail to think clearly.
They passed through a village complete with a church with a clock tower and a pub with a hanging sign, a painting of a man fighting a monster.
When she thought it would never end, they turned into a wider, more level road and the dry stone walls and bushes no longer hemmed them in on either side. The sudden space gave Georgina a desperate, isolating, agoraphobic panic. It was like the pony and trap were transporting them over a black and calm River Styx.
“Magdalene Chase,” said Fellowes.
Georgina looked – nothing.
And then she saw a black slab of a building against the dark sky and, to the right and high up, a weak flickering light.
Fellowes pulled the pony to a stop outside the main entrance, a dark door framed by white stone pillars that loomed over them.
Georgina climbed down.
“I’ll put the pony away,” said Fellowes.
“My trunk!”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Mrs… Ma’am!”
“When you’ve got it down then.”
Georgina stormed round to the back and grasped the handle of her trunk. It wasn’t so much a case of her pulling it down as of the trap being pulled out from under it when Fellowes whipped the pony forward. The trunk swung down and crunched into the gravel. She dragged it to the front and then hefted it up the three steps.
She yanked the bell pull.
There was a delay and then a distant chime.
“Arthur,” she said aloud, mist condensing in front of her, “I can understand why you joined the army.”
Once she had some light, she thought, she’d consult the Great Western timetable for the first return journey.
The door opened: a smartly dressed hag blocked the way in.
“I am expected,” Georgina announced.
The housekeeper opened the door wide: “This way, Miss.”
Georgina held her ground: “Mrs! Ma’am!”
The housekeeper merely looked at her uncomprehendingly.
“This way, Ma’am,” Georgina said. “You say, this–”
“This way… Miss.”
“Ma’am.”
“Mam.”
“My trunk.”
“There’s no–one to bring it in.”
Georgina remembered a suggestion Fellowes had made at the station: “Get the boy.”
“He’s asleep.”
“Then wake him.”
“Very well, Miss.”
Georgina tightened her lips, shocked to realise that she was turning into her elder sister: perhaps she should imitate her voice: “Very well, Ma’am… you say…”
“Very well… Ma’am.”
Georgina crossed the threshold.
It was a wide entrance way with rooms off both sides and a stone staircase leading up to a landing and the upper storey.
“Please wait here,” said the woman. “Fellowes will be along shortly to show you to the temporary guest room.”
Georgina was alone again.
A clock ticked, loud in the reverberating silence of the stone hall.
Eventually, Fellowes returned, visibly taken aback that Georgina was still there.
“You are to show me to my room,” Georgina said.
“Am I?”
“The woman said.”
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
Fellowes crossed the flags and ascended the staircase. Georgina followed, pausing every two steps to allow the man some sort of lead. By the time they reached the top, the boy arrived with Georgina’s trunk.
“The guest room is
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