‘Well, no one’s ever asked for their money back to my knowledge.’ She cast on a couple more stitches and added, ‘Or died from them, either.’
‘That’s a relief,’ I said, and went back to my tour, though I hesitated before opening any more doors. But luckily the next one merely gave on to a passage with the narrow backstairs going up from it and the cellar entrance. There was a warren of rooms beyond it, many of them unused except for storage (one of them was stacked practically floor to ceiling with what looked like empty florist’s boxes), but this area looked very familiar to me. I had been allowed to play here and to ride my red tricycle up and down the flagged floors. How I’d loved that trike! The chipped skirting boards were probably my doing.
Feeling nostalgic I wandered on until I came to another passage, across which a fairly new-looking door had been installed. It was unlocked and when I passed through I saw that it had a sign on the other side saying: ‘PRIVATE! NO ADMITTANCE BEYOND THIS POINT.’
Here, by removing the door between two rooms and throwing out a little glassed-in conservatory overlooking the top terrace at the back of the house, a tearoom of kinds had been created. There was a counter topped with a glass food display cabinet adorned with dust and dead flies, and a collection of mismatched pine tables and chairs, varnished to the deep orange shade of a cheap instant suntan.
It all looked terribly half-hearted and uninviting, though perhaps in summer when they opened they gussied the place up a bit with bright tablecloths and flowers.
The visitors’ loos were off the further room and a brief glance told me were of Victorian servants’ quality, thoughI suppose at the time it was the height of luxury for the staff to have indoor toilets at all.
I retraced my steps to the warm kitchen, where Mrs Lark ceased knitting long enough to look up and smile at me. Charlie didn’t appear to have moved an inch since I left.
‘Did you remember your way around, lovey? You played out there all the time when the weather was bad, making dens out of old cardboard cartons, or riding that little trike of yours, though in the summer you were always outside. You used to run round and round the maze like a mad thing, with your granddad’s spaniels all chasing after you, barking their heads off.’
‘It’s all coming back to me—I remembered my way around this wing perfectly, despite a few changes. What are all those empty boxes in one of the rooms for?’
‘Mistletoe. Winter’s End is noted for it. But I don’t suppose you remember the mistletoe harvests before Christmas, when the gardeners gather it and it’s packed off to London?’
I shook my head.
‘Perhaps you were kept away, for the berries are poisonous. The boxes used to be stored in a shed, but the mice got at them.’
‘I suppose they would,’ I agreed. ‘The tearoom is a bit rough and ready, isn’t it? And the toilet is inadequate, I should have thought, especially if there’s a coach party.’
‘It was the staff toilet until Sir William put in that nice cloakroom under the backstairs, and the teashop used to be the laundry and brewhouse. But we don’t need a laundry now we’ve got the utility room, and the only brewing is what Miss Hebe does next door, and better not to ask about most of that ,’ she said darkly.
‘Definitely not,’ I agreed. ‘When we’re open, who does the teas?’
‘The Friends serve them, but I cook the pastries and scones.’
‘That must make a lot of work for you?’
‘I like to do a big bake, and Grace comes in extra and cuts the sandwiches, but we don’t get so many visitors.’
‘I’m surprised you get any, because there isn’t much of the house open to see, is there?’
‘No, but they come for the garden mostly. It’s a picture in summer, though Seth says the terraces are still a work in progress. Gardening clubs and so on—they like to keep coming year after year to see how it’s going
‘That’s a relief,’ I said, and went back to my tour, though I hesitated before opening any more doors. But luckily the next one merely gave on to a passage with the narrow backstairs going up from it and the cellar entrance. There was a warren of rooms beyond it, many of them unused except for storage (one of them was stacked practically floor to ceiling with what looked like empty florist’s boxes), but this area looked very familiar to me. I had been allowed to play here and to ride my red tricycle up and down the flagged floors. How I’d loved that trike! The chipped skirting boards were probably my doing.
Feeling nostalgic I wandered on until I came to another passage, across which a fairly new-looking door had been installed. It was unlocked and when I passed through I saw that it had a sign on the other side saying: ‘PRIVATE! NO ADMITTANCE BEYOND THIS POINT.’
Here, by removing the door between two rooms and throwing out a little glassed-in conservatory overlooking the top terrace at the back of the house, a tearoom of kinds had been created. There was a counter topped with a glass food display cabinet adorned with dust and dead flies, and a collection of mismatched pine tables and chairs, varnished to the deep orange shade of a cheap instant suntan.
It all looked terribly half-hearted and uninviting, though perhaps in summer when they opened they gussied the place up a bit with bright tablecloths and flowers.
The visitors’ loos were off the further room and a brief glance told me were of Victorian servants’ quality, thoughI suppose at the time it was the height of luxury for the staff to have indoor toilets at all.
I retraced my steps to the warm kitchen, where Mrs Lark ceased knitting long enough to look up and smile at me. Charlie didn’t appear to have moved an inch since I left.
‘Did you remember your way around, lovey? You played out there all the time when the weather was bad, making dens out of old cardboard cartons, or riding that little trike of yours, though in the summer you were always outside. You used to run round and round the maze like a mad thing, with your granddad’s spaniels all chasing after you, barking their heads off.’
‘It’s all coming back to me—I remembered my way around this wing perfectly, despite a few changes. What are all those empty boxes in one of the rooms for?’
‘Mistletoe. Winter’s End is noted for it. But I don’t suppose you remember the mistletoe harvests before Christmas, when the gardeners gather it and it’s packed off to London?’
I shook my head.
‘Perhaps you were kept away, for the berries are poisonous. The boxes used to be stored in a shed, but the mice got at them.’
‘I suppose they would,’ I agreed. ‘The tearoom is a bit rough and ready, isn’t it? And the toilet is inadequate, I should have thought, especially if there’s a coach party.’
‘It was the staff toilet until Sir William put in that nice cloakroom under the backstairs, and the teashop used to be the laundry and brewhouse. But we don’t need a laundry now we’ve got the utility room, and the only brewing is what Miss Hebe does next door, and better not to ask about most of that ,’ she said darkly.
‘Definitely not,’ I agreed. ‘When we’re open, who does the teas?’
‘The Friends serve them, but I cook the pastries and scones.’
‘That must make a lot of work for you?’
‘I like to do a big bake, and Grace comes in extra and cuts the sandwiches, but we don’t get so many visitors.’
‘I’m surprised you get any, because there isn’t much of the house open to see, is there?’
‘No, but they come for the garden mostly. It’s a picture in summer, though Seth says the terraces are still a work in progress. Gardening clubs and so on—they like to keep coming year after year to see how it’s going
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