Lawren Drake slept for most of the way to London’s Heathrow Airport. Anna had booked a seat for him in the rear of the plane where a few rows had double, rather than triple, or more, seats. She had suggested his chances of a peaceful night would be greater in that location.
As ever, Anna was right, he thought, when he realized the seat beside him was to remain empty for the flight.
He removed his boots and stretched out across the seats and within minutes of departure had fallen into a deep sleep.
He saw himself walking up a long driveway. Anna Mason was by his side. They were both smiling happily as they contemplated a life together in the splendid mansion they were approaching. Steps led up to a massive door surmounted by a circular pedestal.
The building above soared upward to the sky with sunlight reflected from its many windows.
The doors swung open and a strangely-dressed man stood there gesturing to them to enter.
Lawren went forward into a vast marble hall where a double staircase ascended upwards.
The older man was dressed in velvet and lace belonging to a vanished era but he beckoned to his visitor to follow him into a drawing room of huge proportions filled with chairs, couches and tables everywhere he looked. The ceiling was high and the walls were covered in oil paintings. Stately men in armour, or flamboyant court dress, were matched by elegant ladies in sweeping gowns with children and dogs at their feet. An expansive park, stretching for miles, could be seen in the background of many of these paintings.
Lawren moved to look more closely at the art work. He tried to decipher the signature at the bottom corner of the nearest portrait, but the letters seemed to swim before his eyes.
Just as he was almost reading the name, D R A K E, he became aware that his host had disappeared from the room and Anna had not followed him into the house.
A sense of panic filled him. He spun around to look for the door but it had vanished.
“Excuse me, sir. We are landing soon. I need you to sit up and fasten your seatbelt. You have missed breakfast but I can get you a snack and some coffee if you would like.”
Lawren reacted physically to the hostess’ request but his brain was still spinning. It was moments before he could gather his senses and understand that he had been deeply immersed in a vivid dream.
Although he valued his occasional psychic instincts, he was not prone to dreaming at all which made this incident both unusual and disturbing.
The bustle and chatter around him in the plane was less real to him still, than the dream scenario. He set his mind to recall the details of the dream before they vanished into thin air.
A large, impressive house.
Anna by his side.
A man from a bygone era welcoming him in.
The room filled with ancestral portraits.
Was it the name ‘Drake’ he had seen on a portrait?
What on earth, or in heaven, did all of this mean?
Was his unconscious mind sending him a message?
The act of flying from one reality into another was, in itself, a thoroughly disorienting experience without this strange dream descending upon him.
He looked out of the window to see banks of white cloud as far as the horizon. Dreams were cloud-like, ephemeral events, not meant to be taken seriously. And yet, he could not shake the lingering feeling of panic that the final scene had evoked.
He decided to apply logical thinking to the dream and hence dispose of its effects entirely.
The search for his father’s family home was obviously on his mind.
The hope that he would be seen as an emissary from his father, and received gladly, must have been a factor.
Anna’s appearance by his side indicated that he wanted to provide a home for their future together.
The portraits were a symptom of his father’s declaration that there had once been a distinguished artist in the family.
He immediately felt reassured by this approach. It was only a dream after all.
But why had Anna gone, leaving him alone and trapped inside?
Was this a bad omen?
Was he being warned that the search for Hartfield Hall would be futile?
“Nonsense!” The word exploded from his mouth, alarming the hostess who had returned with a tiny tray wrapped securely in plastic and a small plastic cup of steaming coffee.
“Oh, sorry! I was just thinking out loud.” He accepted the breakfast offerings but declined the challenge of unravelling the breakfast pastry, instead, choosing to swallow the scalding coffee in three gulps.
“If that doesn’t banish these stupid thoughts entirely, nothing will,” he declared to the window.
The clouds had dissipated and glimpses of rural England with its ancient villages, farms and towns could now be seen through the remaining shreds of vapour.
We’ll be landing soon.
The quest begins.
Mindful that his father eagerly awaited the results of his mission, Lawren decided to waste no more time on vain imaginings. He checked under the seat in front and found his backpack still wedged there securely.
With no luggage to collect from the carousel he would soon be on his way, ahead of the rest of the passengers. By the end of this day, he planned to have some pertinent information to share with those at home in Canada.
Lawren had forgotten the vagaries of travel in the modern age. Consulting his itinerary he discovered that a cab ride across London was required to connect him with a train station on a line that went directly and swiftly west to his destination in Wiltshire. His father’s instructions were vague but he did know the name of the nearest town to the estate he was seeking. Burton-on-Avon was remembered by his father as “a small market town built of golden Cotswold stone with narrow streets and a fine, old, arched bridge over the river.”
The details meant nothing to his son who only hoped he could find accommodation for a day, or two at the most. Already he could feel the distance between himself and Anna stretching out uncomfortably.
He wanted to get this business over with and speed north to Scotland to meet up with Anna again.
The train from Paddington was a surprise. Expecting some version of train travel from old British movies, Lawren was pleased to discover a fast modern transport with comfortable seats and clean windows.
He settled down quickly and watched busy city scenes of London gradually give way to countryside and pastoral views. The train crossed over a portion of Berkshire then across most of the county of Wiltshire almost to the border with Somerset. Anna had included a helpful map with his itinerary. Teachers are so organized, he chuckled, reminding himself to thank her during their planned nightly phone call.
Berkshire looked expensive from the large homes and farms that could be seen from the railway lines; a location that seldom, in his experience, showed the finer areas of any town or city.
Wiltshire was quite different and he marveled at the contrasts in house styles, stone boundaries and even brickwork from one county to another. There were small towns and villages from time to time then open fields with strange curved, corrugated metal structures close to the ground scattered here and there. He puzzled over this for some time until the sun came out after the drizzle of rain that had dulled the views since he boarded the train.
The advent of sunshine encouraged the occupants of the metal shelters to emerge and warm themselves. Lawren was astounded to find the inhabitants were pigs; large pinkish brown creatures, rooting around in the grass. He had thought all such animals were raised in pens on farms or in large factory farming situations. He immediately formed a good opinion of a nation whose concern for animal welfare permitted a free and healthy life for its livestock. The thought of the superior pork and bacon from such animals made his mouth water and reminded him how hungry he was. He had eaten nothing since lunch with Anna eons before.
Attendants on these new train systems seemed to be in short supply. Other than a young man who had clipped his ticket and inserted it into the top rim of his seat, he had seen no train staff to proffer food or drink. The few passengers in his carriage were working on iPads or laptops and communicating with cell phones. There had been two family groups who left after about forty minutes. Station announcements came from an indistinct disembodied voice and were followed by a red digital summary on display above the automatic door exit from his carriage.
Lawren calculated the arrival time to his destination and hoisted his backpack well before the train slowed. He waited until the train was almost stopped before standing and making his way to the exit. Watching other travellers had alerted him to the danger of trying to walk on a fast-moving train.
The man ahead of Lawren pressed a button to open the train doors and Lawren was glad he had not had to figure out the system for himself. He jumped down onto a station platform and before he could orient himself, the train picked up speed and vanished down the track toward Bath.
First impressions of Bradford-on-Avon included an antique station that looked like it had been built about a hundred years before. He found the exit quickly and soon noticed a sign reading ‘town centre’.
Hopeful that there would be restaurants of some description there, he set off at a smart pace, glad to get moving again after his long periods of inactivity.
This is incredible. It feels like stepping back in time to another century. I had no idea places like this still existed. Only small areas of Montreal or Quebec City have this kind of ancient look to them.
This is an old, old town crowded together within a space where the river meets hills but there are rows of small houses ranging up the hillside there. The view from the top would be spectacular. Oh, there’s the bridge my dad mentioned. It’s beautiful! The arches and the stone parapets are simply perfect and what’s that tiny building perched on one end? Where is my sketch pad? I need to take a photograph of this and come back here later. My fingers are aching to draw.
No, concentrate on the task at hand. Find something to eat and a place to stay. It’s already evening by Canadian time. I have to get settled first but there’s so much here to look at. How could anyone ever leave here? My parents must have been crazy-in-love! This place is unique.
Lawren practically stumbled onto a tourist information office in a store near a church that seemed to be a mix of French, German and Italian gothic architectural styles. The rain was just starting again and he turned from venturing inside the church to confirm his opinion of its style varieties in favour of staying dry inside the small tourist office and finding some practical information. He could not resist picking up a selection of pamphlets about the town and area which he shoved into an outer pocket of his backpack to peruse later.
“Are you staying in the area, perchance?” enquired a polite voice. The tiny woman who owned the voice emerged from behind a counter and approached Lawren. “I see from your luggage tag, you are from Canada. What brings you all this way to Bradford-on-Avon?”
Lawren looked into a face that could only be described as pointed. Despite her sharp features she had a practiced smile and he needed her help. Ignoring the personal questions he took on the role of poor travelling innocent (not so far from the truth, he thought), and, in response, plied the woman with enquiries.
“Where can I stay without spending too much? I really need a meal also, and a map of the area and if you have bus timetables, that would be helpful or, even better, a place where there are bikes for hire.”
She moved into professional mode at once and bombarded Lawren with schedules and advice until his head was spinning. He did manage to catch the name of an inn nearby and after making sure it served food, he asked to be pointed in the right direction. She happily stepped onto the pavement, whipping a handy umbrella over her head, in practised fashion, and indicated a narrow lane off the main street through which he would come to an archway in a wall and beyond that the old inn itself.
Lawren turned back to thank her but she had retreated into her shop like a hermit crab into its shell. Perhaps she doesn’t get many customers this late in the year, he thought, as he hefted his bundle of information and stowed it inside his leather jacket, promising himself to buy an umbrella soon or he would be soaked to the skin in this climate.
The rain grew heavier as he walked and a rumble of thunder could be heard. Suddenly Lawren shivered and he began to long for hot food and a warm bed. He had no patience left for wandering around looking for shelter so he approached the inn with every intention of finding it satisfactory.
A wooden board above the entrance declared he was entering The Sailors’ Rest. The painted sign swayed in the wind and he caught only a glimpse of the figure of a man with his hand resting on a globe of the world before he dived through a partly-open door and stood inside to get his bearings.
It seemed dark in the interior but that might be because the wooden walls and floor were stained with many years of smoke from an open fire in the small room nearby. He was drawn to the crackling fire, as a moth to a flame, and stood as close as was safe, rubbing his bare hands together and shaking raindrops from his hair.
“Can I get ‘ee somat to drink sor?”
Lawren jumped at the unexpected voice. He had heard no footsteps approaching.
“Not at the moment, thanks. What I need is some food and a bed for the night.”
“Right, sor, I’ll see what I can do about tha’, but lunch is off and we don’t serve owt now till the evening. Pub grub only, I’m afeered. Follow me and I’ll show you a room.”
Lawren’s mouth dropped open. This man sounded like a character from Dickens and looked the part too! He was wearing a long leather apron and his shirt sleeves were rolled up over muscular forearms.
His hair owed its deep, dark colour to a dye bottle and his mustache drooped at both ends like a smuggler from bygone days. Once more Lawren longed to grab a pencil and draw but he quickly followed the landlord up a creaking staircase and along an uneven hallway thinking to himself that he had wandered into the set from a 1940’s movie melodrama.
Wait till I tell Anna about this!
Despite his trepidation, the room that was offered was adequate and had a small window looking out to the rear of the inn where he could see parked cars. Good! I am not alone here.
The landlord opened a door into an adjoining bathroom that was the same size as the bedroom.
“I’ll be leaving this ‘ere door unlocked for you, sor. Normally it’s a shared bathroom but the gen’leman who was on the other side left this mornin’.” He looked curiously at Lawren’s backpack which he had laid down on the bed in an act of possession, and continued, “Ah, you be from far parts, Oi see.” Rubbing his chin with a not-too-clean fist, he decided to take pity on the traveller.
“My Mavis might be able to fetch a tray for you, sor. That’s if you decides to stay with us awhile?”
Lawren agreed with alacrity. Venturing out into the rain again was not an appealing thought and the bed looked very welcoming.
‘Good, then. Just come downstairs when you be ready and you can sign the register. I’ll talk to my Mavis.”
Lawren did not know whether to laugh or sigh after this encounter. He had a quick wash in the spacious, but cold, bathroom, with its black and white tiled floor and walls. There was a huge bath in one corner against the shared wall and a quantity of thin, but large, white towels folded over the edge.
“No shower, I see,” he murmured. “Not quite the Holiday Inn, but definitely a part of the different qualities of England, I suspect. I can’t wait to see Mavis!”
“Oh, Lawren! I am so glad to hear from you. How are you getting on? Where are you now and what have you found out?”
“I can’t tell you everything, my darling. It would cost the earth! But I must say it’s been a fascinating adventure so far. I am staying at an old inn straight out of Dickens, if not Shakespeare. Mine host and his wife Mavis are a study in contrasts. She’s a buxom wench about twenty years younger than her husband but they have been kindness itself to me so I am fed and warm and looking forward to a good night’s sleep.”
“Excellent news! What do you think about the town?”
“I haven’t seen all of it yet but so far it’s quaint and old and beautiful. If I can’t get time to sketch here I must take pictures. You won’t believe how ancient it is.”
“I wish I had come with you to see it all. When will you visit your uncle?”
“Haven’t had a chance to look for the house yet, Anna. That’s one of tomorrow’s challenges. I mean to start out early and maybe I’ll be heading to Scotland soon.”
“I leave here day after tomorrow, as planned. I’ll wait for you in Glasgow.”
“I can’t believe how much I am missing you, Anna. I want to talk to you every minute of the day.
Love you!”
“Love you more! Goodnight my darling.”
“Goodnight my love.”