Tobias was waiting patiently in his study. It was 10.30 a.m. and he’d been up since the crack of dawn giving strict instructions to all the staff. He reiterated to them all, including Henry, how they were to be fully aware of the visitors from the film crew who would be invading the Hall. He stressed discretion. He also informed them where the boundaries lay for the filming. Anyone seen beyond these areas had to be reported immediately to him. Basically, the television crew were allowed in all the rooms that were already opened to the public, plus the library, which was where he was to be interviewed. Sebastian had chosen to be interviewed outside in the grounds, so Tobias had given permission for them to shoot there too. All the other private rooms, especially their south-wing suite, were strictly forbidden territory.
Megan was overseeing the tearoom. She had asked the kitchen staff to provide refreshments there for the documentary team. It seemed the ideal place, as Tobias was so keen to keep them at arm’s length. She was now approaching her sixth month of pregnancy and was as radiant as ever, in a dark, plum dress with a matching cashmere pashmina. Megan was at pains to look elegant and business-like, whereas Tobias had stubbornly chosen to wear casual jeans and a check shirt, determined not to make any effort. Sebastian, too, appeared completely relaxed in combat trousers and a grey, long-sleeved T-shirt as he threw Zac’s ball up and down the Great Hall, encouraging the black Labrador to scurry across the tiled floor, much to Henry’s distaste.
Lady Cavendish-Blake was at fever pitch. Badly put out at not being included in the interviews, she had decided to wow the film people with a floaty, lilac creation she had bought especially for today. The accompanying fascinator seemed rather over the top, but was totally Beatrice. Tobias had rolled his eyes at the vision of layered lilac that was his mother, whilst Megan and Sebastian had exchanged amused looks.
Tobias heard the doorbell and then the commotion that followed. Zac ran at full pelt to the hallway, pursued by Sebastian. Meanwhile, Henry and Beatrice raced to answer the door. Henry won, making Beatrice stand to the side patiently on tenterhooks.
‘Darling, shouldn’t you have worn a suit?’ She ran her gaze over Sebastian, who was now covered in dog hair.
‘They can take me as they find me, Mother,’ he replied with a grin.
Henry showed the film crew in and Beatrice introduced herself and Sebastian, who was clutching an overexcited Zac.
Jamie immediately knelt down to stroke the dog, catching Sebastian’s eye. ‘Hello again,’ he said with a charming smile.
Sebastian smiled back. ‘Hello, Jamie.’ Jamie flushed, flattered that Sebastian had remembered his name. Tobias strolled nonchalantly down the hallway, looking cool, calm and collected. Marcus took in what he perceived to be an almost arrogant swagger, and a flash of contempt crossed his face. Halting before the small crowd, Tobias spoke in a clear, firm tone.
‘Henry, please show our visitors to the tearoom.’ Henry bowed, then Tobias turned to Marcus. ‘Mr Devlin, a word in my study, please.’
‘Certainly,’ replied Marcus, equally confident.
Marcus’ eyes ran wildly over the portraits hanging from the walls as he walked down the corridor. He was desperate to seek out Richard Cavendish-Blake, but didn’t have the chance before they reached Tobias’ study.
Turning coolly to face Marcus, Tobias picked up the document from his desk. ‘I take it you’ve read and digested this contract, Mr Devlin?’
‘Yes, I have,’ Marcus replied, then added, ‘Lord Cavendish-Blake.’ To think, this jumped-up eejit was his actual brother; younger brother. Whilst he was busy lording his great ancestral home and position over him, Marcus stood in defiance, knowing he was the first-born son.
‘Good. Then we all know where we stand.’
‘Absolutely,’ agreed Marcus, staring Tobias in the face, refusing to be intimidated.
‘Under no circumstances do any of your team… wander or pry, or approach any member of my family or staff unless they ask me first.’
Marcus nodded. ‘Of course not.’ What an absolute jackass, he thought. Then he saw him, Richard Cavendish-Blake, bold as brass, hanging majestically above Tobias’ head. His title and name were engraved on a small, gold plaque at the bottom of the frame. He had the same green eyes as Marcus himself, speckled with amber; then he noticed with sickening realisation that Tobias had them too. He peered into his face for any other likenesses. Tobias was frowning.
Marcus coughed and spoke quickly. ‘May I take this opportunity to thank you, and reassure you of our good intentions,’ he lied with poise.
‘Hmm, I’ll have you shown to the tearoom,’ Tobias replied, clearly unconvinced, making Marcus smirk to himself. ‘I’ll be ready in the library in an hour.’
‘Thank you,’ Marcus replied.
Inside the tearoom he found Finula chatting to a woman he assumed was Megan. He caught the tail end of the conversation, ‘… his house in Shropshire.’ He saw Megan’s face light up just before he joined them. ‘Ah, Marcus, meet Megan,’ Finula introduced them.
‘Pleased to meet you, Lady Cavendish-Blake,’ he smiled.
‘Oh, call me Megan,’ she smiled back.
Marcus was taken aback by her informality. She seemed a natural, pleasant girl, without any airs or graces, as one might expect. But then, she was Finula’s best friend, so why wouldn’t she be lovely? he reasoned with himself.
‘Have you met the team?’ he enquired.
‘Yes, everyone seems to be getting along fine.’ Megan nodded towards Sebastian chatting to Jamie, Viola, Len and Libby. Marcus looked towards the group. Jamie was mesmerised by what Sebastian was saying, whilst Len and Libby were nodding politely. Viola seemed a touch distracted.
He turned back to face Megan with a grin. ‘He’s quite a character, your brother-in-law, isn’t he?’
Megan threw her head back and laughed. ‘Very much so.’
‘I believe you were recently married here?’ Marcus asked.
‘Yes, that’s right, in the chapel. Come, I’ll show you it.’ Finula and Marcus followed Megan up the grand, sweeping staircase, along the corridor and into the pretty chapel.
‘It’s stunning,’ said Marcus, who genuinely seemed impressed by the stained glass, arched windows, small, ornately carved altar and pitch-pine pews.
‘It is, isn’t it?’ agreed Finula, reminiscing about Tobias and Megan’s wedding day and all the excitement it had encompassed.
Marcus had noticed another room opposite the chapel. The door had been open to reveal rows and rows of books.
‘May I ask what this room is used for?’ Marcus pointed inside it as they exited the chapel and passed it again.
‘Oh, that was my husband’s late father’s study,’ Megan casually threw over her shoulder. ‘He recorded everything since time immemorial apparently.’
Marcus frowned.
‘You know, all the incomings and outgoings of the Hall, every member of staff who ever worked here, all the social functions the Hall hosted, that kind of thing. He was keen on diaries, too,’ she added.
Marcus took in a sharp breath. Diaries, in that room. He had to get access to them. But how?
‘How interesting,’ he replied calmly, following behind Finula as they climbed back down the stairs and headed into the tearoom. Viola was waiting for them, clipboard at the ready with a determined look on her face. This was a big day for her and she wanted everything to go just so, as did Marcus.
‘Should we set up in the library?’ she asked him.
‘Yes, you all go.’ He turned to Megan and Finula. ‘Megan, on reflection, I would like to take a few pictures of the chapel. Would that be possible?’ He took out a small camera from his jacket pocket.
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘That’s great, thanks. I won’t be long.’ He then called out to Libby, ‘Libby, why don’t you decide on the location in the grounds for Sebastian’s interview?’
‘Will do,’ she called back.
Sebastian joined her. Megan and Finula sat down at a nearby table with another cup of tea.
Marcus pelted up the stairs. He quickly took a few random snaps in the chapel, then hot-footed it across the landing to the study full of ledgers and books. The smell of old parchment filled the air. Marcus had to squint to read the writing on the spines lining the shelves. They were all meticulously dated and labelled, which was highly convenient, he noted, as the specific period of time he was interested in was the year in which he was born, or just before, 1985. Scanning the leather-bound ledgers, he eventually came to a spine marked Treweham Hall Accounts – 1985.
Marcus seized the book off the shelf and hastily opened it. He got his camera ready to photo anything that caught his attention. Flicking through the yellowing pages of writing in blue fountain-pen ink, he saw rows and rows of names in alphabetical order. They were the staff employed at the time. Each name had the area or position in which they worked, either kitchens, stables, housekeeping, grounds, butler or valet. Marcus’ eyes quickly ran over the names, then stopped dead when he saw ‘Anne Devlin – kitchens’. There she was, his own mammy. So that’s how she had met Richard Cavendish-Blake. She had worked for him. His mouth curled at the classic archetype: lord of the manor having his wicked way with the scullery maid. He bent over the page and took a photo of it, then hastily put the ledger back.
If only he could find the diaries, but where would they be? All the shelves appeared to have the same size books, so he assumed they must all be similar accounts to what he’d just read. Surely the diaries must be locked up? Marcus looked to the glass cabinet at the far side of the room. There were books in there too, smaller and unlabelled. Could these be them? He tried to open the glass door, but it was obviously locked. Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
‘Marcus!’ It was Finula’s voice. He dashed out just as she appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘All done?’
‘Yep, let’s go,’ he smiled as naturally as he could and joined her. He put an arm round her shoulder and kissed her cheek. Megan, waiting at the bottom of the stairs, saw the affectionate gesture and smiled to herself. It was good to see Finula so happy; she deserved it.
‘Megan, could you show me to the grounds? I just need to check on Libby?’
‘Sure, this way.’ Megan walked them through the stone-floored hallway with dark, oak panelling, leading them into the kitchens. Marcus drank it all in, knowing his mam would have been in there too at one stage in her life, scurrying around like the staff today. Somehow it comforted him to know she had been there. They went out through the back doors.
‘Treweham Hall supplies fruit and vegetables to local businesses,’ explained Megan, which accounted for all the greenhouses. Marcus nodded. They found Libby and Sebastian in the knot garden towards the side of the Hall, sitting chatting on a wrought-iron bench.
‘This is a perfect spot,’ said Marcus. Not only did it showcase the garden, bursting with aromatic plants and culinary herbs, but it gave a spectacular view of the Hall, which the public wouldn’t normally see. Marcus breathed in the scents of rosemary and lemon balm. Would his mother have cooked with these herbs years ago?
‘I thought so,’ agreed Libby. She too had appreciated the backdrop of Treweham Hall from this angle. Having worked together many times, the two were often in tune with the other. Their personalities made for a good working relationship; Marcus’ impatience for perfection was always tamed by Libby’s pragmatic, reassuring approach, and the job always got done. Marcus and Libby’s roles often blended together, especially when working on a tight budget with limited resources.
‘OK, I’d better check on Viola.’ Marcus turned to Megan again. ‘Can you show me to the library?’
‘This way,’ she replied with a smile.
Once again Marcus thought how nice Megan seemed and wondered how she had ended up with a husband like Tobias.
The library proved every bit as impressive as the rest of the Hall, with its mahogany panelling and endless rows of books. A mobile stepladder was suspended from the highest shelf. The dark wood floor was covered with Persian rugs and the whole space was illuminated by the light streaming through the large stained-glass window at the bottom of the room. The pictures showcased the Cavendish family lineage through marriage from various earls and possible royalty, judging by the crowns that were worn.
A fire crackled softly in the large, tiled fireplace. Above it hung a portrait of Tobias, recently painted, by the look of it. Viola was standing staring at it. Her anticipation was palpable. Never had an interview meant such a huge deal to her. The fact Viola had been ‘researching’ Tobias Cavendish-Blake for weeks had added even more fervour. I probably know more about Tobias than his own wife does, she thought sardonically as she continued to gaze at his portrait. Those piercing green eyes were mesmerising, and as for that dimpled chin… hell, he was hot.
She looked at her watch: not long to go now before she actually sat down and talked to the man himself. Her eyes flicked over the agreed questions, give or take one or two extras she’d slipped in. She so wanted to make an impression on him. Not just an impression – she wanted him to be attracted to her. Why not? She was just as good-looking as his wife, wasn’t she? And in better shape, when comparing her large breasts, tiny waist, long slim legs and pert bum, all tucked inside a figure-hugging sweater dress. She pictured his wife’s bulging belly and sniggered to herself. All she had to do was let him know she was available; ready, willing and available.