Father Malachy had gone outside after morning coffee, his baggage already stowed in his room to deal with later. He wasn’t in the least bit tired and had slipped out of the front door unseen. Walking around the house, he then headed off across the field behind it. He had shed his priest’s clothing for loose linen trousers and a shirt, which further enhanced his good looks and youthful appearance that had changed so little during his time in India. Father Ryan had teased him about it on many occasions, but whilst mild flirting was not beyond Father Malachy, it had never gone further than that.
Behind the field ran a narrow lane, and directly across from the five-bar gate that opened onto it stood a cottage, basking in the midday sun. He headed towards it, hoping that the lane would run around the entire rear of the house, so that he could observe it from every angle. He loved walking, and did as much as he could in Delhi, but the heat always curtailed the amount of time he could spend outside. To be able to stride out like this in the bright sun but still be comfortable was wonderful, and brought back many memories of his home in Ireland. Both priests intended visiting there for a week before returning to India, and this added to his overall sense of happiness and wellbeing.
He climbed over the gate, and was just about to carry on down the lane when the door to the cottage opened and a man hurried down the path, then called out to him.
‘Good morning! You must be Father Malachy!’
‘I am! And you are…?’ They shook hands.
‘I’m Charles Hope. Harish’s uncle. I live here now.’ He pointed to the cottage. ‘Harish has photos of you all, and you were easy enough to recognise, even without the priests’ clothing.’
‘Pleased to meet you. What a nice cottage, and the view of Wishanger from here is superb. Its placing in the landscape is just perfect, don’t you think, and was obviously positioned that way intentionally?’
‘I totally agree, and imagine the cottage was put here for exactly that reason too. The hall is directly over the old priory, in fact, some of its walls were incorporated into the main house – the floors and cellars too, as well as the chapel. It’s believed to date back much further than the hall and is probably original to the abbey. I suppose they needed to hide people and possibly things too, since there was already a chapel above ground. It still exists in part. It’s in the woods that are close to the house, although I don’t imagine the wood was there back then. I’ll show you before you leave.’
‘Thank you,’ agreed Father Malachy. ‘I’d like that. I love old buildings, even if there are only a few walls left. Somehow, they keep their mystery intact, no matter how decrepit they become.’
‘Interesting use of words. Mystery, hmmm,’ he pondered. ‘Yes, maybe you’re right. May I walk with you?’
‘Please do,’ replied Father Malachy. ‘You can feed my hungry mind with information. The whole place is fascinating. Don’t you mind living in the cottage now?’
‘No, I don’t, and that’s the truth. I always felt like an imposter in the hall, and the relief in leaving it was immense. Now I just visit which is great, and as for Harish? What can I say? You played a considerable part in raising him I believe? You and Father Ryan?’
Father Malachy nodded. ‘Yes, we did. It was wonderful and something that priests don’t normally experience.’
‘No, I suppose not. His Irish accent is fascinating! There’s some Irish blood in us from a few hundred years back, so it’s quite fitting.’
The pair continued to wander down the lane, sharing parts of each other’s past and discussing Wishanger Hall and its previous occupants.
‘You’re coming up to the hall for dinner this evening?’ Father Malachy asked, hoping that the answer would be yes.
‘You can bet on it,’ came the reply. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away!’
***
Leila and Gopal were just coming down the stairs and followed Harish outside.
‘We could not sleep,’ said Leila, looking excited, and clearly not tired at all.
‘Plenty of time to do that when we are dead!’ added Gopal. ‘It is not every day that we find ourselves in an English country mansion!’
Harish had spent a lot of time with the Lals when he was growing up, including with Mati, Gopal’s grandmother, and Sami, who had been more like a member of the family than a servant. During the years that his mother was away, reclining against the banyan tree in the courtyard soon became a favourite pastime, as was feeding nuts to Coco, the Mynah bird. He’d slept in Sami’s hut in the garden on quite a few occasions too, and with his child’s imagination relished the excitement and perceived danger of sleeping outside, despite the high walls surrounding them making entry near impossible. Mati had delighted both him and Sami with her many stories from the past, about her own childhood in the city and at the country house in Shimla, where the family spent most of their holidays.
Their house back then wasn’t the one that Gopal owned now. It had been on the other side of the city and was at least four times the size. Her husband, Gopal’s grandfather, had been financial advisor to the Raj, so there had been no shortage of either money or glittering social occasions, which Mati relished. Her memory for detail was amazing, and her eyes would often fill with tears as she recollected moments from the past, bringing them to life again instantly, as though a light had been switched on. Only on rare occasions did her narratives falter, and then she would claim to not remember.
‘My head is full of stones,’ she would say, turning away to look out of the window, silenced by the memory that refused to come or, as Leila believed, most certainly did come, but for some reason caused the lady distress. Then a shutter dropped down, and no amount of coaxing or persuading would convince her to continue with the story.
‘Right then. Where shall we go? I’m at your disposal!’ Harish said, meaning every word, wanting to repay the couple who had given him so much. ‘For the whole two weeks, I mean. Whatever you want, just say, anything at all. We can go to Oxford and London if you like? Think about it and let me know. It’s so lovely to have you here… Thank you so much for coming. If we walk across the ridge, you’ll get a great view of the house. According to some ancient maps we have there’s evidence of an old moat, and you can just about see it from up there.’ They set off across the fields, Gopal and Leila relieved to see Harish talk about his inheritance so proudly.
Twenty minutes later the three of them sat on the dry grass, gazing down at the old house and the land and woods around it. A curl of smoke floated from one of the chimneys and Harish thought that Delilah must have gone into the library, perhaps with Rani and George, to talk and wait for the others to come back for lunch. The habit set up by Charles’s mother appeared to be establishing itself again, and he was glad. That Delilah had instigated it was even better. He meant every word about her being at Wishanger. He hoped she would come as often as she wanted, and behave as though she had a right to be there, which as far as he was concerned, she did.
‘Beautiful,’ said Gopal, gazing around him. ‘The right words will not come, but I will never forget this moment.’
Leila gently placed her arm around Harish’s shoulder. ‘We are so proud of you. Mati too, if she could see you now.’
Harish nodded. ‘I miss her, and her wonderful stories.’
‘Yes, I too,’ said Leila. ‘Perhaps we must now begin to have stories of our own to add to hers, to tell others, and to leave in the hands of history when enough time has passed. What is your view?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Gopal. ‘I like this idea. I have one to begin now, if I may…?’ Harish and Leila nodded and taking a deep breath Gopal began to speak.
‘Once upon a time, in Delhi, there was a house, a house that hid itself from those it did not wish to see. In this house people who had become lost were found again.’ He paused for a moment, deeply moved by his own words which seemed to have come from nowhere. ‘A girl came to this house, brought by Harish Hope, who had found her in a ditch. Such was her wisdom for one so young, that no one dared to cross her for fear of appearing a fool. Yet, despite this, kindness shone from her silver eyes. Even to fools she spoke wise words, sitting at the feet of Parvati, herself a lady of grace and magic and all good things.’
A few tears began to trickle down his cheeks. Leila knew about the discussions that Rani had had with him, and how they had lifted the desperate and unhappy man who had become her husband. She reached out to brush them away, but Gopal grasped her hand and held it tightly as he continued with his story.
‘Harish Hope became unwell, and desperate for a son of his own persuaded Rani, who he loved greatly, to have his child. She could not refuse, and one life was given in exchange for the other.’ Now calmer, the words held inside him for so long, released, Gopal gazed over the beautiful scene in front of him, the smoke from the library chimney symbolic, floating upwards as it was in the absence of any breeze.
‘…by just exchange, one for the other given. I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss. There never was a better bargain driven,’ Leila whispered. Her years at university studying English classics had never left her, even though more than twenty years had passed.
‘Yes, I know of this poem. It is one of many that time has never broken or lost,’ replied Gopal. ‘Now, to continue… The boy was born with the silver eyes of his mother and was called Harish Hope Jnr. Sadly, his father had already died so missed the arrival, but he was not forgotten, and even many years later his memory was still held up. With difficulties of her own, Rani went to England to search for peace, and young Harish was left in the care of George, his father’s partner, Fathers Ryan and Malachy, and Leila, who was now the wife of Gopal, once a miserable wretch, who became blessed through the wise words of the silver-eyed girl, and through his marriage to the woman of his dreams. Gopal also helped to raise the boy, as did his grandmother, Mati Lal, and their boy, also family, Sami. Young Harish grew up and went to England to claim from his family what was his.’ He paused to consider what he had said, and how he should continue.
‘There. The story will grow as time passes,’ he stated, getting to his feet, then hauling Leila up from the grass.
‘I like the sound of that,’ agreed Harish. ‘Uncle Charles has told me so many stories about my relatives, and I heard plenty about Father and Grandfather, which is why I’m here.’ He looked at his watch.
‘Time for lunch, c’mon. Mum should be up by now and George too. It feels like months since I’ve seen them, not just a few weeks.’ They began to walk down the slope. ‘Look, there’s Uncle Charles with Father Malachy!’ He waved, and the two men waved back. ‘I think you’ll like him. I know Mum still harbours some ill feeling, but she’ll lose that when she gets to know him better. If Father and Grandfather had tackled the issue head on, then things would have been very different. It wasn’t just his responsibility.’
Gopal thought he heard an edge to Harish’s voice, and meeting Leila’s eyes saw that she had heard the same.
‘You are angry with them, Harish?’ he asked, not wanting to pry, but feeling that it might help if Harish voiced what he felt inside. ‘This would be understandable, I think.’
Harish sighed. ‘I suppose I am in a way. So much hurt, and for what? All they needed to do was come here!’
‘It is my view that in families hurt is always there,’ answered Gopal. ‘In my family too.’
‘Really? You need to tell me more about that. I’d like to know.’
‘Not in mine!’ added Leila firmly. ‘But our relatives are very few, which may give an explanation.’
‘You must think I’m an ungrateful brat. I’ve thought that myself! Right, I’ve just made a decision. No more brattishness! I’m here and am very lucky. I must remember to keep reminding myself of it!’
***
In the sitting room, George had been looking at the many photographs on the mantelpiece. His looks had barely changed over the past few decades, his beard still thick and bushy, and the corners of his moustache still almost reaching his eyes. With a red turban wound tightly around his head, a black embroidered waistcoat, his usual black harem-style trousers, and soft leather slippers, he added a fascinating, vibrant element to the very English sitting room.
Father Malachy had hurried off to change after his walk, and Charles had gone down to the kitchen to see if Jessie needed any help. A few minutes later, Harish introduced Charles to George, Father Ryan, and Leila and Gopal. His mother had gone to see the chapel and was shown into the sitting room by Benson. As usual, she was dressed in a black silk sari with a silver border, her long black hair plaited and coiled at the back of her head. The pair had clearly been laughing and had obviously hit it off.
‘Mother, this is Uncle Charles.’
Everyone watched as Charles stepped forward and held out his hand.
‘It’s such a pleasure to meet you at last,’ he said, his voice tentative and unsure about what the reaction might be. He felt anxious as he stood before the striking woman, her silver eyes flashing yet her face showing no emotion at all. He took a deep breath.
‘I imagine you have much to take me up upon,’ he continued, ‘which I totally understand. Perhaps we can talk later?’
Father Ryan watched with interest to see what Rani’s response might be, one eyebrow raised in anticipation of just about anything. Father Malachy watched too, as did George. Ever the diplomat, Gopal looked away, and Leila just smiled. She was acutely observant and was as capable as Rani of making a sharp retort, although hers would undoubtedly be less caustic. However, this was not her fight, and as far as she was concerned, keeping quiet was the right thing to do.
Rani was surprised by Charles’s introduction. In her mind she had imagined a much more cowardly man, one with a sly edge to him that she could take an instant dislike to. She had no intention of letting him off the hook easily, but also knew that too much sharpness on her part would upset her son. Looking at him now, she saw no malice in him. His face was open and concerned, which confused her.
‘Yes, of course,’ she replied coolly. ‘We can do this.’
‘A photograph!’ declared Harish. ‘All together at last! One for the mantelpiece, both here and in Delhi! Gather please!’ He picked up his camera from the side table where he had put it earlier, hoping that a moment such as this would present itself.
‘Closer together please.’ Looking through the lens, he saw what appeared to be a united family. Without doubt, much was hidden and would reveal itself in time, but for now, the fantasy would suffice. He snapped away until Gopal pulled the camera from him.
‘Go to your family, Harish. I will take photographs now.’
‘Benson, please, you need to be in these.’
‘No M’Lord, I couldn’t I…’
‘No arguments, Benson.’ As he said this the door slowly opened and Charles’ two spaniels rushed in, having escaped from the kitchen when Jessie opened the door to come upstairs. They sat of their own accord in front of the family, as though knowing their place, and more photos were taken. Jessie then appeared to announce lunch, and quickly summing up the situation, took the camera and sent Gopal back to the gathering.
Like the one from so many years ago, an image was taken of the Hope family and the people connected to them. Harish could imagine it exactly. It was hard to call Benson a servant. He was a part of the family, but at his insistence stood slightly behind them. George had his arms folded across his ample stomach, and Rani stood next to her son looking regal and composed. Charles stood on his other side, with the priests to the right, and the Lals to the left.
History had repeated itself, as it so often did, but the huge rift that had followed the previous photograph had gone some way to being mended, at least on paper, anyway. What would happen in the future was still unknown. Ten minutes later they all sat at the dining room table. To an outsider, they looked like a united family enjoying a meal, although never in the history of the house had so many Indians gathered, if any at all. Both priests chatted with ease to Charles, their discussion including the family rift and his current circumstances. George mostly observed, although seemed happy enough, and Leila and Gopal entertained them all with anecdotes from Delhi, their work, and their lives in general.
Standing by the door, Benson watched over them all like a guard. An English version of George in Delhi, he was unable to entirely remove the remnants of a smile that threatened to take over his face at any moment, revealing itself as a declaration of great happiness.
‘At last,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘At long last!’
George caught his eye and winked, which was returned in an almost imperceptible movement that most would have missed.
That afternoon, when the visitors took the opportunity of a post-lunch rest, Harish hurried to the chapel, craving its calm, cool interior and the honey fragrance from the beeswax candles. He was just about to push open the door when he heard a shuffling sound behind him, and quickly turning, he saw the edge of a black robe disappear around the corner. He hurried into the gallery but there was no one there. The long room was empty, and after walking up and down twice, he gave up and returned to the chapel.
This had happened several times before. The first time, he had seen a dark shape hurry down the steps in front of him into the chapel. He quickly followed, but despite searching every possible hiding place, could find no one. The second time, he’d seen a dark shadow walking in front of the altar as he raised his head. He’d mentioned the sightings to both Charles and Benson a week ago at dinner and watched as they exchanged glances. Delilah had gone back to London for the weekend to see her aunt and uncle and help in the store. He was glad to raise the subject without her there, although doubted that she would be scared. More likely she would have sought the intruder out, demanding sternly that he reveal himself! Either that, or she would conjure up some philosophical understanding of the phenomenon that would make absolute sense, until it happened again.
‘Why the look?’ he asked. ‘Please tell me what you know. I wasn’t imagining it; I know that much.’
‘Of course you weren’t imagining it. I wondered if this would happen,’ replied Charles.
‘If what would happen?’ insisted Harish. ‘Come on, tell all please. If I’m to live at Wishanger, then I need to know everything.’
‘Alright. Well, you’re probably seeing Brother John. I think I told you about him?’
‘You did. The earl who decided to become a monk?’
‘Yes, the very same. It’s said that he shows himself every time a new earl moves in, and at other times too, either to welcome or commiserate. I’ve seen him quite a few times over the years, although in my case it was probably through disapproval rather than anything else! I think he likes to provide comfort, or maybe even a blessing. Three times is quite a lot, though. Lucky you…’
‘I would say he is keeping a watchful eye, M’Lord. Please don’t be worried. He means no harm. There are a few of his diaries in the office. I’ll put them in your room. I don’t think he ever regretted his decision to become a monk, yet seemed to struggle to keep away from Wishanger entirely. He often paid visits and came back here to die in the end. He’s been seen quite a few times in the woods, heading to or from the old chapel there.
‘I’m not worried at all,’ replied Harish. ‘And thank you for telling me. Are there any other spirits roaming the place? I mean, it would hardly be surprising given the hall’s age.’
‘Tell me if you see any,’ said Charles, smiling. ‘I don’t want to put ideas into your head!’ In his years at the hall, both as a child and a man, he’d seen plenty of things that couldn’t be explained. When he was young, he’d been scared of the place and the strange noises he heard, particularly at night. As he grew up he became more used to it, including the flashes of black as Brother John hurried by, clearly wanting his presence to be noticed, although why was unclear. From what he’d written in his diaries he felt some guilt at abandoning his position at Wishanger for an altogether different life. Perhaps it was that which had kept him tethered to the house and its land?
‘I look forward to getting the diaries and will definitely read them,’ said Harish. ‘I want to know everything, so any information you have about any of the earls, please pass it on.’
Later that afternoon, he and Delilah made a rough plan for the next two weeks.
‘It is better this way,’ she said. She seemed to have overcome her upset from earlier that day, and was now back to her usual calm and organised self.
This came as quite a relief to Harish, who had continued to worry about both upsetting and possibly misleading her. ‘Are you OK, you know, about earlier?’ he asked tentatively.
‘Yes. No need to discuss it further.’
Before either of them had time to say more, the door opened and their visitors walked in, Benson following closely behind.
‘Tea on its way, M’Lord, and dinner is at eight.’
He disappeared before they had a chance to thank him and Delilah smiled, realising that he was in his element with the house busier than it had been in decades.
‘Benson is a wonderful man,’ she stated firmly.
‘Isn’t he just!’ replied the earl, jumping up to welcome his guests.