Hiding in the shadows won’t help,
they can see in the dark. No stragglers, please. Now, before we start the tour,
let me officially welcome to your new home, Chudleigh Manor. Indeed, Madam,
pronounced “Cuddly”. And they said the late Duke was a humourless curmudgeon
with the social warmth of a slammed door. Obviously not.
We do miss him. Who could forget
the sound of His Grace’s cane swishing through the air, then the thwack of firm
discipline? Happy days.
I’ll always remember the startled
look on his face as the coffin lid was plopped into place. Risus sardonicus, perhaps, although I prefer to think he was simply
surprised to be taken before his time. We’ll never know why that trapdoor was
left open. Apparently it was a 20 foot drop before His Grace landed on Mrs
Allthorpe from H.M Revenue & Customs. In a just world she’d have broken his
fall. Instead it appeared for a moment as if we’d have to bury them in the same
coffin … they were so – how shall I put it? – “intertwined”. All that was left
of her handbag revealed a packed lunch of Patum Peperium sandwiches and a
Letter of Demand from the tax office. In life, His Grace loathed both. Like his
ancestors, he was a good hater. Unlike them, he couldn’t hide from the rapacious
Tax Man, or in this case, Woman.
You can’t imagine, Sir, how the
staff reacted to the news you’d bought this property. “Incredulous” is not the
word. Of course, some of the junior maids knew of you and your wife. You a
singer, she an actress. We’re doubly blessed. Or, given your two divine children,
quadruply. The old aristocracy replaced by the new. It’ll be a short, sharp
learning curve, no doubt.
I’m glad you asked. I’ve been
here for 45 years, the last 30 as His Grace’s valet. What a blow it was when he
decided to sell the manor to appease some Government Jobsworth’s threats over unpaid
monies. It was His Grace’s clever idea to rebrand the property from its
original name, Grimm Hall which had become so associated with The Curse. You
haven’t heard? A silly, local myth that the owner of this property always dies
violently. “Chudleigh Manor” is so much more approachable, don’t you think, Sir? You
could weave it into the other scribbles on your sleeve tattoo. How very
on-trend and I’m certain that style of tattoo won’t be dated in, say, five
years.
Madam, I can assure you that your
son was here a moment ago. Just keep moving through the hall and don’t look
back. Oh, the little scamp, crouched behind the tapestry. Indeed, he’s a little
pale. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. You did, Master James? In that case don’t
dawdle, it could be the last your parents see of you. Hear of you is another
thing. Quite often the screams echo around the grounds for minutes afterwards.
And now your mewling is scaring your sister.
Come everyone, let’s meet the
staff. Ideally they’d have been lined up outside to allow you to “run the
gauntlet”, as His Grace would’ve put it, but Northamptonshire’s driving rain spoilt
that fun. Oh, dear, just two. Where are the others, Donald? Really? It seems a
little early to start drinking, but it does steady the nerves.
Nevertheless, let me introduce
Donald who’s been gamekeeper here for decades. A handy soul with an Over-and-Under
shotgun or sharp hunting knife, although we do keep him clear of the liquor
cabinet. And this is Cook, or to be formal, Missus Velveteen, who’s been with
us on weekday parole since January. What Cook can do with a pheasant that’s
been hung for two weeks is quite startling, and you can barely taste the lead
shot residue. We were hoping that Cook would finally be available seven days a
week but it appears those additional assault charges are going to stick.
Keep up, Master James, you’ve fallen
behind again. Something pulled at your jacket? Technically that could be “someone”,
but how does one describe a non-corporeal being? Let’s look at who it might’ve
been. The portraits filling these walls are very revealing. Possibly it’s the
Duke who fought on both sides in the English Civil War or going back even
further, the ancestor who sided with the rival Yorkists and Lancastrians in the
Wars of the Roses. In terms of mischievousness, it’s hard to go past His Grace’s
forebear who in the 16th Century built a priest hole to hide
Catholic priests from Elizabeth I’s men then turned the Papists in for the
reward money. Such a lark.
No, the front door is definitely
shut. That icy draught sighs through the manor all-year-round, a bonus at the height
of Summer – which in this district is from August 9th to the 11th.
I was wrong, the door
is open. No, Sir, I won’t be offended if you join your family, although I’d
hurry if I was you. Madam appears to be having trouble getting the car key in the
ignition.
All gone. That was quick. Another
success, Your Grace. That’s the fourth buyer we’ve seen off this year. Cuddleigh
Manor is yours again. Yes, it’s a shame I can’t pour you a cognac to celebrate
but the last time we tried, the liquor soaked the carpet. Still, there must be
some advantages to being a ghost.
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Copyright © 2015 GREG FLYNN
