FRIDAY 7 MARCH
SECRETS OF THE SEA
A new novel of passion, pride and desire
By Victoria Garesfield and Clara Vale
It begins.....
------------------------
It was exactly the kind of day you would expect for an occasion like this. Even though it was mid-June in what had, up till recently, been a warm and gentle summer, today the rain was falling heavily, as it had done since her father died a week ago. It splashed fiercely on the leaves of the fine English oaks which lined the drive to the Hall and it wantonly drenched the flower-beds so carefully planned and planted by old Crockford and his son in the Spring. Even the blooms seemed to be bowing their heads in disappointment under the torrent.
Fenella stood at the upper window watching the guests depart below. There was Blunden, the solicitor who had read her father’s will to the assembled guests. He had known Sir Michael since they were at prep school together and reading his oldest friend’s testament had not been easy; Blunden had almost wept several times, especially at the mention of the small disbursement that had been awarded to himself and his sister.
As he got into his car, he looked up at the window and saw Fenella there. He waved weakly and looked at her not just sadly but also, she thought, with an expression of warning or even dread on his face.
Nearby, standing at the terrace wall waiting for his car, stood her Uncle James. Fenella thought it strange that he was smiling on such a day. Then again, he might well smile. He had just learned of an inheritance that had taken everyone by surprise. The shocked gasps had been clearly audible when Blunden announced that her father had left James almost half of the entire estate. Both of the hunting lodges - as well as the fishing rights and Eastwood Farm - now belonged to Uncle James, a brother who, everyone thought, had barely been on speaking terms with Sir Michael for many years.
No wonder he was smiling, thought Fenella as she looked down from her window.
The Holmans - their nearest neighbours over at ‘The Big House’ - were clambering into their Bentley. As usual they seemed to be arguing about something. Fenella could not quite hear what Gregory Holman was saying to his wife, even though she opened the window slightly despite the rain. But the object of his bad-tempered tirade was obvious and surprised Fenella. For he was scowling darkly and looking directly over at young Crockford, who was standing by the willow copse, rake in hand, looking defiantly back at him.
Fenella wondered why the gardener’s son, now in his late 20s, could have been the focus of such irritability and obvious anger.
Glancing at young Crockford immediately reminded her of Dornford, her own brother, also in his late 20s by now. But where was he? Why had the family not heard from him for almost a year? Her mother and sister had both thought that Dornford’s disappearance on that hot July day last year had contributed to Sir Michael’s death; that he had died, at least partly, because of a broken heart at the ‘loss’ of his beloved only son.
At that moment, her mother walked unsteadily into the room. She looked pale and exhausted but there was also a touch of what Fenella could only describe as ‘panic’ on her face. She was carrying a letter in her hand.
‘Darling Fenny’ she said. ‘This arrived this morning. I think you should read it’.
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THIS BLOG....
I am on leave until Monday 17 March, which is when the next posting is due. In the meantime, enjoy yourselves (!) and be nice to Nick Roberts. He says you always are!
CONTACT ME
Post comments on this blog or contact me in any one (or more) of these ways....
ian.robinson@bbc.co.uk
ianstuartrobinson@googlemail.com
text 07786 200954 (while the programme is on-air)
call (between about 0545 and 0630 Monday to Friday) 0191 232 6565
Ian Robinson, The Nightshift, BBC Radio Newcastle, Spital Tongues, Newcastle-upon-Tyne NE99 1RN
NOTE
Please bear in mind that the views expressed in this blog are my own and NOT the views of the BBC.
56 comments:
Morning all,
The letter handed to darling Fenny was the electric bill.If it's owt like mine I feel sorry for her!!
hiya everyone...
spot on sid...
short n sweet.
it was a surprise to see another post from the headmaster..
bye... 1 of of the "spectacular young peculiars"..
fenny turned away from the large picture window, fear written across her pretty face,
shocked by the tremor in dear mama,s voice.
she propelled herself forward catching her dainty slippered foot in the edge of the new hand embroidered rug,
brought over recently on the slow boat from china,
freshly laid that very morning by minnie the new "downstairs" maid employed for upstairs work..
fenny fell flat..with a thud..
"oh my lord" she cried as she went..
a vision of young crockford who,d recently become the apple of her eye flashed before her...
the letter drifted slowly to the floor as dear mama
let out a strangled cry before falling to the floor beside fenny in a dead faint...to be cont PLEASE .
Hi Gilly and everyone,
I'm back in the land of the living as this weekend has been the 1st with speedway on both nights and now - at nearly 2.30am all press releases for Newcastle and Berwick have been sent, websites have been updated, next week's programme columns havew been started and im well shattered. 1st weekends back are always tough especially when its a local derrby home and away between your two teams, the trohpy is won by Newcastle on aggregate 90-89 and each team wins the away leg.... and the amplifier you're using bursts into flames under your nose...... lovely.
It's been hectic but im back truckshunting now.
Back soon.... thinking of mild erotica for Ian's Mills and Boon.
Lawrence - take care all
I hope you didnt have to call the fire brigade lawrence ...
did you know everyones over the wall in the top playground..?
sids carrying on already he,s refusing to play eye spy with kev at break...mutiny..
can,t wait to see how dear dear fenny and mam"a fare after yesterdays shenanigans.
i,ll leave this post free for writing, we,ve all had strict orders from the head prefect "hildie"
bye..homework to finish off..
It was the maid who heard the clatter as Mama fell next to Fenella. She rushed to where the sound had came from, and saw the mistress on the floor, and screamed.
Young Crockford was the first to respond. He had been working nearby weeding the flower beds.His breath was laboured as he ran.It took him no more than thirty seconds to reach the house,
Fenella was starting to come to her senses, poor Mama was still unconscious on the floor. Young Crockford picked Mama up and placed her on the couch, turning to Fenella he asked her if she was feeling well enough to ring for the doctor to attend to the mistress.
As Fenella made her way to the telephone, uncle James strolled through the front door. He had seen young Crockford run to the house and was keen to find out why.
After all, he did own more than half the estate now.
Casting a sideways glance at poor Mama he bent down and picked up the letter that was still lying on the floor, whence it had fallen.
"Well" he said, "what do we have here".....
Fenella, finishing her converstion clattered the phone back into its cradle,
"uncle james, please, if you don,t mind".
she crossed the room in 5 quick nimble paces, lips a slit,
carefully avoiding the new hand embroidered rug,
snatching back the letter and straightening her pink taffetta dress with the sprinkling of yellow roses in a hurried rush..
uncle james stood stock still, shocked by the usually timid fennella,s actions.
pipe still between his pursed lips.
tobacco smoke belching into the already stuffy room..
The silver butterfly clasp inlaid with precious jemstones that held fenny,s golden locks tightly in place fell to the floor as her head nodded in frantic tearfull bursts.
"the letter is private sir" tears spurted forth in a torrent.
young crockford stood up quickly, saddened by miss fenella,s plight, filled with love for her, wanting to rush forward taking her in his arms but restrained himself just in time.
no one must know of their secret...
stretching to his full height of 6feet 1 inch, muscles rippling under thick flannel work shirt,
he moved menacingly towards, "master james",....
as he was known to the workforce.
fennella, catching sight of the anger written across young crockfords handsome rugged face filled her with joy,
at last,
some one who cared enough to stand up for her..
this joy filled her very being, threatened to spill out, she held it in check, shivering with emotion..
with a start and a hhmmpphh uncle james left the room..
slamming the door behind him.
it reververated the walls.
a crunching of tyres on the gravelled drive heralded the arrival of the doctors large expensive car..
young crockford crossed to the window as fenney bent to reassure dear mama..
the letter forgotten for the moment in the turmoil,
once again drifted slowly to the floor..
Minnie, the faithful maid, scuttled through the drawing room towards the main door of the house to answer the impatient knocking of Dr. Mckay. She opened the door as he doffed his hat and greeted her, in his strong Scottish accent. He stepped into the vestibule and, following closely behind Minnie, was soon in attendance at the side of her beloved mistress.
dr mackay bent to take the pulse of fennys dear mama, his face grew dark and gloomy, then suddenly brightened, "panic over everyone, a small shot of sherry is all thats needed in this case"
fenny let out a sigh of relief.
minnie left the room, quickly reappearing with the sherry,
which mama slurped amd slooped from a fluted ringtons cup.
fenny, curls bouncing, bent to pick up the letter, the first line chilled her to the bone..
"dearest mama and my precious fenella i,m writing to you today from deepest darkest africa,
the native tribe that are looking after my welfare having found me on the shoreline after being ejected from the slow boat from england, trussed up like a chicken i have to add...
have given me the ink and a feather quill with which to write...
fenny looked down at the squiggly familiar signature and promptly let out a shreeking banshees wail,
just before promptly falling flat as a pancake into a dead faint beside the now,
sitting up,recovering flushed mama..
dr mackay stood up too quickly and swayed...
the letter drifted slowly to the floor.....
Just at this point, Uncle James, rain-drenched and out of breath, returned to the drawing room. Throwing off his mackintosh, he made towards Fenella, who was still strewn across the rug beside the doctor.
"oh my lord" spluttered uncle james...one eye on fenella who had one arm unceremoniously splayed across the heaving chest of dr mckay, the other, slyly, greedily eyeing the letter.....
rain pounded against the drawing room window as the holborns bentley drew up at the front door..
Minnie heard the commotion as she prepared afternoon tea in the kitchen. Best let them sort it out amongst themselves, she thought.
She sat near the fire, warming her hands and feet.The backdoor opened and in came Millfield. He was about 45 years of age, of slim build, clean featured and he had an air of authority about himself.
"Cor Mr Millfield, you did'n half scare me", said Minnie. "I'm glad you're back, there's been some right goings on upstairs"
Millfield had been butler to Sir Michael and his Lady wife for many years. Minnie quickly told him what had happened.He donned his waistcoat and jacket,then went to see if he could assist in the drawing room.
The place was in a turmoil, the doctor was tending to Fenella, Mama was rolling up the carpet that everybody kept falling over, James was looking for an excuse to get the letter from under the armchair.
Millfield took control of the situation straightaway...tea will be served in the dining room M'lady, Mr James, sir, I believe the letter is addressed to someone other than your good self. James handed the letter to Millfield.
Fenella, feeling better looked out of the window Crockford was still working in the rain, planting late flowering bulbs.She watched him for a while, then he spotted her, he stood up straight and waved his dibber in her direction. She gave a wave back, then went in for tea.
The Holmes's limo was still in the drive, I wonder what they want thought Crockford.
Gregory Holman was a shortman with very little hair, and even less charm.
" I have here in my possesion, a letter" he said. "Sir Michael gave it to me three months ago, with the express instructions that if he should die before Dornford returns, then I must give it to the lady of the house". He moved towards Mama, Bess who had been asleep in the yard ran in barking furiously. Gregory tried to kick the dog, but missed....both he and the letter, fell to the floor.
bess leaped forward, fur flying, eyes wild, snatched the letter between bared teeth and off down the drive as if the divel himself were afer her...
gregory shouted after her "bess, you blooming nincompoop of a dog" fetch that letter back this very cotton picking minute...
bess stopped dead in her tracks at the sight before her,
the letter....... drifted slowly to the floor..
the letter delivered by gregory holman lay amongst the flower beds, the rain dripped from the blooming red roses onto bess,s woolly head as she tried to unearth her quarry,
gregs wife glanced at young crockford with wanton glee..
she sipped her tea from a bone china cup, then tipped some into the matching saucer, slurping it up with complete disregard for anyones discomfort.
little minnie pulled a face at mrs holborns common attitude,.
as millfield pulled the letter from whence it had been, under the chair...
young crockford turned away ignoring mrs holborn but her eyes burned through the back of his thick flannel shirt...
millfield placed the letter in fenellas small cold hand,,she shivered..some one had walked over her grave,,, even though she wasnt yet dead..
she forced herself to glancs again at the sigature, her dear brothers name looked back at her,, through teary lids she saw the date sent, 3 days ago,
at the bottom the words, "expect me off the slow boat from africa on the first thursday in june".
today,!
fenella, screamed, why didnt anyone turn around? cos she realised she was screaming inside her head..
the letter drifted... slowly... to the floor..
soz about the missed letters in some words..my keyboards acting up.. ive kicked it..
bess,s quarry in the bushes turned out to be the bedraggled wet figure of a stranger...
he held in his hand the expensive, hand embossed letter...
bess barked fiercely...
fur stood on end like a dandylion clock...
the letter floated... slowly .. to .. the ground...
Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Ian, please note, this is absolutely nothing to do with me, I haven't had anything to do with it at all, honest! It was all their work, ... I might be back though, just having a bit think....
Meanwhile, back at the Hall, young Crockford sauntered into the welcoming kitchen, stopping just inside the doorway. He ached for one last glimpse of Fenella before heading off to his quarters for the night. AS he deftly brushed the soil from his boots and quietly laid down his dibber in the dark doorway, he was alarmed to hear the angered voice of Gregory Holman ringing out from the drawing room .........
"I have a plan so cunning you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel" said Gregory, laughing heartily.
Young Crockford, resisting his urge to enter the room, made a rapid retreat into the dismal night and trudged , with a heavy heart, back to his humble quarters on the far edge of the estate.
fenella watched him go from the upstairs window, sad..
her reflection gazed back at her, blonde curls untamed,
large brown eyes too big for the small heart shaped face,
this would be her one chance to find love,
the kind she,d dreamed about,
so what that the object of her desire was a lowly gardener,
to her he was everything..
she decided in an instant...
and was clattering down the spiral staircase within seconds..
grabbing a warm cloak as she ran out into the night...
young crockford heard the commotion as she ran towards him, straight into his open welcoming arms..his beautiful, wonderful, dear fenella...
their lips locked..
A wet bess came out of the bushes followed by a bedraggled dornford,
a parcel in one hand the brown paper ripped, torn,
the envelope in the other,
fenella took one look at the handsome but thin figure
striding up the drive,
her dear dear dornford..
and she was out of young crockfords arms and off like the clappers to meet him..
she was beside him in a an instant..threw her arms about his neck..
bess, in the middle of all the commotion,
slowly, gently, opened her mouth,unbeknown to fenny and dorn... took the letter from dornfords hand...
and snuck up the drive towards the "hall"....
Seated in the drawing room, sipping tea, Fenella gazed at her handsome brother, unable to take in what he had just tried to explain. Freshly bathed, and now dressed in fresh, warm clothes, he looked a lot more like their poor departed Papa. How could this have happened? Her brother explained that he had discovered to his horror, that 'dear Papa' had in fact, had a 'daliance' with a young cooks assistant, Prudence. The result being an older brother. He had only discovered this when poor old Blunden had accidentally left papers open on his desk when Dornford had called on an errand for Papa one day. Furious, Dornford had confronted his father who had admitted to the affair. Hurt and angry, Dornford left, swearing never to return. Hearing from Blunden of his fathers death, he hesitated, until he read the diary enclosed in the parcel by the solicitor.
the diary read..
dear diary...my illegitimate son, is to become my sole hier, whenever he is found he must take up his rightful place...
I solemnly promised my first love petunia the cooks assistant on her death bed that this would be so,,
I just hope i have time to adjust my last will and testament accordingly as i dont feel so well lately....
fenella stared out over the vast estate, another brother..
where ?
bess lay comotose by the drawing room fire, the tip of an envelope could be seen just under her left paw....she whimpered and sighed....
a chill wind filled the air..
outside...on the well manicured lawn a chestnut brown shire horse silently chewed the cud..
Early the next morning young Crockford set off to the Hall to find Fenella, for he had more than the usual urgency to speak with her.He needed to tell her what he had overheard whenst he had arrived in the kitchen the previous evening ..... he needed to tell her of Gregory Holman's dastardly plot. He would have told her the night before, when she was cradled in his arms, but this revelation was forsaken by the untimely arrival of her long-lost brother. Glad though young Crockford had been to see Dornford, he wished he had been able to impart the wretched news of that plot to Fenella . He had carried the weight of it all the long night, and wanted the burden no longer.
"Come here old girl" said Croxford to the horse,"you've got the place in a right mess". He took the horse by the bridle and walked her back to the stable. "Things is changing round here" he said to the horse, "I may yet end up sleeping in the stable tonight".
As he drew nearer to the stable he could see Fenella walking across the fields. She was heading in the same direction...
Dornford, dazed and dismayed read the diary. He knew his father had had an affair with Prudence, which now seems resulted in a son....but her is another one, named Petunia! how many more shocks are there to come.
A gentle knock brought Dornford back to reality, Millfield stood there, "Sir, I found this letter under the dog, perhaps you should read it".
The doors were closed at the stables, seems it wasn't only the horse getting a good rub down in the hay...
Dornford, shook his head incredulously, too much, just way too much to take in! Who would have guessed it...Father and Holman involved in a smuggling ring. But there was the proof, the map in the envelope that Millfield had brought confirmed what Father had written in his diary. It showed a tunnel from deep down under the stables, under the fields,which now belonged to Holman, coming out of the cliffs onto the beach beyond! They had been in cahoots all of these years! The other devastating news was that Holman knew the whereabouts of Sir Michael's oldest son and had only inherited because he'd threatened to spill the beans. Yes, thought the new master, too, too, much and as he buried his head in his hands. The map fell to the floor....
deep below the earth scrabbling could be heard... frantic digging...
a small furry head appeared just below a tree stump at yon end of the beach.. a sooty face peered out of the hole...
fenella out walking shrieked in dismay.. "BESS ... dear girl what have you got there?"
on second glance fenella saw bess vanish back into the hole then reappear with something n her slavery excited mouth.
or muttered fenella to the newly appeard bess...
"have you been trying to bury something of major importance"
little bess nodded in doggy agreement.....
old crockfords welly and dibber could be seen sticking out of a dark corner in the tunnel, a map..too...
no one but bess knew...
young crockford came over the hill just as fenny stepped into the sea..he stood entranced..
his heart thudded..sweat trickled down his back.. his thick flannel work shirt stuck to him..
he ripped it off and ran down the beach panting..
fenny.. looked shocked but happy, she came over quite faint at the sight of young crockfords rippling muscles and broad chest.
he caught her in his arms just before she fell..they fell together..
bess raced into the waves licking them all over..
Realising this act had been a tad inappropriate, Bess turned sheepishly, and sauntered back up the beach, turning three times before lying on the sands, back to the surf which was rising considerably at this time.
As Fenella regained her conciousness, she opened her eyes, her gaze colliding headlong with the intense blue-eyed stare returning from Crockford that sent a lightening bolt down her spine.
She quivvered and she panted briefly as she accepted the heavy realism she was powerless to reject any of this terrestrial god's suggestions.
The pair lay motionless for what seemed an eternity, and the foam-tipped waves carressing their prone bodies as fingers of seaweed ran up Fenella's inexperienced thighs.
Her eyes jolted wide open, "Oh" she moaned as the realty hit her, those fingers were not oceanic plantations but were the virile digits of Crockford that she gathered knew a woman's geography only too well for her comfort.
Bess laid her head in disaray on the sandy beach, daring not too look back at the one the she cared about as only a canine can, knowing full well her doggy innocence could be buried forever along with her favourite bone.
The tide was high and the swell getting more intense as Fenella realised she was about to take a sail on a luxury catamarange, a high powered boat with 3 legs!
Crockford was an experienced skipper in the high seas and rode the waves well, controlling the swing of his substancial jib to perfection making sure that his passenger would not feel nausious.
Fenella was dumbfounded as Crockford soon became the captain of her heart. She was all his, she couldn't think of another man steering her schooner round the bay of ecstacy, but there was fear in her heart that the bottom could still fall out of her keel.
He rose to his full height, the sea water dripping from his main-brace into the surf by her arms and she looked up again realising now that no other man could unfurl her spinaker like Crockford could.
He turned, striding towards Bess who looked round before bounding off into the woody glades beyond the dunes.
Fenella regained her composure, calling for Bess to come for a stroke and as they sat at the water's edge, watching the firm thighs of Crockford dissapear into the mists she thought, "Oh yes, buns for tea!"
But again as she wobbled to her feet, there was this huge feeling of disconcertment and concern that Crockford was not all he was cracked up to be.
There was something... a dark secret... a potentially devestating jet-black secret that could blow their new found love right out of the water, but what was it.
Fenella knew that tomorrow she must investigate......
"You must try to eat something, Mama" said Fenella, sadly surveying the untouched breakfast tray as Minnie removed it from her mistresses lap. How tired her mother looked, so small and frail against the plump, goose-feather filled pillows in the huge four poster bed. "Come and sit by me," smiled her mother, taking Fenellas' firm young hand in her own pale weak one.
She looked from one to the other, Dornford, sillohetted against the bright morning sunlight which filtered through the shades behind him. She patted the counterpane and summoned him to sit also. "Mama," he urged gently, "we need to know,,,,"
"Of course I knew about the smuggling" their mother replied, "How do you think we've lived so well?, why, that pretty ornament Fenella wears in her hair was part of a shipwreck cargo, washed up on the beach one dark and stormy night. Many's the night your father disappeared into the stables, not reappearing until the next morning. He often said that he could have his hearts desire, as long as he did it with prudence!" She weakly lay back against the pillows, pausing to gather her thoughts. "Mama...." prompted Dornford, Fenella thought how handsome he was, what a fine catch he'd be for one of the young ladies of the County set....She was happy with her own sweet Crockford. Her mother stirred, "and as for Crockford"....she murmured sleepily, "I always said that you would notice the resemblance eventually....."
As she listened to her mama's words, those words that were shattering her dreams - Fenella ...... fell to the floor
minnie ran into the room flustered, hair stood on end like the proverbial dandylion clock, pinny scew whiff...
"you rang sir dorn,? i woke late thinking it was night then suddenly realised,..
its past dawn......
dorn.. spluttered.. "yes minnie, call the doctor quickly" .. ..
she spoke softly into the reciever then quickly dropped it into the still warm cradle,
fenny came to with the most awful thought racing through her fuzzy brain.. young crockford..?
could it be true..
aaww by gum.. it was too ghastly for words, but he did look very much like her brother dear dornford (to give him his rghtful name)...
bess.. licked her mistresses hand with a slavery tongue...
the sound of gravel crunching on the drive heralded the arrival of ............dr mckays car..
followed close behind by
the holborns bently, mrs bently at the wheel..
a slight bump showing under her cashmere sweater..around the midriff area...
that was mrs holborn by the way in the bently...not the other way round...
Dr. McKay stode into the room, he was of middle age, tall, thin and gaunt, with rugged features and sorrowful eyes and with every sign of goodness and intelligence. He looked at Fenny's staring, empty eyes - "Shock", he said, "Deep shock". "I am very sorry to tell you, Dornford, that the prognosis is not good, Fenny may never completely recover. Assist me , if you may, to lay her upon the chaise- long."
As they gently carried her across the room, singing could be heard from below the large bow - window of mama's room. Young Crockford, weeding the borders, was soulfully singing as he worked .......
Who can guess the secret of the sea?
Who can guess the secret of the sea?
If you can guess the secret of my love for you,
Then we both could know the secret of the sea.
Tell me could you ever tell the secret of the sea?
These high rollong waves along the shore,
The footprints of the lovers that come here to love,
By the tides washed away forever more.
Who can guess the secrets of the sea?
Who can guess the secrets of the sea?
If you can guess the secret of my love for you,
Then we could know the secret of the sea.
You claim to know the secret of a kiss and a hug,
The secret of the grass and the trees,
If you can tell the secret of a warm friend's hand,
Then we allwould feel the secrets of the sea.
Who can guess the secret of the sea?
Who can guess the secret of the sea?
If you can guess the secret of my love for you, Then we both could know the secret of the sea.
We both could know the secret of the sea.
fenella sat bolt upright, hands outstretched towards the window and the mournfull catterwailing below..
eyes closed she saw nothing...except the back of her eyelids..
the doctor, his gaunt face lined his brow furrowed,
fearing rampant insanity removed fennys daisy strewn bonnet the brim neatly trimmed with fresh parsley picked by her beau..
that very morning..
as the day was dawning..
dibber at his side..
fenny sang a tinkling sonnet..
tra--la-- la-- la--
who would have known my only love would never become my own..
the only love ive loved in secret the only love ive known..
and if dear papa had blabbed to you, and all of us and sundry,
maybe my love would be here with me not digging the borders on a sunny june sundy..
or did he blab in his diary?
anyway..i,ll not split hairs.. she carried on..
and records have shown..
the secrets of the sea may stay with thee or them..
or maybe they,ll die with me..
who,s to know..do ye ken..?
yet if the sea was closer to me than heaven at this very minute,
then id not be sat here in veritable agony singing like a warbling linnet,
i,d be drowning,
with the secrets........IN IT.
and all because my dear dear mother laid back there on her duck feather pillow..
didnt till now spill the secret of young crockford,
my older brother..
complete with dibber..
tra--la--la she lay back on the chaise-long and fell into a deep coma..
canny little bess looked into her beloved mistresses closed eyes that didnt look back at her furry face and ..... and whined....pityfully...
the letter... for the moment forgotten....
Millfield came into the room carrying a tray. "Perhaps your ladyship would like some herbal tea", he said. "I hear it is good for the nerves".
The singing outside had ceased, Crockford had gone to his shed at the other end of the house.
He was surprised to find Mrs Holman sat there, on an old rocking chair. She looked a little puzzled. "Are you avoiding me" she asked, "you said last week that you would come over and give me one, but you didn't". "Just how long will I have to wait, I know if I don't get it soon it'll shrivel up and die". "Oh don't fret so" said Crockford, the hanging baskets aren't ready yet, I'll give you one next week.
The shed door swung open and there stood Mr Holman, "so" he shouted, "Your going to give her one next week are you, you bounder, we'll see about that". He swung a punch at Crockford, missing him by a mile, such was the effort involved, the momentum carried Holman to the floor.He didn't move...
mrs holman sipped her valerian herbal tea......
as the shades were slowly drawn up at the hall....
dr mckay departed...slowly...... he doffed his hat to young crockford...
he mumbled his condolences to dornford as they passed on steps..
little bess sat on the front step whining for england...
a portender of doom..
a magpie swooped...landing on the back of the shire horse....
slowly chewing the cud on the front lawn...
mrs holman rushed up the drive.. screaming blue murder..
dr mckay...wait ... my husband
mr holman.. he,s not moving..
im afraid he may be dead as a doornail... help goodly sir...
she glanced slyly at young crockford.. there may be a new edition to the clan..
Fenella opened her eyes, surprised to see the curtains drawn. Where was everyone, she rembered feeling strange then passing out, but no more after that.
She went to the door and caught sight of Minnie. "Ah Minnie" she said "could you bring me some tea please".
Minnie's legs turned to jelly, the colour drained away from her freshly washed face. She wanted to scream, but couldn't. Gathering herself together she asked "would that be with sugar miss".
Minnie told Millfield what had happened. "That Dr Mackay, he said, is as deaf as a post, he should have retired years ago". "Quickly Minnie, go spread the good news".
minnie began slowly to open the blinds.. and shouted out of the window with gusto.."panic over.. missy feny is bright as a new button...
young crockford dropped his dibber..
ned... ? the shire horse ... looked up in uninterested amusement.. then carried on... chewing the cud..
on the well manicured lawn..
the bowling team were coming this afternoon for high jinx followed by high tea..
fenella......??
re tied the ribbons of her daisy strewn bonnet fashioning them with nimble fingers..into a big wide bow...
feeling quite giddy and gay she proceeded with vigour and renewed passion....
to race down the hall..
bess..raced after her recovered mistress.. on wobbly legs...
fur flying...
white billowy clouds scudded across the hot june sky as uncle james walked over the hill that overlooked Eastwood farm...
he stood,..
hands on hips
lord of all he surveyed..
admiring the trout lake that was now all his....
he intended tickling some later....when the sun sank in the west like a big round orange...
he smiled..wickedly..
then set to, after saluting...
and roly poly,d down to the bottom....
pot belly stretching out in front of him..
bess... having followed the nasty pasty of a man.. (dogs seemed to sense these things)
skidded after him snapping at his heels...with sharp gnashers and slavery tongue..
fur flying...
fenella stood by the old oak tree admiring her name carved into the trunk with ... sadness..
she,d have to find another love...tra- la- la-
oh romeo oh romeo where for art thow now..?
she sang quietly under her cinder foffee sweetened breath
tra- la- la..
suddenly, like lightening.. she thought ...
where is the hand written gold embossed letter..?
where was old crockford?
why was mrs holborn expanding..
who,d sent dear dor, trussed up like a chicken to africa..
on the slow boat..
the silence was audible..
blunden got back to the old dusty office just after 1pm to be greeted by the prim and proper miss primula of grey hair and dark rimmed spectacles fame,
the office secretary.
she,d always had a soft spot for mr blunden, her heart beat furiously like a tom tom drum, thump, thump,
"hecky thump, she murmered under her breath, i musnt let him see me without my betty boop ear rings in".
she tittered with mirth as
she rushed into the ladies convenience just as blunden came through the outside door.
she had exciting news,
having been instructed before he left for the reading of the will to clean behind the filing cabinets with a clean feather duster she,d come across a letter.
dusty, hand written,
a feeble, squiggly signiture..
hand delivered,
dated just before the death of sir mike,
blunden opened the gold embossed envelope in hurried hushed excitement,.
his dear friend from long ago at prep school seemed to be speaking from beyond the grave,.
blunden spoke in hushed sombre tones..
my dear dear blunden,
I hope you recieve this letter in good time and firstly i have to apologise for a small indiscretion with some one i came to love dearly,
but it was a love that could never come to public attention,.
it goes back many many years to a night we, thats you your sister and i, were in town socialising after the theatre,
you may remember your dear sister who i came to think of very fondly, spending the night on the tiles.
well ive a confession,
the dear hearted one was with me all night,
which resulted in a son..
i gave the impression that a cooks assistant was the object of my desire not so,
i was in the throes of a fever when i made out the will and can only be described as not of sound mind.
as your dear sister also named petunia is now a "deader",
having succumbed to the fever, our son, must now take up his rightful place as my heir to the hall...thankyou kindly and of course you are welcome to come and live here too having been my one and only friend this would make me "not" turn in my grave... yours very kindly..
ps there is a boat moored down by the ships inn,
you will find aboard a box full of delights,
everything a man would need for a long trip..
you mentioned a dream of sailing around cape horn..
in wintery weather, the wind in your sails...
please go ahead and achieve your dream, my dear blunden ..
the boat sir is named,
"secrets of the sea!
i salute you sir and all who sail in her..
ahoy me hearties ... and shiver me timbers..
blunden smiled.. as the letter.... drifted slowly to the floor..........................
"Thanks for coming over here, James. old chap" smiled Gregory Holman, carelessly resting his feet on the exquisite marble jardinere. Sir James flinched at this horrible little mans' new found familiarity. "As I said in my note, I think a little tete-a-tete could be advantageous to both of us" he paused to savour the other man's obvious discomfort. "At least we won't be disturbed in here" he said, surveying the lush foliage of the beautiful, victorian orangery. "Mrs Holman has bedding to discuss with Crockford and will be away all afternoon."
"Get on with it man" bristled Sir James, privately wondering what on earth the two men could possibly have in common. He had already decided not to mention the dressing on Holmans head, thinking privately that he must have been involved in a pub brawl, "You've got me here, now what do you want from me?" "Alright, James" Holman replied with a slow, steady air, "I'm sure when you've heard me out, you'll agree that something has to be done"
Slowly, calmly, Gregory Holman told Sir James that he knew all about Crockford being Sir Michaels son and that Sir James had only been left so much of the estate because of a promise made to Sir Michael long ago. Although, Sir Michael had not wanted Fenella and Dornford to lose their inheritance and position in the county, he had felt that Crockford should never know of his status until he had found someone who would love him for himself and bear him a son and heir. Sir Michael had made James promise that when that happened, the estate would go to Crockford and his new family. Annoyed that Holman should know so much, Sir James rose to his feet, shaking with rage, "No matter how you found this out, no one will believe you," he seethed, " I'll see that Crockford doesn't find out, and anyway what are the chances of him fathering a child?" Not waiting for a reply, he strode out across the lawns with Holman hot on his heels.
The heavy silence in the orangery was disturbed by a rustling amongst the huge parlour palms, revealing a motionless Crockford holding his dibber firmly in his hand ...
dear fenella walked into the sunset arm in arm with young crockford,
little canny bess at their heels...happy..
Millfield gazed out of the kitchen window at the first snow of the winter. He could see Master Crockford in the distance, Miss Fenella was running in his direction and she eventually caught him by the nasturtiums. His eyes were moist as he looked at the snow damaged plants.
Strange, almost frightening things had happened during the night to Millfield that even he couldn't explain.
He had gone to bed as usual just after supper. As far as he could remember,he fell asleep almost straightaway.
It was the feeling of someone sitting on the bed that awakened him. Millfield sat bolt upright.
"Don't be scared pet" said the woman sat on the bed,"we just need to have a chat with you about your future. My name is Gilly, and these are my friends, Maureen, Hildie, Loz and the one on the end is Sid. For the last week we have been in charge of what happens to all of you. We are here now to tell you that we have to go, and that your future destiny is now back in your own hands".
The room was strangely quiet as Gilly and her friends filtered through the window and out into nowhere.
Millfield was still pondering the nights events when Minnie came into the kitchen. "That's the last of the decorations up Mr Millfield, it's going to be great here this Christmas, now that the family have sorted out the inheritance problems. I just knew that Master Crockford wasn't the father of Mrs Holmans baby, the bairns ginger hair soon sorted out that one. Did you see the way Mr Holman chased the chauffer down the drive, what a laugh".
"Minnie" said Millfield "I have something to ask you, I had a strange occurance last night, and I know that if I don't act upon my feelings now, then nobody else can intervene for me".
"Minnie, would you allow me to escort you to the party, and if you agree, perhaps we could go walking out together".
Minnie flung her arms around Millfields neck, "I thought you would never ask" she said.
Old Crockford threw another log on the fire, he knew that the men would be in later to roast there nuts, an old family tradition...
SID< YOU DESERVE AN OSCAR!
Well done Sid! I knew we could leave it in your capable hands....to you Ian!
aaww sid...? how lovely....x
2 gold stars..and 1 more for luck..
miss b hayve......
Yeah well done Sid.... great conclusion. When does this epic hit the presses?
Sorry I've not been as involved as I'd like to have been ... it's hectic in Speedway at this time of a new season..... but beware my time will be blogging more often again soon.
Well done to every one who's written pages on the above.... amazing!!!
Lawrence
You all have my utmost admiration.
After I had read the first few blogs I realised that my place was on the sidelines and that the experts should get on with it.
I made the right choice. You have produced a masterpiece.
My only fear is 'What will the NEXT challenge be?'
Once again, well done, one and all
kev it would have been lovely if you,d joined in, it was just fun,
hope you are ok.
soz but you are on detention for missing class and the school board man will be round termorra..
miss b hayve.
afraid you can,t have special treatment...or id be known for showing favouritism and id trouble with the other kids..!!!
just to add above..
( be in )
Thanks for your compliments Kev, I had the same thoughts, (see comments early on) then it was just too hard to keep out of it! I'm sure everyone will agree with me, just like Topsy (who was Topsy?) It just grew and grew! And it was GREAT FUN! Many thanks to Ian for helping us discover something in ourselves. We'll forgive you this time, but we'll expect you on parade if there's a next time!
Maureen,
Topsy is a character in 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'
She is a young slave girl of unknown origin. When asked if she knows who made her, she professes ignorance of both God and a mother, saying "I s'pect I growed. Don't think nobody never made me."
The phrase "growed like Topsy" (later "grew like Topsy") passed into the English language.
(I looked it up in Wikipedia)
Thanks Kev, you see what I mean about this blog? You just have think out loud and someone comes up with the answer! So educational, I'll always remember that now. Let's hope I get it in a pub quiz sometime!
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