Page 47 of Secrets and Seashells at Rainbow Bay
‘Thanks, Dorothy,’ I say, aware that she’s likely to launch into a long story about the past at any moment. ‘I’ll be sure to take a look. Sorry, I have to dash right now. I’ve got to collect Charlie from school.’
‘Of course. You go. I’ll look forward to seeing you and the young master for dinner later.’
Eager to get away, this time I don’t even try to correct her.
*
‘Why do you want to go rooting about in there?’ Arthur asks the next morning when I tell him what I’m thinking about doing. ‘I thought we talked about this yesterday?’
Last night we’d all sat down together and eaten a delicious dinner around the huge kitchen table. There had been the odd comment about ‘the fancy china’ and the ‘good cutlery’ from Joey, to which Dorothy had thrown him a fierce look that might have singed the top of the soufflé if we hadn’t already been tucking in to it. But other than that everyone had been in good spirits and appeared to be behaving completely normally in the presence of their extra guests.
‘No, you said there was nothing to find in there, Arthur,’ I tell him now. ‘But Dorothy appears to think otherwise.’
Arthur purses his lips shut, obviously thinking Dorothy should have done the same. ‘Why do you want to rake up the past anyway?’ he asks. ‘Why do you need tales and gossip about folk? Can’t we just remember them by what the history books tell us?’
‘We could, but that isn’t much fun, is it? People like a bit of intrigue; I want to make their visit here exciting, not just full of facts and dates.’
‘On your own head be it then,’ Arthur says, sighing. ‘You’ll be days if not weeks sorting through all the rubbish in them rooms.’
‘It’s fine; I’ve got a bit of time. There’s not too much I can do now until the stable renovations are closer to completion, and everything out here seems to be running smoothly thanks to you and Tiffany.’
Arthur makes a sort of harrumphing noise, and mutters something about there being ‘always something to do’.
‘I’ll see you later, Arthur,’ I say purposefully, heading towards the door at the back of the office. ‘Wish me luck!’
‘You’re going up there now?’ Arthur asks, looking horrified. ‘I thought you were just thinking of doing it sometime?’
‘No time like the present,’ I say, already turning the door knob. ‘See you later.’
Arthur simply shakes his head and returns to the paperwork on his desk.
About an hour later I’m beginning to wish I’d listened to Arthur’s advice. I’m currently waist high in boxes, most of which contain a lot of junk. Old tennis rackets and antique fishing gear sit alongside shabby curtains covering boxes of paperwork and books. But the books I’ve found so far are just old trashy novels, and any paperwork appears to be ancient electricity bills and poll tax statements, of all things, followed by their council tax equivalent. It seems you still can’t escape the mundane, even living in a castle! There’s some furniture – nothing that Tom might be able to restore, just seventies and eighties stools, chairs and some melamine bedroom furniture. I’ve even found an ancient Amstrad computer tucked away in a corner with some even older-looking computer games.
I’m currently trying to sort the junk into piles – rubbish to go, things that might have some saleable value and things we need to keep.
Sadly, thekeeppile is by far the smallest. My recent ancestors had obviously all been hoarders.
Jeez, if I was back on the Spencer estate I’d be rubbing my hands in glee at some of this stuff, I think as I look at the possibly saleable pile. I’d have eBay-ed a lot of this, and maybe even had a car boot sale with some of it to make a bit of cash.
Wait, that’s it!I think as I stare at the ever-growing piles. We’ll have a giant car boot sale and try to sell a lot of it. The proceeds can go to the renovation work on the stables. I might not be interested in keeping some old vinyl records and a pile of vintage detective novels, but I bet there would be a few people who would like them.
With new-found vigour I begin sorting again and by the end of the morning I’ve managed to clear one room. It’s not a bad start, but considering there are at least six rooms up here just like this, I’ve only just dipped my toe in the ocean of junk.
‘How’s it going?’ Benji asks me at lunch-time when I find him sitting outside on one of the benches that line the inner courtyard eating a sandwich.
‘Slowly,’ I reply, grimacing. ‘How about you? Did you get many words done this morning?’
‘Not enough,’ Benji says equally grimly. ‘I got caught up doing some research, and time just flew away . . . ’ He illustrates this by waving his hand in the air like a bird flapping its wings.
‘Research for your book, I hope?’
‘Research on the castle, actually.’
‘Benji, you know we agreed you’d split your time evenly.’
‘Yes I know, but I found out some really interesting facts about one of your ancestors and once I started searching I couldn’t stop – occupational hazard, I guess.’
I tut and shake my head disapprovingly, but I can’t help asking, ‘Which of my ancestors would that be?’
