Page 8 of Beyond Her Manner
“Because he removed me! How dare he!” Gillian snapped, her fingers trembling as she tore off her gloves and threw them down on the hall table. “I’ve always been on the committee! Icreatedit, for Christ’s sake — literally! When the church was on its knees and begging for a new roof. I bet he’s forgotten that!” Her chest heaved as she struggled to compose herself.
“You were never on it in an official capacity,” Bridget rejoined, “not like me as parish clerk, only as owner of the manor. And since you’re no longer — ”
“Yes, thank you,” Gillian glared at Bridget, passing her coat to her to hang up on the stand next to her. “I don’t believe I need the technicalities pointed out to me. If I’d been able to predict the Carmichaels’ future removal from the manor thirty-odd years ago, I would have ensured our continued position on the committee regardless of it. I wouldn’t have left it as an honorary position so it could be snatched from me, but unfortunately, I did not. And this nonsense about moving the church service from ten to eleven, it’s the thin end of the wedge I tell you! A ten o’clock service gives me enough time to ride Dudley before lunch at one. It’s always been that way.”
“On the plus side, it gives you time to make your lunch now you have to do it yourself,” Bridget pointed out.
Gillian glared at her friend and shook her head. “That does not bring the comfort you think it does, Bridget. Did you notice the quality of the toilet paper in the chapter house has gone downhill too?” Gillian made her way into the small sitting room, scarcely drawing breath before she continued. “I’ll feel less guilty about stopping my donation to the church now. The reverend has never been my biggest fan. Men like him don’t appreciate women guiding them as to the right way of things. If he insists on remaining unmarried, then how will he ever know the right way of things? Reverends come and go, but we Carmi — ”
Gillian stopped, realising she really was the end of the Carmichaels. Pushing the thought away, she took a brief breath before beginning again. “After everything I have done for that man. And having the gall to ask me to move back a pew at the service yesterday! We have sat at the front for over four hundred years. No doubt we paid for the blasted thing. It’s not a Kingsford Manor pew; it’s a Carmichael pew. I won’t be moving, that’s for certain. The new owner hasn’t even deigned to visit their house; I can’t see them visitingtheirpew anytime soon.”
“Still no sign of movement then?” Bridget asked, joining Gillian by the window.
“No. Why buy it only to leave the place empty for two months? Houses need to be lived in, especially that one. I bet they won’t even live in it full-time; it will become a weekend pad.” Gillian picked up a pair of binoculars and directed them at the manor. “I could do with getting my post.”
“Your post? Did you not redirect it?”
“It’s an expense I can ill afford.” Although that was true, the real reason was to make an introduction to the new owner when they arrived. The estate agent insisted she left the estate for any viewings, so she had never met them. The one time there had been any report of activity at the manor was a few days after it sold. Because it coincided with a day out for Bridget’s birthday, Gillian had annoyingly missed them again. “Why should I pay when they walk past my house to get to the manor? I’m effectively saving them money, or at least the weight of carrying my post the extra distance.”
“Could you not tell the postman?”
“Oh, I did. He said it was more than his job was worth to be misdirecting post from how it’s addressed.”
Directing the binoculars to the drawing room window, she could see the curtain closed as she had left it. It was a room she should be in right now, sipping from a cup of loose-leaf Earl Grey. With her budget not extending to her favourite tea, she was losing her taste for it. Every cup of inferior bagged tea from the local supermarket served as a reminder of how far she’d fallen. A surge of anger bubbled up inside her and lodged itself in her throat, where it tightened and pulsed with a burning intensity.
“I’m afraid I won’t be much company today, Bridget,” she said. “I need some air. I’ll take Dudley for a ride. The benefit ofthe place being empty is there is no one to tell me where I can and cannot ride.”
“Small mercies.” Bridget chuckled. “I’ll see myself out.”
Gillian followed her into the hall, taking herself up the small staircase that wound around it. Even after two months of living in the lodge, she was still struggling to adjust to the scale of it. She’d never considered herself to be claustrophobic before, but then again, decades had passed since she’d lived in such a small house. Shuddering at the memory, she wondered if she would ever adjust. Reminding herself of her plan to return to the manor one day, she told herself it didn’t matter if she didn’t adjust; this was a temporary situation after all. She would need to keep reminding herself of that.
Having strapped herself into her black riding jacket, beige jodhpurs, and black boots, she headed out to the stables. Located on the eastern side of the estate, the stable block had been added at the same time as the lodge and was situated directly between it and the manor.
Comprising four stables, a coach house, a small groom’s flat, and four garages, all set around a cobbled courtyard, it was too convenient to lose. If she were able to retain accommodation for Dudley, it would likely cost her, but hopefully it would be for a fraction of the price that others were asking — that was, if there was space. Losing it would mean travelling twice a day to check on him. The time she had; the money she did not.
Dudley trotted over to see her as soon as Gillian came into sight of the small plot of land partitioned off behind the stable. She rubbed the bridge of his nose, careful not to catch herself on the electric fence as she did so.
“What are we going to do with you, eh?” she murmured to the horse.
The black horse stamped the ground with his hoof, sending a brief cloud of dust into the air.
“Don’t you worry. I won’t see you go hungry. I’ll make sure you get your rations first. Let’s get you tacked up, and then we’ll stretch your legs.”
The feel of the breeze against her face ten minutes later, as she cantered across the parkland, was like nothing else. Pulling Dudley to a stop on the hill opposite Kingsford Manor brought a tightness to her chest, though. To see the building empty was the harshest punishment Jonathon could have exacted on her. Being poor was unbearable; seeing Kingsford alone and abandoned ate away at her core. Tearing her moistening eyes away, she pulled the reins and directed Dudley back across the field towards the stables.
Maybe she should have made a clean break, left the area entirely, and started fresh somewhere new — somewhere she could be herself. She wasn’t even sure who she was anymore, and what was she without the manor anyway?
A low hum filled the air. Looking around, she spotted a helicopter coming in their direction. She expected it to veer off in another direction, but it only came closer. The hum became a thrumming that began vibrating the air. The wind whipped the loose hair cascading from under her riding hat as the helicopter passed above her head.
Dudley reared up at the sound. Feeling herself losing control, she instinctively slipped her feet from the stirrups and whipped her leg around, allowing herself to slide off the side of him and onto her feet. Running around to the front of him, she retook the reins.
“Whoa! There’s a good boy.”
As she tightened her grip and regained control of the animal, her mind leapt to what could have happened if her instincts hadn’t taken over. How lucky she was, and how some were not. Freezing at that point could have cost her everything. With the fresh reminder of life’s harsh unpredictability, her legsweakened, and a numbing chill filled her veins. Her pounding heart felt like it was pumping ice through her, tensing her muscles and making her body feel as if gravity were intensifying.
In the distance she could make out the helicopter, its echoes quieter now, telling her it was about to land on the lawn. Removing her black leather glove, she stroked Dudley’s neck. His soft hair soothed her as she closed her eyes and drew in some deep breaths. Dudley nuzzled at her as if to apologise.
“It’s okay, boy. It wasn’t your fault. Let’s get you safely in your stable, and then I’ll give that inconsiderate pilot a piece of my mind.”
