Page 81 of The Uprising
Cara pondered how she always felt instantly at home there, no matter the century.Finding a way to get Willow Manor back into the family was the right thing to do; she was guided by a sense of inner certainty and didn’t doubt it for a second. No matter how big a project it would be, they would figure it out.
Cara knew the hotel layout well from when they stayed the night. She walked to the end of the car park, slid back the small bolt on the side gate and slipped through to the back of the estate. She thought there were enough guests dotted about in the various portions of the grounds to make her presence inconspicuous. Cara smiled at an elderly couple taking a leisurely post-breakfast stroll around the gardens and walking arm in arm towards her.
‘Good morning,’ she said, and they nodded pleasantly in return.
Cara increased her pace and headed towards the rose garden which was quite a distance behind the main hotel building.
Damn it.
As she approached she noticed a man kneeling near the flower beds, pulling weeds. He looked up as she approached. ‘Good morning. May I help you?’ he said with a cheeky grin.
‘Good morning. You must have your work cut out keeping these enormous gardens in such good shape.’
‘Yes, it’s quite a job, but I love it. I’ve been working here for years,’ he said.
‘Well I don’t want to disturb you; I just came for a walk. I remembered the rose garden and the fountain.’
‘The lovers’ fountain is a grade two listed feature,’ he said.
She hadn’t expected anyone to know the place well enough to call the fountain by its original name. Cara thought the name must surely have been forgotten over the centuries. Surprise registered on her face and the gardener said, ‘My family is from around these parts and I’ve always taken an interest in Willow Manor. It’s got quite the chequered history, you know.’
‘Yes, so I hear. Is it true there was a fire that burned part of the house down several hundred years ago?’ Cara said.
‘That’s right. It’s a tragic story which has become a bit of a romantic legend in the villages hereabouts. The tale goes that the master of the house fell in love with one of the servants, and he was so heartbroken that he gambled Willow Manor away in a card game and then tried to burn it down to the ground while he was inside.’
‘Goodness that is a tragic tale,’ said Cara.
‘Don’t quote me on it though. I’ve heard countless versions, so I may not have it exactly right. It was all the way back in the eighteenth century if I remember correctly.’
‘Thank you. I’ll look into it. I’m particularly interested because my husband is a direct descendent of the original owners from Tudor times.’
‘Is that so?’ the gardener said. Now it was his turn to look surprised.
‘Yes, in fact, we’re planning to make an offer on the property, that’s if we can get organised before someone else pips us to the post.’
‘It would be lovely to have a descendant of the family as the new owner,’ he said, rising up and dusting smatterings of soil off his cargo pants. I hope you succeed, and if you want a gardener, I’ll be more than happy to stay on—my lodgings are here on the estate.’
Cara shook his hand and smiled. ‘I think you’ll have yourself a job,’ she said. ‘There’s no way we’ll be able to keep all of this in order without your green fingers. I’m Cara Cavendish, by the way.’
‘So, you are an actual Cavendish! I’m honoured to meet you, I’m Julian Lightfoot, but you can call me, Swifty.’
‘Hello Swifty, I’m honoured to meet you too. I think this must be synchronicity at its finest,’ said Cara doing her best not to betray how excited she was to meet a member of her Tudorville team, so unexpectedly.
Swifty looked over in the direction of the shrubbery and whistled, and then whistled again. A few seconds later, a silky, lithe greyhound darted through the bushes, muscles flexed as he bounded over and then came to an abrupt stop at Swifty’s side. ‘There, there, good boy. This is Cornelius, my dog,’ he said.
Cornelius padded over to Cara, his long graceful legs taking measured steps, and he sniffed her hand and emitted joyful whimpers of recognition. ‘That’s odd, he doesn’t usually take to new people so quickly. He’s acting as if he knows you.’
Cara stroked Cornelius’ silky head, and said, ‘What a coincidence. My husband and I met him when we stayed at the hotel; he must remember me. Do you mind if I have a little look around?’
‘Not at all, I need to empty my wheelbarrow, so I’ll leave you to it. Take all the time you need.’
‘Thank you, that’s very kind. Please ask the current owners to pass your details to me if we’re fortunate enough to purchase the hotel. Bye, bye, Cornelius,’ she said, patting the dog’s head once more. He turned to lick her hand and then wandered off after Swifty.
Cara went straight to the Lovers’ Fountain, stooped down, and rested her knees on the damp concrete and looked upwards towards the bottom of the lower tier. She tentatively pushed her hand into the hidden shelf—she knew the shelf was still there because she’d shown it to George when they stayed at the hotel.
She groped about for a few seconds; the shelf was too small to be able to see inside, so she could only stick her hand in and hope for the best.
‘Bingo,’ she said aloud, using one of Eddie’s expressions. After several moments of probing around in the tiny space, and her heart chugging like a steam engine, her fingers touched a small cold object. She withdrew her now grubby hand to reveal a rusty key in the centre of her palm.
