SERIAL The Mystery Of Anna Grace

Who was the boy in the barn, and where had he come from?

CHARLIE and Robin found the lad asleep in one of the bays, in a sleeping bag on the damp concrete. Charlie nearly tripped on the sunken trough that ran along the floor of the byre for hosing out the animals.

“If you stay here much longer, lad, you’ll freeze,” were Robin’s first words.

The boy couldn’t have been much older than sixteen. He wore a hoodie and jeans which hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in a long time.

“Don’t call the police. I didn’t take nothing,” he pleaded.

“I don’t think there’s much worth taking,” Robin replied quietly. “Come on, let’s get you into the warm.”

He helped the young lad up. He stood nearly as tall as Robin himself.

“Charlie, tell Katarina to heat some soup and make sure the bed in the end cottage is made up.”

Charlie was reluctant to leave. However, the boy was shaking with cold so she knew it was better to do as she was told. She hurried on up to the house.

“I’m wondering whether to take Dean to the hospital”

eating borscht while Ghillie the cat watched proceedings, anxious for a morsel of the chunky steak pieces in the soup.

Katarina was clucking like a mother hen.

“I’m going to run you a warm bath, then we will take you to the end cottage where you will get good sleep.” She turned to Charlie. “Go to the box of the lost things and see if you can find anything clean. No, the box of lost things will not have enough.”

“I’ll see if Mr Robin has anything spare,” Charlie replied.

Robin waved this away as if it were a minor detail.

Charlie hurried up to Robin’s room. She was never in here, as she only helped Katarina with the rooms in the guest wing.

It was neat but strangely spartan in a way that only male bedrooms could be.

She found a T-shirt, jeans, socks and a jumper that looked suitable and hurried down.

Robin was standing in the yard, smoking a cigarette.

“I was meant to give these up as a New Year’s resolution,” he said before Charlie could comment.

“I’m wondering whether to take Dean to the hospital to get him checked out. Heaven alone knows how long he has been sleeping there. Should I alert the authorities?”

Charlie pulled her coat tighter around her as flakes of snow started to fall.

“See what Katarina thinks,” Charlie suggested. “He doesn’t appear to be injured, just hungry. As for the authorities, could you phone the station in the morning?

“Let the lad get a decent night’s sleep and you may find that the whole story will come tumbling out.”

Robin stubbed out his cigarette, grinding it into the gravel at his feet.

“You’re right, of course,” he said. “Not many people can keep things from Katarina. Come on, let’s go inside before we freeze.”

****

Charlie went back to her cottage on the estate much

later than she’d intended that night, owing to the excitement of Dean’s arrival.

When her head hit the pillow, all she could think about was Anna. She wondered what Anna would have done with a teenage runaway on a winter’s night.

Realising that sleep was not going to come, Charlie got up, made hot chocolate and settled down with another few pages of Uncle Tom’s typescript, wanting to learn more of Anna’s story.

We spent such a lovely day picking blackberries. We took our bounty back to our housekeeper, Mrs Fanshawe, and she said that there would be enough to make a few pots of jam. She had also preserved the raspberries from the canes I had planted in the spring.

I said that perhaps we could start to pick the apples in the orchard when the time came, but Mrs Fanshawe asked leave to discuss employing a girl from the village.

Apparently this girl has not the means to purchase a proper uniform, but Mrs Fanshawe assures me she will pay off her uniform from her wages. She is a good worker, she says. Her grandmother, who reared her, recently went to the Good Lord.

I agreed that a maid would be a godsend, and asked that the girl come to see me. I assured Mrs Fanshawe that she would have no need of a grand uniform.

Mrs Fanshawe smiled and I knew I had her approval. I know that in employing her I had made a good decision, and trust this new girl will prove equally valuable.

The new maid, Lily, is indeed a godsend. I showed her to one of the attic bedrooms, which Mrs Fanshawe and I had furnished as best we could. It was as if I had shown her a palace.

She does the work of several maids, cleaning out grates, lighting fires and bringing up pails of water for the bedrooms.

Lily is a wonder with the children. She told me that, to earn a little money, she minded the children of women who worked in the new mills.

There is a woman who comes every Monday to help with the laundry. She is fond of gossip and brings plenty of it from the village.

I know that I must mind what I say, but I have never had a problem guarding my tongue. She looked at my waistline with suspicion today.

I took the wind out of her sails by asking her if she could tell me where I could obtain a few chickens, as I wished to have my own eggs.

It was as if I had asked an encyclopaedia! She explained all about the importance of a good hen-house to guard against foxes, then told me which breeds did well hereabouts and all sorts of old wives’ tales about getting them to lay.

The next day, the woman’s husband called with half a dozen hens!

I negotiated a price then remembered my want of a hen-house. He indicated that he, too, could take care of this problem.

I told him to come back the next day while I discussed it with my husband. In the meantime, the chickens would be secure in a corner of the barn.

I discussed the matter with Jacob that evening. He was tired and distracted and simply said that he’s sure I know best.

My heart goes out to Jacob. He has inherited debts and none of his uncle’s business acumen.

When we first met, he told me he would love to have a living in the church, but as the first-born son he would inherit his uncle’s estate.

Yet when Jacob’s uncle died, just after Lottie was born, all that was left was this big house with a new wing recently built. We had a string of creditors calling at the door, demanding payment: the stonemason, the labourers, the carpenters and the glaziers.

We could no longer afford our town house, nor its staff, and we sold furniture to pay the debts. The strain on Jacob has been tremendous.

However, when I saw the house, with its beautiful sash windows and simple façade, I knew we could make something of this.

I also knew in my heart that I am my father’s daughter. He was a successful silk merchant, and I was always good with figures; my dear mother taught me household management.

This is a modest country house. We are not as grand as the titled folk.

John has started to go to the village school and seems to have settled well enough.

Charlie smiled as she put down the typescript. She felt a connection with Anna and imagined that the grand ladies who came to call might have got something of a shock if they knew that the lady of the house picked blackberries and supervised the laundry woman.

Charlie wondered about the maid who had been brought up by her grandmother, whom the normally severe Mrs Fanshawe had taken a shine to, anxious to secure her a good position.

Charlie suspected that the maid was Mrs Fanshawe’s daughter, in an age when illegitimate children were subsumed into families and brought up by grandmothers.

She also thought, as she switched out the light, that Anna had known this.

She wondered for a moment where the family were buried, and if the gravestones would

yield some further information. Or perhaps she could write something about Anna’s journal on the Anna Grace website. What other secrets was the old house hiding, Charlie wondered.

It was the next Friday afternoon and Charlie was on the phone to the IT firm, as she couldn’t get the printer to work.

“I’ve changed the printer cartridge and there’s plenty paper,” she explained.

“Switch it off and on again,” the man suggested.

“I didn’t think that was the most high-tech solution,” Charlie replied.

“Sometimes the high-tech solutions are over-rated,” the man teased.

Charlie was trying to print out a sample menu for an artists’ weekend she was hoping would be part of her events management role.

She could have e-mailed her ideas to Robin, but his e-mail replies were a little like his demeanour at the job interview – brusque and to the point.

“Can you stay on the line?” Charlie asked.

When the man agreed, Charlie set the receiver down and knelt under the desk to switch off the computer and printer at the wall.

She was glad Harriet was on a half day as she no doubt would have told Charlie it was all her fault.

That was when she saw a pearl earring, glinting in the weak winter sunshine.

It was the sort of thing Harriet would wear, Charlie thought, thinking of the sharply tailored dresses and jackets.

Charlie flicked the switch on the plug and the printer spluttered back into life.

“Are you back in business?” the man asked when she picked up the phone.

“Gosh, that’s great,” Charlie replied, thanking the man and hanging up. “What’s this?”

It was Robin, still wearing his work suit and carrying the dark rucksack that contained his laptop.

“Just some ideas, still in the very early stages,” Charlie explained.

She wished Robin hadn’t caught her at such an awkward moment.

She brushed fluff off her skirt, hoping Robin would take the hint and go on up to see his mother.

Then she remembered that Mrs Cecilia was out this afternoon.

Robin took the papers from the printer.

“Where’s Harriet?” he asked.

“She has Friday afternoons off,” Charlie replied.

“And that new couple who have booked for the weekend?”

“They e-mailed to say they wouldn’t be here until nearer eight.”

“In that case, give me a few minutes to look at these. Ask Katarina to make us some coffee. See you in the back office in half an hour,” Robin said.

“They’re only ideas,” Charlie repeated.

“All the more reason to discuss them now. Ideas are best when they’re fresh.” Robin went up the stairs to his room.

Charlie felt flustered. Putting the earring into her top drawer so it wouldn’t get lost, she tried to gather her scattered thoughts.

Charlie was meant to run everything past Harriet before it went to Robin.

However, Harriet had made it clear that nothing short of the hotel burning to the ground would be a good reason for interrupting her this afternoon, as it was her niece’s school play.

Charlie went into the kitchen to ask Katarina to make some coffee. The kitchen was empty, with just the smell of baking indicating that Katarina was around. She was probably hanging out washing as it was a dry day.

Charlie switched on the kettle. She could still hear the phone if it rang and all the phones in the office area were connected so she could pick up any of them.

She hunted for cups and the coffee pot. The action calmed her and she thought back to the menu she had printed.

She’d discussed it with Katarina, who’d advised her to keep it simple.

Charlie had suggested a goats’ cheese tart or a tomato and basil soup to start, and the mains included stuffed chicken, salmon with a lemon and dill sauce and vegetarian moussaka.

Sweets were a particular speciality and Katarina had suggested her lemon drizzle cake or cheesecake.

The phone rang and Charlie picked up the kitchen extension.

It was a complicated call from a woman who didn’t seem to know when she wanted to book or how many people she wanted to book for.

“Would you mind holding the line a moment, please?” Charlie asked. “I need to turn this oven off as I think the cake will come to grief.”

It wasn’t the most professional thing to say, but it was either that or face the wrath of Katarina.

Charlie switched the oven off, not wanting to open the door before she had finished the call.

She picked up the phone again.

“What sort of cake are you baking?” the woman said.

Charlie explained about Katarina’s famous lemon drizzle cake.

“It’s so nice to find a proper family hotel. I stayed in one of those modern ones and you had to get your breakfast out of a vending machine!” the woman exclaimed.

By the end of the call, Charlie had secured a booking for the woman, who was an artist, to stay with her husband on a midweek break after Easter.

“These ideas are great, Charlie,” Robin said, sipping his coffee. “Your ideas are money-saving but not penny-pinching. I had an e-mail this morning from an old school friend in America who has seen your posts on social media and thinks they’re good.”

“Thanks,” Charlie said. “They’re just in the early stages as I still need to get a feel for the place.”

“It’s winter,” Robin said. “Never our busiest time. If the rest of the town has a few flakes of snow, you can be sure that this place will have snow drifts.

“Keep doing what you’re doing, Charlie. Harriet’s been working on some wedding stuff and I’m going to have a meeting with you both next week.” Robin stood up.

“I’d better see if Albert and Dean need a hand. They’ve been putting a new lock on the boathouse,” he explained. “Albert’s been chatting to Dean.

“He’s just a young lad, feeling lost after an argument with his mum’s boyfriend. He came here because he reckoned there would be barns to sleep in.”

“He’s a nice lad,” Charlie said, but Robin was already heading out.

Once he’d gone, Charlie took a bite of Katarina’s cake. Never had it tasted sweeter. However, the prospect of a meeting with Harriet next week was not one she relished.

Hastily, in case the printer went on the blink again, she printed out a copy of the ideas for herself.

She would go through them over the weekend, wanting them to be as good as possible, as she knew Harriet might find any chink in her armour.

Everything had gone wrong that Monday morning.

Harriet had slept in. Breakfast had been a rush job, and her niece had said she didn’t want the cereal she had poured for her.

Harriet had lost patience and said they had to leave, then given her niece a banana to eat in the car.

She looked at the text from Charlie. What a relief she had found her earring.

Mr Graystone and Mrs Cecilia had given her those earrings for her eighteenth birthday, when she had just started working at Anna Grace.

She and Robin had been casually going out, the way you did when you were eighteen, and Harriet

had had a fantasy of becoming the mistress of Anna Grace.

The relationship had fizzled out as soon as Robin had gone away to university and if Harriet were honest, she had stopped loving Robin years ago, but still felt drawn to Anna Grace.

Lately, she had been thinking that the connection she felt had more to do with her memories rather than the here and now.

She had prepared herself not to like Charlie, but the young girl had charmed everyone, even Katarina. The first few weeks had seemed to prove her point.

Charlie was anxious not to step on Harriet’s toes. She could tell that from the way she asked her advice on everything she did, whether it was ordering new printer cartridges or updating the website.

Charlie was careful and considered, but Harriet could see that the ideas were bubbling away under the surface. She had been like that once, too, she thought, as she opened up her string of e-mails.

Anna Grace had been there throughout Harriet’s fractured childhood and Harriet regarded it as her second home.

The Graystones had never treated her as if she were anything other than family, and when she went to work elsewhere, it was on the understanding that she’d come back to Anna Grace, with experience and ideas.

Harriet had never been one for books. Art was the only thing at which she had excelled at school.

Her family wasn’t wealthy and her mother had suggested that she get a job and think about art college when she had saved a little money.

Old Mr Graystone had seen Harriet’s potential and let her try her hand on reception. Harriet was good with figures and learned how to negotiate with suppliers and plan budgets.

Mr Graystone had paid for Harriet to do a course at college, one day a week, while she worked at the hotel the other days.

She loved working on reception and soon learned that listening to guests’ queries, no matter how convoluted, ensured that they made another booking.

By then, Harriet’s teenage romance with Robin had run its course.

He had gone to university and had seemed different when he came back, his head full of the law degree for which he was studying.

Harriet had started going out with a young sales rep, who had come to stay on business.

The sales rep had shown Harriet that there was a life outside Anna Grace. Harriet was no fool and could see that the heady days of her teenage summers were no more.

There always seemed to be workmen in and they were doing more than touching up the paintwork, such as roof repairs and chimney repointing, emergency lighting for the halls and corridors, smoke alarms and new fire doors.

Harriet could see the anxious look on old Mr Graystone’s face and the way Mrs Cecilia was always in a bad temper.

When one of the new hotels was advertising for staff, at a better salary, with a swimming pool and weddings, Harriet had moved on.

But life had a way of making decisions for you. Harriet had come back, but only when her relationship had broken up and Anna Grace had needed a manager.

The Anna Grace she came back to was different from the one she had left, with no restaurant and the bar only open at weekends.

Her sister had become ill so Harriet had started to take her niece at weekends, and sometimes during the week, so she could no longer stay on later if they had a big event.

Every month, as Harriet did the accounts, she could see that the hotel couldn’t continue as it was for much longer.

The frustrating thing was that she could see a restored Anna Grace in her mind’s eye – how the dining-room could look with beautiful curtains and William Morris wallpaper, or how a swimming pool and spa would look, with the guests able to take their health drinks while looking out over the sweep of fields.

Harriet knew she should be mentoring Charlie, but there was a part of Charlie that seemed self-contained and Harriet wished she’d had that confidence when she had been Charlie’s age.

She wondered if Charlie was running away from something, as she had been, with a father who had left long ago and a mother who planned to move to Spain with her new husband.

Harriet had got caught up in building a career that would give her the security that had been so lacking throughout her childhood. Somehow her artistic dreams had been shelved.

Harriet should tell Charlie to make her own life and not to spin a fantasy about Anna Grace that wasn’t there. This was a hotel that was making a loss.

Harriet sighed and picked up her papers for the meeting with Robin.

Charlie traipsed up to the house that morning in her boots, winter coat and hat.

When she had woken up, she had seen the sleet on the skylight and was glad that Robin had allowed her to stay in the cottage so that she didn’t have to worry about commuting.

She’d decided against a long presentation, as it was just going to be Robin and Harriet. However, she had still made careful notes and rehearsed what she was going to say.

She was glad Robin had seen the ideas in advance, but was also aware that Harriet might see this as going behind her back, so she had e-mailed Harriet a copy of her presentation over the weekend.

Harriet had been late so there was no chance of an advance meeting with her. Robin had a day’s annual leave from his job and would be back in his solicitor’s office tomorrow.

It was no wonder the hotel was losing money, Charlie thought as she entered the office. No-one had time to commit to it.

Harriet was going through her e-mails as Robin walked in. He sat down in the spare chair that one of the many receptionists must have used down the years.

“So, what have you both got for me?” Robin asked.

“Three cancellations today alone and we can’t even hold on to the deposits,” Harriet snapped.

“There’s no point,” Robin pointed out. “They’ll only complain and not return if we do that.”

“It’s standard policy everywhere else,” Harriet argued.

“Anna Grace is not a standard hotel.”

“More like a broken one,” Harriet muttered.

“That’s why we brought in Charlie,” Robin reminded her.

“Why don’t we start with the weddings?” Harriet suggested before Charlie had a chance to speak. “We could have pictures taken down by the lake.”

“Only if it’s sunny,” Robin pointed out. “Which cuts out two thirds of the year.”

“If we opened up the library, they could always sign the register in there,” she continued.

“We had a leak there last winter and that ceiling still needs a bit of attention,” Robin countered.

“Perhaps we’ll keep the library off limits for now,” Harriet said. “The grounds are extensive enough for a marquee and –”

Charlie listened and took notes, but while Harriet outlined her plans for a small swimming pool with sauna, Charlie glanced round at the reception area.

There was an old cork noticeboard on which were pinned menus from two years before and a list of phone numbers, some of which were crossed off.

All the useful contacts, like a decent plumber, an electrician and the editor of the local paper, were in Harriet’s mobile phone and Charlie suspected Harriet liked to keep it that way.

“Why don’t you outline your ideas for us, Charlie?” Robin said.

“What struck me about the caller on Friday was that she wanted to stay somewhere that was homely,” Charlie began.

“It’s the homeliness that’s been losing us money,” Harriet commented.

“I’m not talking about having friends to stay,” Charlie said, determined not to be put off her stride. “You have something here other hotels don’t: a real country experience, real fires, good home cooking.

“I know a lot of land has been sold off, but you still have that beautiful stretch of fields and, of course, Little Wood.

“And this is a wonderful house with all sorts of different rooms, nooks and crannies.”

“That cost a fortune to maintain,” Harriet snapped.

“Instead of trying to get guests who want luxury, we need guests who don’t,” Charlie finished.

“Nonsense. Everyone wants to be pampered.” Harriet scowled.

“Go on, Charlie,” Robin said, ignoring Harriet.

Charlie started up the presentation she had put together on her computer, complete with pictures she had taken.

“Why don’t we encourage guests who will see Little Wood and the outbuildings as an advantage: walkers, artists, creative types who want somewhere to walk, take pictures and have picnics during the summer?

“If they want studio space, it wouldn’t be too hard to convert the old dairy room into a studio or something.”

Charlie showed them estimated figures she had compiled and went through the rest of her presentation.

“I think you have something there, Charlie,” Robin said approvingly, as Charlie clicked to the last slide.

“The problem will be getting them to make the booking in the first place.”

“You’re hardly going to find a bride who wants to get married in wellies and an old waxed jacket, are you?” Harriet said. Just then, the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” Charlie said, glad to be out of the discussions about upgrading Anna Grace to be a premier wedding venue, and went next door to pick the phone up in the outer office.

“Anna Grace Hotel, how may I help you?” she answered, reaching for a pen and notebook.

“Is that the old hotel at the end of the Mayor’s Bridge Road?” a man’s voice asked.

“Yes, this is Charlotte. How may I help?”

“I’m in a spot of bother,” the man continued. “I’ve been speaking at a conference in town and there’s no way I’ll get home. It’s not worth the risk.”

Charlie looked out at the snow, which had turned from sleet to fat, swirling flakes.

She had been so busy with the presentation that she hadn’t noticed that the driveway was now completely covered.

“The satnav’s stopped working and I pulled into a country lane to see if I could get it working again. Now I haven’t a clue where I am.”

Charlie took a deep breath and asked the caller to point out any landmarks. She thought she knew roughly where he was, so she began to talk him through some directions.

“I’ll get Albert to meet you in the Land-rover at the entrance, in case you’ve any difficulty,” Charlie said.

The caller, whose name was Grant Thornberry, thanked her and hung up. As Charlie dialled Albert’s number, she wondered why the name was familiar.

Albert was as unflappable as ever, but as Charlie went to the kitchen to warn Katarina about an unexpected guest, all she could hear was the sound of Robin and Harriet arguing.

How on earth, Charlie thought, can we save this beautiful house when Robin and Harriet seem to sabotage everything with their endless quarrelling?

To be continued.