Page 36 of One More Christmas at the Castle
He led the way towards the back of the servants’ wing, where he’d parked the van the previous day when we’d finished unloading. I hadn’t gone with him then, so I was surprised by how extensive the outbuildings were.
The largest had possibly once been a coach house and now sheltered a red sports car with the hood up, a small white hatchback and an ancient-looking Ford estate. Around it were grouped several other stone buildings and Maria unlocked one side of a pair of large double doors and pulled it open, revealing an ancient and battered Land Rover and a sit-on mower.
‘Andy mostly used the Land Rover. There is a track around the woodland just wide enough to take it. And sometimes, in bad weather, he could drive down to the village in it when nothing much else was able to use the road.’
‘I’ve driven a lot of old Land Rovers,’ Henry said, ‘so I could do that if necessary.’
‘The logs are stored in the other half of this building,’ Maria said, ‘as you see.’
There were stacks of logs, piled high around the walls and a large axe leaned against a chopping block made from a hefty slice of tree. There was a sawhorse and a small heap of kindling, too, and the air smelled pleasantly of sawdust.
‘Ah, a mighty chopper – just what I yearned for,’ said Henry, and I gave him a quelling look.
‘The seasoned wood is all on this left-hand wall, to be used first,’ Maria said. ‘There’s quite a lot of firewood cut ready to be taken into the house.’
‘I noticed that huge empty log basket in one of the little rooms off the kitchen passage,’ Henry said. ‘I’ll fill it up later. And I’ll have a go at chopping some more in a bit. It should be good exercise.’
We closed the double doors and went to look in on a huge and very unexciting oil tank.
‘Kept indoors because of the bad weather up here,’ Maria explained. ‘And also, thieves visit remote places to steal the oil, so the tank and the door are kept locked, as you see.’
The rest of the buildings seemed to be unused, though a large, open-fronted barn would make good extra garage space when the guests arrived.
The gravelled drive clearly did a complete circuit of the house and we walked along it a little way, where we could see into a paved courtyard, enclosed by the U-shape made by the tower and the servants’ wing. It had a central fountain, surrounded by box-hedged beds with small topiary trees in their centres.
‘Mr Powys’s study looks out on the courtyard and fountain. Sometimes, when it was hot, he would open the French doors and sit on the stone bench by the fountain,’ Maria said reminiscently, and we looked towards the study, as if somehow expecting the ghost of its old master to appear there.
Instead, as if on cue, a tall, willowy and unmistakable figure was standing there, looking out. Xan, spotting us, waved, before turning back into the room.
Maria consulted her watch. ‘I will leave you now and go home this way. It is quicker than going right round the front of the house again.’
‘Good idea – and I think I’ve just got time for a little walk before I start lunch,’ I said. ‘I could do with some fresh air and stretching my legs.’
‘There are many paths through the woods,’ Maria said. ‘Then, if you take the one up the hill on the other side of the herb garden, there is a private gate to the Roman site. It has a visitor centre, but of course, that is closed in winter. At theother side of it, by the entrance gate, there is an old cottage, where Simon, who looks after the fort, lives. He is a nice man, a widower, but was badly injured in the car crash that killed his wife. It was before he came here, though he is still quite young.’
‘How sad,’ I said.
‘What does he do when the site is closed?’ Henry asked.
‘He lectures one day a week at the university in Carlisle and also, from spring to the end of summer, he organizes digs for the students at the fort. I think, too, he is writing a book. Everyone, it seems, is writing a book.’
‘I’mnot,’ said Henry. ‘I just blog. But Dido writes a book of recipes and reminiscences every year.’
Maria looked at me curiously. ‘You have more than one string to your bow, then, as they say?’
‘We both have – that’s why we only take a few Heavenly Houseparties bookings a year.’
Maria checked her watch again and, with an exclamation, said, as if we’d been holding her captive, ‘Imustgo!’ She trod briskly off along the drive.
Henry said he was going back to the house, with the intention of changing into old jeans and sweatshirt and having a go at chopping logs, even though we hadn’t yet run out.
I thought this occupation would soon pall and reminded him to fill the log basket in the house when he’d finished pretending to be a lumberjack.
By then, the morning was vanishing fast and I decided I only had time to briefly explore the terraced gardens at the front of the Castle.
A path in front of the house led across the half-circle of lawn to the low balustrade that edged it, where I paused by the top of a flight of steps, to admire the view.
The steeply terraced garden fell away below me, and therushing stream that ran past the herb garden, before vanishing underground, reappeared in a cascade to one side of the steps.
