Page 24 of The Secret Christmas Library
‘Butwhy?’ said Theo. ‘I have done some house clearances, but this is pathologicallyinsane.’
There was a silence.
‘Although I’m sure he was a very nice man and whatnot.’
Jamie shrugged. ‘Oh, he’d buy anything, really. Auction lots. Charity shops. I think he was always . . . he loved books. I think he wanted to own every book in the world. It was a mission. While everything else fell down around his ears.’
‘I’ve got a lot of books about dragons,’ said Mirren, trying to be supportive. Both men looked at her. ‘What? You shut up.’
Theo took down another handful and flicked through them.
‘No . . . no . . . lizards . . . no, no . . . ’ He stood up and dusted off his hands. ‘Laird McKinnon—’
‘Jamie, please. People only use my title when I’m in trouble,’ said Jamie.
‘Okay. Well, you know, I handle a lot of antiquarian books,’ he said.
‘I kind of hoped you did,’ said Jamie.
‘I have to say . . . a lot of these . . . they’re old, but they’re just . . . ’ Theo rubbed the back of his neck. ‘They’re just old toot.’
Jamie nodded.
‘How many miles of corridor are there in this place? How many rooms?’
‘Um. About two miles. And, I think, about sixty rooms?’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Mirren.
‘Plus . . . ’
‘Attics and cellars,’ said Theo. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but to do this properly would take . . . ’
None of the three said anything.
‘Well, then, let’s get a move on,’ said Mirren, as cheerily as she could. She was worried Theo was just going to turn around and leave. She didn’t want her trip to end as soon as it began. ‘Show me that poem again.’
16
Jamie suggested they move to the Chinois Drawing Room, as it was one of the rooms Bonnie kept up; the place visitors were taken to, one of very few that was shown off and painted up and kept tidy.
There seemed to be endless other public rooms they glimpsed from the corridors. The huge spaces between the great double doors – with wood peeling; missing door handles sometimes, indicated the vast size of the rooms behind them. There was a long rug down this particular corridor; once, Mirren thought, looking at it, it must have been heavenly, with little birds in turquoise and gold leaf intertwining to form the pattern, almost entirely obscured. The sides of the carpet were held down either side with more and more books piled up; it was like wading through a tide. Mirren glanced at titles as they headed past: a history of Raworth School; a guide to tea shops, and a recent Jack Reacher. Theo was right, the order made no sense.
Halfway down, Jamie stopped, and opened one particular set of double doors, with an anxious look on his face, as if he really wanted them to like it. How strange, she thought, to be what many people would consider to be the luckiest fellow in the world, inheritor of a huge country estate, and yet to be so worried and unhappy; for it to be such a burden. Feeling sorry for a posh boy was very far down her list of things to do, but she couldn’t deny that she did.
The Chinois Drawing Room – ‘Colonial nightmare,’ Theo whispered to her in a rare moment of solidarity, and she could only agree – was undeniably beautiful. Turquoise, gold and red wallpaper – faded, but its colours still bright – covered the walls with bright, bustling bees and butterflies. There were brightly painted screens in several parts of the room, which was clean and clear of dust, and, thank goodness, a newly laid fire was burning in the grate. Mirren darted towards it gratefully.
She glanced out of the vast window. Every window showed a picture of the water, shimmering silver and pewter, under a sky that was already, in early afternoon, leaching light. The view, though, was still exceptional, a vision unchanged for hundreds of years. There were no oil rigs to spoil the vista; no tankers cruising the horizon, although they must be out there. It was just the tumbling cliffs beneath the beautiful drawing room, all the way down to the lapping water and the sea in front of them. Nothing between them and Norway. Once upon a time, she thought, ships would have come here; to trade, to fight – who knew?
She walked over, and stood so close against the window that she could see her own face superimposed on the scene, feeling as though she was stepping into someone else’s history, the history of the many, many people who had walked these halls; it was thrilling. The men of course had to go and do derring-do; but how many women and girls had stood here, looking out, dreaming of distant shores? The daughters, the brides, the mothers, the parlourmaids; the rich, the bored, the spoiled; the slaveys; the silent unvoiced legions of women who had come and gone across this room, once upon a time.
It occurred to Mirren suddenly that with her background – her ancestors were Scots who’d moved down south when the pits closed – she would not have been a lady in a long,pretty dress staring out and dreaming of voyages and dances. She would have been one of the staff. Just as she thought this, Bonnie pushed her way into the room.
‘You didn’t!’ said Jamie, glancing at the tray then beaming at her. Bonnie beamed back at him and set the tray down. Mirren wondered once more about the relationship between them.
There was a large teapot, wearing a cosy – it was such a very long way from the kitchen to the room they were in; everything would get cold on the way without it – and a huge plate of raisin scones, puffy and floury and utterly delicious-looking; next to that sat an ancient glass dish containing jewel-like jam that was obviously home-made – gooseberry, Bonnie announced – and cream and sugar in beautiful blue and white Chinese willow-pattern porcelain, almost every piece chipped, and butter and clotted cream likewise.
‘You haven’t had any lunch,’ said Bonnie, ‘so I thought you might want your afternoon tea early.’
