Tomorrow- Chapter Seventeen

I wake up at the crack of dawn and throw my clothes on haphazardly. I have to pause to re-button my shirt twice because I’ve missed several buttons. Eventually, I make my way down to the kitchens, knowing that the people there will have risen early to prepare breakfast for everyone. I beg a warm roll off Maureen before making my way to the entrance hall where Brad, the man who escorted me on my first day here, stands waiting.

“Morning.” I say cheerfully, stuffing the soft roll into my mouth.

“Well, you’re certainly a lot more cheerful than when you came here.” He observes wryly.

“Yeah, well I’m slightly better fed now, you see. Did I mention that it’s terribly good to see you, Brad.” I say, “What’s the time?”

“Ten to six.” He says after glancing at his expensive-looking gold watch.

“Good, we’re on schedule then.”

“Yes, we are.”

We stand in silence for a few minutes before Brad announces that it’s time to leave. We make our way back up onto the place on the roof where the helicopter pad stands before I clamber into the passenger seat. I take one last look at The Cottage before the helicopter takes off and we fly into the great unknown.

The noise of the helicopter drowns out everything except for the thoughts inside my own head. I am excited at the prospect of a new life, a new house. I hope that no one will recognise me as a girl who should be dead but then again, I doubt I could look more different from the little ten-year-old girl I used to be.

I am not Rebecca Grace Parker anymore. I am no longer the sweet, simple country girl who just wanted to ride horses. Now, I am Elizabeth Hitches, a beautiful, rich American heiress who flirts with everything that moves.

They didn’t tell me that I have to flirt with everything but, I think that it will suit Elizabeth’s character. After all, I might make some friends in high places in the process.

Eventually, the helicopter begins its descent and we land on the emerald lawn of a very imposing house. As soon as I exit the helicopter, I stand still, gazing at the red brick house. There’s no rhyme or reason to the house; it sprawls like an ancient king in a lawn of immaculate green grass, the surrounding rose bushes its courtiers. The various wings and towers stand to attention, their high arched windows flanked by gargoyles. The gracefully arching windows stare down at me, telling me that I am not worthy to own such a house. The uneven slate roof bobs up and down, pausing as elaborate chimneys rise up from the body of the house and hiking up to the tall towers to place an uneven crown upon their proud heads.

A fountain is situated ten metres from the long covered walkway which leads up to the stern wooden door and a long gravel driveway meanders lazily down to what I assume is the stables. Before I walk up to the door, I gaze at the haughty house, which has probably stood here for centuries, watching as mankind destroyed the world and attempted to put it back together again. As I walk to the suspicious door, I’m filled with an all-consuming desire to discover all of the secrets which this house must hold.

I look at Brad who nods and takes a large key out of his pocket and hands it to me. I walk towards the large door and unlock it with a loud click. I am home.

Several servants in a black and white uniform are stood in a long line in the spacious, sumptuously decorated entrance hall. An imperious-looking man with a large, beaky nose and bushy eyebrows steps forwards as soon as I enter.

“I am Hill, madam, your butler.” He says, bowing.

“Good morning, Hill.” I say. He looks surprised but doesn’t say anything.

“Allow me to introduce you to the rest of the staff.” He says before introducing me to the twenty-or-so people lined up next to him. Mrs Shaw, the kindly housekeeper steps forward and tells me that, I need only ask for assistance and she will ensure that I get it.

Mrs Keyes, the cook, asks me what my favourite dish is and ensures me that, tonight, we shall all enjoy Chicken Pie and Syrup Sponge. Rosaline Parks is my ladies maid who will assist me in getting dressed and undressed. There are four housemaids called Abigail and Jill Peterson, who are identical twins, Catherine Thomas and Susan Harrow. I also have two chamber maids (Lillian Granger and Isabel Byrne) two parlour maids (Maureen Brown and India Fletcher) two kitchen maids (Harriet Prior and Victoria Rush) two laundry maids (Julie Fiennes and Josephine Smith) two dairy maids (Cynthia Crawley and Louise Carter) a stillroom maid called Lucy Hunt, a pageboy called Jack Keeper, a between maid called Bernice Thomas, a scullery maid called Lily Monkton, a 1st footman called Thomas Kent, a 2nd footman called Jim Wessex, a footman called Peter Hawkins and an under-cook called Horace Howard.

I also learn that I have twelve outdoor staff who I will be introduced to later. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t aware that a house would need this many people to run it but, what do I know?

I’m shown to my room by Mrs Shaw, the housekeeper, who explains that every morning, we will meet to discuss the menu for the day as well as to go over the household accounts. She tells me that lunch will be served at one o’clock (apparently it’s eleven now) and that Rosaline, my ladies maid, will be up to dress me at midday before showing me to the dining room where I will have lunch with my neighbour, Julian Kepton.

When she lets me into my room and tells me to rest, I’m pleasantly relieved. It’s a pleasant room which overlooks a large, ornamental lake. The walls are a creamy silk and the hangings of the oak bed are a deep, emerald green with a coat of arms monogrammed into the pillows.

In one corner there’s a large wooden desk with a wooden chair sat in front of it. I pull open the drawers to find pile after pile of paper. A fire roars in the marble fireplace, heating up the room and a large mirror hangs on the right wall, next to a door which leads to a dressing room.

A bookshelf filled with novels has been placed in the far corner by the door I came in through and various paintings line the walls.

I walk over to the bed and collapse, falling asleep for an hour before Rosaline comes to dress me for my lunch with Julian Kepton.

“How am I supposed to remember who everyone is?” I ask her as she searches through an oak wardrobe for something for me to wear.

“You don’t,” She instructs me, “Just act imperiously and as though they are beneath your notice and you’ll be fine.”

“But what if I need to call them?” I ask, trying to remember to drawl like an American.

“You just ring the bell,” She says, pointing to a large gold button next to my bed, “And get Mrs Shaw to do it.”

“Right,” I say, “So what on earth am I going to wear?”

“This.” She says, holding out a green sheath dress and a pair of matching green shoes. “It’ll bring out the colour of your eyes.” She promises me.

I nod and allow her to dress me even though I could put it on myself.

She then proceeds to brush my hair and put it into a small bun at the nape of my neck.

“Have you ever considered dying your hair?” She asks as she pins back the heavy black tendrils.

“No,” I say, “Why?”

“I think you’d be better off with red hair, you know.” She observes, clipping emerald earrings into my ears.

“Would I?” I say, “Well maybe some other time.”

“There,” She says, spritzing my neck with perfume, “You’re done.”

I look into the mirror and yet again, I am transformed. I don’t look fierce like I did when they made me over at The Cottage; I look beautiful and rich. I am classy and sophisticated. I look exactly as a well-brought-up girl should look.

I smile appreciatively and allow Rosaline to lead me down the large marble staircase and into a dining room. A tall, thin, balding man stands up as I enter.

“Miss Hitches,” He says, offering me his hand to shake, “It is an honour to meet you at last.”

“Well,” I say, shaking his hand, “I hope I don’t disappoint.” I remind myself to speak in an American accent. After all, as far as the world’s concerned, I did spend my entire life on the other side of the pond.

He pulls out a chair for me and I sit down, gazing down in awe at the array of food in front of me. I’m faced with a feast of pork pies, sausage rolls, cold meat, bread, soup and some sort of pickle. At my request, Thomas Kent, the first footman, pours me a cup of coffee.

“So how are you finding England so far?” Julian asks.

“Green,” I say, “Very green.”

Julian laughs. “Was it not green in America?”

“Not in Atlanta.” I say, thinking back to the pictures Julia showed me.

“I understand you are sympathetic to the cause?”

“Yes, I am,” I say, “And I’m keen to meet the people who brought the changes about.”

“And so you shall.” Julian says as Thomas offers him a plate of sausage rolls. “In fact, I happen to be having a ball tomorrow night and I would be delighted if you would attend. I could give it in your honour.”

“Why, Mr Kepton, I would be honoured.” I say, helping myself to a slice of pork pie.

“I’ll get someone to come over tonight with an invitation.” He tells me as I attempt to eat the pork pie delicately. I smile at him and his lined face smiles back. “I know that Mrs Kepton is especially anxious to meet the new owner of Park Manor.”

“I look forward to it.” I say, “Might I ask who will be there?”

“Well, the Greens will be there with their daughter, Alice. I believe that the Howards are planning on coming down with their cousins, the Gardiners. Mr Peters is coming with Mrs Peters and her sister, Miss Grant. The Churches have said that they’re coming with their handsome son, Sebastian,” He says, winking at me, “Oh, and the Parr’s should be coming too.”

“Quite the party then.” I say, hoping that not all of these people will be old bores.

“Yes, the neighbourhood is looking forward to meeting you.”

“And I am looking forward to meeting them.” I say, indicating to Thomas that I would like some more coffee. Julian helps himself to yet another sausage roll before taking his leave, saying that he must pick up Mrs Kepton from her lunch with a friend.

I sigh in relief once he’s gone. The ball tomorrow night had better be interesting to make up for a lunch filled with idle chatter.

“Thomas,” I say, “How do I get to the stables?”

“I’ll take you myself Miss.” He says, offering me his arm so that he can escort me down to the stables. Am I not allowed to do anything by myself in this place?

“How many horses are there here?” I ask as we walk down a gravel path towards the stables.

“I’m not entirely sure, Miss,” He says, “But I know that a new horse was bought for you today.”

“And what is the head grooms name?” I ask, hoping that I’ve used the right title.

“Middleton, Miss, Stewart Middleton.”

The stables turns out to be a large red brick building set around a large courtyard. About twenty horses are stabled there, from a dainty grey pony to a large black shire horse with a wide blaze running down its face. A small wizened man runs towards me, wiping his hands on his overalls at the same time. Thomas tells me that he’s head groom before excusing himself.

“Good afternoon, Mr Middleton.” I say when the little man reaches me.

“Yer ‘orse ‘as arrived Miss.” He tells me.

“My horse?”

“Did ye not know?” He says. When I shake my head he explains, “That fine chestnut beast t’was sent ‘ere with you.”

“Tempesta?”

“That’s the one.”

He says leading me over to a large box where a large chestnut horse stands, gazing out inquisitively at the bustle around him.

“’E’s a fine ‘orse, Miss.” Middleton tells me, patting Tempesta’s nose.

“You haven’t seen him gallop yet.” I say grinning at the old man who clearly loves horses more than anything else in the world.

“Well, if ye don’t mind, I plan on takin’ ‘im out meself fer a spin this afternoon.”

“Yes, much as I would love to ride today, I must explore the place.”

“Tell me, will ye be running ‘unts, Miss?”

“Hunts?”

“Ye Americans, yer ‘ave no idea what good ol’ ‘unts are.” He says genially before explaining what a hunt is.

“Yes, I think that sounds like a lot of fun.” I say. “Well, I’d better go and explore.”

“You ‘ave fun, Miss.” He says before turning back to my horse.

I walk out of the stables and down to the woods. It’s dark down here and wildlife scurries across my path, barely acknowledging that I’m here. It seems that, in the space of a few hours, I’ve gone from being an orphan living in some bizarre school-like complex to a rich heiress who has a battalion of servants at her beck-and-call.

I move from the woods to the ornamental gardens nearer the house. I meet the head gardener, who introduces himself as Mr Partridge before embarking on a long-winded explanation on which plants grow best at which time of year.

The gardens are beautiful, with an ornamental garden as well as a ‘wild’ garden which I love the most. As I stand gazing down the gentle hill at all of the land which surrounds my house, I’m struck by the realisation that, everything I see before me is mine. I resolve to go for a ride tomorrow before I am subjected to the torture of a ball in the company of a bunch of old bores.

When I find the rose garden, I can’t help but think of Charles. How lovely it would be if we could live here together. Perhaps, one day, my disguise will compel me to get married and then I can conveniently ‘meet’ him in the gardens or something.

That way, I won’t end up with some drip like Mr Kepton. Why I was forced to eat lunch with such a man on my first afternoon here, I have no idea but, I suppose that such things must be endured.

“Miss Elizabeth?” A voice calls from behind one of the rose bushes. I jump and stand up to find myself face-to-face with Rosaline.

“Yes?” I say, putting on my best imperious voice.

“It’s time to get dressed for dinner.”

“And will I be dining alone this evening?”

“Well, you were supposed to be but then a young gentleman arrived for you.”

“Will he be staying for dinner?”

“I imagine he will.”

“And does he have a name?”

“I hear he is called Charles Grey, Miss.”

“Well, tell him I will see him once I am changed.” I say, masking my surprise. Well, Charles clearly lasted a while without me.

I tell Rosaline to make me look enchanting. She smiles knowingly and picks out a low-cut red dress and pearls before piling my hair up on my head and applying red lipstick.

“How do I look?” I ask, twirling in front of the mirror.

“If he doesn’t fall in love at once, he must be blind.” She says, smiling. I smile back before I make my way downstairs to find Charles stood in the entrance hall, looking up at me with a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Charles, darling, how good of you to come” I say, walking towards him and enveloping him in a perfume-scented embrace.

“Elizabeth.” He says as soon as I’ve finished ensuring he gets a whiff of my expensive perfume.

“Well, would you care to join me for dinner?” I ask.

He nods and offers me his arm even though he probably doesn’t know the way to the dining room.

“So, my dear friend, what brings you here?” I ask once we’re seated.

“Well, I couldn’t wait to see you again.” Charles tells me, selecting half of a pig’s backside from the plate which Thomas offers him.

“Well now you have.” I say, sipping from a glass of white wine.

“And you look even more beautiful than you did before.”

“You flatter me.”

“Well, are you flattered?”

“I find that it’s impossible to be flattered by something which you know to be true.” I say archly.

Charles smiles.

“Of course.”

“So tell me, how is everyone back home?” I ask as I am offered a slice of chicken pie.

“They’re quite well,” He says, “Your friend, Isla is lamenting the loss of your society.”

I snort into my gravy. “Yes, as I am deeply saddened by the loss of her friendship.”

We sit in silence, eating our pudding which is, as promised, syrup sponge. It’s not until I offer to give him a tour of the house that we speak again.

“So, why are you here?” I whisper, dropping my American accent.

“A combination of reasons.”

“Which are?”

“I’m here to deliver a message as well as to pretend to be your friend who you met on the voyage from America.” He says. “Oh, and I’m here because I wanted to see you.” He adds.

“What’s the message?” I ask.

“At the ball tomorrow night, you must make sure that you’re introduced to Mr and Mrs Church.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Just do it.”

“And will you to the ball tomorrow?”

“Should I?”

“Please,” I say, “I don’t know how I could possibly suffer through an evening with a bunch of bores without you.”

“Then I’ll be there.” He says. “So, what about a tour of the house?”

“Well, which parts do you want to see?”

“The bedrooms?” He asks optimistically.

“Why don’t we start with the downstairs?” I say, smiling slightly.

We start by opening one of the doors leading off of the entrance hall. It leads to a large study whose walls are covered from floor to ceiling with books. Charles grins and begins pulling every single book out of the shelf until eventually, as though it’s bored of being violated, the bookcase swings open, revealing a long passageway which is lit by several dim lamps.

We creep along the passageway, stifling our childish giggles until we reach a large room. It’s furnished with the furniture of times gone by and, in the corner, there’s a large leather-bound diary which I resolve myself to read another time.

We creep back along the passageway and make our way from the study to the library where we discover a concealed door which leads out onto the ornamental garden. We return to the library proceed to pull every book from the shelves until a scandalised Hill comes along and puts a stop to it with one imperious glare.

He then begins reverently placing each book back onto the bookshelves as though it were a deity. We laugh and run into a well-furnished sitting room where we spot a chess set. We promptly give up playing chess when I start beating Charles who declares that I’m cheating and that he won’t play chess with a cheater.

In the corner of the sitting room, we discover a door which leads to a spiral staircase. We sprint up the staircase, panting, until we reach a large tower room.

“Ah,” I say, leaning out of the narrow window, “I am the princess in the tower.”

“Then what am I?” Charles asks, “The handsome prince?”

“No,” I retort, “You’re the wicked witch.”

“I thought all witches were female?”

I simply laugh and he glares at me before pointing to a trap door above our heads.

He tries to help me through the trapdoor.

“I can do it myself.” I snap, hoisting myself up and standing, waiting, at the top of a tall tower. I look out of the window and down at the grounds below my feet. I can see the stables from here but, suddenly, they look very small. It’s a cold, clear autumn night with barely more than a whisper of wind tickling the back of my neck.

“Nice view.” Charles murmurs appreciatively once he’s finally managed to hoist himself through the trapdoor. I kiss him lightly on the lips.

“Race you back down to the bottom.” I say and we run, shrieking and pushing each other into the solid walls, back to the sitting room where a surprised maid drops the cushion she’s plumping. I laugh at her shocked face and run into the dining room where I hide behind the door, waiting for Charles to burst through it.

“BOO!” I shout as he rushed through the door, looking for me. I shriek with laughter when he jumps in the air and turns around looking for me. I double over, clutching my sides and taking in deep breaths.

“Would you care to dance, my lady?” He asks, bowing before jumping onto the highly-polished table where he promptly begins to tap-dance.

I leap up and join him. He grins at me and pushes me backwards. I fall of the table and land on the floor with a THUMP! I open my eyes, laughing, to find myself looking into the stern face of the butler, Hill.

“Miss Elizabeth,” He says, looking down at me disapprovingly, “Mrs Shaw asks if the young gentleman will be staying the night.” He glares at Charles who jumps off of the table.

“Charles,” I say turning to him, “Will you be staying the night?”

“Yes, Elizabeth, I think I might.”

“Hill, Mr Grey will be staying the night, please have someone prepare a room for him.” I say imperiously, standing up and tugging the bodice of my dress back into position.

Hill nods before stalking out of the room. I grin at Charles.

“Well, now that Cerberus has gone…” He says, walking towards me, grinning.

“Cerberus?”

“The dog who guards the gates of hell.” He explains before kissing me full on the lips.

“So this house is hell then?” I ask, breaking the kiss.

“Well, if you’re here, do you honestly expect it to be, heaven?”

“So you’re not going to woo me with poetry about how I’d be like heaven to touch?”

“I think poetry would be lost on you.”

“Credit me with a little intelligence.”

“I credit you with a lot of intelligence.” He says, kissing me on the forehead.

“So, how long will the young gentleman be staying then?” I ask, gazing at him haughtily.

“Well, the young gentleman would like to spend a week at this estate before journeying into the city to deal with his business.” I fall about laughing.

“Oh.” I say quickly. I stop laughing. “What matters of business?”

“Government work,” He says, dropping the third person, “I have to be there for a week or so but then I’ll come back down for the weekend.”

“Oh, so my friend from the boat will be with me for the foreseeable future?”

“Yes, you’d better ring Cerberus and tell him.” He says.

“Oh, joy.” I mutter, summoning my draconian butler who is not best pleased when I tell him that Charles will be with us for at least a week and that he will be living here in the future.

“I also intend to have a ball.” I say as soon as he starts to leave, his bushy brows knitted together to form one long, unbroken line across his high forehead, “Could you ask Mrs Shaw who I should invite?”

“Yes, Miss.” He says, bowing low before exiting the room.

“And will I be invited to this ball?” Charles asks from where he’s perched on the window sill, out of the reach of Hill.

“Of course,” I say, “Now I’m off to bed.”

“Can I come with you?”

I laugh and walk out of the door, leaving him sitting on the windowsill, waiting for Mrs Shaw to come and show him to his room.