Anna Jacobs by An Independent Woman

though the slugs have got to them, you can always cut the bad bits out. Hill says they did manage to dig up most of the potatoes and earth them, so there should be enough potatoes to last you through the winter, and there are even some strings of onions. He plaited them in the evenings and they’re hanging in the barn, which is nice and dry. Next year, we can plant the garden properly and provide most of our own vegetables.”
    “Next year,” Marcus said wonderingly. “Isn’t it wonderful to be able to say ‘next year’ with confidence?”
    They both stood for a moment contemplating that miracle, because for a few years they’d neither of them been able to say “tomorrow” with certainty.
    Marcus pushed himself upright, willing himself to ignore the pain and find the energy to move. “Right then. Let’s go and inspect the Hall, find out exactly what I’ve inherited.”
    “Are you sure you want me to come with you?”
    “Yes. I may need your help and—well, it’s good to have company when one is raising old ghosts.”
    Gladys was working in the kitchen and smiled when Marcus explained what he was doing there. “I’m glad you inherited the old place, sir.”
    The men walked round the ground floor, finding three sitting rooms, a small dining room which the family used to take their meals and a formal dining room with heavy mahogany furniture and a massive table with extra leaves stored underneath it.
    “How many people could you seat at this table?” Vic wondered.
    “More than I shall ever invite here,” Marcus muttered, not liking the sombre darkness of the wood-panelled walls which seemed to soak up all the available light.
    Beyond the kitchen and pantries were the housekeeper’s bedroom and sitting room, currently unoccupied.
    “These might suit you and Pearl,” Marcus suggested.
    Vic’s face brightened because the rooms were spacious and already furnished. “I’ll bring her to look round, if that’s all right.”
    “Of course it’s all right.”
    Upstairs, one of the two wings had four large bedrooms, in one of which his aunt Pamela was still keeping to her bed, and the other had six smaller rooms, two of which had been used as a schoolroom and nursery. There was a bathroom in each wing with antiquated fittings and rusty stains on the baths.
    “Don’t they use these any more?” Vic whispered, trying to turn a tap and finding it difficult. When he did succeed, water gushed out, wetting his arm. “It’s very old-fashioned.”
    “I think my aunt made my uncle install the bathrooms. They were probably the very latest thing then. But they don’t look to have been used much lately.”
    On the second floor were the servants’ quarters on one side, even smaller rooms than the west wing, with no bathroom here. Piles of discarded furniture and other detritus from former generations of Lonnerdens filled the big open space over the other wing of the house. Between the two areas was a place with tiers of slatted shelves where fruit was stored, apples mainly. The smell reminded Marcus of the harvest home services held in the small church when he was a lad.
    A narrow staircase led up to the roof and he forced himself up it, even though his leg and side were aching fiercely now. Somehow it seemed important to take proper possession of his inheritance. In the upper attic they found two rooms, some shabby travelling trunks and a tallboy missing one foot and standing on a brick. A door led outside to a short railed walkway which gave access to the roof and also provided sweeping views of the meadows and farmland, with the moors in the distance.
    The two men stood there, side by side.
    “Home,” Marcus said softly.
    It didn’t need any other words to express their feelings.
    After a while Vic pointed. “There are some tiles missing and cracked.”
    Marcus nodded. “We’ll get a tiler in to check it all out.” He turned. “I think I’ve had enough looking round for now.”
    “Don’t you want to