Mansfield Lark

Crikey. She must be in the middle of a dead zone, or something. Perhaps if she got out of the car and walked for a bit, the phone might pick up a signal. She eyed her platform pumps doubtfully and wished to hell she’d put on the jeans and trainers she’d worn on the trip from London up to Mum’s. But she’d wanted to look nice for Rhys when she got back home tonight…

…which she wouldn’t do, now. Bloody hell.

She slid out of the driver’s seat and stood up, mobile phone clutched in hand. It would be dark soon. She had perhaps forty more minutes of daylight before the sun, like the bloody car engine, gave up the ghost.

Right, she told herself nervously, don’t even think about things like ghosts, or you’ll run screaming into the cow parsley, never to be seen or heard from again…

She began to walk rapidly – well, as rapidly as her shoes would allow – northward along the edge of the road. Not only did her mobile refuse to connect to a transmitting tower; after a moment it, too, blinked and died.

Shit! Bloody technology, you could never depend on it when you needed it the most—

Suddenly Natalie realized that she’d not charged her phone last night at mum’s. She’d been so busy catching up on family gossip, and so gobsmacked by the news of her mum’s newfound romance with the local vicar, that she’d completely forgotten.

She groaned. She could just imagine what Rhys would have to say about this latest oversight of hers. Shit, shit, shit…

Perking up as she saw a signpost up ahead, Natalie quickened her steps. ‘Shipston-on-Stour, 8 km,’ she read out loud. Well, that was no help. There was no possible way she could walk eight kilometres in these shoes. She felt tears of frustration well up, and in a fit of pique she hurled her mobile phone into a patch of cow parsley.

Immediately regretting the move, she dived into the cow parsley and retrieved the phone. As she stood there, dusting the screen off with her sleeve and picking off bits of grass, she noticed a low, crumbling wall running alongside the edge of the road. It was made of stone and was obviously very old.

And then she remembered that Dominic’s ancestral home was in Warwickshire, somewhere hereabouts, as a matter of fact… and it was surrounded by a low stone wall exactly like this one. Her heart quickened. Could it be…? If her ex-boyfriend’s family pile was indeed nearby, she could walk up to the house and ask to use the telephone. Surely they’d have a phone.

Curious, Natalie began to follow the wall. Where there’s a wall, there’s a way…

Unfortunately, this wall seemed to run on forever. After twenty minutes and a couple of turns to her ankles, she was ready to give up. Darkness was gathering. Natalie’s irritation gave way to an uneasy fear, and she resisted the impulse to sit down and sob uncontrollably only through sheer effort of will.

As her gaze swept despairingly over the length of the wall in the fading light, she realized her steps had taken her – very gradually – away from the road, and up to what looked like the entrance to a drive. The drive was made of packed dirt, and racked with ruts and ridges, but it obviously led somewhere.

Mansfield Hall, Natalie realized.

Tired now, and dusty as well, she trudged up the drive. Gradually the hedgerows and trees that crowded the lane thinned out, until she could see, at last, the roofline of the house.

Natalie paused. Mansfield Hall was just as she remembered it – large, imposing, but with a rackety Elizabethan charm. She could almost see herself and Dominic – Rupert, as he was known then – running with the dogs across the fields. He’d kissed her for the first time under that gnarled old tree over there.

She’d got bird crap in her hair, from the tree trunk. Rupert called her ‘Poo’, and the nickname stuck for the rest of that summer.

It was a perfect metaphor for her failed relationship with Dominic – romantic, crazy, and fun while it lasted; but destined to end in shit.

As she came closer, signs of neglect met her gaze. The grass, once neatly trimmed, needed mowing; the stone steps that led up to the front door were cracked and sunken, and partially separated from the foundation; even the brass door knocker was tarnished and peeling.

It was a shame, Natalie reflected as she lifted the knocker and let it fall. Despite the neglect, Mansfield Hall was still such a lovely old place, romantic and picturesque—

Her eyes widened and she let out a gasp of excitement as the idea, fully formed, occurred to her. It was perfect. It was inspired. It was brilliant!

She’d have her wedding reception here, at Mansfield Hall.

After all, there was plenty of room for the wedding guests, all four hundred of them, and endless parking, and as for loos – she frowned. Loos might be a problem. Oh well, she’d sort that detail out later—

The door opened and a squat housekeeper eyed her. ‘Yes?’

Natalie looked down at her dusty clothing and ruined shoes and back up at the housekeeper. ‘I know I look like cat sick at the moment, but my car’s broken down, and I wonder if I might use your telephone.’

‘I’m sure you might, miss,’ the housekeeper sniffed, ‘if we had a telephone, that is. But we don’t. I’m sorry.’ And so saying, she closed the door firmly in Natalie’s face.

Chapter 7 (#ulink_46cc1c84-791b-58a2-95c1-2d2857c7b740)

Natalie stared at the closed door with a mixture of surprise and indignation. Why, the rude, cheeky cow! She narrowed her eyes and raised her hand to knock again, when the door suddenly swung open.

‘I’m sorry,’ a slim, dark-haired woman in jeans and Wellies said crisply, ‘but if you’re looking for Dominic Heath, young woman, you won’t find him here.’ She moved to shut the door, and paused. ‘Natalie?’ she said, surprised. ‘Oh, my word – Natalie Dashwood, is that you?’

‘Lady Mary!’ Natalie exclaimed, equally surprised. ‘Yes, it’s me.’ She smiled as Dominic’s mum engulfed her in a hug. ‘I apologize for my appearance, but I’ve just had the most awful run of bad luck. My car’s died, my mobile’s dead as well, and I’ve been w-walking for what seems like hours…’

‘Oh, you poor girl! Come in, please, and we’ll soon get everything sorted.’

Natalie felt her lower lip begin to quiver and her eyes filled with tears as Lady Mary ushered her inside. ‘I thought I’d have to spend the night outside, huddled under a hedgerow,’ she said with a sniffle. ‘S-sorry.’

‘Do stop apologizing!’ Lady Mary scolded. ‘You’ve been through a ghastly ordeal. One can scarcely blame you for being upset. Well, if it had to break down, I’m very glad your car chose to do it here! Come along into the sitting room, darling, and I’ll get you a nice tumbler of whisky.’

Natalie followed her across the tiled entrance hall. Everything looked exactly as she remembered – the black-and-white tiles, the pedestal table in the centre of the hall – all of it a bit the worse for wear. Crumbling plasterwork, patches of mildew on the library wall, pots and bowls set out here and there to catch leaks… Crikey, the Locksleys must be in more dire circumstances than she’d thought.

‘You do realize, of course,’ Lady Mary said briskly as she led them into a sitting room furnished with two faded chintz sofas, a cheerfully burning fire, and random piles of books and newspapers scattered throughout, ‘that the garage in the village is closed. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay the night and get your car seen to in the morning.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly trouble you any further,’ Natalie protested. ‘If I could just borrow your phone, I’ll call my fiancé to come and get me—’

‘Nonsense. I’m sure he won’t relish driving out from London to Warwickshire at this hour. Besides, we got rid of our landline.’ She cleared space on one of the sofas, moving a stack of magazines to the floor, and patted the cushions. ‘Sit, darling, and I’ll get you that drink.’

Natalie gratefully sank down onto the chintz-upholstered cushions. ‘So you haven’t a telephone?’ she asked as Lady Mary poured them each a generous measure of whisky.

‘No.’ She handed Natalie a glass and sat down beside her. ‘Charles and I have mobiles now. You’re more than welcome to use mine–’ she leaned forward and picked up a mobile phone from the coffee table ‘–if you’d like to call your young man and let him know you’re all right.’

‘Thank you.’ Natalie rang Rhys and got his voicemail. She left a quick message and rang off. ‘I don’t want him to worry.’

‘Of course you don’t. By the way, I’m sorry if I was rude when I answered the door. We get so many girls, traipsing up to the hall looking for Dominic. They use every pretext in the book – they need to use the loo, their car broke down, and so forth, and it gets very tiresome. Charles gets quite put out.’

‘I can imagine. How is his lordship?’ Natalie asked politely. She’d always been petrified of Dominic’s father, truth be told.

Perhaps, she thought uneasily, he’d mellowed with age.

‘He’s fighting the good fight – trying valiantly to keep Mansfield in the family, you know. It’s a heavy burden to bear…like tilting at windmills.’

Natalie set her drink aside and leaned forward. ‘Have you thought about renting Mansfield Hall out for wedding receptions and films and such? It can pay quite well.’

Lady Mary arched her brow. ‘I looked into it recently and the county council charge a £2,000 fee just to apply for a licence. Why do you ask, dear?’

‘Well, Rhys and I are getting married in a few months. I’ve left it too late to blag a decent venue for the reception, and now everything in London is booked. Even Mum’s house is under renovation. And I refuse to make do with a marquee in the back garden.’ She met Lady Mary’s eyes. ‘I’d really love to hold the ceremony and reception here, at Mansfield Hall.’

‘Oh! Well, it’s a lovely idea in theory, darling – but we’d need a licence to host a wedding reception here…which would require fire exits, parking, and public loos…’ She paused and added, ‘Then there’s my son to consider.’

‘Do you mean Dominic?’