Mansfield Lark

The dining room table, which seated thirty, easily accommodated nine that evening. Lord and Lady Locksley sat at either end, with their guests ranged along each side of the table. The tall, mullioned windows reflected sullen skies as they took their seats, and the wind quickened and whipped at the branches.

‘Looks like we’re in for a nasty storm,’ Rory observed. ‘Good thing we finished up the shearing.’

Charles frowned. ‘As to that, I think one of the ewes is taking ill. She didn’t eat much and seemed a bit listless.’

‘I’d suggest you call the vet tomorrow if she doesn’t improve,’ Rory suggested.

‘Well!’ Lady Mary interjected a shade too brightly. ‘Isn’t this lovely, Charles? We’ve got all our family here tonight.’

Lord Locksley glowered down the table at Dominic and muttered something unintelligible into his salade frisée.

‘It’s lovely to be here,’ Natalie offered, ‘and it’s really lovely to see Dominic and Gemma again. London’s such a big place, and we’re all so busy that we rarely see each other.’

‘I got the most fabulous pair of shoes today, Nat,’ Gemma told her. ‘Black satin pumps.’

‘Ooh – not Louboutins?’

Gemma snorted. ‘On my salary? You must be joking! No, but they’re still gorgeous. Come upstairs after dinner and I’ll show you.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘And I’d like to make a toast.’ Lady Mary raised her glass of Montrachet and smiled at Dominic. ‘To Rupert, for making us a family again… Welcome home, darling.’

Liam snorted. ‘Arsehole,’ he muttered, but only Dominic – seated across the table – heard him.

‘Thanks, Mum.’ Dominic ignored his brother and sipped his wine to a chorus of ‘hear, hears’. He nearly choked. The bottle must’ve come from deep in the recesses of the family wine cellar – the Montrachet tasted like vinegar chased with cobwebs. He’d had cooking sherry that tasted better than this swill.

‘Thanks for letting us stay here, Lady Mary,’ Gemma said as she set her glass aside and admired the Georgian chandelier and hand-painted wallpaper. ‘This is a fabulous old house.’

‘Thank you,’ Lady Mary replied. ‘Mansfield may not be Grade 1 listed, but it has an intriguing history nonetheless.’

Gemma leaned forward, fascinated. ‘Oh?’

‘Don’t encourage her,’ Liam warned. ‘She’ll go on all night about ghosts and Elizabethan courtiers and Lady Eleanora.’

‘Mansfield has ghosts?’ Gemma squealed in delight. ‘Right, you’ve got to tell us about them, Lady Mary.’

Natalie, seated next to Dominic, touched his arm. ‘D’you remember the time you lit the bonfire for Guy Fawkes, and it refused to catch? It kept going out.’

‘Wet wood tends to do that,’ Liam pointed out. ‘My twit of a brother doesn’t know how to lay a proper fire.’

‘I know how to lay a fire,’ Dominic retorted. ‘The wood was as dry as melba toast. Something – or someone – didn’t want that fire to stay lit.’

‘Who, then? Guy Fawkes?’ Liam scoffed.

‘No,’ Julia said, and leaned forward with an impish smile. ‘It was obviously the Bride in Black.’

‘The Bride in Black?’ Gemma echoed, her expression avid.

‘She’s our resident ghost,’ Lady Mary explained, enjoying their attention. ‘Lady Eleanora was engaged to a young Prussian officer, Captain von Graf. The two had never met; so when the wedding day neared, there was great excitement here at Mansfield as the bride and her family awaited the groom’s arrival.

‘The house was filled with flowers and the table was laid with a feast. But time passed, the fires sank down to embers, and the captain hadn’t arrived. Late that evening, a horseman galloped up and broke the news to the family that Captain von Graf and his party had been ambushed, attacked by robbers in a mountain pass. Von Graf was killed.’

‘How awful,’ Gemma murmured, stricken. ‘Poor Eleanora.’

‘What happened to her?’ Rory wondered.

‘She was terribly distraught, of course,’ Lady Mary replied, ‘and changed from her wedding dress into mourning clothes. She wore only mourning for the rest of her life.’

‘But why would Eleanora want to put out the bonfire?’ Gemma asked Julia, confused. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I can answer that,’ Joss chimed in. ‘They say she stood watch every night at her window with a candle, waiting for her groom to return.’ She paused. ‘One evening, her sleeve caught the candle flame. Servants heard her screams and managed to douse the fire before it engulfed the bedroom, but it was too late. Eleanora died.’

Just then, a rumble of thunder ruptured the sky, followed by an ear-splitting crack of lightning, and as rain began to pelt against the windows, the lights flickered and went out.

Gemma let out a shriek and clutched Dominic’s arm, petrified.

Liam laughed. ‘Eleanora’s showing off tonight.’

Lord Locksley stood. ‘There’s no need to panic, Miss Astley, we lose power quite often.’ He fixed a cold eye on his younger son. ‘Come with me to fetch the candelabra, Liam, and stop trying to frighten our guests.’

Chastened, Liam rose and followed his father out. Ten minutes later they returned with a pair of candelabras and set one at either end of the table. Soon the warm glow of candlelight held the darkness at bay.

‘I’m afraid the drive is blocked by a tree,’ Lord Locksley informed them as he returned to his seat. ‘That last lightning strike must’ve taken it down.’

‘Shit,’ Dominic exclaimed, and made his way to one of the windows. ‘I hope my car isn’t smashed.’ Especially since he didn’t know when he might be able to afford another…

Liam joined his brother at the window. ‘Your car’s fine.’ He surveyed the giant oak blocking the drive. ‘But Dad’s right. No one’s going anywhere tonight.’

‘Not to worry,’ Lady Mary said briskly, ‘we’ve plenty of room to accommodate you all. Mrs Sutton will make up a few extra beds in the guest wing.’ She smiled expectantly at Charles. ‘This is rather fun, isn’t it?’

He grunted and poured himself another glass of wine.

Dominic couldn’t help but notice that his father hadn’t addressed a word to him. No surprise there, he supposed. He waited as Mrs Sutton trundled in with a large tureen – this one containing soup, he hoped, and not rainwater – and a basket of rolls.

Crikey, if you harnessed all the rampant sexual undercurrents racing round the table, they’d be strong enough to power the entire house. Liam couldn’t take his eyes off of Julia; Joss toyed with her food and mooned over Liam; and Rory, Dominic noted with irritation, was deep in conversation with Gemma about the spring lambing season.

‘Your hands are so soft!’ she was saying to Rory in awe. ‘Do you use a special hand cream?’

‘Nope,’ he said, and smiled. ‘It’s the lanolin from the wool. Keeps my skin soft as a baby’s.’

‘I keep telling him we ought to bottle it up,’ Joss joked. ‘We’d make a fortune on the high street.’

Natalie leaned forward. ‘Dominic,’ she said in a low voice, ‘Rhys and I are getting married soon, and I’d love to hold the wedding here at Mansfield. I know you told your mum no,’ she hastened to add as she saw a mulish look descend on his face, ‘but it’d be perfect. And it’d mean so much to me.’ She played her last, most important card. ‘And we’ll pay whatever you like.’

Dominic hated the thought of Nat marrying Gordon here at Mansfield Hall. He and Rhys despised each other, and had done from the first time they’d met.

But he had to be realistic. Losing the Dissolute contract, even temporarily, would cost him a lot of money. Playing host to weddings, film crews, pheasant shoots and rock festivals was exactly what Mansfield needed – a way to keep the estate in the family, and keep it in better nick for future generations.