Autumn Leaves at Mill Grange by Jenny Kane (the little red hen ebook .txt) 📗

‘Excellent.’ Sam rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. ‘That settles it then. We can’t expect these girls to up production. Nor can we afford to lose even the smallest chance of extra income. We’ll order more chickens, even if we need to build a second coop.’

Staring across the garden, Mill Grange’s Victorian splendour rising up behind them, Thea was reminded of how much had happened since she’d first laid eyes on this jewel of a house, hidden away on Exmoor.

It had been March when Thea had arrived in the village of Upwich, newly appointed as chief restorer of the manor, employed by the Exmoor Heritage Trust. Now, thanks to an accounting mix-up committed long before her arrival, the manor had been sold and was going to be a retreat for recovering military personnel – and she was helping to run it. Managing such an operation was a far cry from her former life as an archaeological historian based at the Roman Baths in Bath. And yet, at the same time it wasn’t.

Just prior to Mill Grange being sold, her boyfriend, television archaeologist Shaun Coulson, had found a Roman fortlet in the grounds. Sam was relying on Thea to run the excavation.

‘Any word from Shaun?’ Sam produced another bag from his jacket pocket and sprinkled a handful of chicken food pellets into the coop.

‘I got an email early this morning. He sounded a bit fed up to be honest. It appears the woman who owns the land on which he’s digging, Lady Hammett, is less than thrilled about them being there. Shaun had been summoned to the manor, just before he messaged me.’

‘But the Landscape Treasure team were invited to her Cornish estate. She must have known what to expect.’

Thea sighed as Gertrude gave Betty a none-too-subtle nudge away from the freshly delivered food. ‘The aristocracy can be tricky devils.’

‘Tell me about it!’

Two

September 1st

‘I’m sorry, Lady Hammett, but if we hadn’t cut a trench in your lawn, we wouldn’t have been able to excavate.’

Shaun bit the inside of his cheek, hoping his exasperation wasn’t showing. ‘It’s how we operate.’ He pointed to the Landscape Treasures geophysics team. Ajay and Andy, or the AA as Shaun often called them, were huddled over a laptop while they spoke into the camera about what they’d found and how they’d found it. ‘First we survey the area, then the digger pulls back the turf and we begin to dig.’

‘But it’s our front lawn!’ Lady Hammett’s chin tilted sharply upwards, her angular nose resembling a ski slope. She was so close to a satirical cartoonist’s impression of an aristocrat that he half expected her to snap out of it and start laughing – but she didn’t.

Taking a deep breath, Shaun glanced across the empty excavation trench, and beyond to a group of local and Landscape Treasures archaeologists. They were looking anxious as they played trowels and brushes through their hands. Those who wore wristwatches were making pointed glances at them. Time was money on television, and the precious daylight they needed to work in was fading fast.

‘Your Ladyship, there seems to have been some confusion. We are excavating with permission. You signed the insurance forms and—’

‘I did no such thing! I agreed to that survey thing—’ she pointed towards Ajay and Andy ‘—but no more than that! Do you think I’m reacting like someone who has found a herd of elephants in her garden for fun?’ She broke off, stabbing a finger in the direction of the yellow JCB parked beside Guron House. ‘I have a damn good mind to sue. Which television company are you with?’

Shaun’s mouth opened and closed like a gulping goldfish. When the ability to speak finally arrived, he hated how feeble he sounded. ‘But we have the signed paperwork. It was posted to you, and returned signed. I even spoke with you over the phone to agree timings and—’

‘Oh, now this is just too much. You did no such thing. When you visited in the summer, I agreed to the survey to see if this blessed church thing was under the lawns. No more than that. I’ve been travelling Europe for the last month, so I haven’t been here to take any calls. The only person here beyond the staff has been…’ Lady Hammett stopped talking. Her lips clamped shut and her eyes closed. Shaun watched in increasing disbelief as his companion silently moved her lips, counting from one to ten.

Taking a step back in case Lady Hammett’s calming technique failed, Shaun looked helplessly at his producer, who was also looking fit to explode.

Abruptly turning on the balls of her impractically heeled feet, flicking her dark blonde hair over her shoulders as she went, the lady of the manor marched towards her front door shouting, ‘Sophie! Get out here. Now!’

‘Sophie?’ Shaun muttered, his forehead creasing in confusion. He was pretty sure Lady Hammett expected him to follow her, but instead he headed to his waiting team. Not spotting his quarry among the regular archaeologists, Shaun kept walking until a flash of yellow ducking behind the camera crew’s truck sent him jogging forward.

She was stood, her eyes shut, her hands over her ears, her long blonde hair acting like an additional curtain of protection across her bowed head. She clutched her trowel against her chest like a lucky talisman.

‘Sophie?’

The young woman opened her eyes, but said nothing.

Shaun tried to keep the exasperation from his voice. ‘You wrote on the volunteers’ form that your name was Sophie Harriet, but it isn’t, is it?’

Brushing hair from her eyes, she spoke with false bravado. ‘It is Sophie Harriet.’

‘Sophie Harriet Hammett perhaps? Lady Sophie Harriet Hammett?’

‘Unfortunately.’

‘Did you sign the legal forms so we could dig here? The ones claiming to be signed by Lady Hammett?’

‘I am Lady Hammett. Well, sort of – ish.’ Flicking her hair over her shoulders, she flashed him a grin that reminded Shaun of the teenage girls at his old high school.

‘This