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

always felt a shudder at the lingering hint of smoke in the air. At least, she thought it did. Thea never liked to ask if other people smelt the acrid miasma over the old woollen mill in case it was purely psychological.

So she could have hugged Helen when she casually said, ‘How long ago was the fire? Funny how the smell hangs round.’

‘July. Sam’s waiting to see what he’s allowed to do with it, but I suspect it’ll end up being sold for flats or shops.’

‘What did you plan to do with it, before the Trust sold it to Sam?’

‘Shaun and I intended to restore it as far as we could. There’s no mill wheel left, but the sense of the place was still there. We considered dividing it into workshops for local crafts folk.’

‘And that can’t be done now?’

‘Too much structural damage. Sam’ll need the money from the site for other things.’ Thea shrugged. ‘It felt like a big deal at the time, losing the place that gave Mill Grange its name, but now, with the finding of the site, and Sam’s plans for the manor, I think letting it go is for the best.’

Experiencing a lightening of her chest, as she moved further away from the mill, Thea abruptly stopped walking, causing Helen to almost bump into her. ‘It’s so obvious.’

‘What is?’

‘Take some holiday, Helen. Stay here. There’s room in the manor, and I’m planning to crack on with the dig the second I get timings from Sam and Shaun. You could be a proper archaeologist again!’

‘But what about work and…’ Helen studied the view before her. Mill Grange stood in the low midday sun, the granite stones glinting, the gardens rolling down towards a stretch of woodland that went on as far as the eye could see. Of course she wanted to stay here. ‘Won’t I be in the way?’

‘Come on, Freyja, let’s go and ask Gertrude what she thinks. She always gives good advice.’

‘The chicken?’

‘Wisest hen in the world.’

Eighteen

September 9th

Conscious of the camera focusing on his hands, Shaun repeated the procedure of uncovering a stone from a layer of soil for the third time.

‘Cut!’ Phil called out in relief. ‘Got it that time.’

As the cameraman backed away, taking some general panning shots, Phil knelt next to the section of trench they’d opened that morning. ‘Are you alright? Everyone makes mistakes, but I got to say it, Shaun, I don’t feel you’re with us today.’

‘Bad night; and my phone’s gone missing, which is bugging the hell out of me.’

‘Gone missing or been lost?’

‘I’m not sure. I know I had it in the bar last night, and then I didn’t.’

‘Stolen?’ Phil immediately scanned the site, as if expecting to see Shaun’s ageing iPhone lying in the soil.

‘I can’t see how. We haven’t been around anyone but our colleagues.’

Phil pulled a face. ‘You’d had a bit to drink last night – are you sure you didn’t drop your phone down the loo or leave it behind the bar or something?’

Shaun massaged his forehead. ‘I had one extra pint last night. That’s it, and I ate loads, so why do I feel as if I’ve been run over by an elephant this morning?’

Phil dropped his tone to a whisper, aware of the danger of his voice carrying across the open ground. ‘Are you implying that someone spiked your drink?’

Shaun, who hadn’t considered that possibility, dismissed the idea. ‘Of course not, I’m just saying I’m out of practice with the beer! Although…’ he sighed ‘…I hope nothing else goes wrong, or there’ll be no chance of filming Mill Grange.’

‘We’ve only had a few misplaced items and a JCB break down. And, as it turned out, uncovering a trench by hand will make good telly.’ Phil scraped his hair back from his face. ‘It did set us back a day, mind you. Your phone’s disappearance, on the other hand, won’t delay us.’

‘It will, if I have to take time out to report it missing and go and fetch a new one.’

‘Granted.’ Phil’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the team of archaeologists working busily before him. He could see Lady Hammett watching her daughter work. Her forehead was lined with disapproval and her arms were folded. ‘You know, for someone who was dead set against us, her Ladyship spends a lot of time watching us work.’

‘Probably making sure we don’t damage her house as well as her lawn.’ Shaun trailed a hand over the stonework he’d been uncovering. It was an almost perfect example of a late Anglo Saxon or early Norman ecclesiastical wall. Large, relatively smooth outer slabs covered both the inner and outer edges, and sandwiched between these two facing edges was a mishmash of stone and rubble, providing the weight and support required to hold the building together.

Dragging his thoughts from the church, Shaun turned back to Phil. ‘Honestly, what do you think the chances are of us getting to Mill Grange by October? I’d hate Treasure Hunters to film it. They’re good folk, but I’ve invested so much in Mill Grange myself time-wise…’

‘I’m with you on that. It would be a PR disaster for Landscape Treasures if the press got hold of the fact we didn’t film an excavation in the grounds of the place where our presenter lives!’

‘And word would get out.’

‘Treasure Hunters would make sure it did.’ Phil grunted. ‘They do a good job with their show, but there’s no escaping that they’d benefit from any negative publicity we get.’

Relieved to know that Phil was on his side with this, Shaun asked, ‘So, whatever it takes, we’ll aim for Mill Grange on October 1st, yes?’

‘All I can promise is that is my intention, yes.’ Phil crawled a few paces to his left so he was crouched closer to the newly located wall. ‘That aside for a moment, do you think this really is the church of St Guron?’

Switching back into professional archaeologist and historian mode, Shaun slid his trowel across the consolidated ground at his