Free Yew Tree Gardens by Anna Jacobs

House is?’
    ‘Yes, sir. I’ve took folk out there a few times.’
    It sounded more like oi’ve and toimes to Gil, a gentle burr of an accent he found vaguely soothing.
    Thank goodness his journey was nearing an end! He leant his head against the side of the cab and shivered. At this time of year, it grew cold quickly as the day waned. The lawyer was right. He was utterly exhausted. Was it only this morning he’d been to see yet another specialist doctor? It felt as if that had happened to another person in another world.
    He saw Walter watching him and smiled to show he was all right, then closed his eyes for a moment or two.
    In spite of the cold, he felt himself dozing off. He blinked his eyes and tried to keep alert, but simply couldn’t manage it. Ah, what did it matter? He had a house of his own, where he could surely do as he pleased. He could sleep all day, if he chose. Refuse to see people, if he didn’t want bothering.
    Or pull himself together and do something worthwhile. If Miss Alice Bennerden could overcome her physical problems, then he could too, and—
    ‘Mr Gil, wake up. We’re here.’
    He started awake, stared round unable to work out where he was, then realised that he was in a cab and it had stopped moving. ‘Sorry.’
    ‘I nearly dozed off myself,’ Walter said. ‘It’s been a long, eventful day, hasn’t it?’
    ‘It has. And I think you should always call me Gil from now on.’
    Walter gave him a shrewd sideways glance. ‘Well, I will then, Gil. Except when your father’s around. No use stirring up trouble you don’t need, and he’d take exception.’
    ‘Even then,’ Gil said firmly.
    They got out, and before the luggage was unloaded, both of them took a good look at the front of the house. It was square, built of stone, looking about a hundred years old. A neat, plain dwelling, suitable for a gentleman. The main entrance had a small portico over it, with two windows on either side. There were three storeys, but the third was the attics and had dormer windows set in the roof.
    ‘It’s a nice gentleman’s house, that is.’ Walter turned to help the cab driver unload the luggage.
    ‘My father would consider it small and undistinguished.’ Gil paid the driver and moved forward, insisting he could carry his own suitcase.
    In all this time no one had come to the door to see who had arrived, so Gil banged the knocker sharply, waited, then banged it again, harder.
    Still no one came.
    He and Walter exchanged puzzled glances.
    ‘Mr Mortlake wouldn’t have sent us here today if there were no staff. I remember distinctly him saying the housekeeper, Mrs Tibbins, would look after us.’ Gil tried the door and it opened easily, so after a moment’s hesitation, he led the way inside. After all, it was his own house, wasn’t it? ‘We’ll leave our bags here and see if anyone is around.’
    ‘Don’t rush. Let’s look at it.’
    ‘I don’t feel as if it’s mine yet.’ But he couldn’t resist peeping into the rooms off the hall, finding them well furnished, with fires laid but not lit. It was cold and Gil couldn’t help shivering.
    Hearing sounds of movement to the rear of the hall, he called out, ‘Is anyone there?’
    The baize-covered door to the servants’ quarters opened to reveal a middle-aged woman, wearing her outdoor clothes. She had an unflattering felt hat jammed down on her head, with a big hatpin stuck through the back of it, and was staring at him in shock. ‘Who are you?’
    ‘I’m the new owner, Gilbert Rycroft. And you are?’
    ‘If you’re the new owner, why isn’t Mr Mortlake with you?’ She turned her head to call, ‘Cyril, come here quick!’
    Running footsteps then a burly man joined her. He too was wearing outdoor clothing.
    ‘This gentleman just let himself in. He says he’s the new owner.’
    Another scowl greeted the newcomers. ‘Can you prove that?’ He studied them and added a belated, ‘Sir.’
    Gil told himself they were right to be