The Long Gallery, chapters two and three

                                                          Chapter Two

The grey-clad figure roamed through Harvest Hall, crossing the dust-laden turquoise carpet of the main lounge, impervious to the dank odour emanating from it, pausing to admire the portrait of Joshua Weston adorning the ornately plastered wall directly above the Adam fireplace.

The Queen Anne chairs below seemed sadly neglected, their elegance hidden behind the sheets that draped them, drooping as if knowing their presence wasn’t wanted.

A whistling sigh filled the lifeless, musty air as the figure moved on to the morning room that formed the ground floor of the west wing. Two Chesterfield sofas both covered with heavy drapes held its attention for a moment, causing a small gurgle in the throat before it swung away, headed into the hall, sweeping up the great central staircase to the head of the Long Gallery.

There it halted, facing a broad, twenty metre long passageway dividing the Hall front and back.

The central feature of the house.

Four hundred years of history lay embedded here, reflected in the string of portraits of the Weston family and the many landscapes painted by prominent artists that embellished the gallery’s southern wall.

Periods of conflict and strife, during which, the family had prevailed against the odds; the decades that had seen the demise of the gypsum mines and the ensuing social upheaval and chaos, but still the dynasty had stood firm. There had been peaceful interludes which had enabled them to prosper and grow – such a period had descended on the Hall during most of Joshua’s years, although later things began to change, and alas, that change now seemed irreversible.

The dust that had settled over the Gallery’s stately furnishings would soon rise into the air, choking it. Regal, high-backed chairs upon which had been seated highly respected members of the Weston family would be occupied by unworthy descendants – those of another creed, with no justifiable right to their inheritance.

Somehow, in his inexplicable blood rush, Joshua had decreed otherwise; had reneged on history and family by placing it into the hands of one Daisy Truman – a woman who, it seemed, lived beyond the bounds of gentile behaviour. Who knew what low-bred stock she would bring with her to violate the Weston tradition? What repugnance she would introduce here that might jeopardise the family home forever?

Harvest Hall was never built, was never intended for such a transformation as Truman would bestow upon it – if she had her way.

But the situation was not without hope – there were those afoot that would strive to prevent it – that was for sure. Only time would tell whether the outcome would bode the old place well.

The figure moved on as outside, dark clouds swept over the sun, dimming the ancient interior. Towards the end of the gallery, Joshua Weston’s bedroom door lay open; the voluminous space within bore the smell of age. May the gods forbid that it should bear the decay that Daisy Truman’s presence might add to it, should this become her room.

The four-poster bed that had served the head of the family well for generations stripped down to its mattress mourned the emptiness of the place. The figure could almost perceive it as a human entity yearning for its owner –

And that owner was not Daisy Truman – hers was not a true inheritance, but that which had been bequeathed by a tired, disillusioned, but nonetheless great man.

The silhouette passed through the room, pausing by one of the three sash windows overlooking the forest beyond, and a slow wheeze frosted the glass.

It was not inconceivable that the woman’s stay at Harvest Hill would be short-lived – that events might conspire to drive her out – that Harvest Hall might yet return to its rightful heirs.

Chapter Three

‘So that’s your decision, Miss Truman. Well, so be it.’ Alistair Jeffries sighed, removed his spectacles, and after nibbling at one of the arms, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Daisy, placed them on the desk. ‘There is a sum of money set aside for maintenance. Not a vast amount I’m afraid; most of the liquid assets have been allocated to William as you are aware. But it was your uncle’s wish that the grounds – and indeed the house, be maintained in a manner reflecting the building’s dignity.’ He sighed, his hands travelling restlessly and randomly over an assortment of papers on his desk. I suggest, therefore that you direct your sights towards employing a gardener or two, in a full-time capacity. I can, if you wish, attempt to establish contact with former staff ...’

‘No – that won’t be necessary, thank you.’ Daisy Truman cut him short for reasons that escaped her. She should be grateful for assistance in finding experienced and trustworthy staff, but something about Jeffries’ demeanour rankled her.

Jeffries had taken his spectacles again, and with his mouth tightly clasping an arm was regarding her intently. Daisy kept her cool though it wasn’t easy – for whatever reason Jeffries appeared to be trying to intimidate her. ‘You do realise,’ he said at length, ‘that efficient and responsible staff are ...’

‘Difficult to find … I’m well aware of that.’ Daisy raised her head in defiance at his lecturing tone. ‘I manage a number of staff myself as it happens, and my line of work is not dissimilar, so I can cope.’ Before he could react she pressed on. ‘I believe you were a friend of my uncle’s, is that right?’

‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that.’ Jeffries’ middle-aged countenance reddened, she noticed his teeth briefly bite into his bottom lip. ‘In some regards he was an acquaintance, and, as his solicitor, I obviously have access to certain information; might I ask why you supposed there was a stronger affiliation?’

Daisy shrugged. She was sure she’d seen the man present in the gallery at Harvest Hall, but she’d been no more than a kid, and it seemed so long ago. Yet it was a definite impression, nonetheless.

Leaning his elbows on the desk, Jeffries added, ‘Your uncle frequented the Spa Club, as indeed I did, and from what I know of him he was a damned decent fellow, that’s why I ...’

‘Have you any idea why he should leave Harvest Hall and its grounds to me?’ Daisy asked bluntly, reaching forward. ‘After all, one would have thought his immediate family was a more obvious choice.’

‘I’ve really no idea, Miss Truman,’ Jeffries said tiredly, he threw out his hands, cleared his throat, looking suddenly uncomfortable. ‘It really isn’t my capacity to sit in judgment on family affairs. I can only assume that Mr Weston felt his grandson too immature to undertake the responsibilities involved.’

Daisy’s blue eyes widened. ‘You can hardly be unaware there’s bad blood in the family?’

‘Miss Truman, as I’ve said, I’m really not party to any personal family affairs, and I really do not think that’s in my ...’

‘You must know there was a daughter, Clarissa,’ Daisy added, her voice dropping in tone.

‘If I am not mistaken, Miss Weston had been out of contact with your uncle for a number of years, therefore I assume she did not feature amongst his considerations.’

‘Nevertheless, you were obviously familiar enough to know of her existence.’

‘Historical information tells me that,’ Jeffries countered gruffly. ‘Miss Truman, if you are unhappy to accept the inheritance, you can always decline.’

Daisy fixed her eyes on Jeffries, holding them steady. ‘No. I’m not going to do that.’

‘Very well.’ Jeffries breathed out heavily, placed his hands on the arms of his office chair and made to heave himself up. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, Miss Truman, I must be getting along. I have a lunch date with a client, and I’m running short on time as it is – I’ll finalise matters and pass the details to my secretary – if you’d care to arrange an appointment with her. And I would press upon you once more the importance of employing responsible staff. If I can be of help, then please call.’

Jeffries extended a hand, a brusque invitation for her to leave, which she did promptly after making a final appointment with the solicitor’s secretary.  

What was it about Jeffries that caused her unease? His manner – ranging from pressurising, condescending – and then when she questioned him on his family connections – defensive.

But despite Jeffries’ refusal to concede to close family connections he had been a confidant of her uncle, okay, her recollections were shadowy, but they existed, and her instinct told her she was right. He obviously couldn’t, or wouldn’t recall as much. But why play it down?

Adam, her colleague and friend, had been strangely subdued since their visit to Harvest Hall a couple of days previous. That was probably down to how she’d locked him out of her thoughts while reliving memories of her childhood there. But he’d raised the question that had been niggling her since the news of her inheritance broke – why her? There was William, and to a lesser extent Clarissa, who was out there somewhere –

And there were other nephews and nieces with an equal, if not greater claim than hers; when it came down to it, she’d be hard pressed to find fond memories of Uncle Joshua.

Out in the open Daisy took a large gulp of midday air before descending onto Tunbridge Wells high street.

No time to start unravelling the mystery now. She had an office to manage, plans to formulate, but first and foremost – a proposal to put to her friends.