Gabe appraised the visitor as he walked towards him. He was short and thin, his face weather-ruddied, cheeks and nose flushed with broken capillaries. The hood of his three-quarter coat was pushed back, but he wore a tweed flat cap, silver hair springing from the rim to brush the tops of his large and long-lobed ears.
'Hey,' Gabe said in greeting, stretching out a hand, and the other man looked momentarily puzzled. Gabe corrected himself. 'Hello.'
The old boy had a good firm grip, Gabe noted, and his proffered hand was hard with calluses, the knuckles gnarled and bony, evidence of long-time manual labour.
'What's this about Chester?' Gabe asked, looking round at Eve.
'He scooted out as soon as I opened the door,' she told him.
'Won't've gone fer in this rain, missus.' It was
'Percy was telling me he's Crickley Hall's gardener,' Eve said, eyebrows raised at Gabe.
'Gardener and handyman, mister. I looks after Crickley Hall, even when nobody's livin' in the place. 'Specially then. I comes in coupla' times a week this time of year. Jus' enough to keep the house and garden in good order.'
To Gabe, Percy appeared too ancient to be of much use either in the garden or in the house. But then he shouldn't underestimate country folk; this old-timer was probably as hardy as they come, despite his years. He felt himself being surveyed by blue eyes that were faded like washed denim and hoped that in his old jeans, leather boots and sweater, his hands and forearms grimy with dirt from the cellar (he wasn't aware of the smudge across his nose and cheek), he didn't disappoint as the new tenant of Crickley Hall.
'You take care of the gen?' he asked and, on seeing the puzzlement return to Percy's face again, added: 'The generator, I mean.'
'No, mister, but I looks after the boiler. Used to run the old furnace on coal an' wood, but now it's on the oil and 'lectric, so it's easy. Tanker comes out whenever it's runnin' low and stretches its feeder pipe over the bridge to the tank behind the house. Don't know 'bout the gen'rator though. Don't rightly unnerstand the blessed thing.'
'Guess I can fix it myself,' Gabe said. The agent told me you get a lot of power cuts in these parts.'
'Always somethin' interferin' with the lines, fallin' trees, lighnin' strikes. The gen'rator was installed 'bout fifteen years ago. Crickley Hall's owner got fed up with using candles an' oil lamps all the time, as well as eatin' cold dinners.' Percy gave a dry chuckle at the thought. 'Yer'll be needin' the gen'rator in good workin' order all right.'
'Who
Eve was interested in the answer to Gabe's question too, wondering who would choose to live permanently in such a bleak mausoleum. Even though the big hall beyond the kitchen was imposing, there was still a cheerlessness about it.
'Fellah by the name of Templeton. Bought Crickley Hall some twenny years ago. Never stayed long though, weren't happy here.'
That came as no surprise to Eve.
'Would you like some tea or coffee, Percy?' she asked.
'Cuppa tea'll do me.' His smile revealed teeth that resembled a row of old crooked and weathered headstones.
Gabe pulled out a chair from the kitchen table for the old gardener and invited him to sit down. Percy removed his cap as he ambled forward and took his seat. Although his silver hair was full over his ears and round the back of his neck, it was sparse over the top of his head.
'Coffee for you, Gabe?' Eve had moved to the sink and was filling the plastic kettle they'd brought with them.
'Yeah, please.' Gabe pulled out a chair for himself and carefully moved Cally's painting aside. He noticed his daughter had remained in the doorway.
'She's a bonny miss,' observed Percy, giving a small wave of his fingers. She responded by smiling and coyly sidling up to the back of Gabe's chair and hanging on to it.
It was Eve who introduced her. 'This is Cally, our youngest. Her real name is Catherine after my mother, but ever since she understood our surname is Caleigh she's insisted on being called her version of it. Our older daughter, Loren, is busy upstairs at the moment.'
'Hello, missy.' Percy stuck out a gnarled old hand to be shaken and Cally shyly touched it with her fingers, withdrawing them swiftly once she'd done so. Percy chuckled again.
'So tell me, Percy,' said Gabe, leaning his forearms on the table, 'who built the house?'
'Crickley Hall was built at the beginnin' of the last century by a wealthy local man by the name of Charles Crickley. He owned most of the harbour's fishing fleet and all the limekilns hereabouts. Great benefactor to the village, he were, but ended up an unhappy man by all accounts. Wanted to make more of Hollow Bay, make it a tourist attraction, but the locals went agin' him, didn't want no changes, wanted the place peaceful like, holidaymakers be damned. All but broke him in the end. Fishin' stocks dropped, South Wales stopped sendin' limestone 'cross the channel to his kilns, and money he invested smartenin' up Hollow Bay for the tourists came to nothin'. Locals even voted agin' him building a pier for pleasure boats an' such in the bay itself.'
'But Charles Crickley built this place,' Gabe prompted.
'Drew the plans for it hisself, he did. Weren't one for fancy ideas.'
'That explains a lot,' said Eve as she poured boiling water over a tea bag in a cup.
'No one likes the look of Crickley Hall,' commented Percy with a sigh. 'Don't like it much meself, never have done.'
'You've worked here a long time?' Eve was now pouring water over the coffee granules.
'All me life. Here and the parish church, I've looked after 'em both. They gives me help with the churchyard nowadays, but I takes care of Crickley Hall on my own. Like I says, jus' a coupla days a week, I come in. Tend the garden mainly.'
He must be seventy-something if he's a day, thought Gabe, glancing at Eve.
'Only time I didn't,' Percy went on, 'were towards the end of the last world war. Sent abroad then, to fight for me country.'
Yup, Gabe confirmed to himself, definitely in his late seventies or early eighties even, if he'd been old enough to fight the Germans back then. He studied the short, wiry man with interest.
'Ol' Crickley blasted a shelf out of Devil's Cleave with dynamite,' Percy continued, 'then built his home on it. Then he dug down to the ol' river that runs underground down the Cleave, made hisself a well in Crickley Hall's cellar. Even though the Bay River was only yards from his front door, he must've reckoned he'd have his own fresh water supply inside the house. Maybe he thought it were purer that way. An' he liked things simple, did Crickley, plain like. Only fancy part were the big hall itself.'
'Yeah, we noticed,' agreed Gabe.
'If he liked things simple,' put in Eve, 'and presumably functional, that must be why the kitchen is at the front.'
'The las' of the Crickleys lef' here in '39,' Percy went on unbidden, 'jus' afore the shebang in Europe started. They wanted to avoid the trouble, thought England were doomed. Scarpered off to Canada, while I stayed on to work 'til I got my call-up papers. Be then, gov'mint had requisitioned the place 'cause it were empty an' they thought it'd do for evacuees. Sold coupla times since—Crickleys didn't want it no more—then the Templetons come along an' bought it. Retired early, Mr Templeton sold his business—somethin' to do with packagin' he told me—an lef' the city fer the countryside. Thought him an' his missis would be content, like, down here.'
She handed Percy his tea and he took it with a nod of gratitude. He blew into the cup to cool it as Eve came back to the table with Gabe's steaming coffee.
'I've just spotted Chester out there sitting under the tree with the swing,' she said anxiously. 'He's looking very sorry for himself.'
'Let him sulk for a while,' said Gabe. 'I'll get him in a minute. He's gotta get used to this place.'
Percy carefully put his cup back onto the saucer. He said gravely: 'Pets don't shine to Crickley Hall.'
Eve returned her gaze to the mongrel, feeling sorry for Chester sitting out there all alone, evidently confused by their long journey away from the home he had always known. Even from the kitchen window she could see that
