I still felt an extreme sense of awe as we rounded the drive to be greeted by the ornate sixteenth-century mansion. Even with its faded red brick, it still stood proud with its three storeys and six chimneys. The large, high wrought-iron gates stood permanently open and there was a wide driveway bordered by wildflowers on either side. At the top of the drive, the heavy wooden front door created a majestic entrance for the many guests who frequented Saxby. Dad said the whole house was in need of some repairs, but from the outside you couldn’t tell; it was the grandest building I had ever seen, with its high arched windows framed with heavy curtains that hung down in perfect curves. I was happy in our little cottage, yet when I looked out the lounge window or my mum’s bedroom window, there was Saxby House, looming like an older, wiser relative, inspecting us at all times.
‘There’s someone new at the main house today – she’s looking forward to meeting you,’ Dad said as he pulled up in front of the cottage. He turned off the engine, and I clicked myself out of my belt, but we both stayed seated. I felt the still heat of the air through the open windows.
Hunter, my eight-year-old brother, jumped out the car and ran into the cottage, ready for his snack, juice and a reset before he would be ready to run around again.
‘It’s Caitlin, do you remember us mentioning her? She’s Mrs Clemonte’s granddaughter.’ He felt he needed to show a level of professionalism when he was speaking of the lady of the house, but Mrs Clemonte had quietly told me on the day I met her, that I was to refer to her as Josephine. I did remember Dad mentioning Caitlin once and Josephine had mentioned her a few times, but I had yet to go into any of the formal rooms at Saxby so I hadn’t seen any photos of her.
‘She’s the same age as you.’ Dad turned in his seat to look at me. ‘She’s Ava and Maxwell’s daughter. They have twin boys as well. I can’t remember their names, but I met Caitlin today.’ Dad looked out of the window, always aware that someone could be watching or listening, before he muttered, ‘Curious little thing. She had lots of questions to ask me about gardening, mind.’ He looked back at me. ‘I think they all stay for a few weeks in the summer, and now Caitlin is a bit older, she sometimes stays on for the whole of the school holidays. She’s picked up a passion for “botanical drawing” apparently.’ Dad said the last part of the sentence in a drawn-out posh voice, a stark contrast to his usual London accent.
‘Oh, botanical drawing,’ I said, mimicking him.
We both chuckled. Dad laid his hand out, palm up, and I laid my hand on top of it. Then he squeezed it in his. It was our little thing that we did; Dad’s way of telling me I needed to be strong or brave, or that everything was okay. ‘Look, kid, I know things are different, that these people are not quite like us, that some of their ways and opinions may differ to ours.’
I immediately thought about the fox hunting conversation I had overheard Josephine having in the courtyard, and what an ‘absolute necessity’ it was around here. But I had seen stuff on the news where people wanted to ban fox hunting. To me, it didn’t feel like a necessity. It felt cruel and heartless. And when, later that week, I caught sight of two cubs crawling out of the bushes at the far end of the field near the driveway, I kept it to myself. I was doing my part to protect them from the Clemontes.
‘I know it was hard leaving all your friends behind right at the end of your first year of secondary school, but Caitlin seems nice. It might be good to have someone to play with sometimes? You’ve done really well to adjust to this new lifestyle. But this girl, this Caitlin, she seems, I don’t know, different from the rest of them. I think you’ll like her.’
‘So, is she here now?’ I asked, looking out of the wound-down window at the noble, expansive house that stared back down at me.
‘Yes, she’s at the house. The Clemontes said to come on over once you’ve freshened up after school.’
‘One must look presentable for these meetings,’ I said mockingly again.
‘One must. Now get inside, you. I’ll come and collect you in half an hour and take you over there.’
I dumped my school bag in the hallway, and I could already hear Mum’s remonstrations from when she would later return home and almost trip over it, like she did every night.
I walked through the wooden-floored hallway with timbers protruding through the plasterwork in the walls. Mum had oohed and ahhed when we’d viewed the property, saying she loved the character, and she was now enjoying filling all the nooks with her favourite ornaments and books. I passed the lounge on my right, where Hunter was getting stuck into a bag of crisps and a Beano comic.
The kitchen was at the end of the hallway: a long room with a large window looking out onto the garden – a circular patch of grass with an apple tree in the middle and a small vegetable patch at the end. Nothing like the size and grandness of the Clemontes’ garden, but it felt cosy and homely.
I poured myself a glass of orange juice and took an apple from
