Coram Boy. Jamila Gavin

      ‘We’ll not be in your way for long now, John!’ shouted Otis, climbing up on to the wagon. ‘The barn is just beyond the corner.’ Thomas and Alexander stood in the road, brushing themselves down. For a moment, Otis towered over them. With an exaggerated sweeping bow he said mockingly, ‘Good day to you, young master, and my thanks for your help.’

      Alexander nodded an acknowledgement and climbed back on to the carriage. ‘I dislike that man. He’s insolent. What’s more, he treats his animals abominably and his son not much better,’ he muttered. They looked at Meshak running behind now with the mules, as Otis drove the wagon on at speed.

      ‘Otis Gardiner! Otis!’ Mrs Lynch called out as the mules and wagon reached the Borham barn. ‘Don’t forget to call at Ashbrook! I would be most obliged.’

      ‘Rest assured, Mrs Lynch! I’d as soon forget my right hand. I’ll be calling by in a day or two,’ and Otis turned into the barn, leaving the road free.

      John Millman coaxed the carriage onwards. They began to climb and their pace was slower now. They entered the depths of thick beechwoods, where knotted roots thrust up through the earth. The track became more pitted and rutted and, had there not been two strong horses, the carriage would have got bogged down and abandoned. As it was, the boys, feeling sick with all the swaying and tossing, jumped down and said they would walk.

      Alexander guided Thomas to a track. ‘I want to show you something,’ he said. They climbed and climbed. The path rose, twisting gradually round the edge of the hillside until, suddenly, it levelled out and the woods gradually thinned.

      Alexander took Thomas to the edge of a knoll and grasped him by the arm. ‘Look down there!’ Far, far below, shining amber in the noon sunlight, he saw Gloucester Cathedral gleaming like a jewel. ‘Now let me show you something else,’ cried Alexander. He left the path and began to scramble almost vertically up the hillside. On hands and knees, they scrambled and slid and sometimes clung to creepers which hung from the branches to haul themselves upwards. Finally, they surfaced like swimmers out of the dark wood into the bright open reaches of a heath. The sky was wildly blue; it surrounded them as though they stood on the rim of the world.

      Far below them, in the middle of all that Cotswold wilderness, stretched a landscape of smooth, deforested slopes which extended into cultivated lawns, hedgerows and paved walkways culminating in an artificial lake. In the middle of the lake stood a small Greek temple. Beautiful ornamental gardens were bursting with summer flowers and elegant walks entered shady pergolas and secret bowers. It looked like a hidden kingdom, guarded by the overlapping wooded hills which encircled it. Dominating it all was the finest house Thomas could ever have imagined: a huge honey-stoned mansion of steeply pitched stone-slated roofs, gables and elaborate cornices, of tall ornate chimney stacks and mullioned windows.

      ‘That’s a fine house. Who could possibly own that?’ murmured Thomas. ‘I can’t imagine anyone normal living there.’

      ‘Can’t you, Thomas?’ said Alexander lightly. ‘Come, let’s get back to the carriage,’ and, oblivious of his fine clothes, Alexander led the way, slipping and sliding down through the dense undergrowth till they dropped back on to the track.

      In due course, the carriage came lurching and bumping into view with Mrs Lynch walking alongside. ‘Oh goodness me,’ she wailed when she saw them. ‘I swear this must be worse than being at sea. The tracks get more and more impossible.’

      ‘You will find it easier going as from here,’ John Millman assured them. Soon the road levelled out and ran evenly between avenues of elm and whitebeam. They entered Ashbrook village with its church and inn, where hordes of bare-footed children and scraggy dogs came bounding towards them, cheering and hollering. The road climbed the gradient once more and they broke the brow of the hill. There, at a crossroads, stood a huge oak tree with the remnants of a gallows rope still tossed over its highest branch. A fifth track passed between two tall stone gates which flanked a long avenue of lime trees. And there, at the end of the avenue, was the house Alexander had shown him from the top of the moor.

      ‘Welcome to Ashbrook House,’ exclaimed Alexander.

      ‘Oh!’ Thomas gave a small gasp. Then was silent. This was worse than he had imagined. Alexander wasn’t just a gentleman, he was more like a prince. Thomas could have leapt from the coach and run away. This was no place for the likes of him – where he was lower born than the servants themselves.

      ‘Am I not normal any more, now that you see where I live?’ asked Alexander with a smile.

      ‘You are normal for your kind and I for mine,’ answered Thomas warily, not wishing to offend. He couldn’t imagine such a place being a home, not home as he knew it: a one-up, one-down, and his mother smoking her herrings, the chickens and hens strutting in and out of the door as if they owned the place, and all his brothers and sisters tumbling around, the big ones in charge of the little ones, each with their tasks, and his father with shirt sleeves rolled above his elbows and bibbed apron, hammering and sawing, and the geese honking demandingly, the pig snuffling in its box out in the yard and a cow tethered in the shed. That was his home.

      As the carriage wound round the forecourt to the great porticoed front door, scarlet and gold liveried footmen in white wigs and white gloves were already running down the steps to open the carriage doors and carry in the baggage. Several hounds of various sizes came lolloping out, wagging and barking, not yet aware of who they were greeting.

      ‘Alex, Alex! Alexander is here!’ Young voices yelled out joyfully and, as Alexander jumped down, a small boy and girl hurtled out of the house and flung themselves on top of him, followed by a large, black, long-haired dog, determined not to be left out of the welcome. Alexander, half strangled by loving arms, managed to greet them all, kissing and patting child and beast and calling out to Thomas, ‘Hey, Tom, Tom – these little horrors are Edward and Alice, and this great shaggy beast of a dog here is Bessie. Dear old Bessie – she’s as old as I am, you know, and this – is this Zanzibar? I thought he was a puppy, but look at him!’ Alexander gathered up the large wriggling creature and attempted to hug him, but the dog leapt from his arms and went bounding around in excited circles. ‘We’ll train him up to be the best hunting dog – you’ll see. We’ll go hunting in Ashbrook Woods . . . and where’s Isobel?’

      An upright lady in a stiff bonnet and stiffly starched grey skirts appeared in the doorway. She was accompanied by two young ladies, whose excitement she seemed intent on controlling. She lost the battle with one, who simply flew down the steps, all hooped petticoats and frills and ringlets tossing beneath her cap, and clasped Alexander, little ones and all, in her arms. ‘Alex, Alex, welcome home! At last you’ve come. We expected you hours ago.’

      Alexander plonked the two little ones down, who hugged his knees and nearly toppled him over, while he embraced the girl.

      ‘Oh, Alex,’ she burbled, ‘look at the size of you! You’ve grown as tall as Papa.’

      ‘This is my sister, Isobel,’ laughed Alexander introducing her to Thomas, who bowed shyly, his cap clasped in both hands. ‘Isobel, meet Thomas. He is the most splendid fellow that ever walked the earth and the funniest!’

      Isobel was smiling broadly, and Thomas immediately thought how nice she looked with her laughing face. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you. Very pleased indeed, Miss Isobel!’ he burst out, bowing over and over again.

      The other girl at the top of the steps still hadn’t moved. She was very pretty, with a delicately featured face, rich auburn hair and briefly glimpsed eyes, blue as thrushes’ eggs, before she lowered them. Thomas wondered if the stiff lady next to her was Lady Ashbrook, for she held herself so proudly.

      Alexander, still entangled by excited younger siblings, was dragged up the steps by Isobel. ‘Alex, this is Mrs Milcote, our governess. She has been with us some weeks now,’ cried Isobel. ‘She’s Mama’s cousin, you know.’

      Alexander took the stiff lady’s hand and kissed it, bowing low. ‘A pleasure, Mrs Milcote.’

      ‘My pleasure, Master Alexander.