Who Needs Mr Willoughby?. Katie Oliver

her mother agreed, and sighed. “I know you’ll be fine. Go and enjoy yourself, then, and don’t give me or your sister another thought.”

      “I’ll try. But I will miss you, both of you. Goodbye.”

      “You’ll see so many new things, and meet so many new people, you won’t have time to miss us,” Elinor assured her. “Safe journey.”

      With a tremulous smile, Marianne turned and made her way to the limousine. She slid onto the back seat, scooting over to make room for Lady Violet, and settled herself beside the window.

      Her journey – to Northumberland, and eventually, to a new life, and a new job as a veterinary assistant – was finally underway.

Chapter 3

      At some point past midnight the car glided to a stop at the end of a long, twisting drive, and Marianne woke from a half-doze to realise that she and Lady Violet had arrived at Barton Park.

      The train had stopped several times during their journey northward to pick up and disgorge passengers before they finally reached their destination. After driving for miles through the darkness, past thickets of trees that lined the hilly upland roads, Marianne saw no sign of a house, nor any indication of a town or village – only trees, and rocks, and swathes of impenetrable blackness.

      How the driver found the turning to Barton Park in the tree-crowded darkness was a mystery.

      It felt, she thought now as she followed Lady Violet up the steps to the front door, as if they’d been traveling for eons.

      She shivered. It was bloody freezing up here, too.

      “I did tell you it was colder here,” the woman informed her as she drew her bouclé jacket closer against the chill. “When Tuppy had his grouse hunts, the fireplaces roared continuously.”

      “Tuppy?” Marianne echoed. She felt stupid with tiredness after travelling all day; it was only the cold that kept her awake.

      “Theodore, my dear departed,” Lady Violet explained. “Everyone called him Tuppy. No idea why, but I’m sure there was a reason, once upon a time…”

      Marianne made no reply. She had a vague impression of a hulking pile of stone looming up before them as they reached the front door. All she really wanted at the moment, she realised as she hid a yawn behind her hand, was to crawl into bed under masses of blankets and sleep, preferably for the rest of the summer…

      The door swung open.

      “Welcome, Lady Violet,” the woman who opened the door said. She nodded at Marianne. “Hello, Miss Holland. I’m Mrs Fenwick, the housekeeper. Bertie,” she called out sharply over her shoulder, “come and fetch the ladies’ luggage upstairs, please.”

      “I’m gan as fast as ever I can,” he grumbled. A man – Marianne assumed he was Mr Fenwick – gave the two of them a brief nod and bent to pick up their luggage. “Where to?”

      “Please show Miss Holland to one of the guest bedrooms at the end of the hall,” Lady Valentine replied as she made her way up the stairs with Marianne and Bertie trailing behind her. “I assume they’re all ready?”

      “Oh, aye. The purple room, then, is it?”

      “As long as it’s not the red room,” Marianne said.

      But her reference to Jane Eyre and The Shining elicited no reply from either Bertie or Lady V, and she fell silent.

      She was far too tired to talk, anyway. Her brain felt like day-old porridge.

      At the top of the stairs the hallway stretched off in two directions. After depositing his employer’s luggage in a room on the right, and after Marianne bid Lady Violet a polite goodnight, Bertie turned and led her in the opposite direction, down the left side of the hallway to a door at the far end.

      “Here t’are, miss.” He opened the door and set her rucksack down on a chair just inside. “It’s off I go nae, divvn’t you kna, so I’ll say goodnight to ye.”

      Marianne stared at him blankly. She didn’t know if it was her sleep-deprived brain or just a Geordie language barrier, but she didn’t understand a word he’d said.

      “Um…okay. Thanks, Mr…Bertie.”

      But he was already gone.

      With a sigh Marianne shut the door and sagged back against it. She knew she ought to take a shower, but decided it could wait until morning. With another yawn she stripped off her jeans and T-shirt and crawled, shivering, under the thick pile of blankets on the bed.

      Within seconds, she was asleep.

      ***

      The ringing of a bell woke her late the next morning.

      How quaint. Sleepily, Marianne opened her eyes and stretched, like a contented feline, in the patch of sunshine that painted her bed with stripes of golden light. There must be a church nearby.

      The ringing came again, and she shot up in bed as she realised it was her mobile phone. Bloody hell, but she’d forgotten to charge it last night…

      “Hello?” she croaked as she grabbed the mobile from the nightstand and held it to her ear.

      “Marianne!” her mother cried. “Did you arrive safely? You never called.”

      “Sorry, mum. I only just woke up…we got here late – very late – last night.”

      “Good. We were a bit worried when we didn’t hear from you. Is it very nice there?”

      “I didn’t get much of a look round last night,” Marianne admitted, and lowered her voice in awe as her glance swooped around the room, “but my bedroom’s brill.”

      She admired the four-post Jacobean bed piled high with white and purple duvets, and the cushioned window seats, perfect for curling up with a book, that looked out over hills thick with yellow gorse and purple heather…and blue skies adrift with clouds as puffy and white as the eiderdown that covered her.

      And although the room was lovely, with a lavish, old-fashioned charm that was impossible to resist, she still felt a pang of loss at the thought of the bedroom – and the home – she’d left behind.

      “Where’s Elinor?” Marianne asked as she threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet dangled at least six inches from the floor.

      “Overseeing the packing. You know how organised your sister is, always planning ahead and managing the finances.” Mrs Holland sighed. “Such as they are.”

      “It’ll all come right, mum, don’t worry. Ellie’s great at financial…stuff. She’ll get it all sorted. At least we’ll have a place to live in the meantime, and I’ll soon have a job.”

      “A job? I’d much rather you both found husbands. I won’t lie about that.”

      Marianne laughed. “I doubt we’ll find husbands up here,” she said as she went to the window and curled up on the cushioned sill. “Unless we marry a farmer, or a sheepherder.”

      “There’s no shame in marrying a farmer. Perhaps Lady Violet can introduce you to a few eligible young men of her acquaintance –”

      “No, thank you,” Marianne retorted. “I can only imagine the sort of boring old aristos she’d consider “suitable”. No way.”

      “Oh, well, time enough for all of that later, I suppose. I’ll ring you when our plans are firm. Elinor’s sold her horse to one of the neighbour’s farms so we can buy train tickets to Northumberland.”

      Dismay swept over her. “Ellie sold Jingle? But she loves that horse.”

      Elinor and the bay stallion were inseparable from the time their father