Embers

Embers

Alice and Toby had already grown bored with the tour even before they reached the master bedroom of the manor house. Despite the grandeur of the property, the only thing that had impressed them so far was the massive glass chandelier suspended in the entrance hall. Alice had been reluctant to walk under it, as they made their way up the wide staircase to the first-floor landing.

This was the sixth stately home the family had visited in the space of two weeks. Weeks that would normally have seen them all on a beach somewhere warm, but their parents had joined the Heritage Trust earlier in the year and were determined to get their money’s worth. Alice and Toby were not happy and had dragged their feet through countless period properties with a lack of enthusiasm that bordered on contempt. As the guide droned on about the embroidered bed hangings and curtains, Toby whispered to his sister that they should go and find something more interesting. Always eager to please her brother, she willingly followed his lead, but as they stepped out onto large empty landing, she hesitated and sent a worried glance back the way they’d come.

‘Won’t Mummy be cross?’ She asked, her voice wavering.

‘We won’t go far; just explore up here on our own. It’ll be fun.’

Alice thought that an ice cream would probably be more fun but scampered after her brother, as he ran up the landing past the top of the staircase. On the other side, the corridor became gloomier as they left the light of the open hallway behind them, and Alice became frightened.

‘Toby. I want to go back,’ she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

‘Just a bit further. We’ll go in the next room. Promise,’ Toby said, reaching for his sister’s hand and urging her forward. Alice felt braver now that her brother was holding her and, wiping the moisture from her face, stumbled after him.

They pushed open the heavy door and found themselves in a bright room with large windows that looked over the woods at the back of the manor.

‘Look, this must have been a children’s room,’ Toby said, pointing to a gaily painted rocking horse on the other side of the two tall beds.

Alice grinned, but her attention was taken up by the massive wardrobe that spanned most of the far wall.

‘Do you think there’s a fairy land through the wardrobe, like the story?’ She asked her brother.

‘Let’s look!’ He exclaimed, excitedly.

The big door was awkward but between them they managed to haul it open. The open door threw the far end of the wardrobe into deep shadow, and they both took a step back, no longer so eager to enter.

‘Do not be afraid, children,’ said a soft, calming voice from the darkness, ‘there’s plenty of soft pillows in here.’

Alice and Toby looked at each other in astonishment, and edged forward, the voice oddly calming their nerves.

‘Please, come in, make yourselves comfortable. It’s safe in here.’

As if in a trance the children climbed up into the huge space, feeling for the sides to steady themselves. Alice looked towards the source of the voice, but all she could see was a small glint of something shiny hovering in the air.

‘Close the door, there’s no need to fear the dark; it can hide you from danger as you’ll find out from my story.’

With the door closed, they sank down onto the pillows, and Alice reached out to hold Toby’s hand in the dark.

‘Do not worry, my dears. I’ll keep you safe,’ murmured the calming voice.

‘All settled? Then, I’ll begin.’

This is the story of the great fire at Biddstone Manor, in February of 1820, shortly after the death of the Mad King. No, dear, I don’t know why he was mad. Please try to concentrate and refrain from interrupting. You may ask questions when my story is concluded.

The Lord of Biddstone, Sir Henry Cavendish, despite being knighted by his monarch, was not a lover of the old king whose policies he found frustrating, and albeit tempting ire from some quarters, decided to throw a lavish party to commemorate his death. Many of the influential families of Westmorland were invited to attend, and Sir Henry did not stint on his preparations. For days before the event, victuallers from across the county, and further afield, arrived at the hall, their heavily laden carts and drays churning up the gravel of the driveway, that the groundsmen were required to repair after each visit. The hall became astir with bustling activity; candelabras were cleaned so that their brass glistened like gold, tables and sideboards were polished until you could see your reflection in them. The best cutlery and dinnerware were bought up from the cellars, and the housemaids blacked all the fireplaces, and made up the guest beds with the finest linen and softest eiderdowns.

On the allotted day, grand coaches, began arriving as the sun sank behind the distant fells, the flaming braziers bordering the long driveway brightly illuminating the passing polished lacquer and dazzling livery. Guests were guided to the main hall, with its magnificent Murano glass chandelier, and offered champagne and caviar from Fortnum and Mason, which had arrived that morning on a dray piled with ice, and heavily wrapped in oilcloth. Sweetmeats and petit fours were distributed amongst the guests, many marvelling at the expertise of the chefs and pastry cooks. Lady Marchington, her ample bosom heaving in rapture, was heard to say that she’d never tasted such exquisite delicacies and immediately despatched a footman with compliments to the kitchen.

Sir Henry and Lady Florence, effortlessly mingled with guests, and with beneficent smiles or the lightest touch on an arm, they made all they spoke to feel special. It was soon time for dinner, and the butler chimed the gong to usher guests into the luxurious dining room, where the candlelight glittered off the silverware and crystal glasses sent prisms of light across the faces of the assembled. Especially for this occasion, their children were allowed to sit with them for the first course before they were sent to bed. Henry Junior sat bolt upright in his chair, aping every movement of his father, even down to tasting the wine which he pretended to enjoy. Little Clara-Ann, her head barely above the tabletop, sat wide-eyed shyly eyeing all the ladies’ sparkling jewellery, and breathing in the heady scent of powdered wigs that drifted across the room. Secretly, both Henry and Clara-Ann were happy to be excused for bedtime, and after bowing and curtsying respectively (much to the delight of the guests), they raced up the stairs to their bedchamber with its high beds and huge wardrobe.

What was the reason for their haste, you ask? That would be Embers, the ginger tom that the young hall boy had introduced them to, many months before. One of the stable cats had given birth to six kittens back in the previous winter. Two of them died of the cold, one had been killed by the groom because it was black, and he feared that the Devil would be summoned by its presence. This left a black and white tabby, a calico and a ginger tom. The tabby and the calico were soon proficient hunters and were very wary of people and kept their distance, but the ginger tom seemed happy to be around them, and consequently Clara-Ann fell in love with him. She could often be seen wandering around the stable yard, cradling the kitten like a baby. Henry also fell under his spell, and they would spend many hours playing with him, using twine and straw from the barn. One cold day in late spring, Clara-Ann and Henry smuggled the kitten into the kitchen and sat before the closed range with him wrapped in a blanket. The cook tolerated cats in the kitchen as they kept down the rodents that often plagued the pantry but usually shooed them out while she cooked and baked. As the children sat warming their hands and feet, the cook opened the range and poked the coals, which glowed a deep orange as the air circulated around them. We shall call him Embers, Henry declared, to which his sister readily agreed, although she didn’t know what embers meant.

For many months the children spent much of their spare time with Embers and would sometimes smuggle him to their room at night, asking the maid to keep their secret. In truth, their parents were aware of their children’s dalliance and were willing to indulge them as long as it didn’t distract them from their studies. In fact, Lady Florence had become quite attached to the cat herself and was often found stroking him when she visited the kitchen, while he lay supine in front of the range, purring loudly; for the cook had increasingly taken to Embers and allowed him to stay whenever he wished.

Embers grew into a very handsome cat, and the children noticed that he became increasingly attuned to his surroundings. He would disappear minutes before Sir Henry returned with his hounds from hunting or jump onto a windowsill before a pot fell from the stove. Once he led the under-groom to the pasture where one of the stable boys had fallen while breaking in a young colt, and another time woke them in the night when a mare was having trouble birthing a foal. Their parents were impressed by his intelligence, but Henry and Clara-Ann thought he was magic. The stable boy, who was forever grateful for the cat finding him, punched a hole in a shiny farthing, threaded it with string and gave it to the children to hang around his neck. On the farthing he scratched the name ‘Embers’.

It would be fair to say that life at Biddstone Manor was idyllic, and this was true up until the night of the party, but please don’t be scared children, I’m here and nothing will hurt you.

After the last of the guests who weren’t staying over at the manor had departed, Lady Florence and her two sisters-in-law retired to bed, leaving Sir Henry and his brothers to enjoy a rather splendid malt whisky in the study, the furthermost room in the West wing. This was Sir Henry’s favourite room, its walls lined on three sides by bookshelves from floor to ceiling, with a sliding ladder for each section, and the other wall dominated by an impressive inglenook fireplace which was one of the only surviving original features from the fourteenth century manor which was all but destroyed during the thirty-years war. The existing manor was of late seventeenth century construction, with later additions in the eighteenth, and was widely admired across the county for its elegance and unrivalled views of the fells and lakes. The fire danced in the dog grate, sending its warming glow across the gentlemen’s flushed faces, and the deep burgundy of the leather chairs. Sir Henry’s two brother’s eyes drooped with overindulgence, and the room was imbued with a companionable silence.

Sir Henry was roused from this reverie by what he thought were shouts in the distance and a creak from the doorway. He turned and saw the door swing open as if by a ghostly hand, though he quickly realised it was Embers entering the room in what could only be described as an agitated state. It was highly unusual for the cat to stray this far from the kitchen or his children’s bedroom at this hour, and he gazed quizzically as Embers started mewling and turning circles in front of the threshold. It was then he smelled the smoke.

Sir Henry sprang up from his chair, spilling the last of his drink, his brothers similarly arose echoing their brother’s concern. The gentlemen rushed into the corridor and headed for the main hall, which was already mired in thick black smoke. The front door was open and many of the staff were already huddled outside, fear etching their features. Sir Henry shouted to find out if anyone was missing, spluttering and coughing in the thickening miasma. He was told that his sisters-in-law were still upstairs, as were Lady Florence and the children. During this exchange, Embers had raced up the stairs and was heading for the children’s bedroom, startling the two ladies as they ran from their rooms, desperately clutching housecoats around their nightwear as they headed towards the stairs. There was a brief exchange on the staircase as they were met by the men ascending in fits of wheezing. Sir Henry bid his brothers and their wives to gain the safety of the outside and rose to the increasing darkness of the landing. He removed his handkerchief from his pocket and holding it over his nose and mouth, hurried towards their bed chambers; he could already feel the heat of the approaching fire, and the blackness took on an eerie orange glow. The heat increased dramatically as he reached the smoke-stained door of his bedchamber. His wife was outside retching and sobbing, clutching onto the door frame in a state of near collapse. Her face was red and stained with sooty streaks. ‘The children!’ She wailed as she sank to the floor. Sir Henry quickly pulled her to her feet and held her steady.

‘You must go,’ he shouted, ‘I will get the children,’ he said as he stripped off his jacket and threw it around his head, turning towards the swirling gloom. Lady Florence cried out the children’s names, her hands clutching at Sir Henry’s back, then, quite suddenly, Embers appeared out of the shadows, yowling insistently. He fixed them both with a stare and purposefully turned around and started to walk towards the increasing glow. Instinctively, and without concern for their own safety, they followed the cat down the smoky corridor, towards the children’s bedchamber.

At their door, the heat was intense, and there was a smell of singed fur and cloth as Embers darted through the small gap in the doorway. Carefully avoiding the scorching brass of the handle, Sir Henry quickly shouldered the door open and propelled Lady Florence in front of him. As he slammed the heavy door shut against the heat and smoke outside, they heard their children’s voices from across the room. Clara-Ann was urgently beckoning them from the big opening of the wardrobe.

‘Quickly, Embers made us get in here.’

With the merest questioning glance at each other, Sir Henry and Lady Florence charged towards the wardrobe, and just as they closed the door, Embers jumped in beside them.

‘What happened next?’ Alice enquired from the darkness.

‘They were all saved, of course,’ said the velvety voice.

‘That sounds unlikely,’ Toby said, with a huff.

‘It’s all true,’ purred the voice, ‘because I was there …’

‘Toby! Alice! Are you in here?’

Toby pushed open the wardrobe door, to be met with his mother’s anxious face, her features a mixture of relief and anger.

‘What have we told you both about wandering off? Anything could have happened.’

‘It’s all right, mummy,’ Toby said, ‘he told us a story in here.’

‘What? Who?’ She said, alarm suffusing her words.

Their father hurriedly wrenched open the other door of the wardrobe. It was empty, but for a few pillows. ‘Are you telling tales, Toby?’

Just then they were interrupted by the guide’s voice.

‘Now this, ladies and gentlemen, is Biddstone Manor’s famous children’s bedchamber,’ she said walking into the big room, followed by the tour group.

‘As you can see, the room has been restored to its former glory. It was the only one in the manor that wasn’t badly damaged after the great fire of 1820, over two-hundred years ago.’

One of the group whistled under his breath. ‘That’s one hell of a wardrobe; a family could live in there!’

‘Yes, it’s very impressive, and contains a remarkable story. It’s said that the children’s beloved cat led them and their parents away from the fire to shelter in this very wardrobe, and they all survived to tell the tale.’

As everyone murmured in wonder, Alice tugged at her mother’s sleeve. ‘Mummy, look what I found in the wardrobe,’ Alice said holding up a small shiny coin with a hole in it. ‘It says, Embers.’