Autumn Leaves at Mill Grange by Jenny Kane (best free e reader .TXT) 📕

reason for getting out of bed every day. If I’d read about this place, Sam or no Sam, I’d have booked in for a week instantly.’

Tina had no idea what to say; she felt humbled and heartbreakingly proud of Sam all at once.

‘Come on.’ Woody turned back to the coop, his tone reverting to its original lightness, as if he’d flicked some sort of internal switch to “get on with it” mode. ‘Which of these divine creatures is the fabled Gertrude?’

‘The one having a peck-off with the brown hen on the other side of the chicken wire. I think I’ll call her Mavis.’

‘What’s with the segregation?’

‘Mavis and her crew are new. The idea is that they can get used to each other without coming to blows. Apparently, it’s normal for them to squabble; they’re establishing a pecking order.’

Woody grinned. ‘So that’s where that phrase comes from then.’

‘So the farmer who delivered them said. She also warned us that we may not see many eggs from the established brood while they adjust to each other.’ Tina bent down to peer inside the henhouse. ‘Looks like that’s the case. I can’t see any.’

‘No boiled eggs for breakfast then.’ Woody watched Tony Stark giving Mavis the eye from the safety of the henhouse.

‘Don’t worry, we’ve plenty from yesterday. I’ll have to nip into the village and warn Sybil at the tea rooms that supplies will be low for a bit though.’

‘You supply the village?’

‘Just the tea rooms so far, but in time, hopefully we’ll sell to others as well.’

‘That’s brilliant.’ Woody waved to the hens as they left the coop. ‘I love a tea room.’

‘Maybe we could all go up for coffee and scones tomorrow.’

‘Depends what Sam has lined up for us.’ Woody massaged his stomach. ‘It also depends what dinner is like tonight. Mabel cooked up such a delicious feast last night I could hardly manage breakfast.’ He chuckled. ‘On the other hand, I see Ann is on the rota to cook later. Maybe you’d better book us in for a large fry-up and then afternoon tea as well.’

Thirteen

September 8th

It had been a long time since driving a Land Rover had been practical, rather than just an act of owning and driving an object of her affection.

Helen stroked the steering wheel, whispering a thank you to the ancient engine, as it effortlessly negotiated the thin twisting lanes that her phone insisted would take her up to Mill Grange. She could almost hear her vehicle taking deep breaths of country air after years of tootling through Bath City Centre.

Hoping Thea wouldn’t be cross at her unheralded arrival, Helen slowed down. The sat nav was convinced she ought to turn right into the lane that led to Mill Grange, but she couldn’t see a right to turn into.

Edging onwards, glad there was nothing behind her, and praying that a tractor didn’t decide to drive towards her from the opposite direction, Helen craned her neck, peering over the hedges that lined the fields on either side of the road. Having failed to see anything except the occasional pheasant and a herd of distant deer, Helen prayed for a lay-by to appear so she could pull in and consult the directions she’d written down in case the sat nav connection broke.

‘How can I lose an entire manor house?’

A mile later, rather than discovering somewhere safe to pull over, the Land Rover reached a crossroads where the associated signpost suggested she turn either left or right to places she’d never heard of, which didn’t feature on her map at all. Determined not to panic, reminding herself that, when she’d been a practising archaeologist, getting lost down country lanes was all part of the adventure; Helen did a twenty-three-point turn.

‘Okay then, so if it was supposed to be on the right last time, now it’ll be on the left.’ Edging forwards, heading downhill, Helen was arrested by the stunning vista before her.

From the opposite direction, all she’d seen was road and hedges, but now she found herself presented with a picture-book view of patchwork fields and copper-tinged woodland. The first lick of autumn was in evidence, despite the warmth of the sunshine that reflected on her window screen. Helen marvelled at how some trees were already adorned with crisp brown leaves, ready to fall, whereas others were stoically clinging on to their greenery, determined not to relinquish their leaves until the last possible moment. The pine and conifer trees, liberally dotted between them all, looked smug and warm in their evergreen coats.

‘No wonder Thea decided not to come back to the Roman Baths.’ Dropping her speed to a crawl, Helen spotted a narrow driveway to the left. A faded wooden sign with “Mill Grange” engraved into it was propped against a stone wall.

‘How the hell did I miss that on the way up?’

Turning gingerly into the driveway, Helen felt a tremor of excitement. It had been way too long since she’d seen Thea. She’d been so busy, that it was only when her former colleague had contacted her with queries about the fortlet that Helen realised how much she missed her.

Muttering under her breath as she turned into the drive, thanking her ancient Land Rover for getting her there, Helen gasped in delight as, from behind a bank of trees, Mill Grange came into sight.

*

Tina watched from the kitchen window as Sam and their three guests assembled outside, backpacks on their shoulders.

Establishing a quick pace, they were soon standing at the far edge of the garden, one step from the entrance to the woods that would take them on a downward path, through moss-covered woodland, down to the River Barle, beyond to the Tarr Steps, and on to the heart of Exmoor’s open ground of heather, gorse and grazing sheep and ponies.

‘I almost wish I was going with them.’ Tina picked up a bunch of carrots, waiting to be diced.

‘Only almost?’ Mabel was keeping her eyes on the bubbling stock on the hob that was