“Or an accident,” said Angela.
“Wouldn’t they come back to use the phone,” I suggested, pointing out the land-line on the desk. “Or just to get their shoes?”
“They might have been called away,” said Dave. “Maybe they all went outside and left the key inside — locked themselves out, maybe.”
“I don’t like it,” said Lesley, shuffling closer to Dave who placed his arm protectively around Lesley’s shoulders.
“What’s that?” asked Blackbird, pointing to the desk in the corner.
I turned to where she motioned and saw a white envelope on the desk. The words, To the New Occupier, were written on the envelope in looping script.
I picked up the envelope and passed it to Blackbird. “I guess that means you?” I said.
She smelled the envelope, then weighed it in her hand and shook it gently next to her ear, listening for what was inside. When she was satisfied, she tore one end off the envelope and extracted a piece of white paper, which she read loud.
Dear Occupier,
We are given to understand that you are the new occupier of Grey's Court and that the lease for the Trust has been revoked. This is unprecedented in our experience, but we have been assured that this is the case and that the effect is immediate. You will appreciate that these are highly unusual circumstances, and as a result we have been unable to make any preparations, especially with it being so close to Christmas. We never anticipated that the conditions in the lease would be invoked so suddenly.
We have been told that the house and everything in it is yours, and although we feel this may be open to legal challenge we are obliged to abide by the conditions of the lease, at least for the meantime. As a result, the staff have been asked to leave everything. We would also be grateful if you would look after the property the Trust has left in your care until the legal ownership of the items can be confirmed.
The house is a national treasure and I am sure you are aware that any deterioration in the condition of the property would be a loss, not only to the Trust, but to the nation as a whole. We would ask therefore that you treat it carefully and considerately.
Yours,
Cynthia Burgess
Legal Advisor, National Trust
“Does that mean the house is ours?” asked Angela.
“Perhaps,” said Blackbird. “At least they believe it. They can challenge it, and we’d need a copy of the lease to know whether there is any basis for a challenge, but it sounds like they’ve accepted the situation, at least for the meantime. We can appoint lawyers to look at it if necessary, but for now, it’s ours.”
“It explains why it’s so creepy,” said Lesley. “I was beginning to think they’d all disappeared — like a house version of the Marie Celeste.”
I wandered around the office, finding a newspaper left open, the crossword half-completed, a half-written note, an uncapped pen lying next to it. It was time to mention what was bothering me. “There is something,” I said. They all focused on me. “Do you feel it?”
They all looked at each other. Blackbird nodded slowly, “I feel it too.”
“I can’t place it,” I told her. “To begin with I thought there was a Way-node here, and maybe there is, but I can’t find it. I’ve been all around the ground floor, and I can’t see any signs of a cellar or a door leading down. Is it just me?”
“No, she said. Whatever is here is very faint. It’s like a residue, or an echo of something.”
“Do you think it is actually haunted?” asked Lesley.
Blackbird shook her head. “No. There are no ghosts, but Niall’s right. Something was here, long ago. It might explain the strange business with the lease.”
“You think that’s part of it?” I asked her.
“You have to admit, it’s an odd arrangement. I know the National Trust doesn’t own all the properties they operate, that’s not so unusual, but the business with the rose — that must be unique.”
“So what was here?” I asked.
She looked around the deserted office. “Originally? A shrine, perhaps, or maybe there was a weak Way-node here that we haven’t found. If the house is mentioned in the Domesday Book, then it’s over ten centuries old — predating the Norman conquest.” She gestured around her. “The house you see now would have been built later — it’s mainly Tudor with some late additions, but there would have been a structure prior to that, probably a smaller house. It could have been destroyed in a fire, or fell into ruin, and later rebuilt in a Tudor style. Who knows?”
“And if there’s a legal challenge?” asked Angela. “We don’t have any money for lawyers and court fees.”
“Perhaps we can get legal aid?” I suggested.
Blackbird frowned at me. “Once the Eighth Court is established, we have an income,” she said. “That’s part of the reason for our search for a home. The income of the courts is divided equally between the courts, and once we are established within the courts we qualify for a share of that. Teoth and Krane tried to challenge that, but their own share of the income is based on the same principle. If they cut us off then they leave their own sources of income open to challenge.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Where do the courts get money from? They don’t make anything — none of them do any work that I’m aware of.”
“You forget,” said Blackbird. “The courts are very old. They’ve had land since ownership became possible: farms, houses, property, tied up in trusts and held by proxies. There are investment funds, charitable trusts — they own houses like this one, all over the place. This may have been leased by the National Trust, but you have to ask, who did they lease it from? If you work hard enough and pursue it long enough, you could probably trace the lease back to something that links to the courts. That would explain the arrangement with the rose rent. I know for a fact that they are the ultimate owners of some very exclusive property in London. The income exceeds the outgoings, so year on year, it just accumulates.
“So why don’t we simply use the money we get from that to buy a place?” asked Angela.
“We have income, but no capital,” explained Blackbird. “In order to receive an income, we need to establish the court. Without capital we can’t buy a place, and without a place we can’t establish a court. What do you suggest, we take out a mortgage?”
“It’s a thought,” Angela said.
“You’re not thinking this through. We’d have to prove our identity, and enter into financial debt with a bank based on income for which we are not able to disclose the source. That’s not going to work, is it? We’d be better off declaring your semi in Tamworth as a court, though I doubt you’re quite ready to donate your house to the cause.”
Angela’s silence confirmed Blackbird’s assessment.
“If we had this place for a while, though,” said Dave, “we could build up a reserve, and once we have a reserve we can find somewhere else if we need to.”
“We, Dave?” said Blackbird.
Dave suddenly looked embarrassed at his verbal slip. “I thought… you know… if Lesley is going to be Steward…?”
“She hasn’t decided yet,” said Blackbird. “It’s a big commitment,” she said, “for both of you.”
Dave and Lesley shared a hesitant smile. “So are we moving in?” asked Lesley. “Is this the home of the Eighth Court?”
Blackbird looked around her slowly. “I think it will do for now. We’ll have to resolve any dispute about legal ownership. We could start by returning the possessions of the people that worked here, as a gesture of good faith.”
“So we inherit the contents?” I asked.
“They will certainly challenge that,” said Blackbird, “but yes, in part. We might have to purchase our own furniture, but that’s only to be expected. Once we have an income it all becomes easier.”
“That’s not going to happen until the New Year, though,” I pointed out. “None of this will be sorted out before Christmas. What do we do in the meantime?”