A Most Unlikely Friendship

Tom followed the directions on his Sat Nav, peering through the windscreen, trying to tie up the road up ahead, with the lines on the small screen on the dashboard. He repeated the name of the old place to himself, as though that would conjure up the house. 

He had been asked to renovate and restore the old country house, carrying out routine maintenance and repairs, by the owner, Lord Earlham. The renovation work should take around three weeks. He was wondering just what the work on the mansion house would entail, when he spotted a sign next to large metal gates. Barton Moss Manor.

He pulled up to the gates, and pressed the button on the red-brick wall. A second later there was a buzzing sound and the gates swept majestically open. Tom drove slowly down the wide driveway taking in the scene. The place looked like something from a period drama, with the grand three storey house, sitting in acres of rolling green countryside. Tom spotted a couple of deer trotting across the land. There were most likely peacocks and pheasant around here too. This was a different world that what he was used to. Tom might get a fox or cat in his backyard, but that was about it.

As he pulled up to one side of the double doors, he noticed a figure at the far-right window of the third storey, the top floor of the old manor house. The woman looked on as he climbed out of his van. Tom rummaged in his overalls for the house keys Lord Earlham had passed on. He tried the keys in the large door. There was a deep clunking sound as the lock turned. 

When he entered the grand hallway, a woman dashed down the staircase and hurried towards him. It was the figure from the window. She looked to be somewhere in her fifties, her greying hair tied up in a bun. Reading glasses dangled from a chain around her neck.

‘If you have a delivery, then please use the rear entrance.’ She said, waving a hand behind her.

‘I’m the building contractor. I’ll be working on the house for the next few weeks.’

‘I’m Mrs Hudson, the house-keeper. Any arrangements should have been approved by myself.’ She snapped.

‘It’s all agreed with Lord Earlham. Feel free to check with his Lordship. He said he’d be working away for most of the time I’d be here.’ Tom said.

‘Honestly, that man.’ She tutted. ‘He’s always pulling stunts like this. Last week, we had the local boy scout group turn up, completely unannounced. They wanted to use the gardens for their summer fete. I was about to call the police and have them arrested for trespassing. It turned out his Lordship had agreed to the whole thing.’

Tom laughed at her outburst. His laughter seemed to break the tension. Mrs Hudson smiled.

‘Am I not right?’ She asked, the smile still on her lips. ‘It really does play merry hell with my routine.’

‘It must keep you busy.’ He said. 

‘You have no idea. What’s your name?’ She asked.

‘I’m Tom.’

‘Nice to meet you, Thomas. Welcome to the house.’

‘Thank you. Well, I’ll get cracking then.’ He said.

Mrs Hudson told him to let her know if he needed her assistance and returned to her duties somewhere in the house. 

Just over an hour later, as Tom was giving the skirting boards in the hallway a lick of paint, Mrs Hudson appeared. She looked from him to the hall carpet. Tom sighed, putting his paintbrush down. He had a feeling this would be the way things would go, while working on the house.

‘Everything, okay?’ He asked.

‘Would you mind wiping your feet. We can’t have you traipsing mud all down the hall.’ She said.

Rather than insist his steel-toe capped boots were clean, he headed to the front door mat and made a show of wiping the imaginary dirt off his boots, as Mrs Hudson looked on. Once she had watched him wipe his feet sufficiently, she dashed back down the hallway, talking to herself about the next task she had to get on with.

When he headed back to the van, to get his toolbox, he had a feeling he was being watched. He glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, Mrs Hudson was looking down, watching him from the top-storey window. When he had started working in the building trade, he had quickly picked up on the fact that nobody liked having work done. People loved the finished product, they loved the results, but most customers would be actually pretty grumpy and miffed about the work being undertaken. It was the noise, the mess, the inconvenience, the general disruption. Tom had hoped that with Lord Earlham working away while Tom was there, he would be free to carry on uninterrupted, but Mrs Hudson was there watching him, eyeing him constantly. 

As he left that evening, sure enough, there she was looking on as he climbed in the van and drove away.

When he pulled up the next morning, Mrs Hudson was there in the top floor window, watching him. Tom let himself in the house, toolbox in hand. He paused at the front door and wipes his feet. Mrs Hudson appeared at the bottom of the stairs. She nodded in approval at his efforts.

‘There’s a good chap. Thank you kindly.’ She said.

‘Good morning, Mrs H.’ Tom said.

Mrs Hudson fidgeted with her apron and rushed away once more, muttering to herself. Tom couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe you had to be some kind of eccentric to work in these old houses, or maybe working in this kind of place turned you into an eccentric.

When Tom started drilling, the house-keeper found him once more. She hovered around him, tutting. Tom switched the drill off and removed his safety goggles. He forced a polite smile on his face.

‘Everything okay, Mrs Hudson?’ 

‘Look at the mess.’ She said, waving to the brick-dust on the carpet.

‘I’m in the middle of the job. I haven’t finished drilling yet.’ Tom said.

‘That’s no excuse for a mess.’ Mrs Hudson said.

‘But I’ll be creating more mess the second I carry on.’ He insisted. 

Mrs Hudson simply stared at him over her glasses.

‘Fine, I’ll get the vacuum cleaner from the van.’

‘If you don’t mind.’ She said.

As he headed to the van to grab the hand-held Hoover, he smiled to himself. They way Mrs Hudson used the phrase ‘if you don’t mind’ made it quite clear, she would get her own way, whether you minded or not.

While he whizzed the handheld vacuum cleaner around, picking up all the brick-dust, Mrs Hudson looked on, pointing out any spots he missed. 

The following morning, when Tom spotted her in the window, he was surprised to see her wave at him. He waved back and headed for the house. She met him in the hallway.

‘Good morning, Thomas. I’m just about to take five minutes. Would you like a cup of tea?’ She asked.

‘I’m fine for tea thanks; my wife makes me a flask every morning. I’ll join you, though. We can drink out tea together.’ He waved his flask and followed her through to the kitchen. They took seats facing each other at the kitchen table. 

‘And your wife makes you up a flask every day? What a lovely gesture. You are a lucky man.’

‘Yeah, I am.’ He agreed. 

She raised her China tea-cup in a toast. Tom raised the plastic cup that came with the flask. As they sipped their tea they chatted. They discussed the house, its history, they chatted about the weather and life in general. Tom hoped that the chinwag would help bring Mrs Hudson onside. Perhaps going forward, she would see him as a nice feller, trying to do a good job, rather than just a mucky pair of boots on the hall carpet. He sensed she was enjoying his company.

From that point on, they would break for tea and a chat every afternoon. Tom would drink from his flask, and Mrs Hudson would sip from her fancy tea set. Every morning she would wave from the window, before dashing down to greet him. 

One afternoon Mrs Hudson asked if he would like to take a look at the gardens. If he had time, of course. Tom nodded, yeah, that’d be nice. 

As they walked through the lavish gardens, Mrs Hudson explained that the house had originally been built in the late 1600s, and largely renovated in the 1870s, becoming more or less the house we have today. The Earlham family have owned the house since the early 1900s.

‘My wife says she’s heard the house is haunted.’ Tom said.

‘These stories have been around for years. During the war, the house was used as a makeshift hospital for soldiers coming back from the Front. They say that the ghosts of soldiers, and even nurses, can be seen wandering these halls. I, myself, have never seen anything remotely supernatural.  Not that I believe in any of that nonsense, of course.’ She said.

‘Of course not.’ Tom said. 

‘I’ve got enough going on in this life, without worrying about the afterlife.’ Mrs Hudson said.

‘You might have a point.’ He agreed.

‘Indeed. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’

Mrs Hudson hurried off to deal with some urgent business in the house. 

Tom was leaving one afternoon, when his phone pinged. One new message. The text was from Lord Earlham. His Lordship said he would be back by the end of the week. Tom replied saying he’ll be done by Friday afternoon, having tied up a few last-minute tasks. Wonderful. I’ll see you then, came the reply.

By the Friday afternoon, as he’d hoped, Tom was finished the job. He packed his tools away and stretched. He went to the hallway and called out.

‘That’s me done, Mrs Hudson. I’ll be getting off then.’ 

She rushed from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a cloth. 

‘It has been splendid to meet you, Thomas. I shall miss our little chats.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘it’s been an education. How the other half live, and all that. I’m working on a high school next week, so I’ll have all the little darlings getting under my feet. It won’t quite be the same.’  

‘Ouch!’ She said. ‘You’ll have to have a little drop of whiskey in your tea.’

‘Now, there’s an idea.’ Tom said.

‘You take care of yourself, Thomas.’ She said.

‘You too, Mrs H.’ 

As Tom was loading up the van, his Lordship pulled up in his Range Rover. He climbed out of the car and came over. Lord Earlham was in his late fifties, dressed in wax jacket, jeans and a smart shirt. He had the air of an off-duty Royal about him. 

‘Good afternoon, Lord Earlham.’ Tom said. 

His Lordship shook him warmly by the hand. 

‘Afternoon, Tom. Are we all finished?’

‘The work is all sorted, no problems. Of course, if you need me back for any reason, just get in touch.’

His Lordship nodded, will do. 

‘I had a bit of trouble with your house-keeper at first.’ Tom said. ‘I did try to explain why the work needed doing, and that I was acting on your instructions. I think she warmed to me in the end. I did have to wipe my feet every five minutes and tidy up after myself as I went. As she says, she runs a tight ship.’ 

‘Sorry, I’m a bit confused, old chap. We don’t employ a house-keeper. We’ve not had staff working in the house for quite a few years.’ Lord Earlham said.

‘What about Mrs Hudson?’ Tom asked.

‘There used to be a house-keeper by that name.’

‘Mrs Hudson is about fifty years old, hair in a bun, reading glasses on a chain around her neck, always wears a cardigan.’ Tom said.

‘That does sound like we’re talking about the same person, but obviously it can’t be her.’

‘Why is that?’ He asked. 

‘She was the house-keeper during my grandparents’ era.’ 

‘She’ll be inside somewhere; she was in the hallway a few minutes ago.’ Tom said, completely bewildered.

‘As I say, we employ no staff other than a gardener and the occasional cleaner. This Mrs Hudson, she would be well over a hundred by now, were she still alive. Unfortunately, she died back when my grandfather was running the estate.’ His Lordship said.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, she fell from that third storey window.’ Lord Earlham pointed to the very place that Mrs Hudson would watch him from.

Tom glanced up at the window, the spot he’d come to think of as Mrs Hudson’s window. There she was. Mrs Hudson was in the window watching him, as usual. 

As Tom looked on, the figure waved a hand before fading away to nothing.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom