Positioned at the
top of a high rise of land, not far from the southern border of Exmoor, the Victorian manor house called Mill Grange rose
from the centre of a gravelled drive, taking command of the surrounding
scenery. Three tiers of a once-loved terraced garden fell away from the house
in tatty overgrown rows. At the foot of these gardens ran a semi-encircling
band of encroaching woodland, which the Ordnance Survey map Thea was clutching
declared to stretch down to the River Barle on one side and the meandering
River Exe on the other.
Huddled beneath her thick jumper
against the sharp March wind, Thea was enfolded in a sensation of freedom and
peace. The very stillness of the air, the lack of any visible overhead wires or
street lighting, made her feel as if she’d driven into a Victorian time
capsule. A Roman historian and archaeologist to the bone, she felt daunted by
the prospect of taking on the restoration of a manor centuries removed from her
field of expertise. With its fourteen bedrooms, seven bathrooms, numerous
associated rooms, outhouses, and the mill after which it was named, a quarter
of a mile away on the edge of Upwich village, it was not a task for the
faint-hearted. However, the early spring sunshine, which caused the house’s
granite walls to glitter with welcoming promise, seemed to be telling her it
was going to be alright.
Alongside her Roman studies at
university, Thea had trained in industrial archaeology and museum management,
and was well qualified for the job in hand. But this challenge, to turn Mill
Grange into a heritage centre, was vastly different from her last posting at
the Roman Baths in Bath. She could feel herself prodding the outer edges of her
comfort zone.
At least she wouldn’t have to face
the unknown alone. Her best friend, Tina, had been associated with the project
for some time. Then there was the team of volunteers who’d been working on
restoring Mill Grange, on a casual basis, for the last five years. A tingle of
anxiety dotted Thea’s palms as she wondered how they’d take to being guided in
their endeavours after pleasing themselves for so long.
Flicking an unruly stray brown hair
from her eyes, she circuited the outside of the manor house. Thea’s boots made
satisfying crunching sounds against the gravel as she attempted to banish her
nerves, peering through each window as she went. The eclectic mix of original
Victorian and reproduction furniture and artwork she saw within took her breath
away. Squinting and pushing her eyes as close to the glass as she could, she
studied the wallpaper. It was original. She was sure of it. With every new step
and glimpse of the treasures within, she felt more exhilarated.
She could do this.
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