Page 29 of The Mad Marchams

“This is definitely the place.” Colin indicated right and swept up the long-graveled drive. “I see Bumpy’s lost a lot of his elm trees just like we did.”

“Dutch elm disease.” Mabel was glad she knew what that was and didn’t have to ask another question.

“That’s right, and the Great Storm of 1987.”

She had no idea what that was but decided to take his word for it. As they proceeded up the drive there were a number of signs pointing out the various attractions, where the bathrooms were located, and the main parking lot. It all looked very professionally done which was somewhat reassuring.

The house itself was smaller than Marcham Hall and was a confusing mix of red, black, and white with very tall brick chimneys that reminded her of somewhere.

“Hampton Court,” Mabel said as they got out of the car. “We visited Henry the Eighth’s little place when I came to England last time.”

“Yes, exactly.” Colin took his sunglasses off. “Tudor chimneys were all the rage back in the day. The more the better.” He pointed at the side of the house. “Old black-and-white-framed manor house in the centre, two extra wings added in brick at some point to make an Elizabethan ‘E’ shape, and formal gardens make a very pretty picture.”

“It also looks like something in a murder mystery,” Mabel pointed out.

“Murder at Mambles.” Colin took her hand. “Let’s hope we’re not starring in the sequel. Now, where do you think we’ll find Bumpy?”

They walked up to the house and Colin checked the sign posted by the path. “There should be an estate office somewhere around here—oh yes—there it is.”

He led her past the bathrooms located in a newly built barn-like structure, and the busy café, toward what looked like a stable block to the side of the house.

Colin was looking over his shoulder as he walked. “I think the café used to be actual stables. I came here to play polo a couple of times with Eric.”

“Polo,” Mabel murmured and poked him in the ribs. “Jolly good.”

“I can’t help my incredibly privileged and cliched upbringing you know.” Colin joked.

“I guess not.”

She waited as he tapped on the glass of the stable block and went into the office. The strong smell of pipe smoke, wet dog, and coffee wafted over them as the man occupying the office swung his chair around to look at them.

“Good afternoon,” Colin said brightly. “I have an appointment with Lord Mambles this afternoon. I wonder if you might direct me to where I might find him?”

“Young Mr. Marcham!” The man stood up and shook Colin’s hand with great vigor.

“Good Lord! It’s Mr. Biggins!”

“A pleasure to see you again, sir. How are your brothers?”

“Well, thank you, and how about you?”

“Oh, me and the missus are almost retired now. I’m only helping out here while Lord Mambles looks for someone to take my place.”

“That’s the problem with being irreplaceable,” Colin said with a smile. “You’ll still be here when you’re ninety at this rate.”

Mabel could only admire Colin’s ability to get on with everyone despite his bad boy reputation. As a tech nerd she was so not good at communicating that she was in awe of his abilities.

“His lordship still has an apartment in the main house. I’ll take you over there.”

“Thank you.” Colin looked around as they exited the office. “What happened to the polo ponies?”

“Ah, well…”

Mabel hung back a little to appreciate the house as Colin and the estate manager got into the apparently fascinating subject of polo, how expensive it was, and how Lord Mambles had decided not to keep his own string, whatever that meant. They entered the main house, and she looked around with interest. The house seemed to be in better condition than Marcham Hall, but after a crash course in the horrors of English country living, Mabel detected signs that there were likely troubles lurking beneath the surfaces.

As they travelled through corridors and various rooms, the floors dipped and meandered like an uneven hiking path and creaked for good measure. There were random stairs, turrets, and doors that appeared to lead nowhere, reminding Mabel of a fun house.

Mr. Biggins knocked loudly on a tall oak door with a faded brass handle and went inside.