A Long Weekend

By Susan Miller

What would it be like to meet your ancestors?

Janet Fraser, a young concert pianist, goes to stay at Thornley House, her mother's ancestral home in the Yorkshire Dales and is mysteriously transported back to the early nineteenth century.  

Shocked and confused, she is mistaken for Jeanette Thornley, a member of

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lozenge Publishing
• Release date: May 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781916092358

Susan Miller

Susan M. Miller has been Professor of Pharmaceutical Chemistry in the School of Pharmacy at the University of California San Francisco (UCSF) for over 30 years. Prior to UCSF, she held positions as an Assistant Professor and Lecturer of Biological Chemistry at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. Her research focus and expertise lies in the areas of chemical biology and enzymology. Her team uses a variety of biochemical and biophysical tools to investigate protein structure/function questions spanning the range of elucidating novel aspects of catalysis in individual enzymes, to understanding how mutations influence flux through pathways of interacting proteins, to engineering novel microbial compounds using enzymes from ribosomally-synthesized peptide precursor pathways. She has mentored over 40 students, postdocs and staff researchers who currently hold positions in academia, biotech/pharma, the FDA, data science, patent law and other entrepreneurial organizations. She has co-authored and co-edited 5 books and published ~50 peer-reviewed papers. She has served as reviewer for grants at NIH, NSF, DOE and for numerous scientific journals, and is currently a member of the Editorial Review Board at the Journal of Biological Chemistry. Recently, Dr. Miller has served a leading role in the transformative design of the UCSF professional PharmD curriculum. She has co-directed the Therapeutic Sciences portion of the Foundations course and has served as co-Director developing and implementing a novel trio of inquiry elements in the new curriculum. Susan received her B.S. with high honors in Chemistry from the University of Missouri Columbia and her Ph.D. in chemistry with Professor Judith Klinman at the University of California Berkeley.

Book preview

1

Introduction and allegro

ELGAR

The raucous honk of a klaxon jerked her out of her daydream. She glanced in the mirror, expecting to see a vintage car. Instead, she was overtaken by an elderly Mini whose loose silencer was within sparking distance of the ground. Having completed its manoeuvre to the accompaniment of a non-regulation hand signal, the little car crowed at her again and was soon out of sight.

She gave herself a mental shake. The main Bradford-Harrogate road was not the best place for wool-gathering, figuratively speaking. If she wanted to arrive in one piece at Thornley House, her mother’s family home, she had better pay a bit more attention to the traffic.

A quarter of an hour later she turned off into a side road which would enable her to by-pass Harrogate and bring her out near Honningsby, its neighbouring spa town and only a couple of miles from the village of Stonedale, where Thornley House was situated. She checked the time and parked the car, hoping the owner of the field would not be needing access to it in the next half hour. She moved to the passenger seat, took a pad from her bag, retuned the radio and listened attentively, making occasional notes until the announcer said ‘…Emperor concerto was played by Janet Fraser, a semi-finalist in the last Leeds International Piano Competition, the conductor…’ She switched off.

A semi-finalist, yes, but not one of the prize-winners and it had been a while before she could bring herself to admit she lacked the magic touch be a top, international pianist. However, it was satisfying to know she was beginning to make a name for herself in musical circles in the north of England and the concert and subsequent broadcast, as the highest placed British entrant, was another boost.

A bout of coughing interrupted her train of thought and she looked in her bag for something to suck. She had recently had tracheitis and it was largely thanks to Dr Harrison that she was going to stay at Thornley House for the first time in nearly five years. When she had returned to the surgery for a check-up, he had recommended her to get away for a few days and forget about her next recital, pointing out caustically that a few wrong notes would be less noticeable than a cough.

As he had looked after her well the previous year when she had had an acute appendicitis, Janet decided to follow his advice and on returning home, had phoned her cousins. After the initial greetings, she had tentatively asked if she could spend a few days with them. ‘I’m still coughing a bit, but I’m not infectious.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ replied Alison, her cousin’s wife. ‘Since the children started school we’ve hardly been free of colds, one more bug won’t make any difference. Anyhow, it’s ages since you actually stayed here overnight.’

‘I think the last time was for my twenty-first birthday.’

‘Well, in that case, you must certainly come and spend a long weekend with us and see all the latest improvements and alterations. By the way, am I right in thinking you speak French?’

‘Yes, and it’s not too rusty, I was over last year.’

‘Good. You can come and air it on a couple of Jack’s prospective clients we’re being lumbered with for the weekend.’

‘All right, when d’you want me to arrive?’

‘They aren’t due until Friday evening, but come a day earlier and it’ll give us time to catch up on family gossip. Oh, and do remind me, we’ve something very interesting to show you.’

‘What?’

‘Wait and see, you won’t be disappointed. It’ll be lovely to see you again and I think it’s an excellent idea for you to climb out of your urban swamp and get some good fresh dales air into your lungs. ’Bye.’ Janet laughed as she put down the phone: the family liked to tease her about living in the Marsh district of Huddersfield.

Having mulled over her performance in the broadcast, Janet looked at her watch and decided to be on her way. By the time she arrived, Alison would have collected the children from school.

Half an hour later she was coming down the side of the valley, past Cardingwell Hall, the local stately home, into the outskirts of Honningsby. This was a quiet little spa town centred round the ruins of an old castle, built on a ridge on the valley floor. The castle had been blown up in the Civil War, about the last time anything of interest had happened there, though the regency owner of Honningsby House, now a special needs school, had nearly been bankrupted after hosting a leisurely visit to the spa by a royal duke.

As she came down past a new sports centre, through a housing estate, followed by some large Victorian villas, the church, then the Pump and Assembly Rooms, she realised the road was busier than usual and remembered it was market day. Sure enough, at the end of the narrow main street, the last of the stallholders were packing up in the little square in front of the town hall. She had to stop for a few minutes while a removal van manoeuvred onto the main road from the narrow street leading up to the castle. The van trundled up out of town and as she followed it, she had time to look at the retreating image of the castle in her mirror. Travelling in the opposite direction, it was one of her favourite views.

Janet reckoned to be a patient person behind a steering wheel, but on this occasion she felt increasingly frustrated when the oncoming traffic prevented her from overtaking. She then realised just how much she was looking forward to staying at Thornley House again. She heaved a sigh of relief when the cause of her annoyance obligingly took the right turn for Ripon at the top of the hill and she was able to hurry on up the valley towards Stonedale and the family home.

She drove through the small village, turned right up the familiar drive into the cathedral-like tunnel formed by the oak trees on either side and finally the lovely old Georgian house was in front of her once more.

Janet sat in the car for a few minutes, savouring the moment of her return. It was over a year since her last visit, but it seemed like yesterday. As she got out, her cousin’s wife came across from the stables pushing the youngest Thornley in his buggy: nine months old Charles. Alison was in her middle thirties, well-built, with a round, pleasant face, straight fair hair cut in a fringe, hazel eyes and a snub nose. She waved at Janet and came over to her.

‘Hello, you’ve timed it nicely. We’ve just got back from collecting Ruth from school. Did you have a good journey?’

‘Fine, thanks. The traffic was light and as I didn’t think you’d want me too early, I managed to waste a bit of time on the way. Hello, gorgeous.’ This last remark was directed at Charles, who had been gazing up at her out of large blue eyes, the same brilliant shade as her own. ‘I see he’s inherited the family eyes, but otherwise he looks more like you, he reminds me of a ripe peach.’

Charles did indeed look peach-like, thanks to the recent spell of fine weather: nicely golden, with a slight flush and a fuzz of blonde hair. He must have realised he’d been paid a compliment as he removed his fist from his mouth and gave her a grin which made him look even more like his mother.

‘D’you fancy some tea on the terrace, or would you rather go upstairs first?’

‘A cuppa would be very welcome. Shall I take Charles round for you?’

‘Thanks, would you park him under the umbrella, he’s had enough sun for today.’

The buggy and its passenger were handed over to Janet. Charles immediately stuck out his bottom lip and when his mother disappeared into the house, he started to cry.

‘I don’t think he likes me’, said Janet anxiously when Alison came out with a tray a few minutes later.

‘Don’t worry, he’s teething at the moment. Normally you can play pass-the-parcel with him and he’ll simply gurgle at you. Come on, cross-patch, here’s your juice.’

‘Where are the girls? Are they going to join us?’

Alison mopped Charles with his bib. ‘They’ll be along shortly, they’re with Granny at present, it’s part of the daily ritual if she’s in at this time. They go in after Ruth gets back from school to say hello and sample some of her baking, so we’ve time to relax before the next scheduled interruption. How’s Nick these days? Has he popped the question?’

Nicholas Crowther was Janet’s current boyfriend and her most serious one to date. He was a large young man, who by no stretch of imagination could be called anything but pleasantly ugly. His best feature was his hair, which was thick, wavy and dark red. This topped irregular features, made even more so by close encounters of the rugby kind. Their friendship grew steadily, and he wasn’t discouraged when after attending one of his matches, she said very apologetically it wasn’t her scene.

He had brought her home from a recital, just before she had gone down with tracheitis. On such occasions it took her a while to unwind, and she usually slowed down the flow of adrenalin with some cooking. On this particular evening she had announced her intention of making bread dough. ‘It can rise overnight, and I’ll cook it tomorrow. Make yourself some tea or coffee if you want.’

She had nearly finished kneading the dough, when he suddenly remarked from the corner of the kitchen where he was perched on a stool, ‘You know, I think I prefer watching you cook to listening to you playing the piano.’ She mentally raised an eyebrow. There was a pause. ‘You wouldn’t like to come and cook for me?’

Her rate of kneading increased. ‘You’d have to make it worth my while.’

‘Oh yes, definitely.’ There was a further pause. ‘But I hope the cook wouldn’t be away playing the piano most of the time…’ His voice trailed off on a wistful note.

She gave the dough a final slap and said lightly ‘I’ll give you offer of employment my serious consideration’ and there the matter had rested.

‘I said, has Nick popped the question yet?’ Alison’s repeated inquiry broke in on her thoughts.

‘Well, he hasn’t gone down on one knee with hand on heart to make a formal declaration, but I think he’s getting broody.’

‘You don’t sound to be entirely ecstatic.’

Janet wriggled in her seat. ‘I don’t know what to do. I think I love him and I’d be dreadfully upset if we split up, but I have a sneaky feeling if we did get hitched, he’d want me to give up my career, just when it’s beginning to take off.’

Alison pulled a face. ‘Either he’s got very old-fashioned ideas or a dashed good salary. What does he do?’

‘He works in the family textiles business, but he trained as an accountant.’

‘Of course, yes. I remember Jim saying he did some of his training in the firm’s Bradford office. Well, Auntie Alison says if you decide Mr Nicholas Crowther is Mr Right, you point out all the advantages of having two lots of earnings coming into the household. Appeal to his accounting instincts as well as his stomach. Tell him Jack’s all for me getting back to teaching and in fact I’ve already started.’

‘When? Nobody mentioned it.’

‘Since Easter I’ve done several hours a week of remedial teaching at Honningsby House, but I shan’t consider going back even properly part time until the family’s complete.’

Janet gaped at her. ‘You’re not expecting another, are you?’

‘No, not yet.’ Alison smiled smugly. ‘But if I have my way, Charles won’t be the last. I told Jack before we were married that I wanted a large family and as he didn’t ask for his ring back, I presumed he was in agreement.’ She waved her hand at the house. ‘After all, we’ve got to populate this mansion.’ She got up, ‘If you’ve finished your tea, I’ll take the tray in and then we’ll go to your room. Charles has gone to sleep, so he’ll be OK out here for a bit longer.’

2

Pictures at an Exhibition

Mussorgsky

Janet went round to the car, collected her bag and went up six shallow steps to enter the house through the wide front door which was flanked by Corinthian pilasters and narrows windows, all capped by an elegant semicircular fanlight. At first floor level there was an arched niche, also with a narrow window on each side. This shallow recess was occupied by a white marble statue of a scantily-clad classical nymph, affectionately known by the family as Chloë. The entrance lobby had originally been one large space, but in the early twentieth century it had been partitioned. On one side there was a small toilet. The coats, shoes, boots and general clutter of a large family was supposed to be kept out of sight in the opposite closet, but had a habit of escaping.

She paused on entering the hall. Although it was four years since it had been redecorated, she still could not get over the transformation. Even with a dull green William Morris style wallpaper and acres of brown paint, it had been handsome, if gloomy. Now, with white walls and the doors stripped and varnished to reveal the grain of the wood, it was restored to its original Georgian light elegance.

The hall was at the heart of the house and extended up two stories to be lit by a glazed oval cupola. To her left were the doors to the sitting and drawing rooms and between them stood an old long-case clock. To her right were the doors to the dining room, the passage to the side door and the library. Backing onto the dining room was the fireplace, which these days was rarely used. The stone staircase, with its wrought-iron balustrade, started by the drawing room door, turned to the right up the back of the hall, turned again and finished above the door to the side passage. A gallery, the width of the stairs, ran round the hall at first floor level, from the stair head to above the drawing room door. Under the stairs, in the back wall, was a door which led to another staircase and the original cloakroom.

Janet’s appraisal of the hall was abruptly ended by the two little girls, who burst in through the front door, Ruth, dark like her father, Amy taking after her mother and brother. They hurled themselves at her. ‘Auntie Jan!’ Ruth bounced up and down, ‘Tommy’s just had kittens and Granny says we can each have one! Do come and see them!’ She was forced to put down her bag and follow the eager tugging on her hands. However, they were called back by Alison, who had just come out of the dining room.

‘No, not now. Aunt Janet is on her way upstairs. The kittens are to be left alone, Tommy’ll scratch you if you try to play with them and I haven’t yet said that you can keep any. Now off you go, it’s too nice for you to be indoors…and try not to wake Charles.’ The girls were shooed outside with much protesting. ‘Those blasted kittens, they should have been drowned at birth, but Jim was too soft-hearted to do it. I hope they get Tommy spayed, we don’t want cats all over the place.’ Alison paused at the bottom of the stairs and waved a hand towards the wall. ‘How d’you like our Rogues’ Gallery? There seemed to be ancestors all hanging all over the place, so we’ve brought them all together in chronological order, starting with the founder of the family fortunes.’ A Thornley ancestor had been given the estate in recognition of services rendered to Charles II, by his wife.

Together they surveyed a plain young woman, who simpered back at them. ‘But she was supposed to be such a beauty,’ said Janet.

‘So you were in those days if you had a full set of teeth and no pock marks.’

‘I dare say, but I really don’t know what Old Rowley could have seen in her.’

Alison gave her a sidelong look. ‘It was probably a case of feel, rather than see.’

Janet giggled.

They moved up a few steps. ‘Those were pretty wooden,’ went on Alison, ‘But Sir Joseph and Lady Gabrielle are much better quality. It was his father who built the house.’

‘You seem to know more about the family’s history than I do.’

‘Last winter we did over the library and Pam and I had a fascinating time going through all the family archives. Did you know Sir Joe went to China? He was part of Lord Macartney’s ambassadorial train, which is when he got his knighthood.’

Sir Joe was weak-chinned, pop-eyed and had a worried expression: hardly surprising when considering his spouse. There was nothing weak about Lady Gabrielle, who had obviously been a formidable person. Hair dressed and powdered in the style of the late eighteenth century rose above a broad brow. Hooded dark eyes surveyed the world disdainfully above a high-bridged nose. The lips were thin and the jaw very determined. It was a face which on a Frenchwoman of the same period would have automatically reserved the owner a place at the head of the queue for the guillotine.

‘You know, Jan,’ said Alison thoughtfully, looking from the portrait to her relation and back again, ‘There’s a definite family likeness.’

‘Oh bollocks. I don’t look a bit like that – that old buzzard!’

‘Well, I can see a similarity in the bone structure and I seem to remember someone in the family saying you had a determined chin.’

Janet pulled a face and stepped up to look at the next portraits. ‘Now, if I have to take after my ancestors, I’d far sooner look like this pair.’

William and Elizabeth Thornley were a handsome couple by the standards of any era. He had his mother’s strong features, which together with the bright blue Thornley eyes and a shock of dark hair would have assured his instant success as a male model. Elizabeth had fair hair; big, blue-grey eyes and a warm smile.

Alison moved up to stand beside her and said insistently, ‘I still think there’s a family resemblance. After all, everyone says you and Jack look more like brother and sister than cousins and he had a definite look of William before the portraits were cleaned.’

Janet shrugged. ‘I remember as a child I used to be fascinated by Wicked William.’

‘Why Wicked William? There was nothing in the family papers to suggest any dastardly deed had blotted his escutcheon.’

‘He was supposed to have married a rich, ugly wife, poisoned her off, then married the local beauty. Good-looking he may have been, but I’ll bet there was a ruthless streak in him.’ She started to examine the next portrait, of George Thornley, a solemn young man with a heavy jaw line, who despite being her direct ancestor, resembled neither parent, but paused when Alison made a sudden exclamation.

‘I’ve just remembered our surprise for you. Go and look on the back wall and you’ll see part of it.’

Janet walked half way up the second flight and stopped in front of a large picture in which she recognised Sir Joseph and Lady Gabrielle surrounded by their children. A slightly less worried Sir Joe was gazing fondly at his progeny, but despite the infant on her lap, his wife had made no attempt to look maternal. Janet was willing to bet that a retinue of nursery maids and governesses had been hovering off-canvas, waiting to remove their charges at a nod from their mistress. In the background, Thornley House was easily recognisable. She turned to Alison, ‘I don’t ever remember seeing this before.’

‘It’s not surprising, we only discovered it recently. It was in the back of one of the cellars and had obviously been there for a long time as it was in poor condition. We got expert advice and were told was worth restoring as it was probably by Romney.’

‘How very odd it was put in a cellar, someone must have taken an intense dislike to it, or to somebody in the picture.’ Janet looked at the family group again. ‘Sir Joe certainly kept his wife busy if they had seven children.’

‘There were more,’ said Alison. ‘There was another one, plus four who died in infancy. I know I want a large family, but not a round dozen, thank you.’

‘You said this was part of the surprise, what’s the rest?’

‘Jack can show you when he gets back. Now, enough of ancestors for the moment, I’ll have to bath and feed Charles soon.’

By this time they had reached the top of the stairs, passing various Victorian and Edwardian Thornleys. To their left, an arched opening led into a corridor, paired by a similar opening further along the wall, which let in light from the hall. There were also fanlights above the three bedrooms along that side of the house. This arrangement was repeated on the south side, above the sitting and drawing rooms. The two corridors were joined behind the back wall of the staircase by a passage which led past a toilet and the former servants’ stairs. This meant it was possible to walk right round the house at first floor level and might have been designed with children’s games in mind. Janet remembered the fun she used to have with her cousins, chasing round and round the gallery and passages.

Alison led her through the opening and turned right. ‘I’ve put you in the north-east bedroom, we did it up a couple of years ago.’

Janet let out a whoop of delight. ‘Oh brilliant! I’ve always fancied the four-poster, but when I was a child it was always occupied.’

Alison smiled at her. ‘I hope you’ll be comfortable in it. We blew most of the budget on its refurbishment. Wallpaper, curtains and carpet went out of the window, so to speak. We simply slapped paint on the walls, got the shutters working again, sanded and sealed the floor boards and put down a few old rugs.’

Janet looked round in admiration. ‘You’ve done a grand job – and the shades of yellow make the place look permanently sunny. But why aren’t you and Jack using the four-poster? It’s a family heirloom.’

‘By modern standards it’s barely a double bed and it would be spoilt by any alterations.’

‘Hmm, I see what you mean. The French would class it as un lit à trois fesses.’

‘A what?’

Janet grinned at her. ‘A three-buttock bed.’

Alison burst out laughing. ‘That’s a new one on me, but it’s a fair description.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ll have to go and see to the children now. I may want a large family, but there are times when it would be nice to hand them over to a nursery maid for twenty-three hours a day. Have a wander round if you want, we’ve done quite a lot since