Autumn Leaves at Mill Grange: A feel-good, and cosy autumn romance

By Jenny Kane

'I am a big fan of Jenny Kane' Katie Fforde.

Welcome back to Mill Grange and the beautiful village of Upwich, full of larger-than-life characters you can't help but adore.

Sam Philips' time in the forces changed him forever. Supported by his friends, Sam is keen to help make beautiful Mill Grange a safe retreat for injured army personnel... but his crippling claustrophobia means Sam is living in a tent on the grounds! Enlisting the help of charming village stalwarts Bert and Mabel Hastings, Tina Martins is determined to find a way to help him conquer his fears. But why does she feel like he is keeping a secret?

Having helped Thea Thomas restore Mill Grange over the summer, celebrity archaeologist, Shaun Cowlson has left Exmoor to film for his Landscape Treasures show in Cornwall. Despite being busy with an unexpected archaeological project of her own, Thea can't help but miss his company. Especially as someone else is vying for his attention...

Readers love Autumn Leaves at Mill Grange!

'Loved loved this book!... This book was brilliant!... I am blown away... I hope that there is going to be a sequel with this exceptional family of characters because I will buy it!' NetGalley Reviewer, 5 stars

'Absolutely loved this story... Compulsive. I highly recommended this start to a new series from Jenny Kane... Flawless.' Carol McGrath, 5 stars

'I loved this charming story and found it hard to put down. It was full of brilliant characters and a really interesting plot lines and kept my attention throughout.' Goodreads Reviewer, 5 stars

'Like coming home to old friends.' NetGalley Reviewer, 5 stars

'My Kindle wasn't exactly glued to my hand but it might as well have been because it travelled everywhere with me... Couldn't stop reading... A very well deserved 5* out of 5*.' Ginger Book Geek, 5 stars

'Heart-warming, emotional and wonderfully uplifting, it's impossible not to fall under Jenny Kane's spell with her cosy and addictive new novel.' Goodreads Reviewer, 5 stars

'Another hit in the series. Continues where the first one ended... One of my favorites. Highly recommend this book.' NetGalley Reviewer, 5 stars

'Plenty of laughs and advice from unlikely corners, I can't wait for the next installment.' NetGalley Reviewer, 5 stars

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Sep 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781838938123

Jenny Kane

Jenny Kane is the bestselling author of many romantic fiction series. These include the Mill Grange series, Abi's Cornwall series, and the Another Cup series. She has had bestsellers in the Amazon Romance, Contemporary Fiction and Women's Fiction charts and multiple bestsellers. If you enjoy Jenny's writing, then why not follow her author page, for updates on all of her new releases!

Book preview

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Also by Jenny Kane

The Mill Grange Series:

1. Midsummer Dreams at Mill Grange

2. Autumn Leaves at Mill Grange

3. Spring Blossoms at Mill Grange

4. Winter Fires at Mill Grange

The Potting Shed Series:

1. Frost Falls at the Potting Shed

2. Bluebell Season at the Potting Shed

AUTUMN LEAVES AT MILL GRANGE

Jenny Kane

AN IMPRINT OF HEAD OF ZEUS

www.ariafiction.com

First published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd

Copyright © Jenny Kane, 2020

The moral right of Jenny Kane to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978183893812 3

Cover design © Cherie Chapman

Aria

c/o Head of Zeus

First Floor East

5–8 Hardwick Street

London EC1R 4RG

www.ariafiction.com

Contents

Welcome Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Become an Aria Addict

To the Imagine@Northmoor retreaters, with love.

Prologue

September 1st

Rolling onto his side, Sam unfolded the letter he’d hidden inside his pillowcase. It was the third time he’d woken that night, and the third time he’d reached for the pale blue Basildon Bond envelope. He held it against his nose. The scent of his mother’s White Satin perfume was beginning to fade.

This was the fourth letter to arrive from Malvern House in the last month. One a week.

He had no idea how his mother had found out where he was living, nor why she wanted to see him after so long.

The letters, almost identical each time, said very little. Just that she and his father would love him to visit if he felt up to it. Sam groaned. ‘If he felt up to it’ was his mother’s way of asking if the debilitating claustrophobia he’d developed while serving in the forces had magically gone away.

As he slid the letter into its envelope, Sam’s gaze dropped from the tent’s canvas roof to Tina’s sleeping body.

The past was the past. He had a future now. He had no intention of looking back.

One

September 1st

‘Take pity on an old man, lass.’

Bert fluttered his grey eyelashes as he helped Tina carry a large cardboard box full of tea, coffee, milk and biscuits from her car into Mill Grange’s kitchen. ‘I love Mabel to pieces, but she is driving me mad.’

Tina laughed. ‘But it’s only been two months since the restoration project came to an end. Doesn’t Mabel have heaps of committee work to do? She runs every social club this side of Exmoor.’

As he placed the box on the oak table that dominated the manor’s kitchen, Bert’s eyes lost their usual optimistic shine. ‘Since Mill Grange was sold Mabel’s been so aimless. She led the volunteer restorers here for over five years and now that’s over…’

‘Mabel doesn’t mind Sam owning this place, does she?’

‘Not for a minute. For a little while it was all she could talk about. She’s that proud of your young man for buying the very thing that frightens him. For taking his fear of being inside by the scruff of the neck and buying a house to be enjoyed by other people.’

Tina put her box of groceries on the side and laid a hand on Bert’s shoulder. ‘I’ll talk to Sam. There must be something Mabel could do around here.’ She played with her pigtails as she thought. ‘I’m not sure we can afford to pay her yet though.’

‘You wouldn’t have to. Making her feel part of the team again is all I’m asking for.’ Bert’s smile returned to his eyes. ‘How’s it going here anyway? Sam getting into the house at all, or is he still overseeing things from that screen thing outside?’

‘He hasn’t been inside the manor since he bought it.’ Tina focused her attention on emptying the boxes of biscuits ready for Mill Grange’s first visitors, hiding her face from Bert so he wouldn’t see her concern. ‘Sam’s first move as Mill Grange’s owner and manager was to get proper Wi-Fi hubs installed. The Skype video link on his tablet is a godsend, but…’

Bert nodded. ‘But his claustrophobia won’t quite let him get past the fact that, should he come inside the roof will collapse on his head, even though he knows the house has been standing since 1856 without anything more serious than a spot of damp.’

‘I thought we were getting somewhere.’ Tina waved the kettle in the pensioner’s direction.

Accepting the unspoken offer of a cup of tea, Bert headed to the fridge for milk. ‘He’s made a start, Tina love. He’s been inside. Sam’s even purchased a home.’

‘But he sleeps in a tent in the garden.’ Tina shivered. ‘We both do. And while we’re lucky to be enjoying a late burst of summer sunshine, it’s the 1st of September. We won’t be able to ignore the fact that autumn is around the corner for much longer. I’m not sure I can take camping in the winter, but if I sleep inside without Sam, I’ll be letting him down.’

Putting an arm around Tina’s shoulders, Bert gave her a gentle hug. ‘You are the last person who’d ever let Sam down. He knows that.’ Spooning far more sugar into his mug than he would have done if Mabel had been there, Bert asked, ‘Is he still managing to use the bathroom just inside the back door?’

‘Yes, and thank goodness the previous owners put that in. It’s freezing in there though. He leaves that massive window open the whole time.’

‘So he can dive outside if it gets too much.’

‘Exactly. He never has, but he could, if he needed to.’

Bert stared thoughtfully into his mug of milky liquid as he held it between his large palms. ‘Did Sam tell you about my time in the forces?’

Shaking her head, Tina resisted the urge to place a hand on the old man’s elbow as his eyes glazed over as if he was seeing sights that weren’t there; that hadn’t been there for over fifty years.

‘Claustrophobia, it’s often laughed about. People get mocked for not liking going in lifts or whatever, but when Mabel bought me a shed for our back garden as a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary present, it was a big day indeed. And not just because I’d survived a quarter of a century with Mabel!’

‘You had it too?’ Tina overcame her natural reticence and held her hand out to him anyway, feeling the cool thin skin of his palm as he wrapped his hand in hers.

‘Still have. It’s there, under the surface, but I’ve learnt to manage it. The doctors helped for a while, but there was no such thing as therapy back then; no acceptance of mental disorders or anxieties.’ His eyes dropped to his tea again, his expression making Tina wonder if he was seeing every nightmare he’d ever had.

‘It was Mabel who helped me. She saved me.’

Tina let the hush that followed Bert’s words hang in the air before pushing a packet of biscuits in his direction. ‘Your wife is an incredible woman.’

‘You’d better believe it. If she’d been born thirty years later, she’d have gone to university and probably be running the country by now.’

‘What did Mabel do to help you? Could I do it too? Sam’s tried every therapist going. And while I’m sure that he’s right about work, fresh air and laughter being the best medicine, it takes more than that. He’s determined to be in the house long enough to be able to move around inside by the time the first official guests come on October 5th.’ Tina dunked a cookie in her tea. ‘The practice guests come next week. Just three to begin with.’

‘Are they the chaps Sam knew when he was in the forces?’

‘I’m not sure if he knew them from when he saw action, or if he met them in the recovery centre after he was hurt. He never talks about it.’ Tina brushed away the sense of exclusion she always experienced when her boyfriend mentioned his time in the forces.

After taking a gulp of tea, Bert smiled. ‘You help him every day, Tina. Small acts of encouragement. Supporting him through the frustration of not being able to join you inside. Those things are more important than you can imagine.’

Tina nodded as she stared out of the large window. The late summer sunshine was already high in the sky, illuminating the garden and bathing the woodland beyond in a glow of blue and green. ‘I wish I could work out how to get him to actually walk beyond the bathroom door though. Any ideas?’

‘I’ll need a minute or two on that.’ Bert patted her hand as he absentmindedly dipped another biscuit. ‘The test guests, how is that being arranged exactly?’

‘They’ll be paying for food only. They know it’s an experiment to see what activities work and which don’t. Two men and one woman.’

‘Sensible lad that Sam. I’d like to help him.’

Tina sat at the table. ‘Thanks, Bert.’

‘No thanks required. Sam reminds me of me a hundred years ago.’ He chuckled as he crunched into a third biscuit. ‘But never fear, lass, you only have one thing in common with my Mabel.’

Tina chuckled as she pictured the bossy, well-meaning, occasionally overbearing but always big-hearted woman who dominated everything in the village of Upwich, from the WI to the bridge club. ‘And what might that be?’

‘You’re kind.’

Tina blushed. ‘Thank you.’

‘I was wrong. I meant two things!’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Kind and beautiful.’

*

Thea leant over the fence and watched the chickens as they pecked around their run.

‘It’s alright for you, Gertrude – your man doesn’t have to disappear for weeks at a time for work. He’s right where you want him.’

As Thea watched, the rooster came out of the chicken coop and made a beeline for Betty, Gertrude’s chief rival for his affections.

‘Then again, maybe not. At least Shaun’s working away and not playing away.’

Gertrude cocked her head to one side as if to ask Thea, ‘How long is he away?’

‘I don’t know. As long as it takes to excavate and film a pre-Norman church I suppose. He said the deadline was a month, but keeping to deadlines rarely works in archaeology.’

The squeal of the gate to the walled garden distracted Thea from any wisdom Gertrude may have been about to share.

‘Morning, Sam.’ Thea raised a hand to the new owner of Mill Grange. ‘Come to seek a dose of chicken philosophy?’

‘Is there a better sort?’ Pulling a bag of apple and pepper slices from his bulging jacket pockets, Sam emptied them into the coop. ‘I’ve been thinking about giving the girls more space. Half the walled garden perhaps; what do you think?’

‘That’s a great idea.’ Thea turned her back on the increased pecking and surveyed the rows of vegetable beds before her. Half of them were flourishing, thanks to Sam’s green fingers, and promised crops of potatoes, cabbages and more. The rest were overgrown and in desperate need of tender loving care.

‘We’re going to need more eggs when we get regular guests, and although I want to cultivate as much of the garden as possible, there’s still enough land to allow the hens to roam more freely.’

‘You’re thinking of getting more friends for Gertrude and co?’

Sam looked lovingly at his chickens. ‘I’d like to, but I’m not sure if you can add new fowl into an existing flock. Tina’s going to do some research into it later.’

‘That reminds me—’ Thea flicked a windblown hair from her eyes ‘—Sybil asked if she can increase her egg order from two dozen to three dozen every other day for the tea room.’

‘Excellent.’ Sam rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. ‘That settles it then. We can’t expect these girls to up production. Nor can we afford to lose even the smallest chance of extra income. We’ll order more chickens, even if we need to build a second coop.’

Staring across the garden, Mill Grange’s Victorian splendour rising up behind them, Thea was reminded of how much had happened since she’d first laid eyes on this jewel of a house, hidden away on Exmoor.

It had been March when Thea had arrived in the village of Upwich, newly appointed as chief restorer of the manor, employed by the Exmoor Heritage Trust. Now, thanks to an accounting mix-up committed long before her arrival, the manor had been sold and was going to be a retreat for recovering military personnel – and she was helping to run it. Managing such an operation was a far cry from her former life as an archaeological historian based at the Roman Baths in Bath. And yet, at the same time it wasn’t.

Just prior to Mill Grange being sold, her boyfriend, television archaeologist Shaun Coulson, had found a Roman fortlet in the grounds. Sam was relying on Thea to run the excavation.

‘Any word from Shaun?’ Sam produced another bag from his jacket pocket and sprinkled a handful of chicken food pellets into the coop.

‘I got an email early this morning. He sounded a bit fed up to be honest. It appears the woman who owns the land on which he’s digging, Lady Hammett, is less than thrilled about them being there. Shaun had been summoned to the manor, just before he messaged me.’

‘But the Landscape Treasure team were invited to her Cornish estate. She must have known what to expect.’

Thea sighed as Gertrude gave Betty a none-too-subtle nudge away from the freshly delivered food. ‘The aristocracy can be tricky devils.’

‘Tell me about it!’

Two

September 1st

‘I’m sorry, Lady Hammett, but if we hadn’t cut a trench in your lawn, we wouldn’t have been able to excavate.’

Shaun bit the inside of his cheek, hoping his exasperation wasn’t showing. ‘It’s how we operate.’ He pointed to the Landscape Treasures geophysics team. Ajay and Andy, or the AA as Shaun often called them, were huddled over a laptop while they spoke into the camera about what they’d found and how they’d found it. ‘First we survey the area, then the digger pulls back the turf and we begin to dig.’

‘But it’s our front lawn!’ Lady Hammett’s chin tilted sharply upwards, her angular nose resembling a ski slope. She was so close to a satirical cartoonist’s impression of an aristocrat that he half expected her to snap out of it and start laughing – but she didn’t.

Taking a deep breath, Shaun glanced across the empty excavation trench, and beyond to a group of local and Landscape Treasures archaeologists. They were looking anxious as they played trowels and brushes through their hands. Those who wore wristwatches were making pointed glances at them. Time was money on television, and the precious daylight they needed to work in was fading fast.

‘Your Ladyship, there seems to have been some confusion. We are excavating with permission. You signed the insurance forms and—’

‘I did no such thing! I agreed to that survey thing—’ she pointed towards Ajay and Andy ‘—but no more than that! Do you think I’m reacting like someone who has found a herd of elephants in her garden for fun?’ She broke off, stabbing a finger in the direction of the yellow JCB parked beside Guron House. ‘I have a damn good mind to sue. Which television company are you with?’

Shaun’s mouth opened and closed like a gulping goldfish. When the ability to speak finally arrived, he hated how feeble he sounded. ‘But we have the signed paperwork. It was posted to you, and returned signed. I even spoke with you over the phone to agree timings and—’

‘Oh, now this is just too much. You did no such thing. When you visited in the summer, I agreed to the survey to see if this blessed church thing was under the lawns. No more than that. I’ve been travelling Europe for the last month, so I haven’t been here to take any calls. The only person here beyond the staff has been…’ Lady Hammett stopped talking. Her lips clamped shut and her eyes closed. Shaun watched in increasing disbelief as his companion silently moved her lips, counting from one to ten.

Taking a step back in case Lady Hammett’s calming technique failed, Shaun looked helplessly at his producer, who was also looking fit to explode.

Abruptly turning on the balls of her impractically heeled feet, flicking her dark blonde hair over her shoulders as she went, the lady of the manor marched towards her front door shouting, ‘Sophie! Get out here. Now!’

‘Sophie?’ Shaun muttered, his forehead creasing in confusion. He was pretty sure Lady Hammett expected him to follow her, but instead he headed to his waiting team. Not spotting his quarry among the regular archaeologists, Shaun kept walking until a flash of yellow ducking behind the camera crew’s truck sent him jogging forward.

She was stood, her eyes shut, her hands over her ears, her long blonde hair acting like an additional curtain of protection across her bowed head. She clutched her trowel against her chest like a lucky talisman.

‘Sophie?’

The young woman opened her eyes, but said nothing.

Shaun tried to keep the exasperation from his voice. ‘You wrote on the volunteers’ form that your name was Sophie Harriet, but it isn’t, is it?’

Brushing hair from her eyes, she spoke with false bravado. ‘It is Sophie Harriet.’

‘Sophie Harriet Hammett perhaps? Lady Sophie Harriet Hammett?’

‘Unfortunately.’

‘Did you sign the legal forms so we could dig here? The ones claiming to be signed by Lady Hammett?’

‘I am Lady Hammett. Well, sort of – ish.’ Flicking her hair over her shoulders, she flashed him a grin that reminded Shaun of the teenage girls at his old high school.

‘This isn’t funny! We could get thrown off the site, lose the TV show even. Permanently. Your mother has a perfect right to sue us. She could have you arrested if she took it into her head!’

‘And bring shame on the family? Hardly.’ Sophie sounded defiant, but the smile dropped from her face as fast.

‘Have you any idea how serious this is?’ Shaun felt like he was admonishing a child. ‘Why did you do it?’

Shrugging, Sophie held her trowel up as if it explained everything. ‘For this.’

‘A trowel?’

‘For archaeology. Don’t you want to know if that’s the lost church of St Guron under there?’

‘Of course I do, but—’

‘It was built in 1010 you know, in honour of St Guron himself. He is said to be the original founder of Bodmin itself in 510 AD, and—’

‘Sophie!’ Shaun reined in his fading patience. ‘It makes no difference how important this site is. If we are digging it with falsified documents, then we are liable for health and safety, insurance; not to mention the damage your mother could do to Landscape Treasures’ reputation if she reports us to the broadcasting authorities.’

‘I told you, she won’t. Mother doesn’t do anything that reflects badly on the family name, and Father just does what he’s told.’

‘And how does that change the legal situation exactly?’ Shaun waved a hand towards the other diggers. ‘We have spent a fortune on JCB hire, geophysics, accommodation for everyone, and everything else that comes with a show like this. We have a schedule to keep.’ Shaun could hear the words coming out of his mouth. He wasn’t sure if what he was saying was true or not, but kept talking anyway. ‘This isn’t about one dig. It’s a series and we are committed to it. What you’ve done could ruin all of it. The previous episodes we’ve filmed will count for nothing if your mother sues for criminal damage, unauthorised excavation and so on. Landscape Treasures could be pulled from the schedule. That would be it for us.’

Fiddling the trowel between her fingers, Sophie mumbled, ‘Sorry.’

Shaun pushed his hands deep into his pockets as he regarded the spoilt child of the manor. ‘Why really, Sophie? I don’t believe you did this just to locate an ancient church. Help me understand how a grown woman could act like a selfish brat.’

Sophie’s head came up so fast, that her chin jutted out just like her mother’s. But for the tears that now dotted her cheeks, the likeness was inescapable.

‘Talk to me, Sophie. If you won’t tell me why you did this, you could at least tell us how you imagine we can stop this snowballing into a bigger disaster.’

‘Archaeology.’ She gestured to the stretch of moor around them. ‘It’s been a passion since I was little. Well – since I started watching Landscape Treasures, so I wasn’t that small. I’m not saying you’re ancient or anything; I was quite old when I started viewing.’

‘Stop digging yourself into the wrong sort of holes.’ A smile curled at the corner of Shaun’s lips despite himself. ‘I don’t see why your love of archaeology is an excuse to con your parents into allowing us to destroy their front lawn.’

‘It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do, but it’s not exactly Lady of the Manor behaviour is it.’

Having met many titled families during his television career, and knowing that nearly all of them were so delighted to have a site of interest on their lands that they’d got stuck in to the mud like everyone else, Shaun decided not to comment. What Sophie meant was that it wasn’t Lady Hammett’s idea of what a titled woman should do, and therefore it was off limits as a career for her daughter.

‘I’m sorry your parents don’t encourage your passion for the past, Sophie, but that doesn’t excuse what you’ve done.’ Shaun patted her arm sympathetically. ‘All those people over there, they could lose their jobs over this. This isn’t their hobby, it’s their livelihood.’

Sophie’s eyes dipped to the ground. A light flush came to her cheeks. ‘I just wanted to prove I could do it. To show them it was a good thing to do. If we had an important historical site in the garden, I thought perhaps it would convince them how worthwhile archaeology is… and…’

Determined not to let his forgiving nature let Sophie off the hook yet, Shaun asked, ‘So, what are going to do about this?’

‘Me?’

‘You are clearly knowledgeable about this site and passionate about the subject, but being an archaeologist isn’t just digging trenches and finding things. It means being able to deal with difficult landowners and coping with paperwork. Then there’s sorting the things that go wrong. JCBs that break down, or don’t turn up on the right day. Archaeologists who hurt themselves, artefacts that can’t be taken out of the ground without specialist equipment, records to keep and reports to write. The list goes on and on.’

‘I know I’ve been…’

‘Been what, Sophie?’

‘Studying for an archaeology degree by distance learning. They—’ she tipped her head towards Guron House ‘—have no idea. All I need is practical experience, so I thought…

‘You’d use us to get it?’

‘Well, umm. Yes.’

*

Thea gripped the print-out of the geophysics survey Ajay and Andy had done of the Roman fortlet in one hand, and a clipboard in the other. The pockets of her combat trousers were stuffed with string, tent pegs, an industrial tape measure, small finds bags, pens, labels and her mobile phone.

When she’d left university to work at the Roman Baths, although she’d loved her job, it wasn’t the same as being a hands-on archaeologist, with the constant thrill of potential discovery. Stood now, examining the rough rectangle of ground before her, Thea was conscious of the race of her pulse. She’d forgotten how much she loved this.

Dismissing the voice at the back of her head telling her it would be more fun if Shaun were there, Thea hooked a ball of string and a tent peg out of a pocket. She had taken advice from the Chartered Institute for Archaeologists about how to correctly run a private dig, then waited weeks for clearance to dig from the Council for British Archaeology, and permission to excavate from the authorities running Exmoor National Park. Now the time had come to take the first tentative look at the site. Although Thea knew she couldn’t possibly excavate the fortlet alone, she could at least mark it out.

Double-checking the survey results, Thea pushed the first peg into the damp earth, unable to suppress the beam that crossed her face as she wound the string around the peg.

A Roman site on Exmoor.

She knew how important that was; how rare. While Exmoor was ringed by a few forts on its southern side, only two fortlets had ever been found across its vast space. Old Burrow had been there first, but had soon been replaced by Martinhoe on the coast, which overlooked the waterway to Bristol, Wales and beyond. There was also a Roman fort at Rainsbury, on the far south-eastern side of the moor, but little else. Although there was ongoing exploration into the idea that the Romans had exploited Exmoor for its iron deposits, the discovery of a fortlet so far inland was completely unexpected.

As she worked, Thea pictured the original occupants of the site. There’d only have been about seventy of them, living on a site made up of concentric circles, no bigger than fifty or sixty metres in diameter, with square structures – stores and outhouses – to the sides. Had they been lonely here? Were they Romano-British soldiers, or were they freshly picked from elsewhere in the Empire, finding the very particular cold of the wind as it crossed Exmoor’s open plains a nasty shock after Mediterranean sunshine?

While the purpose of Martinhoe’s fortlet had been to keep an eye on the fleet across the Bristol Channel, the reason for the placing of Upwich’s fortlet remained a mystery. A mystery Thea was determined to solve.

Three

September 1st

‘Is there a job we could give Mabel? Bert’s worried about her.’ Tugging a third pair of socks over her feet, Tina continued getting ready for bed – a process that involved putting on more clothing than she wore during the day.

Privately cursing his inability to conquer his phobia, knowing that if he did, Tina would be taking her clothes off, rather than piling them on, Sam passed her a hot water bottle. His guilt at making her sleep outside overtook his lust-fuelled regrets as he saw Tina try to hide a shiver.

‘I’ll have a think. There must be loads she can do. Mabel’s a dab hand at most things.’ Sam watched as Tina undid the pigtails she’d worn all the day. He loved how the plaits curled and kinked her hair as she let it loose. ‘We are a bit short on money for wages though. I hate asking people to work for nothing.’

‘Bert said that was okay. Anyway, we will have income soon. If Mabel is happy and takes a job she’s good at, maybe she could eventually go on the payroll?’

‘Definitely, although I’m not sure when. Everything I had went on the house, and…’ Sitting up in his sleeping bag, Sam suddenly changed the subject: ‘Tina, do you want to sleep inside tonight?’

‘What? But…’

Taking her hands, noting they were cold despite her gloves, Sam spoke fast, knowing Tina would assume she’d done something wrong if he didn’t explain. ‘It isn’t that I don’t want you here, but it’s getting colder at night, and although you’re far too nice to say so, I know you’re having trouble sleeping. I wouldn’t be offended