Lenny had been spot on about the distance. With Mrs Llewellyn’s directions and helpful landmarks that took them down a series of narrow winding lanes, they found the track leading to the farmhouse in about half an hour. Finding the property was another challenge altogether. Even with the GPS running, they drove past the entrance to Bryn Bach three times.
Patchy satellite coverage in that part of the world only made matters worse. Even with the SUV stationary, the blue dot representing their car moved around erratically like a flying insect trying to decide where to land. The lane itself—more of a dirt track bordered by overgrown shrubs and trees—was only wide enough to take one car and provided no signposting. Coming to a dead end, Lenny displayed skilful driving with smooth three-point turn, avoiding dropping the car into ditches on either side of the track.
Adrian had to put the light on in the car to study the picture Lenny had printed off. Nothing appeared familiar. The photograph of the cottage had been taken many years ago on a beautiful summer’s day. Hedgerows and trees seemed to be well-tended in the picture. Today, even without being disadvantaged by the dreadful weather and the dull light, greenery crept into the lane, wild and unkempt.
When a streak of lightning flooded the road like a flashbulb going off, Adrian spotted their first clue. A bush had covered most of the white signpost to the farmhouse, but the sudden incandescence illuminated the wooden entrance to a driveway. Three long vertical slats of wood had a saltire diagonal cross, holding them together, while a small waist-high garden gate for those on foot sat fixed on the right side. At any other time Adrian would have shrugged off the structure as an old gate to a farmer’s field. Putting a hand on Lenny’s forearm, he told him to stop the car.
Clad in his well-used yellow waterproof jacket and trousers, Adrian jumped out into the downpour. After pulling back branches of the bush to show Lenny the sign, lit now by the car’s headlights, he went over, unhooked the rusty latch and opened wide the long gate.
As Lenny pulled the SUV alongside, he lowered the window and leant out.
“Well spotted, Ade. We may as well leave the gate open. Nobody’s going to find themselves down this way unless the poor sods are lost. And if that happens, I’ll be only too pleased to help. We can close up on our way out.”
Adrian nodded and got back into the car, even though he an innate discomfort at leaving the gate open. Closing farm gates had been drummed into him as a young kid by his parents and teachers whenever they visited farms around Drayton.
The short gravel driveway sloped gently down. Untamed bushes and small trees on either side hid the house. Behind a sharp bend, the structure came into view. Due to the endless rain and gloom, the farmhouse appeared like something out of a horror movie, with its slick grey walls and darkened windows. Weeds overflowed from square planter boxes either side of the front door, flaky remnants of white paint barely visible.
They parked up right outside the front porch because of the rain, which hissed loudly on the gravel as Adrian pushed the door open. Both of them jumped down at the same moment. Leonard dashed for cover while Adrian took time to survey the house. Even with the reduced visibility, the building seemed sound.
“Come on, then,” came Leonard’s voice. “First impressions. Tell me what you think?”
“Nice.” Adrian strolled to the far end of the house, following the line where the slate roof met the guttering. Large sash windows each composed of twelve square panes sat either side of the front door, while three smaller versions ran above, along the upper floor. “Very nice indeed.”
“So not some pile of old rubble, as my cousin Matthew said?”
“Absolutely not. At a rough guess, Lenny, I reckon this place would have been built around the mid-eighteen-hundreds. No earlier. Something I can tell you beyond doubt right now is that Bryn Bach was never designed to be a farmhouse. Apart from there being no outhouses anywhere nearby and no direct access to fields, the place was carefully designed, either as a permanent home or a holiday hideaway for someone with money.”
“Interesting. How can you tell?”
Adrian turned around and looked back at Lenny in his bright blue cagoule with the hood covering his upper face. Even without seeing his eyes, Adrian noticed Lenny’s handsomely smirking mouth. Was he testing him? Surely Lenny knew more about historic properties than anyone. Adrian knew buildings instinctively, and, without a doubt, Bryn Bach had been designed by the hand of an architect.
“I know my expertise lends itself more to modern construction, but having worked in and around Norwich, you can’t help picking up a few things about old buildings. Traditional farmhouses, for example, were built to be functional. Most were single storey and built by the farmer and anyone he could rope in to help. Old dwellings—called longhouses—provided shelter for both the family and their livestock, all living under the same roof. Can you imagine the smell? I can probably point a few out to you on the drive home. Those ones had solid walls of natural materials like stone, earth and wood and used lime for mortars and renders. Earlier ones had thatched roofs, but later on they used the more efficient slate, like this house. These days they’re easy to recognise because they look as though they’re ready to fall over.
“The same can’t be said of this house,” continued Adrian, taking a step back and, despite the rain, staring up at the house and pointing out features. “This building has pedigree. I know the façade appears older—flinty stone in the wall construction—but that’s by careful design rather than necessity. Not just that, but this was built into a slope by engineers, which is not something your average farmer would have dared consider. At least not unless he had no choice and didn’t mind running the risk of the whole thing sliding down the hill in the middle of the night. Especially in this kind of weather, which seems pretty common in this part of the country.”
“I see what you mean,” said Lenny. “This house does seem pretty solid, doesn’t it? Someone spent money on getting the design right. I wonder who originally had it built.”
“Look at those beautiful brick chimney stacks at either end. Definitely Victorian. Designed and integrated, not tacked onto the structure. Features have been carefully planned and incorporated. At a guess, I’d say the slate roof and stonework are sympathetic design features, locally sourced materials to make the structure blend into the countryside. Even the front door is larger than most you would see on local cottages. The classic portico over the door is typical of the era and complements the other house materials. There’s nothing shoddy or simply functional about this workmanship. The sash windows, cast iron guttering and downpipes could have been installed later, but I’d bet money they’re original. I’ll also be interested to see the interior layout.”
“Come on, then. I suppose we’d better go inside.”
“Any chance we can take a look around the back first?”
Adrian had noticed an overgrown path of rough stone blocks leading to the back of the building and indicated the direction with his hand.
“Lead the way,” said Lenny.
At the back of the house, tall French doors opened onto a sizeable patio area, moss-covered concrete slabs with grass and weeds rising in the gaps, all bordered by a shallow brick wall. Half a dozen wide stone steps in the middle with an ornate stone handrail led down into an overgrown back garden. Towards the back, the top of a rusted iron frame of a child’s swing rose above the undergrowth. Beyond that, the beautiful Welsh countryside provided a stunning panorama. Adrian reaffirmed his original assumption that the house had never been a working farmhouse.
“Well, for a start, this garden’s going to need levelling,” he said, before turning and appraising the back of the house. “Windows appear sound on first inspection, but I’d be concerned about the guttering, which looks to be blocked with leaves and overflowing with moss in places. Hopefully that hasn’t affected the interior walls with damp.”
“My cousin mentioned coming down here every year to check the place over. Not sure what he did, exactly.”
“I can see how the family would have loved the garden,” said Adrian, looking out to the view again. “Not only the remote location, but the garden alone is a beautiful, safe space for kids.”
“Yes, you’re right. If I’d holidayed here, I’m sure I would have fond memories, too. Maybe my aunt has a point. Let’s go and have look inside.”
Adrian trailed behind Lenny on their way back down the path. Entering behind him through the front door, Adrian had to stop for a moment while Lenny picked up a pile of mail from the floor. Adrian looked down the corridor into the gloom, wishing he had brought a torch with him.
