Oubliette

Copyright Oggbashan January 2021

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

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On my family's land are the remains of an old castle. It was an adulterine (means unauthorised) castle built during the war between Stephen and Matilda/Maud. Its main purpose was not to aid either side but to protect the family from marauding bands of dispossessed soldiers. It wasn't particularly strong, just a place of refuge.

It had been built on a natural mound and originally just had a wooden palisade. After a couple of years that had been replaced by a thin wall, forming a shell keep. If either party's army had arrived to attack it would not have survived more than a few hours.

After the war it was just left and gradually crumbled -- until the English Civil War when it was renovated, again not to defend against either army but to protect the family from robbers in the unsettled times. It was never attacked being in a useless position either strategically or tactically. It had served its purpose of providing somewhere for the family, their retainers, and possessions, to be safe from thieves.

Afterwards, as before, it was just left.

And it stayed untouched and crumbling away until now in the 21st Century. The local university's archaeological department wanted to excavate and record the remains of the castle. The family appointed me as the liaison person to work with the archaeologists.

None of the wider family cared about a small mound cluttered with broken masonry. It was a tiny useless part of our thousands of acres. I am the younger son. My grandfather owned the estate which would pass to my father and then my older brother Graham. None of them were that concerned about the land.

They had a competent manager and as long as they could live comfortably in the Elizabethan house, with the valuables in a reinforced cellar and the Victorian art wing constructed to show the family's collection of Old Masters, and that both were protected by the best 21st Century technology and security guards -- they were more interested, all of them, in making money in the City of London as stockbrokers and lawyers.

As a younger son, no one was that bothered about what I did. I wanted to be an estate manager, perhaps taking over from the current manager when he retired. Since no one else in the family wanted that job, I would be allowed to do it. Even if I was wholly incompetent, the money from running the estate would be only a small part of the family's wealth.

My grandfather's instructions to me had been brief:

"Hubert? The archaeologists can do whatever they like. They can have a year or ten. I don't care. The family will sponsor them for fifty thousand pounds a year and pay you a salary. All I ask is that when they have finished, they clear up any mess and leave the site looking neat and tidy. You can do that?"

"Yes, Sir," I replied.

"When you marry Hermione, you two can have the old Dower House, the one that no one is using now, one hundred thousand pounds for its restoration, and I suppose you ought to start now so it is habitable when you marry, and I will double your salary on marriage. Will that do?"

"Yes, thank you, Sir," I said. My grandfather expected agreement from his younger relations but his offer was better than I had expected.

I knew he had another motive. If I restored the old Dower House which was a pleasant four-square Georgian building I would have to work with heritage authorities and specialist contractors because it was a listed building. That would be useful experience if ever I became an estate manager, and if I made a mess of it -- I wouldn't be.

As for Hermione, she was a distant cousin who lived on a nearby estate. We had been friends since early childhood and the family had assumed for years that we would marry. Whether we actually would? Neither of us was sure. We liked each other but so far there hadn't been a spark that suggested we should be more than friends. We were formally engaged. Both of us could do worse, and if we married we would still be friends, but was that enough?

As for the sum that was suggested for the restoration? That, my salary, and the sums for archaeology were tiny amounts compared with the family's income. If I needed more? All I had to do was ask and give cogent reasons. One hundred thousand? Two hundred thousand? A million? No one would care but if I did it for one hundred thousand pounds grandfather would be pleased.

As soon as I had left grandfather's study I rang the archaeology professor's secretary. He came on the line personally. I told him that my grandfather had given permission for whatever they wanted to do, plus fifty thousand pounds sponsorship for the first year. He told me that he would send Rebecca, a reader, who would be the resident site director, to see me tomorrow. They had a problem with accommodation. Could I help?

Yes, I could. We had some old mobile homes that had been used to seasonal farm workers but had been replaced by more modern ones. I would discuss with Rebecca tomorrow where to site them, and the two office Portacabins for recording finds.

The professor seemed excited. Why? There couldn't be much left there from buildings that had been only occupied for a few years in the last eight hundred.

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At ten o'clock on the Tuesday morning I had driven in my second-best Range Rover to the castle site. I heard Rebecca arriving in an ancient beat-up Ford. When she got out I was surprised. She was younger than I expected and a natural fiery redhead with an attractive spread of freckles across her face.

"Sir", she said, "I am Rebecca, appointed site director."

"Welcome. Rebecca," I said, "But I am not 'sir', I am Hubert. I don't have a title, and won't have until my grandfather dies when I'll inherit a minor one. But he won't die for decades. So, call me Hubert, please?"

"OK, Hubert, thank you. The professor told me you might be able to provide accommodation?"

"Yes, Rebecca. We have some mobile homes. If you follow me I will show you where I thought of siting them."

I walked about fifty yards from where our cars were parked to the old piggery. It hadn't been used for about twenty years. It was a U-shaped building around a cobbled yard. I opened the low gate.

"This was a piggery. The pigs lived in the lean-tos around the yard. But more importantly for our purpose, it has mains water, sewage and electricity. If we put the mobile homes in the yard, they could have water, sewage and power, and the Portacabins could go here too. If you have equipment or finds that are too big? They could go in the lean-tos. The buildings would protect you from the prevailing SW wind so the lack of insulation in the mobile homes compared with more modern ones shouldn't be a problem, Rebecca."

"Compared with some of the sites I have worked on that seems like luxury, Hubert. When could they be ready?"

"If you are happy with putting them here?"

Rebecca nodded.

"Moving them is easy. Connecting them up will take a few days. The first one could be ready by Friday and all of them by Monday. That do?"

Rebecca's response startled me. She flung her arms around me, hugged and kissed me passionately.

"Sorry, Hubert," she said as soon as the kiss had finished. "I shouldn't have done that. But what you are providing is luxury. Some of us will be better housed that in the grotty town centre flats we rent. And we don't have to pay you anything?"

"No. The use of the mobile homes, the services, the gas bottles? All paid for by the estate, and the university is getting fifty thousand pounds towards the cost of the work."

"What have the mobile homes got?" Rebecca asked.

"Leave your car here. I'll drive you to them."

Rebecca climbed up into the Range Rover. I drove about a mile to where the farm worker's mobile homes stood. Behind them were the ones that the archaeologists would use. The farm workers' mobile homes were between two years old and brand new this season. The replaced ones? The oldest was six years old.

Rebecca was impressed. Each mobile home had three bedrooms and two bathrooms with gas-fired central heating, satellite TV and Wi-Fi.

"When I've gone on holiday with my parents, we never stayed in anything as good as this. And these are the older ones?"

"Yes. We replace a few each year. Except for you, they would probably go to other farmers."

"We will be very pleased with these, Hubert. Could I move into one on Friday evening?"

"Yes. I'll make sure at least one is ready for you then."

As I drove back to the piggery Rebecca asked whether there were any records of the castle in the family archives.

"I will have a look this week. I might find something but you probably need someone more competent than I, Rebecca. I can't read medieval cursive Latin and some of the older documents will be that."

"OK. Hubert. We have a couple who could. But anything you find might give us a start. Thank you."

I watched as Rebecca drove off. Why had Rebecca's hug and kiss affected me far more than anything Hermione had done? Perhaps because Hermione was not so demonstrative or spontaneous? I didn't know but I knew I wanted to see Rebecca again and soon.

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The re-siting of the mobile homes was easy. Connecting them up was more difficult but specialists from the nearby mobile home site did it. By Friday morning, not just the one I had promised Rebecca, but all the mobile homes and Portacabins were in place and connected to the services. I turned on the heating in the mobile home Rebecca would use.

I had spent several hours a day with the family archives. Hermione had come to help. When she found an eighteenth century map showing the castle layout I was so delighted I kissed Hermione. She was startled at first but responded satisfactorily.

Later, when I found a Victorian Print showing the ruined walls, Hermione kissed me first. That was nice. Perhaps there might be more to our relationship than 'just friends'?

By Friday evening when Rebecca returned, Hermione and I had found several maps, plans, and prints but none earlier than 1750 when the castle was already a ruin. When we showed them to Rebecca on the table in the mobile home, Rebecca grabbed me and kissed me before hugging Hermione. Neither of us had expected that. Hermione eased an arm around my waist to demonstrate her ownership as my acknowledged fiancée.

Rebecca seemed almost as excited as if she had won a substantial prize on the lottery. We didn't understand her enthusiasm but we had given Rebecca something she appreciated. Before we left, both of us were hugged and kissed.

Outside, in the piggery yard, Hermione grabbed me and pulled me into a long kiss.

"Hubert? Rebecca may appreciate you, but you are mine."

Hermione waved her engagement ring under my nose.

"If Rebecca kisses you? I will kiss you twice."

Hermione did. And then twice more. This was a Hermione I had never met. She seemed jealous for her man. Once I had driven Hermione home I wondered why I liked being kissed so much. If every one of Rebecca's kisses were to be followed by two from Hermione, perhaps I should be available for kisses from Rebecca?

On the Saturday a university minibus arrived with several students and equipment that was set up in a Portacabin. I drove across to see if they needed anything. Rebecca hugged me and took me to the castle site. Several students were flying drones.

"Hubert? We are taking photogrammatic pictures of the whole site. When we have uploaded the pictures we can build a three-D model of the site and spot any anomalies. The documents you have already found in the archives possibly suggest that there was a central building that is not visible on the ground. But the main feature that we are looking for is a well. You cannot have a castle without an internal water supply and there is no obvious sign of it now."

"No." I said. "I have never known of a well and the nearest stream is two hundred yards away -- too far."

"while we wait, how about a coffee, Hubert? I've got to scan your pictures. We don't want the originals out of your archives too long, and once they have been scanned you can have them back and we can produce as many copies as we want."

"A coffee sounds good," I said.

I had to make the coffee. Rebecca was dealing with questions from the students and operating the scanner. There were four women students setting up computers and other equipment I didn't recognise. The Portacabin was looking like a scientific laboratory. I distributed mugs of coffee and then Rebecca suggested it would be quieter in her mobile home.

"Hubert? Are there any family stories about the castle?"

"There is one, Rebecca. It seems that the castle's walls might have been still intact in the late 18th century. A twenty-year-old daughter was to be engaged to a local widower in his late forties. Although she liked him as a person she wasn't keen on the age difference. It would have been a dynastic marriage, amalgamating two land holdings. Although she told her father that she didn't want to be engaged, her father insisted. She persuaded her elder brother to hide her in the castle and shut the gates.

Her father insisted on the engagement and sent his retainers to storm the castle, which they did but the daughter was so well hidden they couldn't find her. His son was so angry that he challenged the widower to a duel. The widower refused, saying he didn't want an unwilling bride. Two days later the daughter emerged and eventually she married the widower's twenty-three-year-old son.

But where she hid? No one knows and she didn't say. I tried to find the account in the family archives but I haven't yet."

"On Monday we will have two archivists from the university, Hubert. They will put the originals you have given me back in the family records and see what else they can find. But perhaps we might be able to discover where the daughter hid when we start investigating on the ground."

"It has always been a puzzle. Apparently at the time there were no buildings inside the walls, only a couple of small rooms in the remains of the gateway tower."

We had finished the coffee. Rebecca suggested we should go back to the Portacabin to see how the survey was progressing.

The computer was still processing the information, We could see the results gradually appearing. Rebecca pulled me forward to look closely at the large screen. Her arm was wrapped around my waist. I liked that. I had an attractive body pressed against me, a body that was wriggling with excitement.

The computer advised that there were still four minutes of uploads left to process when Hermione arrived. She walked straight up to where Rebecca had her arm around me, added her arms around my waist and pulled me into a kiss. I was so startled that I might have fallen over except that two women were holding me tight.

The upload finished. Rebecca let me go and peered at the screen. She expanded one area and then another. Whatever she was looking at didn't seem distinctive to me, just lumps and bumps on the grass.

"That's great," Rebecca announced.

"What is?" I asked. "It just looks like lumpy grass to me."

Rebecca dragged me close to the screen. Hermione was still holding me with her arm around my waist.

Rebecca blew up the central area of the castle.

"There. I can see most of the shape of the internal building."

"If you say so, Rebecca. I can't see anything." I said.

Rebecca ran her finger across the screen.

"That is a straight line. It isn't natural so must be manmade. There are another two, fainter, but at right angles to the first line. Right angles aren't natural. And there, just visible, is possibly a trace of the fourth wall."

"I still can't see them, Rebecca. I think you need a trained eye."

"What I would like to do is upload this, and all our data, to the university's mainframe. But the wi-fi is so slow and the files is several gigabytes so I'll put it on a memory stick. Uploading it would take many hours, Hubert."

"Noted, Rebecca. I'll try to get the wi-fi upgraded next week,"

Rebecca kissed me.

"It would be great if you could, Hubert. I need a back-up, and the university's mainframe can analyse data much faster than this PC even though this a high-end one."

Hermione dragged me away from the screen as the students crowded around it. They seemed to be able to see features that were invisible to me. Hermione kissed me.

"Why are you here, Hermione?" I asked.

"Two reasons. The first? To protect you from Rebecca. You're mine, Hubert. The second? I have the keys of the Dower House. If you have a torch I thought we could have a look around it."

"Yes. There is a torch in my Range Rover. But why protect me from Rebecca?"

"I spoke to the students, Hubert. Rebecca is hurting. She ditched her boyfriend last week because he doesn't appreciate archaeology. To Rebecca it is more than her career. It is her passion. He was annoyed because she kept vanishing for weeks at a time to stay in a draughty tent. When he was told she would spend months on your castle he blew up and she told him where to go."

We climbed into my Range Rover to go to the Dower House.

"Rebecca is a man-eater, Hubert." Hermione said. "She is a frustrated man-eater because she can't do anything with the male students. She is their manager and the only available man around who is not a student is you."

"But I'm not available. Hermione. I'm engaged to you. And since Rebecca arrived, you've been kissing me more often and what was a long-standing family arrangement now seems very attractive."

"I think so, too. Until Rebecca started making advances to you, I hadn't appreciated what a good bloke you are. I want you and I'm not letting Rebecca have you.

When we got out of the Range Rover, Hermione demonstrated that she wanted me with a passionate kiss. We walked into the Dower House hand in hand.

It seemed to me that in every room I had to accept a kiss. We had to go around twice because I didn't see much the first time. Our conclusion? The Dower House was basically in good repair. Some windows needed work on rotting frames and the decoration was faded. The curtains were modern, 1980s, because the ancient originals had been removed years ago and professionally restored for use in the main house. We would need new curtains and possibly some redecoration with re-gilding of a couple of ceilings in the main reception rooms. but the Dower House might possibly be renovated for far less than the hundred thousand pounds my grandfather had offered. I would contact the contractors who worked on the main house on Monday. They would give an estimate and they would work with the heritage body, as they already did.

As we locked the front door I had an idea.

"Algy!" I exclaimed.

Algy? Why Algy?" Hermione was puzzled.

"Rebecca needs an unattached man who is not a student. Algy has just been ditched. His girlfriend preferred the shiny breastplate of an officer of the Household Cavalry. If we brought Algy and Rebecca together?"

"Sparks might fly? Algeron is an attractive looking man, Hubert."

"I know, even if he is my slightly older brother. It can't be tomorrow. He's playing polo. But next weekend? Perhaps."

"That sounds like a good idea. But you will have to be careful this week when I'm at work, Hubert."

Hermione works as a receptionist for a society magazine publisher. Her title, as her father's daughter, of 'Lady Hermione', impresses some visitors and she has the correct upper-class tones for the role.

"I'll try, Hermione. If I'm only there when the students are around I should be safe, or safe-ish."