There are two major time periods in the book, the first we encounter is in 1970-1971.
We find out that Rita was raised by her grandmother in a tiny, cramped council bungalow. Her parents had died in some tragedy that was as of yet unrevealed at this point in the story. And even at this very early stage, Eve Chase is “painting” very vivid word pictures. The bungalow itself, she tells us, features a “coin gobbling” electricity meter, (I love it!) We also learn that Rita and her Nan lived in a town named Torquay, and despite the fact that Rita adored her grandmother, she generally associates her early years in this town with feelings of loneliness and a small town kind of “smallness” that she found very restricting to her aspirations and the life she wanted to live as an adult.
But even amidst the general gloom of Rita’s years living in Torquay, there were a few things she like and appreciated, very much the same sentiment as the American musician Johnny Rivers must have felt when he penned the famous lyrics, “It’s hard to find nice things on the poor side of town.” Not impossible, as Rivers indirectly points out, but difficult.
In Rita’s case, the “nice thing” came in the form of a job nannying for a certain family who rewarded her years of excellent service with a precious gift. It would turn out to be the most important asset an aspiring young lady could possibly possess…a stellar employment reference.
Rita had been with the family for some time when her Nan suddenly passed away. The council had reclaimed her bungalow and Rita left for the great City of London to apply for her dream nannying job…working for the celebrated Harrington Family.
On the day of the job interview, three things happened, all of which worked together in favor of Rita landing the job. First, Mrs. Jeannie Harrington read her reference letter aloud as the candidate sat, as demurely as possible, on the soft across from her, the children listening intently to mother’s spoken proclamation:
“Loyal, kind, and adored by my four children. Brilliant with the baby. Not so good on laundry or cooking. Very nervous driver. Would hire her again in a heartbeat.”
Mrs. Harrington sets down the letter, and much to Rita’s delight, was wearing a smile on her face.
The second, less obvious beneficial development came when Rita received a piece of daintily presented cake from the Harrington daughter, the immediately dropped it all over the expensive looking carpet…
That immediately lead to the third of the fortunate turns, as the girl who handed Rita the cake began to giggle in such an infectious way that Rita, despite herself, began a bit of a giggle fit herself.
It was sometime later that Jeannie Harrington informed Rita that this was the very moment she knew she was the right person for the job. She wanted, she explained, a “fun” and young nanny for her two children, not some, “cross old boot.”
So, Rita had been hired, and over the course of the next fourteen months, came to adore the two Harrington children, Teddy, who was five and Hera, (Here-rah), who was twelve when she began working in the household. And there was a third child on the way, due to arrive soon as was evidenced by Jeannie Harrington’s growing baby bump.
Rita enjoyed working for Mrs. Harrington, loved that she had her own bedroom, and thrilled at living in the exciting City of London. She felt as though she was living with the Darlings of Peter Pan…life, she thought, could not possibly be better.
And then two terrible blows strike the Harrington household, one almost immediately after the other…
The first concerned the baby which did not survive childbirth. The second was a destructive fire which engulfed a sizeable portion of the great house they lived in.
The family would have to be relocated, all except for Mr. Walter Harrington, who would stay in London in order to continue running the Harrington Glass Company which was located in Mayfair.
Rita, Jeannie, Teddy and Hera would make the five-hour driving trip from London to the family’s country estate, a manor house located in a remote, heavily wooded location. Rita envisioned these two developments with a foreboding feeling. She hated driving, and she despises the woods. But even so, considering how much she came to care for the family, and the fact that she loves her job, causes her to grit through these temporary annoyances.
But then a third, rather unanticipated circumstance reveals itself…
Walter Harrington is expecting Rita to spy on his wife while they are apart. She’s to report, he informs Rita, on his wife’s condition, her state of mind, her moods, her appetite and the “quality of her mothering.”
“I’ll expect your absolute discretion, of course. My wife must not find out.”
So, there Rita finds herself, facing the prospect of living in fear of this frightening forest home, all the while betraying the woman that she’s come to respect and care for…
The second timeline takes places now.
Sylvie and her husband Steve, we learn, are going through a trial separation after nearly nineteen years of marriage…nineteen years in which the fabric of the reasons for them to remain a couple are gradually becoming frayed and weakened, like a, once-loved garment left in a moth-filled wardrobe, they nibble away, “until one day you notice a hole…”
Part of the “nibbling away” process was the result of Sylvie’s habit of holding back on discussing difficult subjects, keeping the revelation of the “sticky stuff of life” on a “need to know” basis.
She’d developed the habit early on, after that terrible thing that happened to her in the woods when she was a child, the one that she was certain would give her mother a “coronary grimace” if she ever dared to share it with her.
The childhood incident, so awfully affecting that it set her of on a life of secret keeping.
Steve, for his part, also contributed toward the unravelling of the fabric of their marriage. His “moths” came in the form of a blonde named Lisa, a HR Specialist he knew from work, not to mention his doubles tennis partner, attractive and friendly. Sylvie tells us she’d at least “55% sure” her husband was having an affair with the tennis player…
As a matter of fact, it could be either of these woman Sylvie thinks, or it could’ve been both…
So, as we read in the opening pages of the book, Sylvie and Steve are living separately, he in the home they shared before, and she in the apartment of an understanding friend, a place conveniently located just a couple of bus stops from Steve’s.
The purpose of this close arrangement is for the benefit of their teenage daughter Annie. But upon finding out about her parent’s split, will choose neither location, instead favoring a decampment at Sylvie’s mom’s cottage in Devon for the summer. For Annie, this choice has the benefit of distracting her, one in the form of a waitressing job, the other, a boyfriend, the identity of whom she chooses not to reveal to her mother over the phone.
So, this is where the two timelines stand as of the opening pages of the novel. The first, involving a nanny and part of a family moving to a mysterious house in the woods. The second, concerning a recently separated woman who’s holding a dark secret of a tragic event that took place in a remote forest in that same year of 1971.
The fruits of Eve Chase’s storytelling brilliance were on display as these two timelines flowed into each other…a confluence of life experiences of two families…all intersecting at the house seep in the forest…Foxcote Manor.
As has been the case with Eve Chase’s other novels, I was drawn in right from the beginning, expecting to savor every intriguing moment of the stories of Rita, Sylvie and Hera and the storied old manor house itself…
Among my favorite aspects of this story were:
The way this wonderful author brings old mansions to life, in this story, it’s Foxcote Manor…
“Behind a tall, rusting gate, Foxcote Manor erupts from the undergrowth, as if a geological heave has lifted it from the woodland floor. The mullioned windows on the old house, a wrecked beauty, blink drunkenly in the stippled evening sunlight. Colossal trees overhang a sweep of red-tiled roof that sags in the middle, like snapped spine, so the chimneys tilt at odd angles. Ivy suckers up the timer-and-brick gabled façade, dense, bristling, alive with dozens of tiny darting birds, a billowing veil of bees…”
Also, when I became aware that this Eve Chase story would feature children living in a mysterious home in the woods, I anticipated the arrival of some seriously enchanting scenes as I progressed.
I was not disappointed.
Here was one such moment:
“A sort of manic savage glee intoxicates children in the woods, Rita noticed. It worries her, since she’s unable to follow them around every second of the day. They hop in and out of the holes in the wall like hares. When she opens the garden gate and yells, ‘Lunch!” her breath’s held, and what was a vague anxiety edges toward panic until the moment they tear out of the trees and the gate’s rusty catch clicks shut behind them.
She can’t mentally map where they’ve been in those missing minutes, the mossy gullies they’ve skidded down – snagging their clothes and fingernails – or their winding routes back to the house. Neither can she gauge how dangerous the forest actually is, if she’s worrying unnecessarily. ‘You didn’t climb the log stack, did you?’ She sees it in her mind’s eye, the logs precariously balanced, ready to roll like huge, spine-crushing ninepins…”
Despite the overall quality of all these aspects I mentioned, Chase does not speed over the romantic parts of her novels, quite the opposite, in fact. The moments where relationships are built are presented in a way that seems completely authentic and believable, yet amazingly charming at the same time. A small example was when a woman, unfamiliar with the woods, is frightened and embarrassed when she encounters a man who is a stranger to her:
“’I’m used to signposted streets. One tree looks like another,’ she’d explained briskly, shivering.
The next day, the man comes to the manor in the woods where the woman is nanny to two children:
’I brought you something,’ he says, handing her a parcel. She looks to him for further explanation, ’A forest map, if you like,’ he says as she opens the parcel.
Inside are a bunch of leaves. Each one named in pencil on a parcel label, tied with a string to the stem: silver birch, oak, holly, beach, elm…
‘Once you know your trees, you’ve got your street signposts,’ he says.”
What a wonderful way to capture the “seeds” of this budding relationship!
And then there’s perhaps the most wonderful aspect of Eve Chase’s novels.
Time…
And the way it flexes, bends, speeds up and slows down, as if subservient to the needs of the story:
“And there’s a lot of time to be had, the days at Foxcote loose and baggy, bookended between the din of the dawn chorus and the sunset whorl of the bats…”
In summary, this author has a unique talent for turning what might have been a merely interesting scene into an enchantingly atmospheric experience. These “adventures of the mind” kind of reading delights were present throughout her past novels, and I’m thrilled to say that this one was equally excellent on this count.
Her talent for bringing manor houses to life, to alter the reader’s mood a she portrays time in a unexpected way, and the charming moments such as the one I described above are but a taste of what you’ll experience as you lose yourself in the pages of this wonderful story. What I’ve shown you is just a bit…
A nibble of an appetizer at a sumptuous banquet…