‘Look at these!’ Luke cried. ‘They’re just like our chap at the castle.’
‘Well, not exactly,’ Ernest said, bending to examine the four wild men depicted on the staves of the white stone font. ‘They’re three hundred years younger, for a start.’
‘And they don’t have our Wild Man’s scales. They’re all hair,’ Orla pointed out, noting the wavy lines carved into the stone.
‘Exactly so,’ Ernest said. ‘Quite a different beast altogether. These are the wodewoses or wild men of the woods. Yours is the Wild Man of Lorford, I think we can be quite sure of that. It may well have influenced these ones – legends often pass through the generations via architecture, but I have a feeling that these wild men are something else. More akin to the green man stories.’
‘You know, I’ve never really looked at these,’ Bill said. ‘Or the lions.’
Orla looked at the finely carved lions that flanked the wild men. There were four each around the base of the font, making a wonderful display with their thick manes and regal faces, which were almost smiling at them through the centuries.
‘One does tend to take the gems on one’s own doorstep for granted,’ Ernest said.
The men talked some more, but Orla found herself turning away from the font and walking towards the altar. A shaft of afternoon light lanced through one of the stained-glass windows, throwing pools of colour onto the stone floor. Orla stood in the middle of the rainbowed silence, berating the fact that she had never seen it all before. She would have to come back with her camera and capture some of its beauty. Not for Galleria, of course, because it would give too much away. The pictures would just be for herself – for the joy of capturing a moment of loveliness and for preserving it for ever, much as the sculptors had done with their lions and wild men carved into stone.
‘Orla? I’m going to run Mr Cranbrook home now. Coming?’
Orla looked up at the hammer beam ceiling, the intricate carving of the rood screen and a pair of brass figures that she just had to get closer to, and knew she wasn’t ready to leave yet.
‘I’ll walk home,’ she told Luke.
‘You sure?’
She nodded, and Ernest Cranbrook came forward and took her hands in his.
‘Thank you, my dear. It’s been so much fun! You will let me know if you uncover any other treasures now, won’t you?’
‘You’ll be the first to know,’ she promised him, watching as they all left, Bill throwing her a nod and smile. And then she was left in the silence.
The church was about the same age as the castle, Orla had read. She could feel the kinship of the two buildings, and a sense of pride swelled inside her that she owned one of them. She couldn’t help feeling a little guilty, though, that her special home wasn’t open to the public so that they could enjoy the delights inside it as they could with the church, but that couldn’t be helped, could it? Orla could think of nothing worse than a stream of people coming through her front door.
It was funny that Orla should have such a thought because, a few days later, she noticed a couple of people outside her front gate.
‘Do you know them?’ Luke asked her as he joined her by the window.
‘Of course not.’
‘Shall I see what they want?’ he asked. ‘They’re probably just tourists wanting a picture.’
Orla wasn’t convinced and shrank back from the window as Luke left the castle. When he came back, he wasn’t smiling.
‘What is it?’
‘They want to see the Wild Man,’ Luke told her.
Orla frowned. ‘How do they know about that?’
Luke shrugged. ‘I don’t think Ernest would’ve said anything, would he? Bill probably mentioned it to Margy, but surely she wouldn’t go telling everyone private details about your home to the whole village.’
‘But she wouldn’t need to, would she?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She or Bill or Ernest would only have to tell one other person and then they would tell another and it would be round the whole of Lorford before you knew it.’
‘Yes. I see your point.’
Orla sneaked a peak out of the window again. ‘Luke – there are even more people now – look!’
He glanced out of the window again and saw that the group had swelled to half a dozen.
‘What do you want to do?’ he asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Shall we let them in?’
Orla swallowed hard. ‘In . . . the castle?’
‘They’re just neighbours, and they’re genuinely curious. They don’t mean any harm. Word’s obviously got around and I really think they’re fascinated by what we’ve got here.’
Orla looked down from the window at the little crowd of strangers who were expecting to gain entry into her home.
‘Look – you don’t need to be involved in this if you don’t want to,’ Luke said, obviously sensing her deep unease. ‘I can show them in. They can access the basement without coming through the main rooms and you won’t need to see them at all. What do you say?’
She looked at his face – at the bright eyes filled with such life and enthusiasm to share this wonderful thing they’d found with others. The old Orla would have shouted and screamed at Luke for the mere suggestion of such a thing. She’d have probably told him to pack his things and leave, too. But the new Orla – the Orla who was beginning to integrate with her community and reach out to people, who had sat in her gardener’s cottage for the space of an entire evening and had told her story, who’d photographed her neighbours at the village show and who’d visited another stranger’s house – that new Orla was conflicted. She did have something rather special here, she thought, and did she have the right to hide it away from the village? She might own the castle, but ownership of such a place came with a responsibility and she was beginning to realise that now.
‘Orla? What do you think?’ Luke prompted.
She took a deep breath. ‘Not too many at once.’
Luke’s grin stretched from ear to ear. ‘You’re a star!’
Orla watched as Luke left the castle and ran towards the gate, opening it up, to the delighted surprise of those who’d been waiting there. She wondered whether she should join Luke. It would be polite to welcome these visitors. After all, the castle was a home rather than a tourist attraction. But she felt crippled by insecurity. It was one thing for her to venture out into the world and enter other people’s homes, but it was quite a different thing to welcome strangers into her own home. So she stayed where she was and left Luke to it, making sure the main door into the great hall was closed and that One Ear remained with her at all times.
The interest in the Wild Man continued as word spread around the village and a steady trickle of visitors arrived at the castle gate each day, including quite a few members from the village’s historical society. They’d heard about the Wild Man and were curious to see it and, judging by their responses, they weren’t disappointed. Luke gave them the time and space they wanted to take photographs and ask him questions, which he did his best to answer, and then he led them back up the steps and out into the sunshine.