“Pardon me, Madam. We saw your B&B sign as we were driving by and wondered if you had a vacancy for this evening.”

“No, I’m sorry. We are full for the whole week.”

“Oh, that’s disappointing. You see I’m a Canadian Trivett. We are on our first visit to England and through genealogy we discovered that Blackmore Farm and Chilton Trivett , which meant King’s Man Trivett, were the first land grants held by the family in England.”

“ We knew of the Trivett relationship with the property from local history. Won’t you come in. I’m busy providing breakfast for our guests, but my husband would show you the house.”

“Thank you. We would certainly appreciate that.”

We ducked through the oaken doorway into the fieldstone house. A small foyer opened into the great hall. A huge fireplace was ensconced on one wall. It was the type where you might take a seat in the chimney corner on cold winter night. Before the fireplace on the stone floor sat an impressive rough hewn oaken great table that was at least sixteen feet long and four inches thick. Open rough hewn joist supported a second floor of tree width boards.

“Good morning. I’m Ian Dyer.”

“Good morning, I’m Don and this is my wife Pauline.” We shook hands.

“You are a Trivett?”

“Yes and my cousin John traced the family back to this very farm and since we are here from Canada we hoped to stay over night. Unfortunately for us, your wife is booked for the week. She graciously asked if we would like to look at the house.”

“Ann is like that. She recognizes family events. Well, we have eight hundred and fifty acres which is very close to the original land grant given by William the Conqueror. We are dairy farmers as you likely noticed. The house was completed in 1399 by some Trivett descendant, but the name has been lost in marriage of the Trivett daughters. This portion of the house we have tried to retain to look like its original state while modernizing our own living quarters. Come up these stairs. You must see our guest accommodations.”

Up we went under the post and beam construction. The rafters were evident in the vaulted ceiling. An antique four-poster bed with side curtains and cover dominated the room. A long handled copper bed warmer stood against the wall. It must have been the master bedroom directly over the heat of the main fireplace. An ancient dresser and commode completed the antique look.

Back down the stairs we went when Ian was called to the phone. “Down that way on the left is the old kitchen and on the right is the chapel. The upper level was for the thane and family while the servants stood on the ground floor.” Ian excused himself. The kitchen was barren, but neatly whitewashed and we entered the tiny two level chapel. I sensed something in the upper level and looked up quickly.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. I could have sworn there were people up there.”

“You’re not going to tell me you saw or even believe in ghosts.!”

“Pauline, ever since we entered this house the hair on the nape of my neck has been standing up!”
“We have stepped back six hundred years.”

“It’s likely the genealogy. I’ve been a detective working on a one thousand year old mystery from three thousand miles away and suddenly I’m treading the ground or stone floors of my antecedents!”

The old door creaked open eerily. We stood in anticipation.

“Well, are you impressed?” It was Ian Dyer.

“Yes, we were. I could almost feel--------“

“Yes, Mr. Dyer, we are coming back some day to stay with you. We want to thank you very much for your trouble. Don’t we Don?”

“Yes, thank you. This little visit has had a great effect on me.”