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Authors: The Fortune-Hunters
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breathing a sigh of relief as he reached the entrance unaccosted.
He stepped out and gulped the fresh air. Jessica was still there, sitting with her back to him, to all appearances utterly absorbed in her drawing. The dashing straw hat with the curly pink feather, matching the rosebuds on her gown, revealed more of her extraordinary hair than the blue-flowered one she had worn the day before. Nonetheless, Matthew wished she would take it off altogether. He wanted to see the sunlight play on those flaxen tresses.
Despite her apparent concentration she must have heard his uneven footsteps, for she looked round as he approached.
“Oh dear, you look alarmingly queasy.”
“You are flattering. Miss Franklin!”
His response brought forth her enchanting laugh. “I merely wondered whether your doctor is right in thinking the waters will be of benefit to your health. It would be a pity if the remedy for your chest proved detrimental to your digestion. Perhaps you take after your uncle.”
“Heaven forbid! Not that Uncle Horace isn’t a splendid fellow in his way,” he added hastily, “but I’d hate to have inherited his dyspepsia. Perhaps I’d better stop drinking the stuff in case you’re right. Now that’s enough on the subject or I shall take to my bed. Shall we go into the Abbey?”
“Yes, I have made a good start on my sketch. Sukey, will you carry these, if you please? You may wait here or come with us into the church, as you choose.”
The abigail elected to stay outside. Matthew offered Jessica his arm and they strolled from the bright sun into the cool dimness of the Abbey church. Jessica gasped.
“I didn’t realize it would be so different from Durham Cathedral, so light and airy, reaching up as if it were about to soar into the sky.”
“I’ve never been to Durham, but it’s Romanesque, isn’t it? The Normans built solidly.”
“Yes, the cathedral gives an impression of weight. The windows are smaller and all the pillars are decorated, not elegantly simple like these.”
“Rounded arches with pillars as wide as the openings, instead of the pointed arches, slender pillars and delicate tracery of the Perpendicular that you see here. The Abbey is one of the last of the Gothic cathedrals, built in the sixteenth century. Henry VII’s architect, William Vertue, designed the most marvellous fan vaulting for the roof—I’ve seen the drawings—but it was never constructed.”
“You seem to know a great deal about the subject.” Jessica sounded surprised and curious.
“I’ve always been interested in architecture,” Matthew said rather self-consciously. “Just as a hobby, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you with a lecture.”
“I didn’t find it boring. I know very little about anything later than Roman architecture, since Aunt Tibbett, who supervised my education, considers anything built after anno Domini 100 to be decadent. I know all about temples and amphitheatres and Hadrian’s Wall, and I could draw you a plan of a hypocaust.’’
“Er, what’s a hypocaust when it’s at home? When I was a schoolboy learning Latin we never studied anything but battles.”
“The Roman system of hot air heating.”
“And you could draw it? Some architects today are designing complete heating systems for houses, and I should like to see how the Romans managed it.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she promised.
“What an amazing girl you are. Have you any other unusual talents I’ve not yet discovered?”
“Oh, no. Apart from the Romans in Britain, my education was thoroughly conventional. I play the pianoforte and the harp, and sing a little; speak French, not very well; embroider exquisitely; and write poetry to order.”
Matthew laughed. “A very paragon of genteel accomplishments. Your sketching, at least, is good beyond the ordinary, judging by what I saw of your angels on the ladder.”
“Thank you, kind sir.” Dimpling, she bobbed a curtsy. “And that
He stepped out and gulped the fresh air. Jessica was still there, sitting with her back to him, to all appearances utterly absorbed in her drawing. The dashing straw hat with the curly pink feather, matching the rosebuds on her gown, revealed more of her extraordinary hair than the blue-flowered one she had worn the day before. Nonetheless, Matthew wished she would take it off altogether. He wanted to see the sunlight play on those flaxen tresses.
Despite her apparent concentration she must have heard his uneven footsteps, for she looked round as he approached.
“Oh dear, you look alarmingly queasy.”
“You are flattering. Miss Franklin!”
His response brought forth her enchanting laugh. “I merely wondered whether your doctor is right in thinking the waters will be of benefit to your health. It would be a pity if the remedy for your chest proved detrimental to your digestion. Perhaps you take after your uncle.”
“Heaven forbid! Not that Uncle Horace isn’t a splendid fellow in his way,” he added hastily, “but I’d hate to have inherited his dyspepsia. Perhaps I’d better stop drinking the stuff in case you’re right. Now that’s enough on the subject or I shall take to my bed. Shall we go into the Abbey?”
“Yes, I have made a good start on my sketch. Sukey, will you carry these, if you please? You may wait here or come with us into the church, as you choose.”
The abigail elected to stay outside. Matthew offered Jessica his arm and they strolled from the bright sun into the cool dimness of the Abbey church. Jessica gasped.
“I didn’t realize it would be so different from Durham Cathedral, so light and airy, reaching up as if it were about to soar into the sky.”
“I’ve never been to Durham, but it’s Romanesque, isn’t it? The Normans built solidly.”
“Yes, the cathedral gives an impression of weight. The windows are smaller and all the pillars are decorated, not elegantly simple like these.”
“Rounded arches with pillars as wide as the openings, instead of the pointed arches, slender pillars and delicate tracery of the Perpendicular that you see here. The Abbey is one of the last of the Gothic cathedrals, built in the sixteenth century. Henry VII’s architect, William Vertue, designed the most marvellous fan vaulting for the roof—I’ve seen the drawings—but it was never constructed.”
“You seem to know a great deal about the subject.” Jessica sounded surprised and curious.
“I’ve always been interested in architecture,” Matthew said rather self-consciously. “Just as a hobby, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you with a lecture.”
“I didn’t find it boring. I know very little about anything later than Roman architecture, since Aunt Tibbett, who supervised my education, considers anything built after anno Domini 100 to be decadent. I know all about temples and amphitheatres and Hadrian’s Wall, and I could draw you a plan of a hypocaust.’’
“Er, what’s a hypocaust when it’s at home? When I was a schoolboy learning Latin we never studied anything but battles.”
“The Roman system of hot air heating.”
“And you could draw it? Some architects today are designing complete heating systems for houses, and I should like to see how the Romans managed it.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she promised.
“What an amazing girl you are. Have you any other unusual talents I’ve not yet discovered?”
“Oh, no. Apart from the Romans in Britain, my education was thoroughly conventional. I play the pianoforte and the harp, and sing a little; speak French, not very well; embroider exquisitely; and write poetry to order.”
Matthew laughed. “A very paragon of genteel accomplishments. Your sketching, at least, is good beyond the ordinary, judging by what I saw of your angels on the ladder.”
“Thank you, kind sir.” Dimpling, she bobbed a curtsy. “And that
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