arch and entering the courtyard. At such close quarters, she could see that the castle was as dilapidated as Matthew had led her to suppose. Above her head, the creeper which looked so romantic from afar was entering the slit windows, straggling across some, twining its way into others which had no glass in them. Birds had nested in the eaves, judging by the mess on the great paving slabs nearest the building, and from the range of stabling to her right a gaggle of geese suddenly erupted, hissing and flapping at the stranger in their midst, big orange beaks gaping, tiny eyes sparkling with cold fury.
‘Get away,’ Hester said feebly. It had never occurred to her that geese could be threatening, but these creatures were positively terrifying to a city girl. ‘Go away, go on!’
The geese ignored her strictures, so Hester traversed the courtyard a good deal faster than she intended, fairly flying across the paving stones and up the steps to the front door. The geese looked as though they might mount the steps in pursuit so she rattled desperately on the door, shyness and diffidence forgotten in her fear of the enemy.
No one answered her frantic knock so she grabbed the iron ring and twisted it and was relieved when the door creaked open, showing a dark and gloomy space behind. Hester glanced back. The largest of the geesewas stretching its neck at her, horrible thing, so she shot inside and pushed the heavy door to behind her.
She was still leaning against the door, panting, when another door opened and someone came out of a room to her left. It was a man, she could tell by the shape of the silhouette, but other than that she could not have said whether he was fair or dark, young or old. He must have heard the slam of the front door, though, because he glanced in her direction, then addressed her.
‘You! What d’you want?’
‘I–I want to s-see Mrs Cledwen,’ Hester quavered, all her natural self-confidence having disappeared with the arrival of the geese. ‘M-my husband sent me.’
The man made a disbelieving, grumbling sort of noise.
‘Why d’you come to the front door? What’s wrong with the kitchen entrance?’
‘The g-geese,’ poor Hester said in a small voice. ‘They chased me, and I don’t know where the kitchen entrance is.’
‘You go round the back, ignore the arch … oh, hold on.’
He sounded horribly cross still, but at least, Hester realised, he was not about to eject her into the goose-ridden courtyard once more. He crossed the hallway, still just a tall dark figure to her, and opened a door. He shouted something through it, then returned.
‘Wait,’ he said curtly, and disappeared, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Having little alternative, Hester waited, and presently, from the doorway through which he had shouted, another figure emerged. A woman’s silhouette this time, a woman in a black dress, with a pale face framed in masses of dark hair. She peered across at Hester through the gloom.
‘Mrs Coburn? Is that you? Didn’t Matthew tell you to come to the back door?’
‘He just said to come up and see you,’ Hester said. ‘The geese chased me. I’m very sorry …’
The woman laughed. ‘Those bloody birds! All right, follow me.’
She had sworn! She had the voice of a lady but the vocabulary of a docker, Hester thought, thoroughly confused. And no matter how dark it was, she was sure that Mrs Cledwen was neither old nor ugly; there was youth in that tall figure, that mass of dark hair, and judging from the way she moved and spoke she had plenty of that unthinking self-confidence which rarely accompanies ugliness.
Hester followed the other woman down a long, dark corridor, through another doorway and into a large, warm room which proved to be the kitchen. It was not dissimilar to Hester’s own kitchen, though it was roughly four times the size. There was an old-fashioned kitchen range, two enormous, scrubbed wooden tables, two sinks, both at knee-level, and an
‘Get away,’ Hester said feebly. It had never occurred to her that geese could be threatening, but these creatures were positively terrifying to a city girl. ‘Go away, go on!’
The geese ignored her strictures, so Hester traversed the courtyard a good deal faster than she intended, fairly flying across the paving stones and up the steps to the front door. The geese looked as though they might mount the steps in pursuit so she rattled desperately on the door, shyness and diffidence forgotten in her fear of the enemy.
No one answered her frantic knock so she grabbed the iron ring and twisted it and was relieved when the door creaked open, showing a dark and gloomy space behind. Hester glanced back. The largest of the geesewas stretching its neck at her, horrible thing, so she shot inside and pushed the heavy door to behind her.
She was still leaning against the door, panting, when another door opened and someone came out of a room to her left. It was a man, she could tell by the shape of the silhouette, but other than that she could not have said whether he was fair or dark, young or old. He must have heard the slam of the front door, though, because he glanced in her direction, then addressed her.
‘You! What d’you want?’
‘I–I want to s-see Mrs Cledwen,’ Hester quavered, all her natural self-confidence having disappeared with the arrival of the geese. ‘M-my husband sent me.’
The man made a disbelieving, grumbling sort of noise.
‘Why d’you come to the front door? What’s wrong with the kitchen entrance?’
‘The g-geese,’ poor Hester said in a small voice. ‘They chased me, and I don’t know where the kitchen entrance is.’
‘You go round the back, ignore the arch … oh, hold on.’
He sounded horribly cross still, but at least, Hester realised, he was not about to eject her into the goose-ridden courtyard once more. He crossed the hallway, still just a tall dark figure to her, and opened a door. He shouted something through it, then returned.
‘Wait,’ he said curtly, and disappeared, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Having little alternative, Hester waited, and presently, from the doorway through which he had shouted, another figure emerged. A woman’s silhouette this time, a woman in a black dress, with a pale face framed in masses of dark hair. She peered across at Hester through the gloom.
‘Mrs Coburn? Is that you? Didn’t Matthew tell you to come to the back door?’
‘He just said to come up and see you,’ Hester said. ‘The geese chased me. I’m very sorry …’
The woman laughed. ‘Those bloody birds! All right, follow me.’
She had sworn! She had the voice of a lady but the vocabulary of a docker, Hester thought, thoroughly confused. And no matter how dark it was, she was sure that Mrs Cledwen was neither old nor ugly; there was youth in that tall figure, that mass of dark hair, and judging from the way she moved and spoke she had plenty of that unthinking self-confidence which rarely accompanies ugliness.
Hester followed the other woman down a long, dark corridor, through another doorway and into a large, warm room which proved to be the kitchen. It was not dissimilar to Hester’s own kitchen, though it was roughly four times the size. There was an old-fashioned kitchen range, two enormous, scrubbed wooden tables, two sinks, both at knee-level, and an
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