black brows, now turning grey.
Adela, meanwhile, was demanding details of my journey, but seemed happy enough with the bare bones of my reply. Her mind was patently elsewhere, although she gripped my arm hard and every now and then squeezed it as if to reassure herself that I really was there. Nicholas and Elizabeth had raced ahead of us, the dog at their heels, the former intent on showing his playmate all the hidden corners and secret places of the overgrown garden, while, for once, Adam walked sedately at my side, plotting future mischief. (I recognized that particular expression of his and it boded no good for anyone.)
Clemency Godslove led us indoors, into a high-ceilinged hall which was obviously used as the principal room of the house. A large dining table stood in the centre of the stone-flagged floor with a number of chairs and stools surrounding it. To the right was a huge fireplace, with a carved stone overmantel, in which a whole ox could have been roasted, but which boasted only a very small fire of logs, some of which were too green to burn properly, a fact which doubtless contributed to the general chill of the place. At the far end of the hall, a wide staircase led to the upper rooms, while on either side, a couple of heavy oaken doors opened, presumably, into other groundfloor chambers. The rest of the furnishings consisted of a pair of settles, pulled up close to the hearth, two chests made of Spanish leather, several piles of cushions, some of them rubbed and worn, a display cabinet showing items of silver and pewter, various candlesticks and, finally, a candelabra of latten tin suspended from the middle of the ceiling. My first impression was of a family stretched to its financial limit, but I was to learn later that there was no shortage of money at the Arbour. The Godsloves were just naturally parsimonious.
âCome to the fire and sit down,â Adela urged me, guiding me towards one of the settles, at the same time relieving me of my cudgel and canvas sack âAre these yours and Elizabethâs clothes?â She turned to her cousin. âClemency, my dear, do you think one of the maids could see them taken up to my bedchamber? Iâll sort them out later. And perhaps some ale for Roger?â She patted my shoulder comfortingly. âItâs almost dinnertime. I expect youâre hungry.â
I suddenly realized that I was. Breakfast at the stall in Westminster seemed a long time ago.
Before I could reply, however, or Clemency could summon one of the maids to give her orders, a third female voice demanded querulously, âWhat are you talking about? Whatâs going on? Whoâs this?â
I looked towards the stairs where, halfway down, a woman in a long linen nightshift was supporting herself by clinging to one of the handrails. Her feet were bare and her once dark, but now greying hair tumbled loosely about her shoulders. Her extreme pallor suggested that she had just risen from her sick bed.
Clemency and Adela both started towards her.
âSybilla, go back to your room at once,â the former ordered, mounting the stairs to take the other womanâs arm. âYouâre not fit to get up yet. You know Dr Jeavons told you that you must rest.â
âOh Roderick fusses too much,â was the petulant answer. The newcomer shook off Clemencyâs restraining hand and descended the rest of the stairs.
At close quarters it was easy to see that she and Clemency were sisters; the same blue eyes, the same high cheekbones and imposing noses. But as well as being slightly younger and less wrinkled, Sybillaâs features were less clearly defined. It was as though an artist had drawn a portrait of the older woman and then gently smudged the outline.
The outside door opened once more and a man came in, wearing a lawyerâs robes and a flat black velvet cap devoid of any ornament. Again, it was not difficult to trace a resemblance to the two women except that
Adela, meanwhile, was demanding details of my journey, but seemed happy enough with the bare bones of my reply. Her mind was patently elsewhere, although she gripped my arm hard and every now and then squeezed it as if to reassure herself that I really was there. Nicholas and Elizabeth had raced ahead of us, the dog at their heels, the former intent on showing his playmate all the hidden corners and secret places of the overgrown garden, while, for once, Adam walked sedately at my side, plotting future mischief. (I recognized that particular expression of his and it boded no good for anyone.)
Clemency Godslove led us indoors, into a high-ceilinged hall which was obviously used as the principal room of the house. A large dining table stood in the centre of the stone-flagged floor with a number of chairs and stools surrounding it. To the right was a huge fireplace, with a carved stone overmantel, in which a whole ox could have been roasted, but which boasted only a very small fire of logs, some of which were too green to burn properly, a fact which doubtless contributed to the general chill of the place. At the far end of the hall, a wide staircase led to the upper rooms, while on either side, a couple of heavy oaken doors opened, presumably, into other groundfloor chambers. The rest of the furnishings consisted of a pair of settles, pulled up close to the hearth, two chests made of Spanish leather, several piles of cushions, some of them rubbed and worn, a display cabinet showing items of silver and pewter, various candlesticks and, finally, a candelabra of latten tin suspended from the middle of the ceiling. My first impression was of a family stretched to its financial limit, but I was to learn later that there was no shortage of money at the Arbour. The Godsloves were just naturally parsimonious.
âCome to the fire and sit down,â Adela urged me, guiding me towards one of the settles, at the same time relieving me of my cudgel and canvas sack âAre these yours and Elizabethâs clothes?â She turned to her cousin. âClemency, my dear, do you think one of the maids could see them taken up to my bedchamber? Iâll sort them out later. And perhaps some ale for Roger?â She patted my shoulder comfortingly. âItâs almost dinnertime. I expect youâre hungry.â
I suddenly realized that I was. Breakfast at the stall in Westminster seemed a long time ago.
Before I could reply, however, or Clemency could summon one of the maids to give her orders, a third female voice demanded querulously, âWhat are you talking about? Whatâs going on? Whoâs this?â
I looked towards the stairs where, halfway down, a woman in a long linen nightshift was supporting herself by clinging to one of the handrails. Her feet were bare and her once dark, but now greying hair tumbled loosely about her shoulders. Her extreme pallor suggested that she had just risen from her sick bed.
Clemency and Adela both started towards her.
âSybilla, go back to your room at once,â the former ordered, mounting the stairs to take the other womanâs arm. âYouâre not fit to get up yet. You know Dr Jeavons told you that you must rest.â
âOh Roderick fusses too much,â was the petulant answer. The newcomer shook off Clemencyâs restraining hand and descended the rest of the stairs.
At close quarters it was easy to see that she and Clemency were sisters; the same blue eyes, the same high cheekbones and imposing noses. But as well as being slightly younger and less wrinkled, Sybillaâs features were less clearly defined. It was as though an artist had drawn a portrait of the older woman and then gently smudged the outline.
The outside door opened once more and a man came in, wearing a lawyerâs robes and a flat black velvet cap devoid of any ornament. Again, it was not difficult to trace a resemblance to the two women except that
Similar Books
