gate set into it led up the walk to an elegant door.
A single lamp burned above it, and the horse drew to a halt, as if he knew he had come home.
Robert got down and came around to help me, taking the rugs from me. Then he opened the iron gate for me and carried my valise and case up the walk before lifting the knocker.
A maid answered the summons almost at once, opening the door wide and welcoming me inside. Robert set down my bags, then disappeared into the night as the door shut on him.
“Mrs. Graham asked me to show you directly to your room, Miss Crawford. There’s dinner in half an hour. I’ll come for you to show you the way.”
“And you are?”
“Susan, Miss.” She bobbed a curtsey, smiling in welcome.
“Thank you, Susan.” I was glad not to have to present myself to Arthur’s mother travel worn and with muddy hems.
The hall floor was patterned parquet, and on a gateleg table between two doorways stood a vase with dried flowers arranged in it. Above it was a fine oil painting of a black horse, and I wondered if this was Merlin the Wise. As I followed Susan up the lovely curvingstairs and down a wide passage, I thought of my mother’s last words of advice.
If you wish to make an impression, my dear, wear the blue gown.
As always, she was right. The blue gown suited this house very well.
There was a fire on the hearth of the room I was taken to, and warm water in the pitcher on the stand. I washed my face and hands, then changed my clothes. I was just tidying my hair when Susan came to collect me.
We went down to a dining room where only one end of the long table had been set. A woman was standing near it, waiting for me. Arthur’s mother.
She was not at all as I’d pictured her in my mind. Somehow the words “I did it for Mother’s sake” had prepared me for someone small and fragile and perhaps more than a little domineering.
Instead she was younger than I’d expected, and tall, with graying dark hair, blue eyes, and a confident carriage that spoke of years of managing her family on her own after her husband’s death. I looked for any resemblance to her son and decided it was in the height, the dark hair, the strong chin.
She greeted me with a warm smile of welcome, but I knew very well she’d been examining me even as I examined her.
“Hello, my dear! Robert tells me you came close to a nasty fall. Are you all right? Should I send for Dr. Philips?”
“No harm done,” I said lightly. “Thank you for asking.”
Her eyes were searching my face. “You knew Arthur well, did you?”
I’d met that look before, from mothers and sisters and wives wanting to know how their dear boy had gone to his death, wanting some crumb of comfort and love to fill the emptiness that lay ahead of them.
“He was very brave,” I said. “When he was wounded, he took it well. I often read to him and a few of the others, when I had time.Or wrote letters for them. I wrote his last one to you. He couldn’t hold a pen, you see, and he wanted desperately to tell you how much he cared.”
“Yes, I’ve cherished that letter. A fine young man. I think in many ways he was my favorite. Though a mother shouldn’t say that, should she?”
“He was a man any mother could be proud of,” I answered with sincerity, though I had said it many times in many letters to women I would never meet.
“Yes. Yes, he was.” Remembering her manners, she said, “Please, sit here by me. Jonathan will be down before long. He’s here on convalescent leave.”
“Arthur told me he had three brothers. Are they all in the Army?”
Her face clouded. “Timothy isn’t serving—he wasn’t allowed to join the army, you know. He was born with a clubfoot, and although he walks very well, he was considered unsuitable. He feels rather cut up about that, with everyone else enlisting or already at the Front.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be! To tell you the truth, it’s one less worry for me. I’ve suffered enough
A single lamp burned above it, and the horse drew to a halt, as if he knew he had come home.
Robert got down and came around to help me, taking the rugs from me. Then he opened the iron gate for me and carried my valise and case up the walk before lifting the knocker.
A maid answered the summons almost at once, opening the door wide and welcoming me inside. Robert set down my bags, then disappeared into the night as the door shut on him.
“Mrs. Graham asked me to show you directly to your room, Miss Crawford. There’s dinner in half an hour. I’ll come for you to show you the way.”
“And you are?”
“Susan, Miss.” She bobbed a curtsey, smiling in welcome.
“Thank you, Susan.” I was glad not to have to present myself to Arthur’s mother travel worn and with muddy hems.
The hall floor was patterned parquet, and on a gateleg table between two doorways stood a vase with dried flowers arranged in it. Above it was a fine oil painting of a black horse, and I wondered if this was Merlin the Wise. As I followed Susan up the lovely curvingstairs and down a wide passage, I thought of my mother’s last words of advice.
If you wish to make an impression, my dear, wear the blue gown.
As always, she was right. The blue gown suited this house very well.
There was a fire on the hearth of the room I was taken to, and warm water in the pitcher on the stand. I washed my face and hands, then changed my clothes. I was just tidying my hair when Susan came to collect me.
We went down to a dining room where only one end of the long table had been set. A woman was standing near it, waiting for me. Arthur’s mother.
She was not at all as I’d pictured her in my mind. Somehow the words “I did it for Mother’s sake” had prepared me for someone small and fragile and perhaps more than a little domineering.
Instead she was younger than I’d expected, and tall, with graying dark hair, blue eyes, and a confident carriage that spoke of years of managing her family on her own after her husband’s death. I looked for any resemblance to her son and decided it was in the height, the dark hair, the strong chin.
She greeted me with a warm smile of welcome, but I knew very well she’d been examining me even as I examined her.
“Hello, my dear! Robert tells me you came close to a nasty fall. Are you all right? Should I send for Dr. Philips?”
“No harm done,” I said lightly. “Thank you for asking.”
Her eyes were searching my face. “You knew Arthur well, did you?”
I’d met that look before, from mothers and sisters and wives wanting to know how their dear boy had gone to his death, wanting some crumb of comfort and love to fill the emptiness that lay ahead of them.
“He was very brave,” I said. “When he was wounded, he took it well. I often read to him and a few of the others, when I had time.Or wrote letters for them. I wrote his last one to you. He couldn’t hold a pen, you see, and he wanted desperately to tell you how much he cared.”
“Yes, I’ve cherished that letter. A fine young man. I think in many ways he was my favorite. Though a mother shouldn’t say that, should she?”
“He was a man any mother could be proud of,” I answered with sincerity, though I had said it many times in many letters to women I would never meet.
“Yes. Yes, he was.” Remembering her manners, she said, “Please, sit here by me. Jonathan will be down before long. He’s here on convalescent leave.”
“Arthur told me he had three brothers. Are they all in the Army?”
Her face clouded. “Timothy isn’t serving—he wasn’t allowed to join the army, you know. He was born with a clubfoot, and although he walks very well, he was considered unsuitable. He feels rather cut up about that, with everyone else enlisting or already at the Front.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be! To tell you the truth, it’s one less worry for me. I’ve suffered enough
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