allowed to talk about it, even now. I suspect he was in military intelligence.
After tea the Major showed me the engraving. It's not his, in fact, but belongs to a man who also lives in my house--some sort of scholar, I understand. It had the date 1778 at the bottom. It showed the splendid palace of the bishops of Rosington which once covered all the land now occupied by Bleeding Heart Square, Rosington Place and several of the surrounding streets. It was a great Gothic building with cloisters, a great hall and a private chapel. Only the chapel now remains, and it's just beside my house!
There was a grand gatehouse, too, which Major Serridge believes must have stood roughly where the Beadle's Lodge now stands at the bottom of Rosington Place. The whole area is still part of the See of Rosington and is known (rather quaintly) as the Rosington Liberty.
Something else happened today. I don't want to make too much of it, but it brightened my day. The Major paid me a compliment, which meant all the more because it was so obviously unforced and unplanned. He asked me why "a young lady like yourself" was living among all the old pussies at the Rushmere--and then he looked quite embarrassed and apologized, saying that he hadn't meant to seem impertinent. I said I wasn't offended at all (!), and indeed I wasn't, though not for the reason he thought!! Several residents are rather younger than I am (in chronological terms, at any rate!!), including Mrs. Pargeter, who claims she's not yet forty (!!!). I find that very hard to believe, and I'm sure she dyes her hair--no one can convince me that that brassy color is natural. I happened to mention her to Major Serridge, in fact, and he said, "Who? The one sitting by herself? I don't want to seem rude, but she reminded me of something my dear old mother used to say, mutton dressed up as lamb."
Isn't it strange? Exactly the same words had passed through my mind, just before he spoke them!
The Major also complimented me on my dress--I wore my new afternoon frock, the one with the charming floral pattern. He said what a pleasure it was to meet a lady who dressed as a lady! Then he apologized again! Partly to ease his embarrassment, I said how hard it was to find a good seamstress for repairs, etc., since the war--someone who had an eye for things, too, who knew how things should be done, and who didn't charge the earth--and he said that, as it happened, one of my tenants, a Mrs. Renton, was reckoned a very superior needlewoman and had worked in Bond Street in her time....
Now you realize it was more complicated than you had thought. It wasn't just that Philippa Penhow wanted Joe Serridge. It wasn't just that she wanted a man, any man. It was also that she was terrified of staying where she was with all the aging women, of growing older and dying at the Rushmere Hotel.
The first time Lydia encountered Marcus Langstone, he had been with his family, but she had only the vaguest recollection of his parents and his older brother. Marcus she remembered very clearly because of what he had done.
She had been five years old, which meant he had been eleven, almost twelve, and his brother practically grown-up. It must have been quite soon after Lord Cassington had taken the lease on Monkshill Park. Lydia remembered how big everything had seemed that first summer, not just the house but the gardens and the park. To a five-year-old, it was a place without limits, more like an entire country than a home.
The Langstones arrived in the afternoon. Lydia did not meet them until teatime. Nurse scrubbed her face and hands and brushed her hair so hard it hurt. She was introduced to the visitors and sat by her mother. Adult conversation crashed and roared above her head. She drank her milk, ate her bread and butter and wanted to escape. She avoided looking at anyone so there was less chance of their noticing her. Once or twice, though, she glanced up and caught Marcus looking at her. He was a tall, handsome
After tea the Major showed me the engraving. It's not his, in fact, but belongs to a man who also lives in my house--some sort of scholar, I understand. It had the date 1778 at the bottom. It showed the splendid palace of the bishops of Rosington which once covered all the land now occupied by Bleeding Heart Square, Rosington Place and several of the surrounding streets. It was a great Gothic building with cloisters, a great hall and a private chapel. Only the chapel now remains, and it's just beside my house!
There was a grand gatehouse, too, which Major Serridge believes must have stood roughly where the Beadle's Lodge now stands at the bottom of Rosington Place. The whole area is still part of the See of Rosington and is known (rather quaintly) as the Rosington Liberty.
Something else happened today. I don't want to make too much of it, but it brightened my day. The Major paid me a compliment, which meant all the more because it was so obviously unforced and unplanned. He asked me why "a young lady like yourself" was living among all the old pussies at the Rushmere--and then he looked quite embarrassed and apologized, saying that he hadn't meant to seem impertinent. I said I wasn't offended at all (!), and indeed I wasn't, though not for the reason he thought!! Several residents are rather younger than I am (in chronological terms, at any rate!!), including Mrs. Pargeter, who claims she's not yet forty (!!!). I find that very hard to believe, and I'm sure she dyes her hair--no one can convince me that that brassy color is natural. I happened to mention her to Major Serridge, in fact, and he said, "Who? The one sitting by herself? I don't want to seem rude, but she reminded me of something my dear old mother used to say, mutton dressed up as lamb."
Isn't it strange? Exactly the same words had passed through my mind, just before he spoke them!
The Major also complimented me on my dress--I wore my new afternoon frock, the one with the charming floral pattern. He said what a pleasure it was to meet a lady who dressed as a lady! Then he apologized again! Partly to ease his embarrassment, I said how hard it was to find a good seamstress for repairs, etc., since the war--someone who had an eye for things, too, who knew how things should be done, and who didn't charge the earth--and he said that, as it happened, one of my tenants, a Mrs. Renton, was reckoned a very superior needlewoman and had worked in Bond Street in her time....
Now you realize it was more complicated than you had thought. It wasn't just that Philippa Penhow wanted Joe Serridge. It wasn't just that she wanted a man, any man. It was also that she was terrified of staying where she was with all the aging women, of growing older and dying at the Rushmere Hotel.
The first time Lydia encountered Marcus Langstone, he had been with his family, but she had only the vaguest recollection of his parents and his older brother. Marcus she remembered very clearly because of what he had done.
She had been five years old, which meant he had been eleven, almost twelve, and his brother practically grown-up. It must have been quite soon after Lord Cassington had taken the lease on Monkshill Park. Lydia remembered how big everything had seemed that first summer, not just the house but the gardens and the park. To a five-year-old, it was a place without limits, more like an entire country than a home.
The Langstones arrived in the afternoon. Lydia did not meet them until teatime. Nurse scrubbed her face and hands and brushed her hair so hard it hurt. She was introduced to the visitors and sat by her mother. Adult conversation crashed and roared above her head. She drank her milk, ate her bread and butter and wanted to escape. She avoided looking at anyone so there was less chance of their noticing her. Once or twice, though, she glanced up and caught Marcus looking at her. He was a tall, handsome
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