to know. She’ll have to be told sooner or later.”
“Nonsense,!” retorted Mama.
I don’t see how. “
“If it hadn’t been for you it would never have happened.”
I listened, shamelessly straining my ears for I knew they were talking about Jessica’s grave.
They went into the drawing-room and I was as bewildered as ever. It seemed that everything came back to the fact that my father had gambled away the family fortune.
As Wednesday approached I forgot my curiosity about the grave in the Waste Land in my excitement at the prospect of visiting Ben Henniker at Oakland Hall. In the early afternoon I set out and as I turned into the drive it struck me as strange that I should be a visitor to what so easily might
have been my own home. Oh dear, I thought, I sound like Mama!
Oaks-solid, proud and beautiful-grew on either side of the drive which wound round-a fact which had caused me some irritation in the past because I had been unable to see the house from the road, but now I was glad of it. It added a sort of mystery and as soon as I had rounded the bend I was out of sight, which was useful in case anyone might be passing and saw me.
When I saw the house I caught my breath in wonder. It was magnificent.
It had always looked interesting seen through the trees from the stream, but to come face to face with it and have nothing impeding the view was thrilling. I could even understand and forgive my mother’s years’ old rancour, for having once lived in such a place it would be hard to lose it. It was Tudor in essence although it had been renovated since those days and added to so that there were hints of eighteenth century here and there. But that lovely mellow brickwork was essentially Tudor, and it could not have been much different in those days when Henry VIII had visited Oakland Hall, as I had heard my mother say he did on one occasion. The tall dormer windows, the projecting bays and the oriels might have been added later, but how graciously they merged, defying criticism by their very elegance. The gate tower had been untouched. I stood awe struck looking up at the two flanking towers with the slightly lower one in the centre. Over the gateway was a coat of arms. Ours, I supposed.
I went through the gateway and was in a courtyard, where I was facing a massive oak door. The ancient bell was fixed on the door. I pulled it and listened delightedly to the loud ringing.
It could only have been a second or so before the door was opened, and I had the feeling that someone had watched my approach and was ready and waiting. He was a very dignified gentleman and I placed him at once as the Wilmot of whom I had heard.
“You are Miss dave ring he said before I could speak and somehow he made the name sound very grand.
“Mr. Henniker is expecting you.”
I seemed to grow in stature. I had caught a glimpse of the engraving by the carved fireplace, and as your own name will appear to leap at you from a number of others I was aware of dave ring there and I was
thrilled by the implication that I was a member of that family which had once belonged to this house.
“If you will follow me. Miss Clavering…”
I smiled.
“Certainly.”
As he led me across the hall I was aware of the big refectory table and the pewter dishes on it, the two suits of armour, one at each end of the hall, the weapons that hung there, the dais at the end towards which he was leading me and where there was also a staircase.
Did I imagine it or did I hear a faint murmur of voices, the slight hiss of whispering and the scuffle of feet? I saw Wilmot look up sharply and I guessed we were being observed.
Wilmot, realizing that I had been aware of something, no doubt thought it would be foolish to ignore it. A faint smile touched his lips.
“You will understand. Miss Clavering, that this is the first time we have received a member of the Family, since …”
“Since we were obliged to sell,” I said bluntly.
Wilmot winced a
“Nonsense,!” retorted Mama.
I don’t see how. “
“If it hadn’t been for you it would never have happened.”
I listened, shamelessly straining my ears for I knew they were talking about Jessica’s grave.
They went into the drawing-room and I was as bewildered as ever. It seemed that everything came back to the fact that my father had gambled away the family fortune.
As Wednesday approached I forgot my curiosity about the grave in the Waste Land in my excitement at the prospect of visiting Ben Henniker at Oakland Hall. In the early afternoon I set out and as I turned into the drive it struck me as strange that I should be a visitor to what so easily might
have been my own home. Oh dear, I thought, I sound like Mama!
Oaks-solid, proud and beautiful-grew on either side of the drive which wound round-a fact which had caused me some irritation in the past because I had been unable to see the house from the road, but now I was glad of it. It added a sort of mystery and as soon as I had rounded the bend I was out of sight, which was useful in case anyone might be passing and saw me.
When I saw the house I caught my breath in wonder. It was magnificent.
It had always looked interesting seen through the trees from the stream, but to come face to face with it and have nothing impeding the view was thrilling. I could even understand and forgive my mother’s years’ old rancour, for having once lived in such a place it would be hard to lose it. It was Tudor in essence although it had been renovated since those days and added to so that there were hints of eighteenth century here and there. But that lovely mellow brickwork was essentially Tudor, and it could not have been much different in those days when Henry VIII had visited Oakland Hall, as I had heard my mother say he did on one occasion. The tall dormer windows, the projecting bays and the oriels might have been added later, but how graciously they merged, defying criticism by their very elegance. The gate tower had been untouched. I stood awe struck looking up at the two flanking towers with the slightly lower one in the centre. Over the gateway was a coat of arms. Ours, I supposed.
I went through the gateway and was in a courtyard, where I was facing a massive oak door. The ancient bell was fixed on the door. I pulled it and listened delightedly to the loud ringing.
It could only have been a second or so before the door was opened, and I had the feeling that someone had watched my approach and was ready and waiting. He was a very dignified gentleman and I placed him at once as the Wilmot of whom I had heard.
“You are Miss dave ring he said before I could speak and somehow he made the name sound very grand.
“Mr. Henniker is expecting you.”
I seemed to grow in stature. I had caught a glimpse of the engraving by the carved fireplace, and as your own name will appear to leap at you from a number of others I was aware of dave ring there and I was
thrilled by the implication that I was a member of that family which had once belonged to this house.
“If you will follow me. Miss Clavering…”
I smiled.
“Certainly.”
As he led me across the hall I was aware of the big refectory table and the pewter dishes on it, the two suits of armour, one at each end of the hall, the weapons that hung there, the dais at the end towards which he was leading me and where there was also a staircase.
Did I imagine it or did I hear a faint murmur of voices, the slight hiss of whispering and the scuffle of feet? I saw Wilmot look up sharply and I guessed we were being observed.
Wilmot, realizing that I had been aware of something, no doubt thought it would be foolish to ignore it. A faint smile touched his lips.
“You will understand. Miss Clavering, that this is the first time we have received a member of the Family, since …”
“Since we were obliged to sell,” I said bluntly.
Wilmot winced a
Similar Books
