Charlie settled the question temporarily.
After a few days he returned.
“Could you be ready to leave by the weekend?” he asked.
“But …”
“Let us have no buts,” he said firmly. “You are coming.”
“Your family …”
“My family will be ready to welcome you,” he replied with an air of finality.
And that was how I went to Leverson Manor.
KENT
Leverson Manor
I had been expecting a pleasant manor house, but when I saw Leverson Manor I was completely overwhelmed. As the carriage which had been sent to meet us at the station approached the house, I saw that, with its machicolated tower and embattled gatehouse, it dominated the landscape.
I was too bewildered then to notice details, but later, when I began to learn a little about its architecture, I was able to appreciate the intricate cornices, the finials, and the traces of the changing modes of the centuries which intermittent restoration had imposed upon it.
At this time it seemed to have an air of cold defiance—a fortress, ready to defend itself against all comers. It was not merely a stone edifice but a living thing. Through four centuries it would have seen much coming and going—births, deaths, comedies and tragedies. I wondered what it was about to see now. I should be part of this house—for a time at least. I was asking myself what it would hold for me.
Apprehension descended on me as we drove under the gatehouse into a cobbled courtyard. I had a feeling that the house itself was watching me, assessing me, despising me as a being from an alien world, who did not belong here, who knew nothing of life except what had been gathered from the noisy streets of London and the somewhat artificial world of theatrical circles. I was not an ordinary visitor. I was becoming more and more uncertain of the wisdom of coming to this place.
As we alighted from the carriage, Charlie laid a reassuring hand on my arm, and then I knew that he was acutely aware of my apprehension.
“Come along,” he said in a voice which was meant to be cheerful. He swung open the heavy iron-studded door and we went into a hall.
Now I felt I had really stepped into the Middle Ages. I glanced up at the hammer-beam roof, the whitewashed walls hung with swords, pistols, shields and blunderbusses. Two flags were crossed at one end of the hall—one displaying what I presumed to be the family’s emblem and the other the Union Jack. Near a staircase, like a sentinel, was a suit of armour. The floor was tiled and our footsteps echoed through the hall as we walked. There was a dais at one end, on which was a large open fireplace, round which I imagined the family gathered after eating at the large refectory table in the centre of the hall.
The windows, two of which were of stained glass, were emblazoned with the family arms and denoted its participation in famous battles. The light from these windows, faintly tinted as it was, gave an uncanny ambience to the place.
Again I told myself I should not have come. I had a ridiculous but certain feeling that the house was telling me that. I did not belong here in this place with all its traditions. I wanted to run out, go straight to the station and back to London as fast as I could.
Then a door opened at the top of a short staircase, which led up from the right side of the dais.
“Noelle. It is good to see you.” And there was Roderick hurrying towards me.
He took my hands. “I was so delighted when I heard you were here.”
Charlie looked on benignly and I felt some of my fears slipping away.
“You two seem to know each other,” he said.
“We met once or twice in the street,” I told him.
“I was desperately sorry to hear about your mother,” said Roderick.
“It was necessary for Noelle to get away,” said Charlie.
“You’re going to find some interesting things here,” said Roderick.
“I think the house is most … unusual. I have never seen a house like it before.”
“Oh, there isn’t one, is there?” replied Roderick with a laugh, looking at his father. “At least, that is what we like to think.”
“We’re proud of it,” said Charlie. “Though I’m afraid we take it for granted, having spent all our lives here. We like to see how it affects people. We have never really lost that, have we, Roderick?”
“Certainly not. The house is a bit of a hybrid, really. That’s what happens to these old places. They need bolstering up over the years and you see the ideas in vogue during one century intruding on another.”
“Surely that makes it all the more interesting?”
The gloom was dispelling and I felt a great lifting of my spirits. I had been right to come, after all. Roderick was here … and Charlie. They would help me … protect me if need be.
Then Charlie said to Roderick: “Where is your mother?”
“She is in the drawing room.”
My sudden burst of relief evaporated. I guessed that Lady Constance had only accepted my coming here because she had been obliged to.
“We’d better go up, then,” said Charlie; and we mounted the short staircase to the door through which Roderick had come into the hall.
We passed through several rooms, under arches and up and down little staircases, past walls hung with magnificent tapestries and portraits. I scarcely noticed them. And after a long time, it seemed, we came to the drawing room.
Charlie opened the door and we went in. Vaguely I was aware of a room with heavy drapes at the windows, a highly polished wooden floor covered in rugs, tapestries and linenfold panelling.
And there, seated on a thronelike chair, was the woman I had often visualized and never thought to meet: Lady Constance.
We advanced towards her, and Charlie said: “Constance, this is Miss Noelle Tremaston. Noelle, my wife.”
She did not rise. She lifted a lorgnette and surveyed me, which I felt was a gesture meant to remind me of my insignificance. Although I resented this, I stood there quite meekly. There was something about her which demanded homage.
“Good day, Miss Tremaston,” she said. “Your room has been made ready for you, and one of the maids can take you to it. You will need to recover from your journey, I am sure.”
“Good day, Lady Constance,” I replied. “Thank you. It was not really a very long journey.”
She waved her lorgnette and pointed in the direction of a chair, indicating that I might sit.
“I gather you have come from London,” she said.
“Yes, that is so.”
“I don’t care for the place. Too much noise … too many people, and some of them can be most unpleasant.”
Roderick said: “A good many people find London fascinating, Mother, and there are unpleasant people everywhere.”
“That may be so,” she retorted, “but everything in London is on a bigger scale, and that means there are more of them.” She turned to me. “I gather your mother was involved with the theatre.” There was a certain distaste in her voice. “You will find it very different here. We live quietly in the country.”
“I find the house very interesting,” I said.
“That is good of you, Miss … er …”
“She is Noelle to us,” said Charlie with a hint of firmness in his voice.
“And there have been some wonderful discoveries on your land,” I said.
“Noelle wants to see the Roman remains,” added Roderick.
“H’m,” murmured Lady Constance. “But now she will want to see her room. Ring the bell, Roderick, please.”
Roderick obeyed and very soon a maid appeared.