It was a magnificent house but I was accustomed to great mansions, having been brought up between my father’s priory and my grandfather’s castle, and there is nothing quite so inspiring as a castle with its grey battlemented towers and fortress-like exterior, dating back to the Norman era. But Pondersby Hall had a different personality from either the priory or the castle. It was haughty—if one can apply such a term to a house—but it was the word which occurred to me. It had a well-cared-for look which the houses of Cornwall lacked. I supposed that situated in the more cosy south east corner of England it escaped the gales to which we were subject, and the colder drier climate had not played such havoc with its walls. It was not old as houses go. It must have been built round about 1560, so it was less than a hundred years old and it had an air of modernity which the castle certainly lacked.
Perhaps this impression was strengthened by the fact that everything was in such good condition. The grass in the forecourt was neat and looked as though it had been freshly cut that morning. The grey walls looked clean as if they had just been washed—a silvery grey rather than the darker shade of Castle Paling. I was immediately aware of the ornamental scrolled gables with carved masked corbels at their bases. There was a projecting porch, and on the right of this an enormous window, mullioned and transomed, contained panes too numerous to count. The glass of those panes was of blue and red and green and very effective.
I thought, as I was to think so often during the next weeks: I wonder what Bersaba would think of that.
As we came into the forecourt a manservant appeared. He was in green and blue livery which I was soon to learn were the Pondersby colours.
He presented himself to me and, bowing, said: ‘Good afternoon, m’am. We have been expecting you since yesterday. Orders are that you are to be welcomed and taken to your apartment. I will call the grooms and your servants shall be told where to go.’
I thanked him and asked his name.
‘James, m’am. I am the major-domo. In any difficulty if you will acquaint me of it I will endeavour to remedy the fault.’
I wanted to laugh and thought how amused Bersaba would have been by his dignity.
I dismounted, stiff from so long in the saddle, and I immediately felt at a disadvantage. I had an idea that the impeccable James was inwardly raising his eyebrows and asking himself what this was which had arrived to sully his beautiful Hall.
Mab dismounted and took her place behind me. The men followed the groom, I presumed to the quarters assigned to them.
James led us up the two steps to the projecting porch with all the dignity of a man performing a most important ceremony; I was soon to realize that he brought that attitude to everything he did, for whatever it was it had to be shown to be worthy of the attention of James.
We followed him into the hall, where the coloured glass threw a flattering light on to our faces, and I looked up at it admiringly, at the same time taking in the fine plaster ceiling decorated with scrolls, and the minstrels’ gallery at one end of the hall.
A woman in a blue gown, over which she wore a green apron of the same shades as James’s livery, was waiting for us, and I recognized her at once as Ana who had accompanied Carlotta to Cornwall.
‘Our guest has come,’ said James. ‘Take her and her maid to their rooms and make sure that everything Mistress Landor needs is available.’
Ana nodded, less overawed, I fancied, than we were by the dignity of James.
‘If you will come with me I will take you to your rooms,’ she said, ‘and when her ladyship returns I will inform her of your arrival.’
We followed Ana up a staircase which led from the hall to a gallery. Along this we went and mounted another staircase. On this landing were our rooms. A large one for me and a small one leading from it for Mab. I had a window not unlike that of the hall—only much smaller with a window-seat and my panes of glass were uncoloured. My bed was a four-poster, and several mats, of the same tones as the blue of the drapes at the window and the curtains of my bed, covered the wooden floor.
I said: ‘It’s luxurious, isn’t it, Mab?’
‘’Tis certain surely so,’ replied Mab.
‘I will bring you hot water,’ said Ana, and did so.
I washed, and in a short while two menservants—in the usual livery—brought up my baggage.
I asked Mab what she thought of it.
‘It be very grand, Mistress Angelet,’ she said.
‘Yet it’s not much different from home,’ I pointed out.
‘Oh, there be grandness in the air, mistress.’
That was it. Grandness in the air. I looked down at my dusty boots. They looked out of place in this room and I dare say I looked the same.
Mab unpacked my clothes, and as I watched her their glory seemed to diminish before my eyes. I knew instinctively that they would look most unfashionable here.
It was late afternoon when Carlotta came in. She had been riding and I heard her voice as she walked across the forecourt.
I looked down at her. How elegant she was! Her habit was of pale grey and she wore a hat with a curling feather.
‘They are here then?’ She laughed as though there was something amusing about my being there.
She came up to my room and stood on the threshold looking at me.
‘Angelet!’ she cried as she came forward and, taking my hands, drew me to her. It was scarcely a kiss she gave me. Rather did she knock her cheek against mine—first on one side and then on the other.
‘A pity your sister couldn’t come with you.’ Her mouth twisted slightly, and I knew then that she really would have liked to have Bersaba here. I remembered how she had taken Bastian and upset Bersaba quite a bit—although she had pretended not to be—and I thought that perhaps because of that she had a special interest in my sister.
‘Has there been news of Trystan?’ I asked.
She shook her head. ‘It’s hardly likely. You’ve only just arrived.’
‘I thought it might have come ahead of us.’
She shook her head. ‘How was she when you left?’
‘Very sick.’
‘Some recover,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t brood. Where are your clothes?’
‘Mab has hung them in the cupboard.’
She went there and, looking at them, groaned.
‘Don’t you like them?’
‘They are a little old-fashioned. You will need new things here.’
‘They’re all I have.’
‘We’ll remedy that. I foresaw this so I’m prepared. Ana has already started a gown. She’ll fit you and it will be ready tomorrow. I shall take you into London and buy some fripperies for you … a fan, some patches and some rouge and powder.’
‘Patches and powder!’
‘Yes, we must subdue that blooming country complexion somehow. It will make you look such a bumpkin.’
‘But … isn’t that what I am?’
‘Assuredly you are. That is why we shall have to work hard to make you otherwise.’
She sat down on a chair and laughed at me.
‘You look startled. You are in London—where society is smart. I can assure you it is a little different from Cornwall.’
‘I am sure it is. Perhaps …’
‘Perhaps what?’
‘As I am so unsuitable I should go back.’
‘We’ll make you suitable. It’s just a matter of time. And you can’t go back. Your sister is ill. That’s why you’re here. I doubt your mother would ever have submitted you to the wicked ways of the world but for that.’
She laughed again and I said coldly, ‘I seem to amuse you.’
‘Oh, you do. And you’ll amuse yourself. In a month’s time I’ll remind you of what you are like now and you’ll laugh like mad.’