“I have heard that that house has not stood up so well to the weather,” said Jago.
I added my comment to his. “/ heard that a great many repairs had to be done … a complete restoration, some say.”
“Oh, I’ve gone into all that,” said Mr. Arkwright. “Nobody’s going to pull the wool over John Arkwright’s eyes. My lawyers are smart. They’ll assess what’s to be done and that will be taken into consideration.”
“So you have already considered that,” said Jago somewhat forlornly.
“I heard the place was falling down,” I said.
“Oh … it’s not as bad as all that,” put in Mr. Arkwright. “It’ll need a bit of brass spent on it … no doubt of that.”
“And you don’t mind that?” asked Jago incredulously.
“Not for a place like this one. Roots in the past. I’ve always wanted to be part of such a place.”
“But it won’t be your roots,” I pointed out.
“Oh well, we’ll have to do a grafting job.” He laughed at his own joke and Gwennie joined in.
“You are a one, Pa,” she said.
“Well, I’m right. I’ll be the squire. That’s what we want. And don’t you like the idea, eh, Gwennie?”
Gwennie said that what she had heard of the place made her feel it was just what they were looking for. “There’s a hall with a minstrels’ gallery,” she added.
“We’ll have dances there, Gwen. That we will.”
“Oh,” she said, raising her eyes ecstatically. “That’ll be …” She sought for a word. “It’ll be famous … really famous.”
“You won’t be afraid of the ghosts, of course,” said Jago.
“Ghosts!” cried Gwennie in a tone which clearly implied that she was.
“Well, there are always ghosts in these old houses,” went on Jago. “And they get very active when new people take over. All the Landower ancestors …”
Mr. Arkwright looked in some concern at Gwennie. “Oh, come on, Gwen. You don’t believe in that nonsense, do you? There’s no such thing, and if there are one or two … well, that’s what we’re paying good money for. They won’t hurt us. They’ll be jolly glad we’ve come to keep their home still standing.”
“Well, that’s one way of looking at it,” said Gwennie, with a faint smile. “Trust you, Pa.”
“Course it’s the sensible way. Besides, ghosts give a bit of tone to an old place.”
Gwennie smiled but she still looked uncertain.
“Happen it is the place for us,” said Mr. Arkwright comfortingly. “Reckon our search is well nigh over.”
Jago rose. “We’ve got to get back to the smithy. One of our horses lost a shoe. We came in to taste the cider while we were waiting.”
“It’s been nice talking to you,” said Mr. Arkwright. “Come from these parts, do you?”
“Not far away.”
“Do you know the place well?”
“I know it.”
“Lot of rot about ghosts and things.”
Jago put his head on one side and shrugged his shoulders. “Best of luck,” he said. “Good day to you.”
We came out into the open and made our way to the smithy.
“Can you imagine them at Landower?” I asked.
“I refuse to think of it.”
“I believe you frightened Miss Gwennie.”
“I hope so.”
“Do you think it will do any good?”
“I don’t know. He’s only got to see the place to want it. He’s got what he calls the ‘brass,’ and he’s got his lawyer and he’ll drive a hard bargain, I don’t doubt.”
“I pin my hopes on Gwennie. You really scared her with the ghosts.”
“I rather thought I did.”
We started to laugh and ran the rest of the way to the smithy.
I had agreed to meet Jago that afternoon. He looked excited and I guessed that he had one of his wild plans in his mind and that he wanted to talk to me about it. I was right.
“Come to the house,” he said. “I’ve got an idea.”
“What?” I asked.
“I’ll explain. First come along.”
We put our horses in the Landower stables and went into the house. He took me in by way of a side door and we were in a labyrinth of corridors. We mounted a stone spiral staircase with a rope banister.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“This part of the house isn’t used much. It leads directly to the attics.”
“You mean the servants’ quarters?”
“No. The attics which are used for storage. I had an idea that there might be something of value tucked away there … something which would save the family fortunes. Some Old Master. Some priceless piece of jewellery … something hidden away at some time, perhaps during the Civil War.”
“You were on the side of the Parliament,” I reminded him, “and saved everything by changing sides.”
“Not till they were victorious.”
“There is no virtue in that, so don’t sound so smug.”
“No virtue … only wisdom.”
“I believe you’re a cynic.”
“One has to be in this hard world. However, we saved Landower, whatever we did. I’d do a lot to save Landower, and that’s been the general feeling in the family throughout the ages. Never mind that now. I’ll show you what I’m driving at.”
“Do you mean you’ve really found something?”
“I haven’t found that masterpiece … that priceless gem or work of art or anything like that. But God works in a mysterious way and I think He has provided the answer to my prayers.”
“How exciting. But you are as mysterious as God. You are the most maddening creature I know.”
“God,” he went on piously, “helps those who help themselves. So come on.”
The attic was long, with a roof almost touching the floor at one end. There was a small window at the other which let in a little light.
“It’s eerie up here,” I said.
“I know. Makes you think of ghosts. Dear ghosts, I think they are coming to our aid. The ancestors of the past are rising up in their wrath at the thought of Landower passing out of the family’s hands.”
“Well, I’m waiting to see this discovery.”
“Come over here.” He opened a trunk. I gasped. It was full of clothes.
“There!” He thrust his hands in and brought out a pelisse of green velvet edged with fur.
I seized it. “It’s lovely,” I said.
“Wait,” he went on. “You’ve seen nothing yet. What about this?” He brought out a dress with large slashed sleeves. It was made of green velvet and very faded in some places, but I was sure the lace on the collar had once been very fine. There was an overskirt which opened in the front to reveal a petticoat-type skirt beneath. This was of brocade with delicately etched embroidery. Some of the stitching had worn away and there was a faintly musty smell about the garment. It was not unlike a dress one of the Tressidor ancestresses was wearing in her portrait in the long gallery at the Manor, so I judged it to be the mid-seventeenth century. It was amazing to contemplate that the dress had been in the trunk all that time.
“Look at this!” cried Jago. He had slipped off his coat and put on a doublet. It was rather tightly fitting, laced and braided, of mulberry velvet, and must have been very splendid in its day. Some of the braid was hanging off and it was badly faded in several places. He took out a cloak which he slung over one shoulder. It was of red plush.
“What do you think?” he asked.
I burst out laughing. “You would never be mistaken for Sir Walter Raleigh, I fear. I do believe that if we were out of doors in the mud you would spread your cloak for me to walk on.”
He took my hand and kissed it. “My cloak would be at your service, dear lady.” I laughed, and he went on: “Look at these hose and shoes to go with it. I should be a real Elizabethan dandy in these. There’s even a little hat with a feather.”