There were portaits on the walls, and the furniture I judged to be early eighteenth century. It was extremely elegant; in daylight I was to discover that it was somewhat shabby, but that was not noticeable at this time.
I recognized Lucie immediately though she had changed. She had a new dignity and was striking in an unobtrusive way. She appeared to be very modestly dressed in puce-coloured velvet but the dress was beautifully cut and elegant in its simplicity. She was reserved, yet completely mistress of the occasion. Her dark hair was simply dressed but becomingly. She came forward and took my hand.
“This is a pleasure,” she said. She spoke gently but without warmth.
“I remember you well. Minta has been telling me.”
Then she turned to Stirling.
“Oh yes, indeed. I do remember. After all it is not so long ago. Come and meet my husband.”
Sir Hilary—Minta’s father—came towards us and shook hands. He looked frail and had the same guileless expression I had noticed in Minta.
Innocent, I thought, and quite unworldly; and then immediately I was thinking of his marrying the woman whom Lynx had loved, and it seemed incongruous that I should be here taking up the threads of Lynx’s past. Here I should remember him as vividly as I had done in Australia.
“We are so pleased to have neighbours,” he said.
“Franklyn has told me all about your taking the Mercer’s House. You’re lucky to get it. It’s a gem of a house.”
Franklyn was near.
“We’re lucky to have such tenants at Mercer’s,” he said.
“Ah, Franklyn, and how are your parents today?”
Franklyn said they were very lively and well; and Sir Hilary went on to ask questions about them. He was obviously interested in their ailments and comparing them with his own.
Two other guests arrived. I had already met the doctor who looked, I thought, quite ill at ease; and with him was Miss Maud Mathers, the vicar’s daughter, a rather tall young woman with an outdoor complexion and a breezy manner. I was immediately convinced that she was a great asset to her father in the parish.
Dinner was served in a dining-room the same size and similar in many ways—the same type of ceiling, the same panelling—to the drawing-room. Minta mentioned that they used this dining-room most of the time although for occasions when there were many guests, such as Christmas time, they used the hall.
“In the old days we used it more than we do today,” she explained.
“We used to have a houseful of guests. I’m sure my parents didn’t know half the people they entertained. Now of course we have to be careful.”
“One day perhaps it will be different,” said Stirling.
I was uneasy. He was showing his obsession with the niar too clearly. There was something so honest about Stirling. I loved him for it, but I felt it would be better to hide his intentions as yet.
He had no subtlety. Now Franklyn. I was continually comparing the two, and everything about Stirling I loved, although I did not necessarily applaud or admire it. Now he was being almost naive as his covetous eyes roamed about the house.
I noticed there was only one parlour maid and the butler was the man who had opened the door. They evidently had few servants. The meal was well cooked and well served, which I imagined was due to Lucie’s supervision. She had her eyes on everything and I was quickly aware that the servants were in awe of her.
Conversation at the dinner-table ranged over a number of subjects. Sir Hilary and Franklyn discussed the Wakefield estate; Stirling was asking Minta questions about the house;Lucie from one end of the table was looking after her guests and joining in here and there; I was seated next to the doctor and opposite me was Maud Mathers, who talked in an animated way about parish affairs.
“You’ll love the church, Mrs. Herrick. It’s the same period as this house. The tower is quite impressive, isn’t it, Dr. Hunter?”
The doctor agreed that it was a fine old church.
“I hope you’ll come along to some of our social affairs,” said Miss Mathers.
“Do you intend staying long tn the neighbourhood?” the doctor wanted to know.
“It’s difficult to say,” I answered.
“My stepson is enamoured of this part of the world and he has fallen in love with Whiteladies.”
“It’s the sort of house about which people get obsessions,” said Maud.
“I believe one or two people have wanted to buy it.”
“I understand it’s been in the family for centuries.”
“Yes, handed down from generation to generation. Not like our house, which goes with the living,” “Miss Cardew has promised to show us round after dinner.”
Lucie joined in the conversation.
“Most people want to see over the house.”
“You must get tired of showing them.”
“I never get tired. I’m as fascinated with the place as every one else, except of course those who are born in it, like Minta. I always tell her she doesn’t appreciate it. It will be the same with Druscilla. ” She smiled.
“My daughters,” she added.
“And how is Druscilla?” asked the doctor. Lucie’s smile gave luminosity to her face. Mother love, I thought, plus candle light.
“She is quite well now.” She turned to me.
“I’m like all mothers with a first child. I fuss. I call the doctor in for nothing.”
“It’s called ” first baby nerves”,” said the doctor.
“It shows a mother’s tender care,” Maud put in.
“And I’m sure Dr. Hunter understands and doesn’t blame any of the mothers in the parish for their over-anxiety.”
“Oh, I’m very tolerant,” said the doctor lightly.
“A necessary qualification,” added Lucie almost sarcastically. I seemed to be sensitive that night. I was aware of a certain tension between the doctor and Lucie Cardew. Or was I imagining it? I fancied that he was very interested in her, that he admired her and she did not return his esteem. Then once again I was thinking of Lynx. There would have been dinner-parties such as this one to which the drawing-master would not have been invited. I could imagine his anger at slights, his determination that one day he would sit at the head of this table.
I came out of my reverie to hear Lucie say: “Oh, Maud, you know you spoil her. She’s getting quite arrogant.”
“She’s such a darling,” Maud insisted, ‘and so bright. “
“I can hear you are talking about my little sister,” said Minta. Then she told a story illustrating the intelligence of the absent Druscilla; and soon afterwards the ladies were conducted to the drawing-room and the men left at the table with their port. There Maud dominated the conversation, which seemed to be mainly about the proceeds of the coming sale of work which would help in the repair of the inevitably beetle-ridden church roof. It would be held in the grounds of Wakefield Park, which Sir Everard and Lady Wakefield had kindly placed at their disposal.
“It used to be Whiteladies,” Minta explained to me, ‘but the Park is so much more suitable. “
“Is it?” I asked.
“I should have thought…”
“Oh, we’re ancient, but the Park gardens are so much better than ours nowadays. We only have two gardeners. In my grandfather’s day there were six. It means that quite a lot of the place has gone wild, and the flowers at the Park are superb. “
Another indication of poverty, but she seemed quite unperturbed by it.
I wondered how Stirling was getting on at the table.
Later the men joined us and after coffee Minta said she knew that Stirling and I wanted to see the house, so she would show us now.
“Be careful of the bartizan if you go up there,” warned Lucie.
“I will,” promised Minta. She explained to us as we went out of the room.