‘You’ve spoiled me enough already!’ It was true: he’d bought me new clothes, taken me to the theatre and given me books, paints and a gold bracelet.
‘Nothing that wasn’t due to you.’ He reached for my hand. ‘Let’s go in.’
We returned to the carriage and set off again, the wheels crunching over the gravel. I glimpsed a church tower and a village in the distance through the gathering dusk.
‘If the King in his chambers at Windsor Castle is as cold as I am, I doubt he’ll live to see the year out,’ said Aunt Maude, her teeth chattering.
‘I’ve given orders for fires to be lit in all rooms,’ said Father. ‘And we must pray for King George to recover from his afflictions.’
If he didn’t recover, I reflected, the odious Prince Regent would become King. What would happen then to Princess Caroline?
As we approached Langdon Hall I noticed the glint of light on water immediately in front of the house. ‘Is that a lake?’ I asked.
Father shook his head. ‘A moat. It’s no longer used for defensive purposes and the drawbridge is fixed down.’
The carriage rolled onto the bridge, the horses’ hooves clattering across the timber. The great gates were open and we proceeded under the gatehouse arch and into a sizeable quadrangle, coming to a halt before the entrance to the Hall. The oak door, framed by carved stone, was flanked by flaming torches to light our way.
Simmering with anticipation, I took Aunt Maude’s arm and Father ushered us into the entrance hall. The servants were lined up to greet us and, although I recognised those who had travelled from the London house, there were many more I’d never seen before.
The housekeeper, an imposing figure in black bombazine, curtseyed to us. ‘Welcome home to Langdon Hall, Sir Frederick,’ she said. ‘I trust you had a good journey?’
‘Thank you, Mrs Bannister,’ said Father. ‘Miss Weston and Miss Langdon will wish to refresh themselves but we’ll have tea in the library in half an hour.’ He turned to the butler. ‘Bannister, come with me to discuss the wines for dinner.’
‘Very good, sir.’
Aunt Maude’s maid, Jane, stepped forward and led her away upstairs.
Mrs Bannister nodded at Daisy.
‘This way, if you please, Miss Langdon,’ said the girl.
I followed her into the rear hall, up the wide oak staircase and into a long picture gallery overlooking the quadrangle. Marble busts on granite columns were displayed in niches. Halfway along the gallery, Daisy opened a door.
My room was dominated by a carved four-poster bed hung with embroidered claret velvet. Tapestries of hunting scenes adorned the oak-panelled walls and the tall windows were magnificently decorated with leaded lights in a lozenge-shaped pattern. A fire crackled in the hearth and I held out my hands to warm them. Briefly, I remembered the simple whitewashed walls and tiled floor in my little room in Villa Vittoria and marvelled at the contrast.
‘Will you change out of your travelling clothes, miss?’ said Daisy. ‘I wondered if you’d like to wear your new blue gown.’
I nodded. ‘And the silk shawl, too, please.’ Mrs Hope had protested when I said I wanted Daisy for my maid but I’d been adamant I could train her myself. I liked the girl and she seemed sensible enough. Besides, I wouldn’t be in England for more than a few months.
‘Shall I fetch your hot water, miss?’
I nodded, luxuriating in the softness of the richly patterned carpet beneath my feet and stroking the silky velvet curtains. There was a window seat heaped with cushions and I couldn’t resist sitting in that cosy nest to look out of the window at the garden.
It was almost dark now but I could make out a stone-flagged terrace below with steps leading down to a parterre. To either side of the gardens were rows of substantial yew trees, clipped alternately into balls and cones. Beyond that was the moat.
Excitement made me want to laugh aloud. I could never have imagined that my family owned such a glorious house and I couldn’t wait to write and tell Alessandro about it. As usual when I thought of him, a pang of longing lodged somewhere under my breastbone. It was painful to remember how we’d parted and I hoped desperately that, by now, he’d accepted and understood my decision.
When Daisy returned with the hot water, she lit the candles and drew the curtains while I washed and changed.
‘I’m impatient to see the rest of the house,’ I said.
‘It’s like going back in time,’ said Daisy, ‘after the modern conveniences of Grosvenor Street.’ She pulled a face. ‘There’s no indoor necessary house here, for a start.’ She giggled and pressed her fingers to her mouth. ‘Except for your father’s garderobe. His valet showed it to me. It overhangs the moat.’
‘It’s certainly an ancient house,’ I said, standing up. ‘Can you tell me where to find the library?’
‘Shall I show you?’
I picked up the candlestick. ‘I have a suspicion I might lose myself and never be seen again if I roam the galleries alone.’
‘You’d have a ghost to keep you company.’ There was a hint of laughter in Daisy’s grey eyes as we set off down the gallery again.
‘I don’t believe in ghosts,’ I said.
‘Perhaps not, miss,’ said Daisy, ‘but if you wander about in the middle of the night and hear Sir Godfrey Mylton wailing and bemoaning his fate, you might change your mind.’
‘And who might Sir Godfrey Mylton be?’
‘Roger Fforbes, who built the Hall, was a Catholic and Godfrey Mylton was his priest. After King Henry broke with Rome, the Fforbes family pretended not to be Catholic anymore.’
My candle flickered in a draught as we reached the head of the stairs.
‘But Mylton carried on holding services in the secret chapel that Fforbes built,’ said Daisy. ‘One day the priest was reading the Bible in the library when an unexpected visitor looked through the window and saw him. Mylton ran to warn Roger Fforbes, who shut him in the secret chapel when he saw the soldiers coming over the drawbridge. There was a terrible fight. Roger Fforbes and his sons were killed.’
‘What happened to the priest?’ I asked.
‘After Roger Fforbes died no one knew the priest was in the secret chapel.’
‘He starved to death?’
Daisy nodded, her eyes like saucers. ‘So his ghost roams Langdon Hall at night.’ She came to a stop. ‘Here’s the library, miss.’ She bobbed a curtsey and hurried away.
Father and Aunt Maude were waiting for me, seated on sofas by the blazing fire.
‘What a welcoming room!’ I said. A candelabra cast a warm glow and the long walls were lined with mahogany bookshelves. The mellow tones of the leather bindings added to the rich appearance of the room quite as much as the Persian carpets, tapestry curtains and comfortable furnishings. Dutch still lifes and interiors were displayed on the two end walls.
‘This is our winter drawing room,’ said Father. ‘In the summer we use the parlour since it has doors to the garden. Do read any of the books that you wish. Some are old and valuable but others are recent and may be more to your taste.’
‘Most of my reading has been in Italian and French with some Latin,’ I said, ‘so I shall enjoy reading in English for a change.’
A footman carried in a laden tea tray and disappeared as silently as he had arrived.
Aunt Maude poured the tea and I handed it around. ‘I understand this library caused the downfall of the Fforbes family,’ I said.
‘Whatever do you mean?’ asked Father.
‘Wasn’t this where Godfrey Mylton was reading the Bible when a chance visitor saw him through the window?’
Father paused in the act of dropping a lump of sugar into his cup of tea. ‘I suppose the servants have been gossiping?’
‘You can’t deny it makes an interesting story.’
‘And a story is all it is,’ said Father. ‘There is no secret chapel. The priest probably escaped through a window. He was never heard of again but, you’re right, that w
as the end for the Fforbeses.’
‘Will you take me on a tour of the Hall?’ I asked.
‘Tomorrow,’ said Father. ‘You can’t see my paintings properly until it’s daylight. We’ll have some supper in the little parlour this evening and a hand or two of cards before an early night.’
‘Travelling is so fatiguing,’ said Aunt Maude, smothering a yawn, ‘especially over winter roads.’
‘Christmas is only a few days away,’ said Father. ‘We shall have guests. My heir, Adolphus Pemberton, will join us, too.’
‘Your heir?’ I said.
‘My cousin’s boy.’ Father made an expression of distaste. ‘I never cared for my late cousin. I was his fag at Eton and he was a vicious bully. Unfortunately, the Langdon Hall estate is entailed and, since my son died, Adolphus is my closest living male relative. It’s a bitter pill to swallow that I cannot leave the house to you, Emilia.’
‘I shan’t lose any sleep over that,’ I said, ‘since I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to manage it. Besides, I shall be in Italy.’
Father raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t mind?’
‘I never expected to inherit anything so I shan’t miss it.’ This was true but I had to admit to myself how much I was enjoying my new, if temporary, elevated lifestyle.
‘I shan’t forget you,’ said Father. ‘You shall have a dowry, if you make a suitable match.’
‘I don’t expect…’
‘I know you don’t,’ he said. ‘A dowry, and a trust set up in your name, on condition that I approve of your future husband.’
‘I see,’ I murmured, hoping he would like Alessandro. There was no doubt a dowry would be welcome but, assuming Alessandro still wanted to marry me, I’d give up any financial expectations to be with the man I loved.
‘Still,’ said Father, ‘I suppose Adolphus Pemberton is marginally better than John Harvey, the next in line to inherit.’
‘You don’t care for him, either?’
‘He’s another cousin. His father cut him off without a shilling after he eloped with the daughter of a butcher and ended up going into the trade.’ Father shuddered. ‘A butcher, imagine that!’
‘At least he should have a decent piece of beef for his Sunday dinner,’ I said.
‘It’s no joking matter, Emilia,’ said Father. ‘It grieves me deeply that I have no son to inherit the estate. I wish I could leave it to you, the only child of my blood.’ He sighed heavily.
‘I’ve found you and Aunt Maude,’ I said. ‘That’s all that matters to me.’
‘Dear child!’ she said.
‘Aunt Maude has agreed to bring you out,’ said Father.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘She will prepare you for your presentation at Court in the spring. Afterwards I shall give a ball in your honour and in turn you will be invited to other balls and supper parties, with the opportunities of making friends and meeting a suitable husband.’
‘Oh, but…’
Father held up his hand. ‘You’re going to mention Alessandro Fiorelli. Are you engaged to him?’
‘Not exactly, though he did propose to me.’
‘Then there is no impediment to your having a season. If at the end you haven’t met a man you wish to marry, then you shall return to Italy. You will be accomplished and elegant and a suitable bride for anyone.’
‘Alessandro is quite happy with me as I am,’ I said, bristling.
‘And so he should be,’ said Father. ‘But, as a tutor, he cannot hope to keep you in the comfort you deserve. If you indulge me by spending this time with me first and taking the opportunities that I can give you, then you may return to this young man with a dowry. Once I have approved him, of course.’ He reached for my hand. ‘Now tell me that you think I’m being fair.’
‘More than fair,’ I said. ‘May I think about it before I agree?’
‘We’re all tired,’ said Father. ‘Let’s have our supper and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.’
After breakfast the next morning, he took me on a tour of the house. We began in the Great Hall, the most impressive room. Six wrought-iron light fittings, each a yard in diameter, hung over the massive refectory table. The beamed ceiling from which they were suspended soared above us. Between the beams the plaster was painted dark blue and embellished with gold stars, like a night sky. It was a great deal more magnificent than the farmhouse dining room at the Villa Vittoria.
‘As children,’ said Father, ‘if it was raining too hard for us to go outside, we used to gallop up and down in here on our hobby horses.’
‘Did you have brothers and sisters then?’ I asked. It hadn’t occurred to me that I might have more relatives.
‘There was Cecilia, who was a year older than I, and Margaret, who was two years younger,’ said Father. ‘Cecilia died of the measles when she was eight and poor Margaret died in childbirth.’
‘And my grandparents?’
Father sighed. ‘My father died when I was a young man and Mother soon after you were born.’
‘So you and I and Aunt Maude are the only remaining members of the family?’ I said, sorry not to have known about these other relatives before.
He put his arm around me. ‘We have each other now,’ he said, kissing the top of my head.
I smiled at him, sad I hadn’t grown up secure in the knowledge of his love. It pained me that, despite all his kind attentions, I didn’t as yet feel love for him. Alessandro was right, a family was glued together by years of memories and although Father and I were bound by blood, we were not yet bound by love. But if I spent more time with him, as long as Alessandro would wait for me, perhaps we could build those precious memories.
‘And here,’ said Father, pointing above a heavily carved screen across one end of the room, ‘is the minstrels’ gallery. We used to hide in there and peep down through the screen when my parents held a party.’
‘How wonderful to grow up with this history all around you,’ I said. I ran my finger along the polished surface of the table and my footsteps echoed up from the flagstone floor as I went to study the stags’ heads adorning the oak-panelled walls.
‘Your grandfather was a great huntsman,’ said Father, ‘but these are of more interest to me.’ He showed me a number of gilt-framed landscapes and spent the next twenty minutes teaching me about perspective.
‘Forgive me,’ he said, at last. ‘Once I start talking about my beloved paintings I forget to stop. I’ve grouped them by type and period in different locations so I’ll show them to you as we go from room to room.’
‘I’ve already noticed the Dutch paintings in the library and the Roman busts in the niches in the gallery upstairs,’ I said.
‘Ah, yes, the Long Gallery,’ said Father. ‘It’s the perfect place to display my treasures and was added by one of our ancestors in the late sixteenth century. Before that there were no corridors and you entered each room through another.’ He linked his arm with mine again. ‘Shall we see the rest of the house?’
We went all over it, looking into the half-timbered attics where the servants slept, poking our noses into nine bedrooms and several dressing rooms. One door was locked and Father told me it had been my mother’s room. His forbidding expression prevented me from asking if I might look inside. We wandered through the hall again, discussed the paintings in Father’s study, the morning room and the small parlour. I’d lost count of the various staircases, closets and anterooms.
Father showed me numerous beautiful works of art: Italian Renaissance drawings, Russian icons, English portraits, medieval religious paintings and collections of Roman and Egyptian sculptures and artefacts.
‘It’s like living in an art gallery,’ I said. ‘Aren’t you ever afraid such a wonderful collection might be stolen?’
Father smiled, as if I’d said something particularly amusing. ‘A number of pictures have been stolen from some of my acquaintances over the years but I’ve taken steps to ensure it won’t happen to me. The pai
ntings are very carefully fitted to the walls with a framework of my own devising at the back. A thief can’t lift anything down without using a special tool.’
‘Perhaps you should raise the drawbridge at night?’ I said, only half joking.
Laughing, he said, ‘That’s not a bad idea but the servants have strict instructions to double lock the doors and to patrol the grounds at regular intervals.’
‘Wise precautions,’ I said.
‘Shall we return to the library now?’
‘I thought you must be lost,’ said Aunt Maude as we joined her by the fire.
‘I might never have been seen again, if Father hadn’t been there to guide me.’
The Dressmaker’s Secret Page 15
