Free Cavalier Case by Antonia Fraser Page B

army wife in India (she treasured the latter more than the former).
    Not so much inheritance as heritage . The Lackland family heritage, beginning with Decimus and of course Olivia the heiress. This is— was—a perfect gentleman's eighteenth-century library. The Merediths didn't read—and they didn't sell. Up till very recently." Zena paused briefly but she did not elaborate. "A perfect combination you might and he going to dig up the ruins of the chapel to make a conservatory-type club dining room there. Conservatories are all very well for people like Jane Manfred." She stopped. "Those perfect Gothic ruins we used to play in as children, scaring ourselves silly." The bitterness was unmistakable.
    Then Zena started to take out Decimus' precious manuscripts from locked cases. The inspection seemed to calm her. No more was said about the Lackland Country Club. And when together they looked again at the Van Dyck at the head of the stairs, Zena was at her most rational and historic-minded. There was no mention, frivolous or otherwise, of ghosts stepping out of pictures.
    Instead: "It's the hand which gives it away," Zena explained. "That perfect white hand with its assertive pointing finger. Daring us to point out that the whole hand is a fake, and thus the picture a copy, a much-improved copy. Decimus lost all the fingers of his left hand in a tilting accident at court as a young man, according to ' Heaven's True Mourning .' Defending the honour of Lady Isabella in a duel, says Aubrey, but we needn't believe that . He was a mere boy when it happened. There are various references to it in letters of the time. You never see the left hand in the contemporary pictures. This was probably done after his death, either Olivia or his son decided to give him back his fingers."
    "I think I prefer my portrait," exclaimed Jemima. "It's more tranquil and thus more poetic."
    Jemima's second visit to Lackland Court ended, however, as it had begun with thoughts of Decimus the Ghost not Decimus the poet. This time it was not the unexpected sight of Zena Meredith descending the stairs in her Cavalier costume but Nell Meredith, a generation younger, whose words recreated the ghostly presence for her. Nell's peaked little face became quite pink as she poured out the story.
    "I did see him, not just when I was little, now, nobody believes me—"
    "Your father does—"
    "They didn't believe me then. Besides, my father wasn't here."
    "Here?"
    "At Lackland. When Cousin Tommy died. Just before Cousin Tommy died. The night he fell down."
    "You were here?"
    "I was staying here. I do sometimes. I did sometimes. Lots of times. Mummy used to park me here. Actually—" Nell looked rather embarrassed, "I think it was a way of getting at Daddy. To show the world Cousin Tommy hadn't deserted her, even if Daddy had. When she had to go abroad for her shop. She runs this sort of gift shop called Goldentimes for things which are really pretty and sweet. She used to buy lots of them abroad. She even went to China once and India lots of times. So I used to come here. Cousin Tommy was sorry for me. And he loved Mummy. He loved her. Ask Mr. Haygarth.
    "I saw the ghost," continued Nell earnestly. "I used to go wandering about sometimes at night. I've never slept, all my life, Mummy says, since I was born. And the night Cousin Tommy fell down the stairs I saw him clear as clear. So did Mr. Haygarth. Even though grownups aren't supposed to see the ghost. Otherwise something horrid happens. Well, it did happen, didn't it? Poor Cousin Tommy died."
    From the battlements it was possible, as Dan had suggested, to overlook the whole broad sweep of Taynfordshire, all the way to the winding slate-blue ribbon which was the River Tayn; Jemima had not realised the river, between its guard of pollarded willows, ran so close to Lackland Court. The soughing of the summer wind among the strange turreted chimney pots which fringed the parapet—they were extremely high up—and