Free The Gossamer Cord by Philippa Carr

joined by an ancient bridge which was built five centuries ago. There are a church and a square…and the quay, of course, and there you’ll see the fishermen mending their nets or bringing in the catch while their boats are bobbing up and down in the water. We don’t have to go down into the town now. Actually, it’s only about half a mile from the house. We can see it from the windows.”
    We were going uphill and came to a high road. And there, ahead of us, was the house itself.
    It looked impressive, perched as it was on the edge of the cliff. It was not unlike Caddington and must have been built around the same time. I thought, Dorabella will be going from one ancient house to another.
    “It’s wonderful,” said Dorabella. “Dermot, you didn’t tell me how beautiful it was.”
    “I’m glad you like it,” he replied. “When I saw your home I thought it was very fine indeed, and I wondered what you would think of this.”
    We were all murmuring our appreciation. I did not say that I thought it had about it an air of menace. I dismissed the thought. It was due to that jaundiced view I was beginning to take of everything since what I had seen at the schloss. Also, it was taking me yet another step away from Dorabella.
    There was a drive up to the gate house; we passed under this and were in a courtyard.
    “Here we are,” said Dermot. “Come along in. Someone will take care of the bags. Oh, there you are, Jack.”
    A man came forward. He touched his cap to us.
    “Take the luggage, Jack. Tess will show you where it goes.”
    “Aye, sir,” said the man.
    We went into a stone-floored hall with a high-vaulted ceiling. As we did so, our footsteps rang out on the floor and I noticed the customary array of weapons on the walls very similar to ours at Caddington, to signify that the family had done its duty to the defense of its country, I had always supposed. There was a similarity about hundreds of such houses all over England.
    A woman was coming down the staircase at the end of the hall. She was dressed in a pale blue cotton gown with white collar and cuffs. I knew who this was before Dermot introduced us, because he had already described the household to us.
    She would be Matilda Lewyth, who had looked after the house since Dermot’s mother had died and he was about five years old. She was, in fact, the housekeeper, but not known as such because she was a distant connection of the family. I gathered that she had fallen on hard times when, as a widow, she had come here with her son, Gordon, to manage the household for Dermot’s father. She had stayed and looked after it to everyone’s satisfaction and had been doing so over the last twenty years. We all knew who Matilda Lewyth was.
    She welcomed us now as our hostess.
    “We are so pleased that you have come,” she said. “Dermot has told us all about you. And this is Miss Denver…”
    “Dorabella,” said Dorabella. “And I know you are Mrs. Lewyth.”
    “And Sir Robert and Lady Denver,” she said, turning to my parents. “And…”
    “Violetta,” I introduced myself.
    “Violetta…Dorabella…what pretty names!”
    We explained about the operas and there was gentle laughter.
    “What a romantic idea! We are so glad you came all this way to see us,” said Mrs. Lewyth. “You will meet Dermot’s father at dinner. He suffers…from gout…and is very often confined to his room. But he is very eager to meet you. We have to be careful with him. He is more than a little infirm. Then there is my son, Gordon. He has grown up here and is deeply concerned in estate business. He runs the place…practically.” She sent a deprecating smile in Dermot’s direction. “He and Dermot between them,” she added quickly.
    She turned to Dorabella. “But I suppose Dermot has told you a great deal about the family.”
    “Oh, yes,” said Dorabella. “He has talked about you all.”
    “And now, you must be tired. It’s a long journey. Would you like to rest