Free The Gossamer Cord by Philippa Carr Page A

before dinner?”
    “Oh, no,” cried Dorabella. “I’m far too excited for that.”
    Mrs. Lewyth smiled indulgently and looked at my parents.
    “We are not really tired,” said my mother. “We’re just longing to meet everybody.”
    “Well then, I’ll have you shown to your rooms and then you can wash…unpack, perhaps, and then come down and have a chat and a drink before dinner.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll have dinner put forward a little, but I’ll make sure there’s time for a chat beforehand.”
    We were taken to our rooms. The house was so large that there was plenty of accommodation and Dorabella and I had a room side by side.
    I stood in the center of mine and surveyed it. My suitcase was already there. It was a large room with a high ceiling; the windows were leaded and the curtains of heavy dark blue velvet. It was not overfurnished; there was a four-poster bed, a heavy ornate wardrobe, a chest on which stood two highly polished candlesticks, a dressing table with a swing-back mirror, two easy chairs and two smaller ones, and a table with a wash-hand basin and ewer. There was not a great deal of light from the leaded windows and it seemed full of shadows; and because one could not but be aware of its antiquity, one could not help wondering how many people had slept here…and what tragedies…and perhaps comedies…had occurred within the seclusion of these walls. I was in a foolish and fanciful mood, and I could trace it all back to that horrific experience in the schloss. I told myself I must get that out of my mind.
    I unpacked my case, washed, put on a dark red dress, and sat before the swing-back mirror to comb my hair. The mirror was about two hundred years old, I guessed, and the glass was slightly mottled. It seemed to distort my face so that the features which looked back at me did not appear entirely to be my own.
    What was the matter with me? I was looking for evil everywhere, I admonished myself. I must forget that scene. But I could not get out of my mind the memory of Else’s lover in that moment when he had risen from his seat and set the riot in motion. There had been what I could only call the look of a predatory animal on his face…mindlessness, unreasoning hatred…in love with cruelty…cold and pitiless.
    Matilda Lewyth seemed to be a kindly woman; the house was wonderful…ancient, yes, but so was Caddington, my own home. I did not feel that overpowering aura of the past there; yet it had its histories, its legendary specters as such houses will have, but it was dominated by my loving parents who had completely suppressed such echoes from the past.
    I could not shake off this ridiculous feeling even though I reminded myself continually that it was all due to that unfortunate incident at the schloss.
    There was a tap on my door and, without waiting for me to answer, Dorabella came in.
    She had put on a blue dress and looked very beautiful.
    “Oh, Vee,” she cried, using the shortened version of my name. “Isn’t it exciting!”
    I could only agree that it was.
    A maid came to take us down. She was Myrtle, she told us. She was black-eyed, black-haired with a rather Spanish look. She told us her sister, Tess, worked at the house, too. She spoke with a pronounced Cornish accent, which had a certain melody to it, but was not always easy to understand.
    If we wanted anything, either she or Tess would bring it.
    “All you do have to do is say, Miss,” we were told.
    We thanked her. I noticed her lively eyes examining Dorabella intently while I received only a cursory glance.
    We were taken down some stairs along a corridor and down another set of stairs.
    “This be the punch room,” said Myrtle. “This be where Mrs. Lewyth ’ull be waiting for ’ee.”
    She opened a door and we went in.
    Matilda Lewyth rose and came toward us. I noticed a man sitting in an armchair and guessed him to be Dermot’s father. He seemed rather old. Dermot must have been born late in his