Free The Tyrant by Patricia Veryan Page B

across the courtyard was originally designed to connect the newer structures directly, making it unnecessary to traverse the Keep. The wing beyond the Keep is Late Mediaeval, circa 1405, but since it was constructed during the period that the Lancasters ruled, we call it our Lancastrian wing.”
    Phoebe thought the old building quite charming, with its alternating courses of black-and-white flint and white stone. It housed, said Carruthers, the main ballroom and minstrels’ gallery, and the famed Hall of Mirrors, plus the servants’ quarters. The last of the structures Phoebe thought the most bizarre. Built of grey stone, it was comparatively modern, having been put up in 1659, yet it was remarkable for an abundance of griffins, gargoyles, eagles, and small elaborate towers. A large projecting bay, with decrepit latticed windows, appeared rather forlorn and out of place amid such Italianate extravagances, but Carruthers informed them that their most distinguished guests were invariably quartered there, and that he hoped they would find it comfortable.
    Each structure had its own entrance, but the carriage halted before the two great studded doors in the convex central wing, and Carruthers dismounted to assist the ladies to alight.
    Decidedly stunned, Lady Eloise murmured as he handed her down, “I fancy you must do a great deal of entertaining, sir.”
    â€œOh, no. Very little,” he said in his brusque way. “Well, Mama, I have brought you some splendid company.”
    Lucille Carruthers came to the edge of the steps to meet them, the great skirts of her beige brocade Watteau gown swaying gracefully. Tiny and frail, she could scarcely wait for her son’s introductions before embracing first Lady Eloise and then Phoebe. She was, she proclaimed in a high-pitched, nervous little voice, “so thrilled! So surprised. Had no least notion! Oh, how very lovely the child is! How ever did you win her, Meredith? And so this is your son, ma’am? How charming! So good of you to come! No, not in the least trouble, we are only delighted!”
    Phoebe thought her bewitchingly lovely, with her great wistful blue eyes, delicate features, and the luxuriant hair, high-piled and powdered, that was, she guessed, several shades lighter than that of her dark son.
    The butler, whose name was Conditt, was made known to them. He was tall and emaciated-looking, with a gloomy expression and a magnificent carriage, and he ushered them into a wide hall that stretched off to left and right until it was concealed by the inward curve of the wing. Through the windows on the opposite wall, the courtyard of the great Keep could be seen, and the enormous room appeared to be a sort of weaponry, containing many finely preserved suits of armour, some so arranged as to hold great lances, and one splendid fellow in twelfth-century regalia brandishing a mighty two-edged sword. Axes, crossbows, maces, and other mediaeval weapons adorned the walls. Trailing behind her mother and Mrs. Lucille, who were chattering like old friends, Phoebe was brought up short by the sight of a knight on a rather moth-eaten-looking horse, mounted on a dais, and with a large black cat snoozing on his lap. Stunned, she halted to stare, and Carruthers murmured, “This is the Armour Hall, ma’am. We use it only to intimidate guests and are seldom in here, I assure you. The breathing addition to the exhibit is named Satan, and rightly so.”
    Hurrying to them, Sinclair exclaimed, “Jove, sir! What a place! I could spend a week in this room alone.”
    â€œOh, no, you could not,” said Carruthers softly. “Unless I mistake it, my mama will have made many plans, and somehow we’ve to move our fugitive into the Cut.”
    Phoebe waited until they passed an apparently petrified lackey, then whispered, “‘The Cut’? What is that?”
    â€œSome of the land hereabouts is very uneven. To the north is a great gorge we