of the family.’
She pushed open the door and led the way in. Dinah, who was dusting the books on one of the shelves nearest the ceiling, looked down from her ladder at the group below. She jumped lightly down, tucked the feather duster into an umbrella stand, and held out her hand.
Introductions, and then the Earl looked round appreciatively. ‘This is exactly how a bookshop should look.’
Polly sniffed the air. ‘I love the smell of books.’
Dinah said to her, ‘I don’t know what you like reading, but feel free to browse.’ She turned to Gus. ‘It’s a privilege to meet you. You’ll find copies of some of your books on the shelves here, and Selchester School uses your translation of the Odyssey .’
Gus said, ‘Selchester School? Is that where you go, Georgia?’
‘No, I go to the Girls’ High. Selchester School is a boys’ public school. Only public doesn’t mean what you think it does, it means it’s a private school where you pay hefty fees.’
Polly tugged at her father’s sleeve. ‘Can I have some of my allowance, Pops?’
‘Sure, honey, you want to buy some books?’
Polly said, ‘Not exactly at this minute. I think I’ll come back later.’
Dinah said, ‘We’re open until half past five today. The run up to Christmas is our busiest time.’
As if on cue, the door opened and two or three more customers came in.
As Freya, Gus and Polly left the shop, he said to Freya, ‘Could we call in at the museum right now? Or do you have any particular plans?’
The museum was a two-storey redbrick building with a grand stone entrance and ‘Museum’ carved in curly letters above it. Freya had loved it as a child, but she hadn’t been there for quite a while.
As they went in, the familiar smell of dusty old things mingled with floor polish greeted her: some things never changed.
An elderly woman with a pince-nez and a shawl draped over her shoulders was sitting at a desk inside the entrance. She greeted Freya with a little snort of delight and came forward with a smile. Her voice was high and thin and precise. ‘Well, well, Miss Wryton. We haven’t seen you in here for a good long while.’
‘Hello, Mrs Morrison. How are you? This is the new Lord Selchester, and he’d like to look around.’
Mrs Morrison had been acquainted with two previous Earls and wasn’t the least flustered by meeting another one. She said, ‘Of course, you’re Mr Augustine Mason. I saw the review of your translation of the Georgics in the Journal of Vergilian Studies . I look forward to reading it when it’s published in England.’
The Earl seemed surprised but, Freya thought, pleased. Writers always were when it turned out that they met someone who had read one of their books. A pleasure denied her, but then she wasn’t a scholar poet like Gus, whose publications were eminently respectable.
Mrs Morrison was apologetic. ‘I’m afraid everything is a little disorganised. Some schoolchildren were in here yesterday. It was a treat before they break up for the holidays, and we haven’t really put things straight since then. Mr Hetherington came over from Yarnley to give them a talk and demonstrate some of the weapons.’
She gestured towards a wide room lined with suits of armour, swords and halberds. Rifles from the time of the Crimean War and eighteenth-century blunderbusses hung on the wall alongside a battle-axe and mace.
Gus’s eyebrows rose. ‘This is quite a fine collection.’
Mrs Morrison said, ‘It was a gift to us, from the old squire at Thorn Hall before it was sold. Weapons were rather a hobby of his, and he gathered quite a collection. Arranged, as you can see, chronologically from the more modern ones right back to a longbow supposed to have been used at Agincourt. There’s also what is thought to be a Roman sword, but that’s in the Lindsey Room.’
‘What’s happened to the crossbow, Mrs Morrison?’ Freya asked. ‘I always liked that.’
‘It’s up in the gallery together
She pushed open the door and led the way in. Dinah, who was dusting the books on one of the shelves nearest the ceiling, looked down from her ladder at the group below. She jumped lightly down, tucked the feather duster into an umbrella stand, and held out her hand.
Introductions, and then the Earl looked round appreciatively. ‘This is exactly how a bookshop should look.’
Polly sniffed the air. ‘I love the smell of books.’
Dinah said to her, ‘I don’t know what you like reading, but feel free to browse.’ She turned to Gus. ‘It’s a privilege to meet you. You’ll find copies of some of your books on the shelves here, and Selchester School uses your translation of the Odyssey .’
Gus said, ‘Selchester School? Is that where you go, Georgia?’
‘No, I go to the Girls’ High. Selchester School is a boys’ public school. Only public doesn’t mean what you think it does, it means it’s a private school where you pay hefty fees.’
Polly tugged at her father’s sleeve. ‘Can I have some of my allowance, Pops?’
‘Sure, honey, you want to buy some books?’
Polly said, ‘Not exactly at this minute. I think I’ll come back later.’
Dinah said, ‘We’re open until half past five today. The run up to Christmas is our busiest time.’
As if on cue, the door opened and two or three more customers came in.
As Freya, Gus and Polly left the shop, he said to Freya, ‘Could we call in at the museum right now? Or do you have any particular plans?’
The museum was a two-storey redbrick building with a grand stone entrance and ‘Museum’ carved in curly letters above it. Freya had loved it as a child, but she hadn’t been there for quite a while.
As they went in, the familiar smell of dusty old things mingled with floor polish greeted her: some things never changed.
An elderly woman with a pince-nez and a shawl draped over her shoulders was sitting at a desk inside the entrance. She greeted Freya with a little snort of delight and came forward with a smile. Her voice was high and thin and precise. ‘Well, well, Miss Wryton. We haven’t seen you in here for a good long while.’
‘Hello, Mrs Morrison. How are you? This is the new Lord Selchester, and he’d like to look around.’
Mrs Morrison had been acquainted with two previous Earls and wasn’t the least flustered by meeting another one. She said, ‘Of course, you’re Mr Augustine Mason. I saw the review of your translation of the Georgics in the Journal of Vergilian Studies . I look forward to reading it when it’s published in England.’
The Earl seemed surprised but, Freya thought, pleased. Writers always were when it turned out that they met someone who had read one of their books. A pleasure denied her, but then she wasn’t a scholar poet like Gus, whose publications were eminently respectable.
Mrs Morrison was apologetic. ‘I’m afraid everything is a little disorganised. Some schoolchildren were in here yesterday. It was a treat before they break up for the holidays, and we haven’t really put things straight since then. Mr Hetherington came over from Yarnley to give them a talk and demonstrate some of the weapons.’
She gestured towards a wide room lined with suits of armour, swords and halberds. Rifles from the time of the Crimean War and eighteenth-century blunderbusses hung on the wall alongside a battle-axe and mace.
Gus’s eyebrows rose. ‘This is quite a fine collection.’
Mrs Morrison said, ‘It was a gift to us, from the old squire at Thorn Hall before it was sold. Weapons were rather a hobby of his, and he gathered quite a collection. Arranged, as you can see, chronologically from the more modern ones right back to a longbow supposed to have been used at Agincourt. There’s also what is thought to be a Roman sword, but that’s in the Lindsey Room.’
‘What’s happened to the crossbow, Mrs Morrison?’ Freya asked. ‘I always liked that.’
‘It’s up in the gallery together
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