think the place does make you feel terribly pampered. But despite all the lovely fabrics and rugs and nice antiques, there’s nothing unique or different about Heronside. There’s nothing there that’s gone awry. You’ve always told me that it’s important for a room to be slightly askew, a bit ‘off.’ You said it makes a place interesting.”
“Oddities add character, and that’s something we have always taken into consideration.” Meredith looked at her partner and friend, and nodded to herself. “I feel you don’t like Heronside.”
“I don’t dislike it,” Patsy answered, speaking the truth.
“Look, why are we going there? Why not go directly to Ripon?”
“Because it is a wonderful inn, and I want you to see it for yourself. It doesn’t need much money spent on it, since it was redone two years ago, and the views are magnificent. Also, I’m not sure I’m right about it.
Truly, Meredith, I want you to make the decision.”
“All right, I will. But you’re not often wrong, Patsy.
We have very similar tastes.”
CHAPTER NINE
T he morning was clear and cold, the kind of crisp, bright day that Meredith liked. The sky was a dazzling blue, without a cloud, and the sun was shining; while this offered little warmth, it added radiance to the day.
Just as the clock turned nine on Tuesday morning, Meredith was bundled up in boots and a sheepskin coat, walking through Studley Park. The stately avenue of lime trees down which she hurried led to Studley Church, just visible on top of the hill at the end of the avenue. She knew, from Mrs. Miller’s directions, that within a few minutes she would be at the abbey.
Yesterday afternoon, when she and Patsy had arrived in Ripon, they had gone directly to Skell Garth House.
Situated between the tiny villages of Studley Royal and Aldfield, the house stood on the
112 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
banks of the little River Skell, as did Fountains Abbey on the opposite bank.
After the Millers had been introduced to her, Patsy had explained to the couple that they would like to stay the night at Skell Garth. Since it was midweek in winter, this had not presented a problem. There were plenty of available rooms and Claudia Miller had given them a choice.
“I think we’d like those two that adjoin each other on the top floor,” Patsy had said as they had followed the owners up the wide main staircase. “You know, the two that face Fountains.”
The minute they walked into the first of the rooms, Patsy dragged Meredith to the window. “Now, isn’t that the most spectacular sight!” she cried. “Behold Fountains Abbey! One of the two most beautiful ruined abbeys in the whole of England.”
Meredith stared out across the sloping lawns and gardens of Skell Garth House, now obliterated by a covering of snow, her eyes fastening on the abbey. It rose up out of glistening white fields, huge, dark, monolithic, silhouetted against the fading greenish sky, an ancient tribute to God. And she caught her breath, struck by its beauty. She agreed that it was magnificent.
That was the only word to describe it, she thought.
“And it’s one of the best preserved abbeys in the country,” Bill Miller had pointed out. “There are stonemasons working on it all the time, trying to keep it from crumbling away. It’s a national treasure, you know.”
Her Own Rules / 113
At that moment, and for a reason she could not fathom, Meredith had made up her mind to take a closer look, feeling oddly drawn to those ruins.
After they had taken tea with the Millers, the rest of the afternoon had been devoted to a complete guided tour of Skell Garth House, which dated back to the nineteenth century. By the time they finished talking with the owners, going over all aspects of the inn and the pros and cons, it had grown dark outside. I’ll go tomorrow, before we leave, Meredith resolved, filled with determination to visit the ruins, a determination she did not quite understand.
This
“Oddities add character, and that’s something we have always taken into consideration.” Meredith looked at her partner and friend, and nodded to herself. “I feel you don’t like Heronside.”
“I don’t dislike it,” Patsy answered, speaking the truth.
“Look, why are we going there? Why not go directly to Ripon?”
“Because it is a wonderful inn, and I want you to see it for yourself. It doesn’t need much money spent on it, since it was redone two years ago, and the views are magnificent. Also, I’m not sure I’m right about it.
Truly, Meredith, I want you to make the decision.”
“All right, I will. But you’re not often wrong, Patsy.
We have very similar tastes.”
CHAPTER NINE
T he morning was clear and cold, the kind of crisp, bright day that Meredith liked. The sky was a dazzling blue, without a cloud, and the sun was shining; while this offered little warmth, it added radiance to the day.
Just as the clock turned nine on Tuesday morning, Meredith was bundled up in boots and a sheepskin coat, walking through Studley Park. The stately avenue of lime trees down which she hurried led to Studley Church, just visible on top of the hill at the end of the avenue. She knew, from Mrs. Miller’s directions, that within a few minutes she would be at the abbey.
Yesterday afternoon, when she and Patsy had arrived in Ripon, they had gone directly to Skell Garth House.
Situated between the tiny villages of Studley Royal and Aldfield, the house stood on the
112 / Barbara Taylor Bradford
banks of the little River Skell, as did Fountains Abbey on the opposite bank.
After the Millers had been introduced to her, Patsy had explained to the couple that they would like to stay the night at Skell Garth. Since it was midweek in winter, this had not presented a problem. There were plenty of available rooms and Claudia Miller had given them a choice.
“I think we’d like those two that adjoin each other on the top floor,” Patsy had said as they had followed the owners up the wide main staircase. “You know, the two that face Fountains.”
The minute they walked into the first of the rooms, Patsy dragged Meredith to the window. “Now, isn’t that the most spectacular sight!” she cried. “Behold Fountains Abbey! One of the two most beautiful ruined abbeys in the whole of England.”
Meredith stared out across the sloping lawns and gardens of Skell Garth House, now obliterated by a covering of snow, her eyes fastening on the abbey. It rose up out of glistening white fields, huge, dark, monolithic, silhouetted against the fading greenish sky, an ancient tribute to God. And she caught her breath, struck by its beauty. She agreed that it was magnificent.
That was the only word to describe it, she thought.
“And it’s one of the best preserved abbeys in the country,” Bill Miller had pointed out. “There are stonemasons working on it all the time, trying to keep it from crumbling away. It’s a national treasure, you know.”
Her Own Rules / 113
At that moment, and for a reason she could not fathom, Meredith had made up her mind to take a closer look, feeling oddly drawn to those ruins.
After they had taken tea with the Millers, the rest of the afternoon had been devoted to a complete guided tour of Skell Garth House, which dated back to the nineteenth century. By the time they finished talking with the owners, going over all aspects of the inn and the pros and cons, it had grown dark outside. I’ll go tomorrow, before we leave, Meredith resolved, filled with determination to visit the ruins, a determination she did not quite understand.
This
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