beautiful dress.’
‘She usually sits in the panelled parlour at the front of the house in the morning. The sun makes it warm and comfortable for her—with the pains in her limbs an’ all. I will take you there when you are ready.’
Lady Elizabeth sat in the wash of sunlight in the small parlour with a neglected piece of tapestry on her lap as Bessie ushered in Viola. Felicity sat beside her, head bent industriously over a similar pattern intended to cover a chair seat. Elizabeth’s face was solemn and pensive as she gazed out over the gardens, but brightened immediately with a welcoming smile as she stretched out her hand in greeting.
‘Well, Mistress Viola. You look charming this morning. I knew the dress would suit. Turn round for me.’
Viola did as she was bid, enjoying the swish of damask skirts against the polished oak boards.
‘I do not know what to say. You have given me more than I deserve.’
Felicity’s curled lips suggested that she might agree, but said nothing and continued to ply her needle with little vicious stabs at the tapestry.
‘Nonsense, dear girl. Come and sit and entertain me a little.’
Viola did as she was bid and bent to admire Elizabeth’s embroidery. ‘Your tapestry is beautiful. The stitches are so even.’
‘I could do better.’ Elizabeth wrinkled her nose in self-disgust. ‘My fingers are so swollen and painful. Can you do tapestry work?’
‘Yes, of course. I remember …’ She stopped in some consternation.
‘There now. I knew your memory would return when you stopped trying so hard. I expect your mother taught you.’
‘Perhaps. I certainly know that I have worked tapestry—and needlework—and I remember patterns. One very similar to Mistress Felicity’s cover with flowers and leaves, but in darker greens. But I am not sure that I enjoyed it.’ Her lips were touched by a faint smile. ‘I feel that I applied myself reluctantly and only because I must.’
‘It is indeed amazing how your memory is beginning to return.’ The sour note in Felicity’s voice was unmistakable.
There was a silence in the room for a long moment. And then, ‘It is not a situation that I would wish on anyone, Mistress Felicity,’ Viola replied in a quiet voice.
So she has spirit.
It pleased Elizabeth to hear her young guest stand up for herself against Felicity’s unkind sniping.
‘Perhaps you would fetch us some wine, Felicity?’
‘Of course, dear Elizabeth.’ Felicity simpered in Elizabeth’s direction, but with a scowl for Viola as she flounced through the door.
‘You said, my lady, that you had recently returned to live here.’ It seemed to Viola an innocuous subject that would not require any reminiscences on her part.
‘It is a complicated story,’ explained Elizabeth, willing enough to find a neutral topic. ‘We used to live at Glasbury Old Hall—you probably do not know it, but it is only a few miles from here. I went there as a young bride. But it was damaged beyond repair in the war—and then we came here.’
‘Do you never go back?’
‘Too sad. Too many memories of what might have been.’
‘But why did you come here in the first place—and then not remain here?’
‘I warned you it had its complications. The Priorybecame ours after a siege and the original family fled. So we moved here when our own house was destroyed. But then we were on the wrong side after 1649 and the King dead, so it was confiscated by Parliament and the rents used for their own policies. In effect, we lost both houses—I think it helped to bring about my husband’s intense melancholy and ultimate death. We went to a property in London, which I had brought to the marriage in my jointure—and this place stood more or less empty except for a strange lady from the original family who stayed on as a sort of guardian, with our steward, Master Verzons, and Mistress Neale. When King Charles was restored, my son petitioned for the return of the Priory—and the King
‘She usually sits in the panelled parlour at the front of the house in the morning. The sun makes it warm and comfortable for her—with the pains in her limbs an’ all. I will take you there when you are ready.’
Lady Elizabeth sat in the wash of sunlight in the small parlour with a neglected piece of tapestry on her lap as Bessie ushered in Viola. Felicity sat beside her, head bent industriously over a similar pattern intended to cover a chair seat. Elizabeth’s face was solemn and pensive as she gazed out over the gardens, but brightened immediately with a welcoming smile as she stretched out her hand in greeting.
‘Well, Mistress Viola. You look charming this morning. I knew the dress would suit. Turn round for me.’
Viola did as she was bid, enjoying the swish of damask skirts against the polished oak boards.
‘I do not know what to say. You have given me more than I deserve.’
Felicity’s curled lips suggested that she might agree, but said nothing and continued to ply her needle with little vicious stabs at the tapestry.
‘Nonsense, dear girl. Come and sit and entertain me a little.’
Viola did as she was bid and bent to admire Elizabeth’s embroidery. ‘Your tapestry is beautiful. The stitches are so even.’
‘I could do better.’ Elizabeth wrinkled her nose in self-disgust. ‘My fingers are so swollen and painful. Can you do tapestry work?’
‘Yes, of course. I remember …’ She stopped in some consternation.
‘There now. I knew your memory would return when you stopped trying so hard. I expect your mother taught you.’
‘Perhaps. I certainly know that I have worked tapestry—and needlework—and I remember patterns. One very similar to Mistress Felicity’s cover with flowers and leaves, but in darker greens. But I am not sure that I enjoyed it.’ Her lips were touched by a faint smile. ‘I feel that I applied myself reluctantly and only because I must.’
‘It is indeed amazing how your memory is beginning to return.’ The sour note in Felicity’s voice was unmistakable.
There was a silence in the room for a long moment. And then, ‘It is not a situation that I would wish on anyone, Mistress Felicity,’ Viola replied in a quiet voice.
So she has spirit.
It pleased Elizabeth to hear her young guest stand up for herself against Felicity’s unkind sniping.
‘Perhaps you would fetch us some wine, Felicity?’
‘Of course, dear Elizabeth.’ Felicity simpered in Elizabeth’s direction, but with a scowl for Viola as she flounced through the door.
‘You said, my lady, that you had recently returned to live here.’ It seemed to Viola an innocuous subject that would not require any reminiscences on her part.
‘It is a complicated story,’ explained Elizabeth, willing enough to find a neutral topic. ‘We used to live at Glasbury Old Hall—you probably do not know it, but it is only a few miles from here. I went there as a young bride. But it was damaged beyond repair in the war—and then we came here.’
‘Do you never go back?’
‘Too sad. Too many memories of what might have been.’
‘But why did you come here in the first place—and then not remain here?’
‘I warned you it had its complications. The Priorybecame ours after a siege and the original family fled. So we moved here when our own house was destroyed. But then we were on the wrong side after 1649 and the King dead, so it was confiscated by Parliament and the rents used for their own policies. In effect, we lost both houses—I think it helped to bring about my husband’s intense melancholy and ultimate death. We went to a property in London, which I had brought to the marriage in my jointure—and this place stood more or less empty except for a strange lady from the original family who stayed on as a sort of guardian, with our steward, Master Verzons, and Mistress Neale. When King Charles was restored, my son petitioned for the return of the Priory—and the King
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