the other rooms as well. The dining room and the great hall. They must have been magnificent.”
“There were Jacobean suites of furniture in each of them, the finest English oak, carved by a master’s hands. They were sold along the way, with the Flemish tapestries and the French porcelains,” she added with a sigh. “So much of this place lost. It will be a mercy, I think, to leave it behind.”
I marvelled at her courage, twisted and wracked with pain, forced to leave the only home she had ever known.
“I hope you will be happy in your new home,” I said impulsively. It seemed a stupid sentiment. Who could be happy in such circumstances, torn up by the very roots?
“God will provide. As will Mr. Brisbane. He might have turned us out into the streets to starve, you know. We must be grateful that he is a generous man.”
“Or perhaps he feels kindly toward old friends,” I ventured, watching her closely. She blinked a little, but her expression of gentle kindliness did not falter.
“Ah, I suppose Ailith has told you they knew each other as children? Well, do not be misled by that. Their acquaintance was of short duration. Mr. Brisbane was, er, travelling, with his mother’s family at the time,” she said, neatly glossing over the fact that the gentleman who now owned her house had once been a wild half-Gypsy boy. She went on smoothly. “They passed through, every spring. And you know what children are, always swearing eternal friendship, then quiteforgetting one another when the season has passed. Ailith did not even know him when he first arrived here in January, he is so changed.”
I remained silent, wondering whether Ailith’s attachment to Brisbane had been deeper than her mother knew.
Lady Allenby looked around her for the first time, taking in the small room and its tidy complement of furnishings. “This was my son’s room,” she said suddenly.
She turned away then, and I knew she was thinking of the son she had lost so precipitously. “I wonder if you would like to see Redwall’s things,” she said, almost hopefully.
Nothing could have appealed to me less than sorting through the possessions of a dead man, but Lady Allenby had been very gracious, and I did not like to offend her.
“Of course.”
We entered the long room I had passed through the previous night. She busied herself lighting a few lamps to throw off the chill and the shadows. Without the gloom, the room seemed more inviting, the shrouds less sinister. The tops of the walls were decorated with the same frieze as the small bedchamber—a riverbank, edged with marsh grasses and flights of birds taking wing. Here and there a lily bloomed, pale and fragile against the delicate green grasses, and near the corner a graceful gazelle stopped to drink from the river. It was beautifully done, and I remarked upon it to Lady Allenby.
“Oh, yes. Ailith painted that. She’s rather clever at such things, and it was a present for Redwall after he returned from his travels in Egypt. He was quite taken with the decorations of the tombs, and brought back many drawings, and even a few plates taken by the expedition’s photographer.”
“Egypt—how exciting! I should love to travel. I have only been to the Continent, but Africa seems another world entirely.”
She smiled, her expression nostalgic. “It was to Redwall. He was never happier than when he was reading his books about the pharaohs or working on his models of the tombs and temples. I am afraid it was rather difficult for him to leave Egypt behind. I believe Ailith thought he would pine less if he had something of the place here in his private rooms. Let me show you something.”
She moved toward the nearest dustsheet and tossed it aside with a theatrical flair. I swallowed a gasp. There was a long, low couch, fashioned of thin strips of woven leather and held aloft by a pair of golden leopards.
“Astonishing,” I breathed, moving closer. I dared not touch it. The gilt of
“There were Jacobean suites of furniture in each of them, the finest English oak, carved by a master’s hands. They were sold along the way, with the Flemish tapestries and the French porcelains,” she added with a sigh. “So much of this place lost. It will be a mercy, I think, to leave it behind.”
I marvelled at her courage, twisted and wracked with pain, forced to leave the only home she had ever known.
“I hope you will be happy in your new home,” I said impulsively. It seemed a stupid sentiment. Who could be happy in such circumstances, torn up by the very roots?
“God will provide. As will Mr. Brisbane. He might have turned us out into the streets to starve, you know. We must be grateful that he is a generous man.”
“Or perhaps he feels kindly toward old friends,” I ventured, watching her closely. She blinked a little, but her expression of gentle kindliness did not falter.
“Ah, I suppose Ailith has told you they knew each other as children? Well, do not be misled by that. Their acquaintance was of short duration. Mr. Brisbane was, er, travelling, with his mother’s family at the time,” she said, neatly glossing over the fact that the gentleman who now owned her house had once been a wild half-Gypsy boy. She went on smoothly. “They passed through, every spring. And you know what children are, always swearing eternal friendship, then quiteforgetting one another when the season has passed. Ailith did not even know him when he first arrived here in January, he is so changed.”
I remained silent, wondering whether Ailith’s attachment to Brisbane had been deeper than her mother knew.
Lady Allenby looked around her for the first time, taking in the small room and its tidy complement of furnishings. “This was my son’s room,” she said suddenly.
She turned away then, and I knew she was thinking of the son she had lost so precipitously. “I wonder if you would like to see Redwall’s things,” she said, almost hopefully.
Nothing could have appealed to me less than sorting through the possessions of a dead man, but Lady Allenby had been very gracious, and I did not like to offend her.
“Of course.”
We entered the long room I had passed through the previous night. She busied herself lighting a few lamps to throw off the chill and the shadows. Without the gloom, the room seemed more inviting, the shrouds less sinister. The tops of the walls were decorated with the same frieze as the small bedchamber—a riverbank, edged with marsh grasses and flights of birds taking wing. Here and there a lily bloomed, pale and fragile against the delicate green grasses, and near the corner a graceful gazelle stopped to drink from the river. It was beautifully done, and I remarked upon it to Lady Allenby.
“Oh, yes. Ailith painted that. She’s rather clever at such things, and it was a present for Redwall after he returned from his travels in Egypt. He was quite taken with the decorations of the tombs, and brought back many drawings, and even a few plates taken by the expedition’s photographer.”
“Egypt—how exciting! I should love to travel. I have only been to the Continent, but Africa seems another world entirely.”
She smiled, her expression nostalgic. “It was to Redwall. He was never happier than when he was reading his books about the pharaohs or working on his models of the tombs and temples. I am afraid it was rather difficult for him to leave Egypt behind. I believe Ailith thought he would pine less if he had something of the place here in his private rooms. Let me show you something.”
She moved toward the nearest dustsheet and tossed it aside with a theatrical flair. I swallowed a gasp. There was a long, low couch, fashioned of thin strips of woven leather and held aloft by a pair of golden leopards.
“Astonishing,” I breathed, moving closer. I dared not touch it. The gilt of
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